Return of the Primarchs

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

Here's a page for the ongoing Return of the Primarchs setting. At the moment, it is a storage place for ideas.

The Premise

What if, in a giant act of just as planned, Malal, Cegorach, and The God-Emperor of Mankind, in concert with all of the other anti-big 4 chaos gods engineered the return of the Primarchs, from a point in time early enough in the crusade that they all don't hate each other, and a few other changes, notably the removal of Angron's Butcher's Nails and the curing of Curze's madness. Oh, and they have at least some part of their legions and support staff, so Mechanicum, remembrancers, all that.

The result is a setting based on badassery, noblebright, and manly tears.

Personae Dramatis

Primarchs

Horus

Has a bit of a meltdown, runs off to be a lone wolf against chaos for a while, setting himself some yet to be decided task. Once he completes it, he can forgive himself.

Alternative take: He seeks atonement through fighting off the enemies of the Empire, and takes command as Warmaster mk 2. Leads his reborn Luna Wolves to battle on the surface of Mars during siege of Terra. Exercises extreme benevolence towards Erebus by killing him with a simple bolter round to the face instead of trying to reason with him.

Ferrus Manus

He has a good head on his shoulders. He remonstrates his legion for their obsessive perfectionism, which lets him help Fulgrim.

Fulgrim

Fulgrim freaks out. First he finds out about the Heresy, but its ok, he has his friend Ferrus. Then the two split up to tour the Imperium, Fulgrim ends up at Ultramar and collapses at the feet of Gorillaman's stasis coffin. Then he learns what he did to Manus. He runs off ala Rossiu, but Manus comes for him. See the story below, as it is awesome.

Magnus

Gets soul-bound to the Emperor. Also he gets decked out by the Grey Knights, with a holy lance sanctified in the Emperor's blood and gets the 666 Rites of Detestation etched onto his back. He is clad in truesilver armor.

Possible idea brought up in 2nd thread by a writefaggot: Magnus gathers his legion of 'zards on Terra during the Battle for Terra when the Primarchs try to wrest power away from the High Lords (who for some reason really like their jobs as being masters of fucking everything). This is like far in the "new" storyline. Magnus goes flying into the Warp again while touching his Father's robe and does psychic battle alongside his legion against Daemons tainting the local Warp. After months of deep meditation fueled by his Legion's most powerful and trusted warriors he restores the Emp's body to working order and takes up his position on the Golden Throne so Big Daddy E can sort shit out without the Astronomicon blinking out. Lots of numbers and JUST AS PLANNED as he fights off his corrupted self. There you go, now talk about why this is shit.

Russ

Comes back for the wolftime. More than anything else, he feels guilty for what he did to Magnus-- in fact, the reason he vanished into the warp was to go try to kill Magnus or die trying, as a way of atoning. Now that Magnus is back and badass, will everyone's favourite Space Viking Wolfman be able to face his estranged brother?

Lorgar

Surprisingly ok with things, viewing his earlier failing as a lack of faith on his part. If Magnus is the holy lance in the fight against the Daemonic, Lorgar is his shield bearer, swearing to protect his brothers from the horrors of the Warp. Lorgar gets pimped out by the Ecclesiarchy, with a shrine to the god emperor built into his new holy armor and bolts for his bolter carved from the bones of saints. Depending on how far we go, he may also have had his bones inscribed with hymns to the emperor, like an emperor loving version of wolverine. When he finds out how things went down, he promplty crushes Kor Phaeron's head, with a 'YOU WERE LIKE A FATHER TO ME' speech.

Mortarion

THE EMPEROR'S UNBREAKABLE SCYTHE! Though the skies may rain blood and the mountains crumble to dust, the Death Guard will stand fast, advancing inch by inch, their marching cadence the thud of their artillery. Mortarion vows to exterminate Nurgle's influence with the same tenacity that makes their chaos counterparts so damned hard to beat.

Mortarion would gather his Death Guard and go head-to-head with his double's Legion, enduring the worst that Nurgle's plagues can bring on them, even to the point where many of his Astartes are almost indistinguishable from the enemy they fight, and imprisoning his Daemon Prince self in a stasis-locked casket filled with molten silver, cast into the core of a dark and forgotten planet.

Casualties are horrendous once the plagues have run their course, but, as always, they return to fight on another battlefield. The Emperors unbreakable scythe, the Deathguard.

Jaghatai

As the other living Primarchs were either brooding or incapacitated, the Khan was busy taking his own slice of the Commorragh pie. He began taking the role of an Archon of his own Kabal, leading Dark Eldar pirate fleets full of auxiliaries and freed slaves to defend the Imperium when possible, and to kill anything in the way when that cannot be done.

Angron

Basically the Dornian Heresy version of Angron, so he's a super cool zen-berserker.

Alpharius

Starts unveiling his master plan. All of this is pretty much just as planned.

Captain Morgan "Ishmael" Ironbeard

Captain Ramius and Captain Blackbeard, if he were a pirate primarch, who has a mechadendrite beard. Has this whole herald of judgement aspect about him. Like Blackbeard, he'd put lit candles in his beard to give him an aura of smoke. He'd cover himself in purity seals and have a glow of madness in his eyes. But yeah, his fleet warps in, and judgment has arrived, the towers and spires burning with warpfire. When he teleports in with his boarding party, the air crackles and smells of sulfur. He's got his own version of a Tarantino speech. He lives for the hunt, his ships are his hounds. He's a half crazed devil of a man, who sails the stars with his fleet. He strikes terror into the hearts of the foes who behold him, and when he does land his legion, it is with the trumpets of doomsday. And his men love him. They're his comrades on this grand adventure. They're his partners in all this. He'd keep iron discipline, but he doesn't need to, the crew elect their officers, pirate style. He gets along well with Russ, hard drinking and partying, but he has a frantic core to him that Russ lacks. Perhaps it was because of the time out in the void, or perhaps he has seen some darkness that Russ has not, but there's some irresistible force that drives our Captain onwards.

"Ahoy heretic! Stand to and receive the Emperor's Judgement. No, belay that! Run! Run for all you're worth! Run until your poxy rump is sore, your feet blistered, and your lungs can take it no more. Let the world swim before your exhausted eyes and the angels and daemons well up from your frenzied, tattered mind. Run because the Reaper himself comes for you in his ships. Run because the hounds are baying. Run because I want a good chase."

His fleet is the vanguard, out by the Halo Stars where the warp is tricky, and if he pulls an Apocalypse Now, sets himself up as a God. He sees it as giving his men and the systems he restores out in the unholy light of the Ghoul Stars something to inspire them and keep the terror at bay--seamen are always superstitious and the Halo Stars seem like home to endless eldritch Horrors. He sees a bit of religion/mysticism as a way to keep terror at bay, but, like with Lorgar, the Emperor doesn't like that, not one little bit. So he takes a battlefleet out there, but the pirate's main fleet up and vanishes into the Warp. From time to time ships reappear in realspace, their crews horribly mutated. It often falls to Russ to purge them. Rowbroat Gringus gets what the pirate leaves behind, as he's the closest and the best at restoring atheism.

The story of the Second Legion is a complex one. Designed for void operations, they were insular, spending more time around naval crews and often being drawn from them. Like all mariners, they were given to superstition, though in the Legion Proper, Chaplains kept this down to an acceptable level. Still, the Emperor tried never to deploy the 2nd and the 17th to the same front. Things only took a turn for the worse when the Admiral-Theocrat of small empire out by the Halo Stars was discovered to be the Primarch of the Second Legion by none other than Lorgar. Raised by House Morgan, a family of Privateer Aristocrats, the primarch had unified the warring houses. Unfortunately for him, this role he had stepped into was traditionally of a sacred as well as temporal nature. In effect, he had become Avatar-king. It is assumed that when he met Lorgar and told him he was called Ishmael, it was this he was referring to, though Ismael was the name he gave to the Emperor and Primarchs. During his time as theocrat, he'd never been wholly comfortable with the role, preferring to be simply 'The Captain'. Despite this, he was deeply influenced by the atropaic rituals of his home cluster.

While The Emperor and Morgan got along well, sharing a penchant for showmanship, Moran's tendency to try to appease the Machine Spirits in mass rituals, as well as his rites to frighten away 'warp predators' and 'gremlins' were a constant source of tension, as was Morgan's stubborness. (Perhaps another trait he inhereted from his father.)

Morgan, taking the name Ironbeard, brought out the wild mariner in his men. ANCIENT MARINER! WE NEED TO HAVE ONE.

Skipping ahead, Morgan was erased from history as a result of a single warp voyage. Sailing through a particularly fierce storm, several ships in the fleet, including Morgan's own, suffered partial Geller Field collapses.

Personally fighting with the daemons, Morgan noted that they matched the beasts in the old void tales and that the rituals worked against them. (Stuff like Gargoyles or totems. A lot of things like how Daoist Exorcisms use fireworks to scare off daemons, except in 30k, the daemons weren't scared so much as the fact that the people had faith in it working made it work. The truesilver didn't hurt either.) Emerging from the warp with his ships still aflame with unholy fire and with massive clawmarks in the sides, Morgan sought immediate contact with the Emperor. The Emperor attempted to have them quarantined, most of the marines executed, and Morgan's memory scrubbed, Morgan bolted when he heard the 'You've seen too much.' 'No more shall I be Ishmael, I am Morgan Ironbeard and the Void shall be my home!' Taking his fleet he made a run straight to the outer rim, vowing to defend Humanity from the things in the deep. Cue Hunt for Morgan Ironbeard, as the all available ships are divirted to go after him.

But they say that on quiet nights, you can still see the ghostly lights of a crusade era battle fleet, a-running through the Chronos expanse. They say the captains half man and half devil and he's chasing sommat, what none know. (A little too Cruze, don't you think?)

(I was hoping that he'd be Kamina where Kruze is Gendo. Gendo sees the world sucks and gives up on everything except his mad plan. Kamina sees the world sucks and makes up a story that makes it awesome anyways. They're both scary mother fuckers, but the Pirate King has a bit more defiance to him. Kruze is the Reaper, where this guy is the leader of the Wild Hunt.)

Taimak, Son of Thunder

The Emperor's diplomat and beastmaster. The basic gist is that the Big E wasn't always so Xenophobic, was at one point (presumably before the Age of Strife) willing to work with Xenos (ie, Craftworlders) as long as they obeyed/cooperated him, which, since he's the only guy who can fight chaos head on, makes some sense. To do this, the big E made Taimak, but when the Primarchlings got swept off, the Son of Thunder ended up being found and raised by Xenos. Oops. This isn't so bad, but the Xenos in question had chaotic leanings, not that the Primarch knew this. The big E (alongside Horus and Russ, the only Primarchs he found at the time) finds him and then has to figure out how to go about quietly exterminating everyone he loves. Nice... (Which might explain why Emps let Angron's men die--if they were Khorne bait with those nails.) The Chief, bitter over this sudden genocide, decides to name the XI Legion that was assigned to him the Sons of Thunder, harkening back to the Thunder Warriors big E decided to dump because of reasons.

The other primarchs around at the time are a bit leery of this weird Xenos-raised guy, chief among them Leman Russ. Thunder's tendency to do things like use Xenos Auxilia (policy and the legion has gene seed issues), have marines ride dragons, and load shells with acid scorpion spiders also rubs them the wrong way, even with Horus, who had tried to defend them as hard as he could. The Emperor tells them to shove it, and they obey for the time. When next it is found, the Craftworld is devoid of life and crawling with sinister warp signatures.

Emps knows this to be the work of Daemons but can't tell anyone. He wants to try again, but he can't tell anyone, so the Primrachs kind of force him to take a more hardline stance against Xenos. He needs them to be onboard with his Nikea decisions anyways. Stable and willing marines were split among the other Legions, while the Auxilia and any who would not stand down were executed by the Space Wolves.

Thunder is a badass technical pacifist who punches Klingons into realizing how awesome the Emperor is when there is no option and an excellent diplomat otherwise.

The Legion is sort of like RT Era Dark Angels, with various sort of xenos auxilia ad technology and nightmarish xenos beasts as mounts.

Imperial Non-Primarchs

Blood Ravens

Background: Gabe is transporting a ruined old Land Raider unearthed by some PDF on a backwater world known as 1546 back to the Omnis Arcanum on the express orders of Chapter Master Azariah Kyras, when the Old Inquisitor's message is received by the astropaths on board the Litany of Fury. For sake of chronology, Dawn of War I and II didn't happen.

Part I

“Let all who are loyal to the Emperor, rush to defend Holy Terra from invasion!”

That was the message relayed by the astropaths to the crew of the Litany of Fury, along with the detachment of Blood Ravens Space Marines on board. Three companies, comprising the 3rd, 4th, and 6th Companies of the Blood Ravens Chapter were present, with Gabriel Angelos, 3rd Company captain as Force Commander.

When he had heard it, he was entirely unsure of what to believe. The thought that Holy Terra was under siege incensed him, but the latest reports showed that a Black Crusade had only just been launched and was long yet to reach even Cadia. Nothing in the message made sense. Primarchs returned? Terra besieged? And an Inquisitor threatening to demolish the most sacred site in the galaxy with cyclonic torpedoes.

He called on Davian Thule, 4th Company captain, and asked “What do you think it means Davian?” Davian hesitated for a moment before answering, “I don't know what to think Brother-Captain. Primarchs and Terra under siege... It's incredible... Could it be that the traitor Primarchs have found some foul sorcery to transport themselves instantaneously?” Thule's face contorted in disgust at the idea.

“I do not think so Davian. I am certain that our beloved Emperor would be able to guard against such sorcery with his mighty will. Still, this presents us with a problem. We have our orders to return to Chapter Master Kyras with our cargo but if Terra is besieged by enemies then we must divert course as quickly as possible.”

“Do we even know who or what is besieging Terra, truly?” Davian asked.

“No,” Gabriel replied, “but as long as they threaten our Emperor, then they are our enemies. Our duty is clear. Things will become clearer when we reach our destination, of that I have no doubt.”

He turned to the on-board voxcaster and hailed the bridge. “Bridge, this is Captain Gabriel Angelos. Our orders have been put on hold for now. Set course for Segmentum Solar. We are moving to defend Terra, over.”

The voxcaster crackled with a response, “Bridge to Captain Angelos, Captain Andronichus speaking. Understood. Bastards won't know what hit them.”

It would be at least 2-3 months travel on board the Battle Barge from their current position but Gabriel knew that the Imperial palace could easily survive a decade's long siege, but still his mind was restless. He hated having so little information about what was going on. His purpose was clear though, none would dare threaten his beloved Imperium and Emperor as long as he drew breath. He would bring the fury of the entire Blood Ravens Chapter down upon these foul beings, if need be.

Part II

>One month later, on board the Omnis Arcanum...

“Chapter Master Kyras, we've received a message from Captain Angelos,” one of the chapter serfs informed the hulking figure of Azariah Kyras. “He reports that he has recovered the Land Raider and is en route now to deliver it to the Omnis Arcanum...”

Kyras cut him off with a loud “Excellent! Soon we shall return this great machine to the battlefield and lay waste to our foes.” He smiled as he thought to himself “If my suspicions are correct then I have found the Obsidian Chariot itself and I will take great pleasure in dedicating it to mighty Khorne, as well as depriving the Salamanders of a prize, as well as their Primarch.”

However the serf spoke again. “My lord, that wasn't the entire message.” “Oh? Well then continue. What else does Angelos report?”

“He has informed us that he has diverted course to Segmentum Solar to aid in the defence of Terra and will send word as soon as he has new information.”

Kyras' fury was easily visible on his face. Did Angelos know what he had there? Vulkan's own Land Raider would certainly be quite the boon to any force who managed to deploy it.“How dare he defy my orders?!” he raged. “Tell the astropaths to send Captain Angelos this message: He is to return to the Omnis Arcanum with the Land Raider immediately!” he bellowed to the young serf, when he remembered that this was a serf he had not yet managed to corrupt. Quickly recovering himself, he added: “It would be foolish to attempt an assault on the forces besieging Terra with only three ships and three companies of Marines. He should return from his current mission and then we will decide what to do about Terra.” “At once my lord,” the serf replied, still slightly frightened from the Chapter Master's outburst.

“Angelos...” he muttered through gritted teeth. His thoughts turning to the 3rd Company captain, “He has doubted me from the second I returned from the Judgement of Carrion. He watches and waits for me to make a mistake, so he can then denounce me in front of the entire Chapter! But I will not allow him the satisfaction!”

> The Litany of Fury, also a month later...

Gabriel had gathered the Headquarters units of all three companies under his command in the briefing room of the Litany of Fury to discuss the recent and future events. The Siege of Terra was well under way. The astropaths were still receiving messages infrequently urging all loyal units, be they Astartes or Guardsmen, to hurry to Terra's relief.

“My brothers,” Gabriel began, when everyone had settled into the room, “a month has passed and we have learned some more about the situation on Terra. Our own 3rd Company Librarian Isador Akios has been attempting to send messages to the Inquisitor responsible for our weekly assistance calls. Isador?”

“Yes, Gabriel,” he announced as he stood to take the floor Gabriel had yielded. “My attempts were focussed on relaying a message to the source of the messages we have been receiving. In the past month that we have been travelling I have sensed, as I'm sure my Brother-Librarians gathered here have as well, that the messages being sent were from a single source, rather than the efforts of a psychic choir.

“This would of course imply the sender is indeed a powerful psyker being able to send such clear communications through the void at such great distances and I believe I know who it is. Inquisitor-Lord Mazzini, an old, and frail-bodied man but with a mental and psychic strength that far exceeds our own Chief Librarian, Chapter Master Kyras.

“I met him once. He toured the Librarium of the Omnis Arcanum some years ago to survey some of the relics our chapter has recovered.” Davian Thule made an audible cough.

“What was your opinion of him when you met him, Isador?” enquired Gabriel. “A hard liner in every sense,” was the Librarian's reply. “He recited four different Litanies of Hate, four times in a day, every day. One for the Eldar, one for the Orks, one for the Tau, and finally one for heretics. He spat his words most frequently when reciting that one. I think his inspection of our chapter's relics was motivated by a hunt for anything tainted by the Warp. His faith in the God-Emperor borders on obsession. If Terra were to be threatened, in the absence of any real leadership, I could see him attempting to seize control and, if need be... destroy Terra itself.”

“I see,” said Gabriel thoughtfully. “You, as well as our other honoured Librarians, have also been sending out messages into the void to gather information on the foes besieging Terra. Do you have anything new to report?”

“I've been in contact with a number of astropathic choirs from various out posts and they all say that a large fleet emerged from the Warp that travelled from Segmentum Pacificus, and having conferred with our other Librarians, they confirm this much.”

“Another potential Pacificus rebellion, it would seem. There's something else though, isn't there?” questioned Gabriel, with a hint of irritation that Isador didn't immediately tell them (or him) everything.

Isador hesitated for a moment then continued. “There are some scattered reports of the Pacificus forces bearing the insignia of the Luna Wolves. As well as the Word Bearers, World Eaters, Emperor's Children, the Iron Hands, and so on. Every legion that fell or lost a Primarch has been reported as currently besieging Terra itself.”

The room stood silent and Isador resumed his seat.

Necrons

Trazyn the Infinite

Turns out he's been trying to rebuild Vulkan. Guess he wanted an autograph? He proves instrumental in bringing Necrons into an alliance with the Imperium. In the words of Anon: I was wondering where will Vulkan go, and as my headcanon is that his body (and thus one of the artifacts) is at Trazyn's place, I imagine Vulkan going to Tomb World of Solemnace and having this speech (I'll try my best in writing, but I'm no writefag):

>You knew about the gift I had from my father, and thus you knew that despite the fact that my body appeared to be dead, I was not. You thought that due to my state, I am unable to hear you, but I could. Many times you tried to pull that spear from my body, sometimes trying to destroy it along with the spear. When you learned about the legend of my return once my Artefacts will be gathered, you start to gather them and using them to destroy the spear, for the sake of releasing me. For that, you have my thanks, as deep within my heart, I see you as a friend. And I see no better way to thank you than through giving you something I have created right after being released from this state in that Warpstorm. This is something I based on your symbol of rule, let it serve you well in the incoming years of our cooperation, my friend, Trazyn the Infinite.

Tau

With the Primarchs now fully assembled, the gods of Chaos now have to find other subjects to exploit en masse. To this end, they decide to work on the Tau Empire, some of it becoming lost in a Warp Storm. They corrupt a few Ethereals here, give a couple guys some "gifts" there, and then let them loose to kill shit.

Farsight Enclaves

The few Tau already aware of Chaos, Commander Farsight and his merry band of rebels become impromptu heretic-hunters.

Rough Timeline of Events

How E-Money and C-Roach pulled this off, one version

The Cabal fucked up. Majorly. Emps-Senpai was supposed to die and with his survival, any semblance of their plan working perished. They could, however, try something else, namely fixing their mistake. It took time. A lot of time, but fortunately they had that. It took centuries to contact the Emperor in the Warp, centuries more before he was willing to hear them out. Many a Farseer's head exploded with the Emperor's rage. Finally, the Cabal convinced Alpharius, who also had cut off ties with the Cabal following the Horus debacle to follow a troupe of Harlequins into the webway. Their purpose: to find the segment of the webway that linked up with the Golden Throne, in hopes that Alpharius could speak with the Emperor directly. Sensing his son's purity, the Emperor allowed Alpharius to speak with him and Alpharius explained everything. From that point on, Alpha Legion used the webway to keep the Emperor appraised of their plans. (Perhaps in all of this, Jagatai stumbled upon them whilst hunting Deldar? They captured him and brought him before the Emperor, who explained things. Jagatai slugged Alpharius and Omegon, but forgave them. As the centuries passed, the plan took shape. The only hope against Chaos was the return of the Primarchs. With their faith in the Emperor, they could defeat the worst of Chaos and allow the God Emperor and Cegorrach to ascend as pre-eminent deities. Later, contact with Malal caused them to factor it into their plans. The plan was somewhat simple. The only way to get back the Primarchs was to either reforge them of warp stuff or steal them from parallel universes. The former would make them basically Greater Daemons, a bit too unstable for their purposes. The later would disrupt other timelines if not done carefully. The solution they came to was to pull part of a primarch's essence from a parallel timeline and fill in the rest with warpstuff, courtesy of the Emperor's will. To do this, however, required massive amounts of warp energy and an ability to travel through time. The second task was comparatively simple. The Ordo Chronos was established and set to work designing time machines. Alpha Legion moles fed information to the conspirators and when the time was right, they took the technology and allowed the Ordo to disappear.

The former task was more difficult. The Emperor could draw warp energy from his followers, from the faith of man and from the sacrifice of psykers. This required dire times for man, so that their faith would be called upon again and again. Thus the 10,000 years of suffering were needed for the plan to succeed. But even then, that would not be enough power and the storage and expenditure would draw the eyes of the other Chaos Gods, so means were devised to funnel warp energy from the others. The two main players in this were Cypher and the Alpha Legion. By creating situations to power the big 4, they were able to hide the amounts that they siphoned for the Emperor, mostly via Malal. As time went on, Lady Malys became an agent of Cegorach and she too plans to siphon energy to the Emperor when the time comes, in return for a place at Cegorach's side as a demigod.

With the plans laid, all that remained was to collect the fury of the warp and wait for a moment when the Chaos gods would be too focused elsewhere to notice what was afoot. This chance came during the 13th Black Crusade. At the precise moment of the fall of Cadia, the plan went into effect. The Primarchs were copied from favorable parallels, along with their legions and some of their support personnel. (the two missing primarchs were also brought back. See the wiki for our tentative work on them.) Thus it was that the Great Crusade started anew.

Then what?

• They emerge.

• The precise means of confirming their identity is uncertain. Valdor? Vulkan lives? (Russ' validity is confirmed by his old pal Bjorn)

• Some hyper conservative Inquisitor holds Terra hostage with cyclonic torpedoes, threatening to blow it up if they don't get their way. They also somehow manage to get the Officio Assassinorum on his side, too. They've quite literally holed up on Terra in the Assassin temples with a cyclonic torpedo on a dead man's switch. Anyone who wants to get to them has to get through the Assassins first, too.

The original Alpha Legion emerges from the warp and kill/destroy all the forces opposing the original Legions. Then when message comes that Holy Terra itself is being besieged by ruinous powers or chaos, Loyalists would run to rescue it. The Alpha Legion, intent on keeping cover until the end, passes a slight heads up to the other Primarchs through the Order of the Obsidian Mirror, allowing them to hook up with Ironbeard, Corax, and Kurze for awesome out of the shadows hijinks. Then, after assaulting, the Alpha Legion would go "Oh noes, the loyalists, the primarchs, the real saviors of the empire, we're beat, retreat" over all the vox channels and then retreat into the warp portals.

Funny thing is there would be no Alpha Legionnares casualties, and only traitors and possible traitors would have died in the couple of days long invasion.

So the loyalists would be on Terra, as heroes and without political opposition. And no one would ever ask any questions.

Just as planned.

Hydra Fucking Dominatus.

• Primarchs split up to stabilize things. Around this time Ferrus visits his legion and Fulgrim learns of his deeds.

• ?????

• Primarchs get shit done

• All Glory to the Imperium!

Some ideas that came up during writefagging

NOTE: This is all made up during the second thread, where a few writefags decided to write up on the events and needed a semi-coherent view of them.

It's been discussed that it goes as follows:

1. Russ meets Lorgar reborn and they send word to those Primarchs that were not technically dead - Lion, Guilliman, Vulcan, and together with some other Primarchs they meet up, Horus takes the lead after taking upon himself to gain redemption through victory over heretics

2. Inquisitors take control of Terra, loyalists move in and take control

3. Black Crusade finally arrives at Terra with Primarchs setting up defensive positions

4. Battle ensues

5. Khan moves in with whatever pirate/stolen DE fleet he managed to snag with his Kabal

6. Dark Eldar move in pursuit, joining the fray

7. Battle is won, Great Crusade 2: Electric Boogaloo commences

8. EDITED: Magnus is working on reviving the ultimate badass only after they've dealt with the Chaos invasion

As has been stated in the foreword, this is all prone to debating and/or fixing, but so far it's been working well and based upon this writefaggotry commenced, resulting in awesome.

Bits of Awesome

Fulgrim's Arrival

Air rushed around Fulgrim as he fell, turning over and over, spinning every-which-way. He could do little to halt his descent, the air blowing into his eyes were turning his view into blurry streaks of colour. Blue. gold, blue, gold, green...

CRASH

The first tree Fulgrim hit snapped clean in two, he bounced off the thick trunk of another, and hit his head on the limb of another, causing a sensation like a nova bomb going off in his head. This final collision slowed him down enough that he crashed to the leafy ground, bruised, dizzy, but alive.

SOMETIME LATER

After some time had passed, the Phoenician peeled himself off the dirt floor and wobbled to his feet. His armour was scuffed but otherwise undamaged, and he found the comforting weight of Fireblade secured at his side. Reminded of his sudden descent, Fulgrim turned to see the massive rent he had torn in the canopy. He looked about, the forest stretched in every direction, with small shafts of light reaching through gaps every so often. Fulgrim looked about for a tree that looked sturdy enough to take his weight, and found a monster specimen with a trunk almost 8 metres thick. He dug his gauntleted fingers into the bark and began to awkwardly pull himself up the trunk. He lacked the climbing experience of Corax or Kurze, and his armour had never been designed for this sort of thing, but before long he was standing astride the thickest branch he could find, swaying gently with the tree as the wind blew. He could taste rain in the air, and the sky seemed overcast. He shuffled around awkwardly, trying to see past the endless sea of undulating leaves. At last, he spotted what seemed to be a castle in the distance, about 15 kilometres away, by his reckoning. The fortress was made from a white stone, possibly marble, thought Fulgrim, recalling his attempts at sculpting with a small smile. He turned and leapt off the tree, landing back on the forest floor with a heavy thump.

Positioning himself in the same direction he had seen the fortress in, Fulgrim began to walk, his long stride covering the distance with rapid pace. After some time, he heard a rustling near to him and turned to the source. A pair of small children were hiding behind a thick bush, watching him with wide eyes. Fulgrim smiled and spoke:
"Come out little ones, I won't hurt you."
Slowly, the two stepped out from their concealment, and came close to the primarch. Now that he could see them better, he noticed they were a boy and a girl, the girl seemed younger than the boy, and Fulgrim assumed the two to be brother and sister. The girl tilted her head up to look Fulgrim in the face: "You're big."
Fulgrim smiled again:
"Indeed."
The boy spoke up, pointing the way Fulgrim had come as he did:
"We saw you fall out of the sky from the castle." His eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
"Can it be you have come from space?"
Fulgrim's smile widened:
"As a matter of fact... yes" The little girl spoke up,
"We came to find you. Father has called for the Knights to come and see."
"Interesting, perhaps they could tell me where I am."
The boy was looking curiously at Fulgrim's artificer armour.
"Who are you?"
A small furrow appeared in Fulgrim's brow.
"I am the Primarch Fulgrim, called the Phoenician, child of the Emperor and general of his armies. I would have thought you would know that."
The boy looked away shyly:
"I heard some of the squires telling ghost stories about the Emperor's children once."
Fulgrim frowned, curiouser and curiouser.
"Could you take me to your father? He may be able to answer some of my questions."
"Certainly!" squeaked the boy happily, before dragging his sister off into the forest, motioning Fulgrim to follow. The primarch set off after them, his long strides easily keeping pace with the young children, turning over what he knew in his mind, this all seemed strange and a little sinister. He resolved to find his answers. One way, or another.

The ground began to slope upwards gradually, and Fulgrim took this to mean that they were approaching the castle. Sure enough, the forest rapidly thinned, and then cut out all together, leaving a wide plain around the fortress empty save grass.As the they approached the wide gate, Fulgrim heard a sound of servomotors and clanking feet from off to his left. He turned to see an Imperial Knight rushing towards the fortress, leaping from foot to foot, tearing up the grass as it ran. The deep moad lay ahead, with the drawbridge pulled up. The Knight skidded to a halt before the moat, and waited. After a moment, the drawbridge began to lower on clanking chains. The children cheered and broke into runs, Fulgrim quickened his stride slightly, watching as the Knight strode across the lowered drawbridge. The children's cheers faded as the bridge began to be pulled up as soon as the knight was across. Fulgrim dropped to one knee and spoke urgently:
"Climb onto my back. Quickly, now"
The children complied, clinging to the various pieces of ornamentation that decorated Fulgrim's armour.
Fulgrim stood, and then sprinted for the drawbridge, the grass and forest around him blurring as his armoured feet pounded the ground. By the time he reached the moat, he realised the bridge had been pulled up too far to far for him to walk onto. So he jumped. Shooting into the air like a rocket, the children clinging on for dear life. His armoured fingers closed around the edge of the bridge, and its climb juddered to a halt with the Primarch's weight on it. Before the chains could snap, Fulgrim pulled himself over the other side, and slid down the incline, the children jumping free of him as he went. Fulgrim skidded to his feet, and looked into the nervous faces of a half-dozen guards holding an anachronistic arsenal of weapons, from crossbows and pikes, to lasguns. The Knight was also there, training it's massive weapons on the Primarch.
"I... come in peace?" He groaned inwardly at the cliche. "Take me to your leader?"

Over the vox, from within the Knight, came the voice of the Baron, reverberating with mechanical overtones and with the unearthly energy of the Machine Spirits. 'I am the lord of this world.'
"I am Fulgrim, Lord of the Emperor's Children, and Son of the Emperor."
A moment of static and then the Knight spoke with the roar of many waters.
'We remember you, Fulgrim. We remember you and the traitors. House Devine. We destroyed them and as many of your traitorous warpspawn as we could. We have stood vigil since.
Speak not of He who is on Terra, for it was by your hand and those of your brothers he was betrayed.' The words hit Fulgrim harder than any battle cannon shell ever could. None of this made any sense. He loved his father, he'd dedicated his existence to being the paragon of his father's ideals.

"My Lord!" A cry from one of the guards manning the drawbridge broke the tension. The Baron tilted it's head back to look at the guard post, and spoke with it's rumbling voice:
"What?!"
"A knight from House Greene, it looks damaged and is flying a message flag."
The Baron made a sound like a snarl, and turned to the guards surrounding Fulgrim.
"Take... this. To the dungeons, I will deal with the messenger myself."
The guards looked nervously at the towering Primarch, whose mind was still struggling to process what he had just learned. He raised his hands again.
"I shall... come quietly." He shook his head at yet another cliche, but began to walk after the guards. As they crossed into the castle courtyard, he turned at the sound of the drawbridge being lowered again. The two children were still there, standing close to the massive figure of the Baron. The girl caught his eye and waved. Fulgrim smiled ruefully, but a cautious nudge from one of the guards turned him around again, and walked into the cool depths of the castle.
Fulgrim sat on the bed in the cool darkness of the dungeon. He considered it remarkable that the bed could support his armoured weight. Fireblade was lying on the thin sheet behind him. The Primarch stared into the middle distance, still turning over the Baron's words in his mind. How could he have ever betrayed the Emperor? Someone walked past his cell, and Fulgrim called to them.
"Hey!"
The person turned, and Fulgrim started at the empty sockets staring back at him. The strange markings on the robe they wore identified them as an astropath. Fulgrim spoke more gently:
"What is happening? What did the messenger want?"
The astropath seemed to deliberate for a moment, but then they leaned close to the bars, and reached through.
"Come closer, please." Curiosity aroused, Fulgrim stood up, the bed squeaking with relief, and walked over to the astropath. He knelt down close to the bars and looked carefully into the withered face. The astropath's hand shot out suddenly, and the gnarled fingers pressed against Fulgrim's forehead. The primarch gasped as a flood of sensation surged into his brain, along with the feeling of being scrutinized closely. A golden light eclipsed the dank dungeon, and Fulgrim's ears filled with the sound of a choir singing. Then the contact was broken. Fulgrim lurched backwards, purple blotches swimming in his vision and his ears ringing with the phantom sound. The astropath was slumped against the bars breathing heavily.
"I'm sorry." he gasped, "I had to make sure."
"Sure of what?" groaned Fulgrim, massaging his temples.
"That you really the one the others say you are." He smiled weakly, "Child of the Emperor, by the power vested in me by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, I pronounce you free of taint."
Fulgrim clambered to his feet,
"Very good. Now, shall we try and convince the baron of that?" The astropath nodded, and began fishing through the pockets of his voluminous robes, looking for the cell for the key to the cell.

As they strode through the dim corridors of the castle, lit here and there by flickering torches, Fulgrim spoke:
"So what did the messenger want?"
The astropath's expression turned sour.
"He wasn't a messenger, he was a survivor."
Fulgrim raised an eyebrow as the old man went on.
"Something dropped out of the sky, about a day or two before you did. No one knows what it is. No-one could stop it, or hold it, or reason with it. It's just been tearing through the fortresses like a force of nature."
"And it's heading this way?"
"Yes. Last I heard, the Baron was debating whether to flee the castle, or make a stand here."
Fulgrim's hand settled on Fireblade's pommel:
"We should stand and fight!"
The astropath snorted derisively:
"I imagine House Greene and the others thought the same."
Fulgrim smiled:
"But none of them had me, did they?"

As Fulgrim and the astropath strode into the great hall, they heard the sound of loud conversation within. The primarch pushed the heavy doors open and beheld. The Baron, divested of his Knight, was talking urgently with a tall man with a white streak going through his black hair. At the sound of the doors banging open they turned to regard the towering Primarch and shuffling astropath.
"Is he free of taint?" The Baron's question was short and to the point, but at the astropath's nod he relaxed slightly. He gestured to the man he had been speaking with.
"This is the captain of the castle guard, Robert Cross." The heavily scarred man nodded at Fulgrim, the faint whining of augments coming from beneath his carapace armour. Fulgrim's eyes were drawn to a strange device that replaced the man's left hand. Cross noticed his inquisitive gaze and spoke:
"Automatic grenade launcher. I was part of the Skitarii battalion that found this world, 70 years ago. I'm older than I look."
The baron spoke again,
"Men like Cross are hard to find, but even he won't be enough to stop the creature." He stepped close to Fulgrim, craning his head up to look the Primarch in the eye.
"But if you are who you say you are... then we might have a chance."
The loud sound of a bell being rung made them all jump:
"The alarum bell!" The Baron turned to Cross.
"Get the women and children out of the Fortress, even if we can't kill it, we may slow it enough for them to get away." Cross nodded and dashed out of the room. The Baron turned to Fulgrim:
"Go and meet with the guards, I need to reach my mount before this creature arrives."
The Primarch nodded and strode out into the cool night air. There were guards rushing about everywhere, some carrying antique looking lasguns, other with crossbows, and gunpowder rifles. Moving through them like a colossus, Fulgrim jogged onto the castle walls, where several of the guards were nervously looking about.

The dim starlight was enough for Fulgrim to see a solitary figure stroll nonchalantly out of the forest. Fulgrim pointed and the guards began to shout, one firing up a flare that cast a flickering red glow over the figure. It looked up from the shadows of its hood, and Fulgrim just knew it was smiling. It put its head down and started to run, feet tearing up the ground at a pace no normal man could. The guards fired their weapons, arrows, las-beams and clouds of smoke erupting from the castle walls. Fulgrim watched as the running figure brought an arm up, covering its face. The arm seemed to stretch and warp into a glossy black shield that it held in front of itself, arrows and bullets ricocheting from the scaly surface, while las-beams failed to leave any marks. Fulgrim drew Fireblade, the sword still glowed as though it was just out of the forge, but the grip was cool in the Phoenicians armoured hand. As the figure reached thirty metres from the castle gates, its legs seemed to shiver and warp. Then it jumped, soaring upwards as though gravity had gone out to lunch. It stretched its arms (now returned to normal) and legs out, what appeared to be reddish mist jetting from its wrists and ankles. For all the world, it looked as though it were flying. Then it landed on the castle wall with a crash that knocked the guards off their feet. As it stood from the low crouch it had landed in, its flesh and clothing appeared to warp and move, as though tendrils were moving about under its skin. The strange clothing it wore faded beneath matt grey plating, like an insect's exoskeleton. Its fingers lengthened into long razor-sharp claws, that flexed like a normal man's fingers would. Strange light glowed from the amour, eerily similar to that of Fireblade. It turned to Fulgrim, the Phoenician reflected and split into ten in the creature's claws.

Fulgrim brought his sword into a guard position, and behind and infront of him, the guards clambered back to their feet, readying weapons, emboldened by the Primarch's defiance. The creature made a "tsk" sound, and flicked one of it's arms at the guards behind it. The arm stretched and lengthened, telescoping into something that looked like a cross between a chain and a spinal cord. It lashed across the wall, tripping men up, and then dragging them towards it. As Fulgrim and the guards watched with horror, the men were dragged, screaming and flailing, into the creature, were they were absorbed, like water poured on a sponge. It turned back to Fulgrim, its armour writhing with tendrils. Its whip-hand shot out again, this time clamping onto Fulgrim's right arm. The Primarch seized the limb (it felt scaly, and horribly warm), dug his heels into the stone of the walls, and pulled with all his might. For a moment, the creature resisted, but a las-beam glanced off its helmet, breaking its concentration and Fulgrim wrenched it off its feet. The thing weighed far more than something of its size should, and this meant that the guard tower Fulgrim swung it into shattered with the impact. The chain-limb detached from Fulgrim, and slithered into the collapsing tower. Fulgrim and the guards remained alert as hundred of tons of rock rained down on the creature, still inside the tower. A great cloud of pulverized marble billowed forth, making the guards cough, and dulling the sheen of Fulgrim's armour. A black shape sprang from the rubble, landing in front of Fulgrim with a sound like continents splitting. Its fists had swelled massively, and taken on a rock-like texture. It swung one of them at a nearby guard, who was frantically reloading his rifle. The man was smashed into paste by the fist, paste that was absorbed into the creature like it was magnetically attracted to it.

Fulgrim dodged the punch meant for him, and was nearly knocked off his feet by the wall shuddering beneath him. He took advantage of the creature's over-extending itself, and slashed at its arm with Fireblade. The edges of the cut shivered with tendrils, but the fissure gaped wider, the glow of Fireblade inside the wound. The creature made a sound somewhere between a howl and a scream, and the wounded arm dropped off. It hit the ground and exploded into ash. The stump that was left sprouted tendrils that wrapped around and around themselves, until the hammer-hand had completely reformed, good as new. The creature snarled, wary of Fireblade, and circled the primarch for a moment, before lunging forwards. It crashed into Fulgrim's midriff, throwing him off-balance and clung to the Primarch as he toppled over the wall.
Fulgrim landed in the courtyard with a clatter of armour, Fireblade spinning out of his grasp. The creature reared up in front of the prone primarch. Its shape seemed to lose coherence, and tendrils reached from it, groping for Fulgrim.
"They know you". It hissed.
"They have nightmares about you"
"Fulgrim, the daemon, Fulgrim, the monster."
It stepped towards the stunned Primarch.
"Oh, but I am going to enjoy this." Its form spread further, hundreds of minute tendrils reaching for Fulgrim.

ZZZAAAPP

The creature jerked and spasmed, its tendrils roiling and twitching. It went still and then fell on its face. Behind it, stood Cross, shockmaul still smoking. "Not as much as me, beast"

He stepped over the felled creature and, tucking the shockmaul back into his belt, held out his hand to the Primarch. As Fulgrim reached for it, the creature exploded in a great cloud of tendrils that forced Fulgrim back and wrapped around Cross. The creature reformed around the thrashing Skitarii, engulfing him completely. There was a crunch as it contracted inwards.
"That," It spat a piece of mangled augmetic out of its 'mouth':
"Hurt".

It pulled back a clawed fist, when a metal foot kicked it into the castle wall. The Baron stepped over Fulgrim, unloading its weapons into the creature. Fulgrim took the opportunity to dive between the Knight's legs and recover Fireblade, from where it was gently charring the grass. Behind him, a solid pillar of biomass smashed the Baron backwards, but the Knight did not fall, and resumed its barrage of battle cannon fire. Fulgrim turned in time to hear the creature scream at him.
"NOTHING CAN PROTECT YOU FROM ME! NOT MEN! NOT WEAPONS! NOT ARMOR!"
The Baron fired his power lance, collapsing a large chunk of the wall behind the creature. Fulgrim saw it dart through the hole the impact had made, and vanish in the cloud of dust. Fulgrim took a running jump and landed on the back of the Knight. As it stomped through the gap in the wall, he pulled himself up until he was standing on the Knight's shoulders, swaying with the titan's steps. He readied FIreblade, looking in all directions for the next attack. He spotted the creature before the Baron, just in time to see it punch one of it's hands into the ground. The earth churned and split in a path travelling directly for the Knight. As the churning earth disappeared beneath the Knight, the Baron gave a massive lurch, and a trio of black spikes burst out of the Knight's shoulders, knocking Fulgrim off balance. The spikes retracted, the Knight staggered for a moment, and fell like a felled tree. Fulgrim lept to his feet and roared a challenge at the creature, all composure driven from his mind by the thought of the young children losing their father. He charged the monster, leaping over a sweep of the chain-tendril and parrying a dart of spiked biomass.
He ran the creature through with Fireblade and felt it shudder against him.

Fulgrim gripped the sword with both hands and dragged it upwards, splitting the creature's upper body in half. The two halves wobbled for a second, struggling to re-attach despite Fireblade's glow burning into the black and red flesh. Fulgrim swept the sword around, slicing the top halves of the creature's body off. The legs slumped to the ground, turning to ash as they fell. The top halves flopped on the ground, the armour falling away as Fireblade's mysterious power burned through it. The right half propped itself up on a disintegrating arm and glared at Fulgrim, the true face of the creature revealed at last as the glow ate away at it.
Fulgrim kicked it in the head. The creature exploded into ashes as Fireblade's magic finished its work.

Fulgrim watched the remains carefully, Fireblade at the ready for any sign of reanimation. A minute passed, then another. Fulgrim breathed out carefully, then sheathed Fireblade, eyes still fixed on the pile of ashes. Then he turned and ran to the fallen knight. It had slumped onto its side, so he could see into the cockpit , and view the limp form of the Baron within. Fulgrim dug his fingers into the seams of the cockpit hatch, and after a moment's struggle, tore it off and flung it away. The Baron jerked at the sound, and looked blearily up at a Fulgrim, one side of his face covered by a massive psychosomatic bruise. "I-is it... dead?"
Fulgrim nodded. The Baron slumped against his mount's controls with relief.
"Thank the Emperor. You truly are the primarch Fulgrim, then."
Fulgrim extended a hand.
"Speaking of which." He pulled the Baron out of the cockpit.
"Perhaps you can fill me in on what has happened. What did the creature mean when it spoke about people having nightmares about me?"
The Baron turned to look at the people running out of the castle towards them:
"I'll explain later. Now, we celebrate your victory."

Return to Monarchia

It almost seemed like a cruel irony that Lorgar had brought his Legion back to Monarchia. Though the rest of the world had changed, this place had remained the exact same: burnt to the very ground.

"Do you recognize this place?" The Primarch questioned the Remembrancers and Ecclesiarchal guests among his fleet.
"I do." The lead missionary among the Ecclesiarchy responded. "This place...it was birthplace of the Imperial Creed, is it not?"
"Almost." He knelt among the ashes. He couldn't stop hearing of the screams among this plane, no matter how hard he shut himself off. Hundreds of faithful souls, loyal to the Emperor, the God-Emperor, all burned to ash at His order. "He knew of the Lectitio Divinatus before here. It was only here that he had made his point: He was not God."
The Missionary had heard the story before from some less-than-pious Astartes before, but hearing it from a Primarch, the one whose work was responsible for the Ecclesiarchy no less, made him feel ill at ease. "But...why, Lord Primarch? He had done so much that was impossible for a lesser man. So much more than any species had dared hoped!"
Again, he heard the screams.

"Hail to the Emperor, may he protect our souls!"
"Though we may die, may our deaths be remembered always!"
"Our loyalty never wavers!"

He could not take it. This was his pride, his life's work, and it was dashed so easily.
He remembered the story the Sororitas, those women who worked as the Church's soldiers, told them. This was more than his greatest failure. It was the birthplace of an even greater failure.

"Why do you keep torturing yourself with these memories, boy?" Kor Phaeron finally spoke up, disgusted at seeing his son's weakness. "You will learn nothing more from dwelling on the past. He has rejected your teachings. Now we move on to another faith."
Another faith. A fourfold path. An eight-pointed star. A horde of daemons, and a humanity lost. It was because of what happened here that a preacher became the Urizen. Where faith was rejected, he learned cold reason, and that reason was that the only true gods of the universe were...
Come to think of it, Lorgar wondered, why was the First Captain the only one who believed this truth? Why did everyone else seem to believe in a completely different truth, one governed by science and mathematical reason? He then remembered talk from amongst his own sons, doubting the Captain's claims as an Astartes, an elderly man in the shape of a warrior. More pressingly, there were also reports about Calth, a war of petty hatred turned into a dark ritual. And the common link was...

"Have you truly faith in you, Kor Phaeron?"
The elder snorted, "Faith? Of course I have faith! I was the one who taught you faith!"
Lorgar stood erect, his right hand gripping the Illuminarium tightly. "Faith in our cause, or faith in whatever you serve?"
"What does this babbling have to do with-"

He wouldn't finish the sentence, as he was sent flying by the blow. The missionaries and Sororitas who joined them gasped.
"So..." he chuckled. "This is how a father gets rewarded? Pathetic boy..."
"You are wrong." The Primarch started towards the old man. "This is not how a father gets rewarded." Again, he shifted grip on his weapon. "This is how a traitor, a manipulator, a poisoner, get rewarded."
With another swing, Kor Phaeron's head went flying. It landed near the feet of some legionnaires, who merely stepped on it like any other stone. "You never had faith in the Emperor's cause. You only had faith in elevation. That was my weakness." Lorgar turned around, his gaze locking with Erebus this time around. "Hear this well, Chaplain. The reason the Lectitio Divinatus failed was because it enforced worship. We are not worshippers, we are warriors. And we shall dedicate ourselves to fighting for these people, this Imperium, from the hell that exists."
He rose the Illuminarium again.
"Our faith should not be focused upon the divinity of a man, but on the protection of many men! You have seen what hells exist beyond our realm, what things lurk here. These humans, these preachers, we are here because they cannot fight this war!"
The lead missionary asked again, "This is...! THIS IS INCREDIBLE!! I shall spread this to my church!"
Lorgar smiled at that. "Bear this word well, missionary: The Imperium's faith is upon our duty, not upon our icons!"

Burial at Istvaan III

Istvaan III was the sight of innumerable omens, a place where the first rounds of a betrayal would be fired and echo across eternity. Fulgrim had chosen to visit this place alone. He the only being that stood alive on a world of ghosts. His regal purple robe fluttering in the carrion wind.

He had come to atone, not just for the slaughter of his brothers sons, but that of his own as well. Battle plate still lie on the ground where bones had long turned to dust. He looked forward at the planetary governors' office, from what he had heard this is where his remaining loyal sons had died, betrayed by Lucius at the last moment.

He strode inside, looking down at warriors, honorable ones that both he and his daemonic self knew. Saul Tarvitz, Ancient Rylanor, Soloman Demeter. He knelt down to the slaughtered remains of one of his sons that had remained pure and held it to his chest, the vicious angry sob of a demigod cut through the air. What have I done? His mind begged his soul for answers that would actually make sense. He looked across the ground for some form of tool, anything that could move dirt. He made due with a power axe.

Slowly, he carried the corpses of the remaining loyal Astartes to a patch of soft ground, one by one he dug their graves, placing each legionary in the ground with a gentleness that his giant form seemed incapable of, tears streaming silently from his face. He made no noise, the only sound was of dirt being excavated. Each time he finished burying one he made a makeshift monument, a sword, a helmet, an axe. It didn't matter what it was necessarily its value was far more than its parts. Each had the name of the Astartes laid there and a poem or canticle of their bravery. When he was done only one thought remained. 'I will make this right, even if I can't undo it.'

Fulgrim's Second Warning

"This is... Great Vaul, this is impossible..."
And yet, in the distance of this aging world, there was indeed a giant of a man the Eldar had had since thought lost to the universe, donning a purple robe. "Our orders, lord Farseer?" One of the Seer Council asked the lead Farseer.
"We..." the shock was more than he could take. "We need to retreat further. He will not find us so easily."
They departed soundlessly, but they did not depart unnoticed, as the giant had noticed something.

"Farseer Elsandar, who was that?" One of them asked out of concern as soon as they were out of range.
The Farseer struggled to regain some composure. "That man.. Ages ago, before the ages of Terra's civil wars, my mentor had met with him."
Another one, a woman, concluded, "You mean that he was...."
"Yes," the Farseer mentioned. "He was the man Eldrad Ulthran had tried to warn the Imperium of about the Great Enemy. But...his memoirs mentioned that when he did, the meeting was far too late. This...makes no sense..."
The last of his Seers chided him, "We cannot be lamenting here due to chronological contradictions. You are wasting too much time as it is lamenting the possibility that was wasted ages ago."
Elsandar perked up, "Yes...yes, that would help, Emilri. The last of our charges should be..." He scattered a bit of dirt around to form a crude sort of map. His seer powers then arranged it to form the geographical map needed to detail their objective. "There. Exarch Kathar?"
The Warp Spiders, plus the Exarch, appeared in that instant. "You have need of us?" The Exarch offered.
"I do." He pointed to an open clearing. "Here. We must bury a charge here. Should the Orks land here, as the runes have foretold, this will destroy their largest primitive rok. That will leave them squabbling for far longer and allow us to clear them far more easily."
"Your will be done," He vanished just as swiftly with his students.
Off in the distance, the Farseer kept watch on the Spiders as they jumped to and fro, their course monitored by the Farseer and his Council.

"Be this the place you need it, Farseer?" the Exarch asked.
"Yes. Hide the charge. They will not expect this."
By the time the Warp Spiders finished their job, they heard a faint rustling in the overgrowth. "Someone is here!" one of the Council asked. "We must to cover!" As Elsandar laid low to find his way, he had the worst luck to be had in the history of his race as he ran straight into the giant.
"Hmmm, to find Eldar of all things here..." he noted.
The Farseer was thanking himself that he had kept his faceplate on, for the terror on his face would have been indescribable. If his mentor's memoirs were to be followed, then this would lead to the giant slaying everyone present.
"You...need not be afraid of me," the purple man intoned. "I am not sure what had happened before between our races, but I do not believe that I have any reason to bear a grudge against you."
Before...? The Farseer's mind raced even harder. What does that even mean? How could this man not even know what had taken place if he were the one who caused it? But more terrifyingly, he would be slain by...
Wait, where is the tainted blade? The blade that leaked with the powers of She Who Thirsts, demanding his constant grip?

"I am unarmed," he assured the Eldar with open arms. "I have come here because I have sought a place to gather my thoughts without need to remember what had passed." He had taken a seat as well, presuming the Farseer's silence to be an invitation. "You see, apparently...I had done some reprehensible actions in the past. I had murdered countless many of my own kin, betrayed my brothers, and apparently turned into a daemon. But...I do not remember that."
What?
"I recall being on crusade with my brothers. We were going to target a planet by the name of... I think it was Laer."
Laer.
LAER.
Laer was the origin of that cursed sword.
"But by some sojurn," he continued, "We had found our way to a universe mirroring our own in almost every way, shape and form except for the fact that half of us...turned corrupt."

This was... if he never turned to the Great Enemy here, then...
"You...are not our enemy?"
He gave a bit of a chuckle. "Without cause, at least. A sentiment that I think some of my brothers might needle me for, but considering what I am here for, war is the last thing I wish to partake in at the moment."
"And what....is that goal?"
He cast a glance to the stars. "Atonement."
The Farseer cast an uneasy glance. "There is more then human blood that you spilled on that path to daemonhood."
"Is that so?"
"When a Farseer met you ages ago, you were already tainted. In response to accusations of impurity, you murdered his council and, believing that this would be the only way to stop our deceit, destroyed many of our maiden worlds."
He thought this over. "Well, I would take offense to accusations of being corrupt, but outright murder to silence dissent? How craven." He was reminded of Istvaan, of the many corpses ha had laid to rest there. "But...that is not me. Not anymore. To be perfectly frank, the Eldar Culture is rather...something I would be interested in seeing."

The Farseer paused. It was clear that this was not the same Emperor-child that had blighted the Eldar before. He bore the same face, but...that was all. Instead of a festering rot inside, there was something more...familiar. A preference for something far more than just warfare.

"Perhaps..." he thought, "There is a chance for humanity after all..."

Fulgrim and Manus

Fulgrim wept as he stared up at the writhing, multi-armed foe that slithered towards him. It bore a resemblance in only the smallest of senses; even the eyes seemed foreign as the four armed beast drew forth weapons crackling with violet energy.

"What's the matter?" The creature hissed sibillantly, a too-wide grin stretching its fanged maw. "Doth the mirror show a pale reflection?"

Fulgrim's grip on his blade faltered, and it remained firmly within its sheathe. Fireblade was silent, his strength waning in the face of his hideous alter ego.

This. This was what his perfection had forced him to become. How could it have gone so wrong?

The creature lashed out, its bladed tail whistling mere inches from his face. "So flawed you are," it chuckled, darting forward like a snake. Its swords raised in a quadrad of points, poised to skewer his embellished plate. "So pathetic."

The blades dropped in perfect unison, each seeking a vital point; Fulgrim blinked as all four were smashed aside in a single movement, and the Daemon Primarch was thrown back from the impact.

"Child of the Emperor, Death to his foes."

The gravelly tone rumbled from within a stentorian chest even as a silver hand fell on the eagle-winged pauldron on Fulgrim's shoulder. Firmly gripped in the Iron Hand's gauntlet was the mighty hammer Forgebreaker, still crackling from the fierce impact.

Ferrus smiled tightly. "We face the past together."

Fulgrim regarded his brother fondly, turning to the writhing horror he had been destined to become. The sloth left his body, and he mirrored the iron knight's gesture firmly.

"The flesh is weak," he intoned as he released the other man's armor, tightening his grip on his sword. With a single, fluid motion, he tore the flaming brand from its sheathe, his purpose renewed. "But our brotherhood is iron!"

Together, the sons of the Emperor met the Daemon's charge with a cry of rage upon their lips.

The Khan's Rise in the City

He couldn't believe it.
Rather, he didn't want to believe it.
He, Jaghatai Khan, Primatch of the V Legion of Space Marines, was not only caught by some lucky skyboarders, but he was also now being sold in a slave market like a common dreg.

Needless to say, it was mortifying. Were it someone else, like Robutte, things would have made things far worse. The image of the haughty statesman being in his place made the Khan forget his situation and laugh a little when he noticed the truck he was in stopping.

"Out." The Warrior, Trueborn by the look of his armor, started yanking the slaves by their chain leashes. Unfortunately enough, the Khan was among them. They were led through rather narrow corridors, whipped into line were they to trip even the slightest. More insults were fired by the Dark Eldar as they herded the slaves into the auction market.

"COME AND FEAST YOUR EYES ON THIS, THE TERROR OF THE EDGE!!!" The auctioneer erupted as the Primarch was herded out to the crowd. Eager Archons and barons from hundreds of Kabals had their eyes open. To have such a giant in their halls, being their servant, THEIRS, it stirred them into a frenzy. Treasures from across he galaxy and beyond, slaves of supposedly equal value, fine wines and contracts with Incubi, Haemonculi covens and mercenary clans; all offered just to get this spectacular specimen.
Soon enough, the auctioneer lost count of who offered what and soon the floor descended into an indiscriminate orgy of carnage.

It was then that the Khan's plan sprung into effect.
As the bidders began opening fire, he found one that just got shot to death and found his blade nearby. Using a bit of cunning, he managed to break the chains holding him together. Another Archon died and dropped a rare-looking Splinter Cannon. He hefted the thing and gave it cautionary burst. It was time.

A howl of fury erupted from the Chogorian's throat as he soon jumped into the fray. The venemous blade, though very small for his massive grip, served well as he tore through the ranks. An Incubus tried to cut through him, and instead got fed to an eager Sslyth's gun. A leader of a clan of Scourges tried to take him to the skies to tear him apart, the Scourge ended up wingless the moment the Khan found a way to grab them and cut them off. There was even a coven of Wyches, militants allied to another high-paying Archon, who charged in with bladed weapons and their leader wielding a bladed whip. A dodge to the left had the whip embed itself into a Hellion preparing for takeoff, a duck to the right led to the Wyches attacking a Beastmaster's summoned horde of Razorwings. Their leader, once she got into range, had only scant moments to attack before suddenly getting gutted by the venom blade.

There were few that survived the scouring that took place, but soon the numbers were whittled down, leaving only a small handful of warriors of certain former kabals, all aiming at each other and the Primarch.
"Give yourselves up, whelps," the Khan insisted. "If none of your comrades could beat me, then what hope have you?"
"And pass up the chance of being an Archon? The only chance I have to take down that arrogant bastard Vect?" One warrior had his gun armed. "Only an idiot would pass that up!"
"Stand down, curs!" The Trueborn who herded him in, fortunate enough to survive with mere scratches, ordered the others. "That privilege belongs to me alone."
A Hellion, fresh from killing the last of the Scourges, landed on his two feet, keeping the skyboard on one hand. "I hardly even need the advantage to kill a filthy mon'keigh like you!" The last to make a claim was an Incubus, wordlessly taking claim.
"If any of you honestly want to die quickly, then come on!"
The Incubus, honed since birth to be a killing weapon, made the first swing. The Khan, realizing that his knife would only go so far to stop such a skilled warrior, threw the knife. The Incubus flawlessly spun his Klaive and deflected it to the side, where it hit the dismounted Hellion. He leapt at the Primarch and took a fully-practiced swing, which missed as Jaghatai dove to the side and grabbed a broken Hellglaive from another dead Hellion. This weapon felt more at home to him, as he swing it with practiced ease to halt the Klaive.
"Now you... You, I like!" He complimented the Incubus. The killer did not take note of the compliment as he took another swing and the Khan parried it to the side. The swing's momentum was used as the Incubus spun in place to prepare another swing from another angle. The rising cut came at a dead angle in the Khan's fighting style, managing to open a gash on his arm. Now motivated by the injury, Jaghatai took a risk in thrusting with the glaive. It barely hit, but more importantly, it let the Incubus take the leap he needed to prepare a killing stroke upon the Primarch. "Jackpot," he smirked as he threw his free fist squarely into the Incubus' gut. His fist arced around to the ground and then forced it's way through the Incubus. As soon as he took the fist out, he knew the Eldar was dead.

"Now..."
"W-w-wwwe yield!" The plain Warrior pleaded. The Trueborn had his gun lowered, but he was also showing that he did not wish to battle such a feared foe. As Jaghatai stepped away in order to free what few slaves survived past the carnage, everyone began to hear clapping cutting through the air.

"Well played, Astartes. I must say, you have made this a very riveting affair."
The two Dark Eldar turned to the VIP box, also covered in blood and corpses, to find a lone Archon sitting there, atop a pile of bodies.
"You..!" The Trueborn realized who it was up there, "You're Archon Tahril!"
"A wise soul," Tahril commented. "But you need not fear me. I am...shall we say, no longer within the king's employ."
"But Lord Vect...!"
"Killed only a foolish enough Dracon who stole my other robe." He stood up. "Shows me to leave my wardrobe unattended." Jaghatai aimed the Splinter Cannon at the Archon. "Do lower your gun. It's not like killing me would do you any good."
The Khan sneered, "And why would that be, fiend?"
Tahril leapt down from the balcony to the ground level. "Because I was here to sell my fleet. You see, I had recently come across a much more profitable offer for partnership, so I found that this fleet, while having that personal touch, would only be a paltry fraction compared to the fleet I will soon lay claim to."
"So why bother selling it to begin with?" Jaghatai saw through the Archon's deceit. "This is all clearly a ruse so you can trap them and demolish them at your own pleasure later."
Tahril clapped again. "Clever you. But I do honestly have no desire to keep this fleet. Some of the ships are at the moment too much for a frugal Archon such as myself, and the crew...well, I shall not say." He stepped off, but before he did, he shot a body amongst the scores already there with one hand while casually tossing a ring of keys to the Khan with the other. "Missed one," he commented as he left.

The Archon was actually true to his word, as Jaghatai and the two Dark Eldar he now had to call his flunkies saw three ships in various states of repair. The most usable of these was a Dragonship, shaped more like a giant torpedo than an actual cruiser, with only one sail bearing a mark of the Archon's formal Kabal.
The Trueborn growled, "That bastard set us up! This is one of Vect's ships! He'd be a fool to let a prized ship like this fly free!" "Seriously?" Jaghatai was not quite as nonplussed. He had a plan to fix this.

Before the Trueborn could voice the impracticality of such an act, though, the three found themselves eventually accompanied by more: The Prisoners the Khan liberated. An Eldar, a Craftworld Bonesinger, stepped to the front.

"You...have saved us, human. We are thankful for that, but I wish permission to depart with my kin." Some more Eldar followed behind her. "This city will surely spell our death. We will make for the nearest exit."
"Know your place, prisoner!" The other Dark Eldar spat. "We will not-"
"Go on," the Khan shocked both sides. "I honestly do not need every ship. Besides, the way it is now..." he snickered as he stroked his growing beard. "I could use it for a trick."
The Trueborn applied a palm to his forehead. "I am going to die, aren't I?"

The Dragonship left with little notice and, in the void of the Webway, the Khan had time to inspect the crews of the two ships and the prisoners he freed. All riffraff, either dispossessed warriors or prisoners of war, they would still prove of some use. The humans among the prisoners found their morale tripled upon finding out that their saviour was in fact a Primarch, a son of the God-Emperor. They eagerly took up arms and began learning war and ambush tactics he had perfected during his ten millennia of war in the Webway. The crewmen, being Dark Eldar by majority, could care less about the Khan, but so long as they were able to get pay by a few promises the Trueborn made, they would keep running the ships. Those few that were capable of combat trained alongside the plain Kabalite Warrior, Orafal, while the Trueborn, Iyarsith, kept mainly to managing the fleets.
Within a few months, they had an elite force to accomplish one goal: Securing a Base of Operations for the Khan.

They emerged from the depths of the Webway to enter the fortress of a certain Dark Eldar lord who was within the area at the time.

The plan was simple enough. The ship would go in as it was, their excuse for entry being that they need some supplies and whatnot and, being under orders of Asdrubael Vect, High Lord of Commorragh, they would comply. As the crew distracted the normal security with the mundane details and agreements, the Khan and his clan of loyal warriors would infiltrate past the guards and enter the fortress. From there, they would destroy key components to the facility, ranging from slave pens to gather more troops, to communications arrays to deny them any chance of calling reinforcements, to the quarters of the leader himself, ending with the fortress crippled and the workers sufficiently demoralized and forced to either yield to the Khan or die trying.

"State your name and business," the Fortress opened communications.
Iyarsith took the helm. "I am Iyarsith the Grudgeborn, commander of the Risen Fang. I am here for repairs."
"Go back. We do not recognize you." Well, there is one more part left...
"Then I should inform you," he continued, "That I am here as a representative of the High Lord of Commorragh. To deny me service is to oppose Asdrubael Vect himself!"
"Vect?!" That did the trick. "Crap! Okay, you should have said so first! We'll open the gates!" The line went dead. The Khan, having done some repair work to his armour, though it was far from pristine, came over.
"Good work. Now comes the key part."
The Trueborn was still hesitant. "I still think that this is all stupid, but so long as I get something, then I'm...stuck with you, sir Khan." "Sir Khan," the helms informed them, "They are opening their gates. We had best prepare our plan."
"Alright. Showtime."

A convenient thing about using a ship that once belonged to Vect were the great variety of exits in case anything went to hell quickly. Some had escape pods for his escape, some merely were vacuum decoy exits to fool any boarders. The latter would be the means Jaghatai needed to get in.

"Men," Jaghatai announced at the edge of one of these escape hatches, "Know that regardless of what happens today, you will all be remembered by the Imperium as heroes! You have had the honour of fighting alongside a son of the Emperor, who fought amongst Him in the Crusade!" The crowd ate it up. "Now, we do this! For Chogoris!"
"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!" The crowd howled as they broke out of the hatch and began their rampage.
Their first goal had to be the slave pens. Without a distraction, there would be no chance of doing anything. The Jaghatai of old may have preferred to just charge in and kill everything, but many ages of practiced hunting against a particular foe honed his skills to perfectly. However, that did little to remove the taste he had like a rotten piece of meat, reminding him of Corax.

His men emerged from the left side, their speed almost being equal to that of Orafal's squad of seasoned Dark Eldar raiders that emerged from the opposite end. Both sides made quick work of the first waves of security, leaving them easy access. From there, they split their paths.

From how many guards they killed after splitting, it was becoming clear that the Dark Eldar in this fortress did not really keep a good watch over their slaves. That suited the Khan's tactics just fine. It just meant more of a surprise when they go to the main court.
The slaves that were kept were from hundreds of different species, some human, some Eldar, even an Ork and a Kroot pack. However, all of them were relieved to see someone out to break them free.
The first to break out was the Ork, who simply begged the Khan, "IZ IT TIME FER FOIGHTAN?!" The Khan pointed out the door and the Ork WAAAGH'ed his way out, eager for any sort of revenge. The others, though, stuck around longer to be informed of the Khan's daring attempt at rescue. Those that stayed with the Khan were trained in the use of their captors' weapons. They now had a full army.

The army, now tripled in size, took their next objective of sabotaging the security in stride. With so many prisoners revolting with their own weapons, the Dark Eldar that lived here were caught by utter surprise by seeing such contemptible filth overtaking them.

Meanwhile, the Dark Eldar team was raiding their way through to the prisoner army. The two forces being equally matched forced the raiding party into a difficult situation, as they were unable to spring any attacks without risking any more of the team.
A situation like this was one that needed the Khan to break in. With a few prisoners stationed at the security feeds, the others were free to go ahead.

Jaghatai's arrival could not have come at a worse time, as Orafal's force had been cut down to a quarter of their original size. The ambush of the army overwhelmed the bodyguards.

Afterwards, the Khan took time to lay the troops that joined him to rest. The Dark Eldar leader objected, "Why do you bother remember them? They were the same as the guards."
"Because," the Khan mentioned, "They still risked their lives for the sake of the prisoners. It does not matter if that really was their goal." Orafal did not comprehend the Primarch's sympathy.
"Over there," one of the Kroot that joined his party pointed to the ornate door. "That door holds one of the owner's deadliest monsters." "Unless a daemon is hiding there," he assured them, "there is nothing that will terrify me."

The door was kicked open. All he could say in the circular room was a collection of random relics from a multitude of cultures. Masks, guns, severed hands and swords were all found here. However, that could not possibly be the only thing there...
Orafal noticed, "That smell..."
The others could notice something smelling like blood and wet fur coming from somewhere. The Khan was the first to identify it though.
"Clawed Fiends..."
A prisoner gave an alerting cry, "Sir Khan! There's a monster here!"
The Khan noticed the gigantic rat-like thing approaching him, it's many eyes scanning everything, it's many nostrils flaring.
"Everyone..." he steadily warned the prisoners, "Back away. This monster sees us. All of us." The humans among them did as they were told, while the Kroot pack that was with them, having engorged upon the Dark Eldar they killed and thus gathered some of their genetic traits, soundlessly leapt back.
Jaghatai, though, held his ground. The Fiend was approaching him, and that let the others fall back. "Come, beast. I will find your master one way or another." He swung the Hellglaive he kept from his liberation at the floor, striking the floor. The Clawed Fiend lashed out at him. Anticipating this, the Khan braced for the charge and rammed into the monster, breaking it's momentum and knocking the wind out. He swung with the glaive and struck it on the face with the shaft. He was about to throw another punch when it gathered it's senses enough to smack the fist away.
"Good," he commented. "Means that I will not be entirely bored after all." The beast made another charge, maw-first. The Khan found a grenade there, probably stolen from an Imperial force. He stepped to the left, making the Fiend tumble into another exhibit, housing what looked like a daemonic mask with a large nose. He took the time to grab the grenade. That grenade would find it's mark.
It roared. He was about to toss the grenade at it's mouth when he noticed something else moving in the upper floors.
"There you are..." he sneered. All he needed now was to lock on to that figure. The fiend howled again as it charged. Another dodge led it tumbling into another relic, and the shadow above shuffled again. "So...you treasure all this, eh...?" He took a look at the floor and found the long-nosed mask. The Khan seemed interested in it and, while the Fiend was charging at him, took the mask and placed it upon his face.

"Actually..." he thought about it, "These masks look familiar to the ones I had on my ship..." The mask intimidated the Fiend now, as it kept it's distance from the masked Primarch, afraid of what it might be.

"Now how did that one play go..." he tried to recall from a lifetime over ten thousand years ago. "Ah! Alack!" He got on one leg while guarding himself with the glaive. "Such a cowardly foe could not possibly best me in combat!" A pause. The beast still circled him, but the figure was still. Good. "You send mere lackeys to challenge me, and you call yourself a king?" There was still no movement, and what he could almost identify as grinding teeth. One more push ought to do it. "When I am done with you both, your souls shall to the daemons!"

"YOU DARE?!"
It was just as he needed. The Khan instantly tossed his grenade upstairs at the source of the cry, and the explosion cornered him. "Knew those old things had some use!"
As he raced upstairs, he found near the source of the explosion a Dark Eldar who lost half his face to the explosion. Apparently the grenade had plasma in it. Lucky him.
"So...," Jaghatai removed the mask, "I have need of your facility and your ships. Mind if I take them?" A wretching as he tried to grab something. The Khan found the weapon, a Huskblade, and placed it before the Eldar. "Was this it?" Before he could say any more though, he found that the air behind him was humid. "Oh." He remembered. "Yet to kill you. Right."
One deft flip of the blade and he then stabbed into the Fiend. Within moments, the gigantic thing shriveled up into a flimsy-looking corpse. All forms of moisture were drained from it.
"Thanks for lending me the blade. Now... About this place..." The Dark Eldar, still struggling, weakly pointed above. The Khan turned again, expecting more gigantic monsters to kill, maybe in the vein of a Squiggoth or a Haemonculus' monstrous Grotesque. Instead, all he found were a flock of Scourges, all armed with Shardcarbines, except for their leader, who held a Darklance in his hands. "More minions? Have you really no honour?"
"You mistake us," their leader corrected him. The Scoruges lowered their arms as they saw the dead body. "I was about to kill him too. He never paid me for his last mission. Hearing that a ship belonging to Vect was coming by, I was hoping it would distract him long enough for us to kill him."
"So what now?" the Khan asked. "You challenge me now for his head? Because you can have it. I just want his fortress." The Scourges looked again at the scene Jaghatai Khan carved.
"No. He is dead, now his money is forfeit." The leader glided down to the gallery below and grabbed a few of the former Archon's trophies. "This pay shall be sufficient. We know where his vaults are."

The Scourges left soon enough with their money and trophies, leaving the Khan with a few relics and his freed slaves. He went to one of the security feeds and sent a thumbs-up to them. Within moments, Iyarsil met with the Khan and his victorious army.

"We actually did it," the Trueborn was in disbelief. "We actually killed an Archon and looted his entire fortress for our own."
"That we did," The Khan responded.
"So what now?" the Dark Eldar asked, "You kill us both because our usefulness has run out?"
"Hardly," the Primarch donned the mask again, "Now the tale of a new lord begins here!" He considered the idea a little. "Now, a name... Ah yes, Lord Tengu! Archon of the Kabal of the Scarred White! The one who conquered the Terror Of the Edge!"
Iyarsith was about to leave, hoping to find elsewhere to be employed when the Khan halted him, "Iyarsith! You may doubt me, but that is in itself a quality I will need in the coming days. See, I want you to be my face."
"What?" The offer left him unsettled. "Why would you need a face if you already own one?"
"No, no, I would be seen too easily," Jaghatai displayed his gear. "I am still a Primarch, and nothing I can do can alter that. But you, you are a respected member of their society. You can go to the public, secure the deals I need. I owe you a debt of gratitude for what you have done, and now I seek to make you and Orafal partners."
The Trueborn shook his head in shame. "I...have no clue why I haven't killed you yet, human. But the offer of power, the ability to make a change in this place...I want it more than I should want to. I must be an idiot to be doing this..."
The Kabalite Militant stood at arms. "What is our next move, Great Khan?"
"Orafal," Jaghatai commanded the lesser Dark Eldar, "You are going to be my militant commander."

--SOME TIME LATER--

The Raider was full of Astartes, all prisoners taken from a recent raid. As the driver was about to turn, he was struck down and his ride totaled by a rush of Reavers, as a giant of a man landed among the Marines, his red mask displaying a long nose and pointed fangs. His mantle flared behind him and a lance that looked like a nightmarish torture tool was at his side.

"At ease, my sons," the warrior calmed the Astartes. "I am here to guide you back to the battlefield!" The Astartes, all donning white armour, were elated at the sound. "It is time we returned to the Emperor's service." "FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR THE KHAN!! FOR CHOGORIS!!!"

Son of Jagatai

The Astarte walked, draped in chains, through the webway. They'd lead him and the others out of the slave markets of Commoragh hours ago, leading them down. Down through Low Commorragh, with its fight pits for those too poor to see the Wyches. Down past the haemonculi and their theatres of screams. Down where not even the mandrakes went. Down into the twisting tunnels of the webway.

All of this, Battle Brother Yugong Taibing, 3rd Company, White Scars, watched go by in growing resignation. Nothing good came of these Commoraghites and he was now certain that his fate was something so abhorrent that even these foul creatures did not wish it in their city. His eyes moved slowly across the other prisoners. Xenos, but also a surprising number of humans. He noticed that she was there too. She'd been on the planet. His memory cleared. Was she a sororitas? Yes. He had gone to try to support her squad... when... ah... they'd been captured. He supposed she must be dishonoured, too, but for him it was different. He was an Astartes. The God Emperor had chosen him to serve Him and His Primarch against all that would harm the Imperium. He was made better, to be a shield for the weak and to be a sword against the Xenos. And then they'd come, used some vile compound, and carried him away as easily as if he'd been a child. For a moment, when they'd bought him at the slave market, he'd felt a surge of hope. Perhaps they'd take him to the arena. At least that way, he could die on his feet. But no, whatever awaited him, he was sure it had no honor. But the humans, he realized weren't worried about their honor. No, the humans must be... afraid. But the sororitas and some of the others who noticed him seemed somehow comforted, that even here, an Angel of the Emperor watched over them. That made Yugong feel even worse. Still, he straightened and fixed his gaze ahead. And hid his despair when he saw what was ahead. The vaults of the webway narrowed and blocking the path were some strange witch-eldar. He could hear strange instruments droning and smelled the scents of incense and musk. They never quite stopped moving and wore outfits of iridescent material woven in dizzying patterns. All wore masks which seemed to change as their aspect did. Yugong uneasily noted that the guards who had taken them from Commoragh seemed uncomfortable around these witch-eldar. Something nagged at the back of his memory. Something about these Dark Eldar and Slaneesh... didn't they worship him? Were these the priests? Were he and the rest to be sacrificed to Slaneesh? If it hadn't been for the others, he'd have vented his fury in a roar, but he didn't want them to worry. His fears seemed confirmed when the dancers nodded to the Commoraghites, who left as quickly as they could, leaving these masked ones to lead them on. From there everything passed in a blur. The webway grew narrow and twisted. There were strange rooms with unreadable texts scrawled across them in some frenetic calligraphy. Others had murals depicting mighty witches and what could only be Slaneesh casting down their foes. He pretended he didn't notice. It appeared so suddenly that he at first thought it a waking dream. It was a massive castle in the webway. Towers thousands of feet high with windows that blazed with witchfire. Strange pale beings, dozens of feet tall stood guard. Their eyeless faces still carried the weight of a ceaseless gaze. Behind them were soaring doors covered with eyes. They were led inside.

The inner hall was equally immense, hundreds of statues watched them from niches. They led him away first, he tried turning, to tell them he'd be back, but the collar prevented it. The best he could manage was to walk with dignity to what he was sure was the priest's knife. He'd rip as many of them in half as he could first. He prepared his death song, gained as much slack in the chains as he could. He figured he could break them if he could pound them on an edge. He was led into a massive feasting hall. It didn't seem quite right. There were rows of cloaked figures, too large to be Eldar, though there were plenty of them, as well. The decor, too, seemed off. It was somehow familiar. And in the center of the room, before a blazing fire, was truly enormous figure in a cloak. It seemed most familiar of all. He was sure it was warp-magic, but he found his head filled with memories that he had though he no longer had, of his childhood on Mundus Planus. This figure reminded him of his father. He tensed as the figure turned. The face. It was smiling. "Don't you recognize me, my son?" it laughed. "Don't you know that you are welcome in my halls? Remove your chains and join your brothers!" There was raucous laughter as the sons of Jagatai threw off their hoods and welcomed their new found brother into their midst.

It was weeks later, Yugong stood at the prow of a Raider, his armour painted a sable and was adorned in the savage elegance of the Dark Eldar. He looked behind him, smiled as he saw that Sororitas, clad in borrowed Dark Eldar armor. On other raiders, his battle brothers looked towards the battle. Today they were to eliminate an Inquisitor who had fallen to chaos, taking his retinue and private domain with him. Yugong would still have to get used to the idea of calling these Eldar fellow warriors, but he'd get there. He trusted Jagatai and he trusted his mission. How had Jagatai phrased it? Ah yes, the free hand of the Emperor, to strike from darkness and defend the Imperium while it slept.

The Deathwatch meets the Son of Thunder

The situation was a life-threatening debacle, but after serving in the Deathwatch for a few decades, it becomes more routine.

Tyranids were infesting the capital world of the Andamiss system and the rest of the Hive Fleet was threatening to devour the rest unless something could be done now.
It was a good move, then, that they assigned Watch Captain Tassalar of the Novamarines, a warrior who had fought off Hive Fleet Leviathan alongside his parent chapter, the task of delaying them by any means.

Alongside him on this dangerous mission was his Kill-Team, Oratos, consisting of:

• Sanguinary Priest Nielen of the Blood Angels, who had, with the help of a score of other Apothecaries of a dozen other chapters, devised a poison to take down the Hive Fleet
• Armel of the Disciples of Caliban's Ravenwing, who was originally ordered by his Chapter to keep watch for something, but had since kept him there until further notice.
• Taikei, Techmarine of the White Scars, who had made surprisingly good friends with Armel after an emergency bike-repair.
• Valk, a Rune Priest and pugilist all the same, who wanted only to fight worthy foes.
• Carth, self-proclaimed weapons-master of the Crimson Fists, adept at any gun he could lift.

The Thunderhawk dropped the team off in the air, forcing the squad to make a crash-landing. It was Taikei and Armel, riding an Attack Bike with a Plasma Gun, who made first contact on a Warrior, flattening it and killing the nearby swarm. Next was Captain Tassalar on his jump pack, swinging his Power Sword and clearing a swath of the xenos.
"Alright team!" the Captain barked, "We need to make it to that tower there!" He pointed to the Capillary Tower in the distance. "Taikei, Armel, take point! I want reports on any key Synapse Creatures! The bigger, the better! Valk! Keep your powers on supporting us! Carth, Keep your bolter level!"
"Aye aye!" Carth chortled as he opened a hail of death with his Heavy Bolter.

The White Scar and Ravenwing Veteran began their wild ride on top of the corpses of dead gaunts, opening fire on anything that they could find. One Tervigon was taken down by a surprise assault by the two, and soon they had a good vantage point. But even that did not prepare them for what they would see.

"Techmarine, do you see...someone riding a Carnifex?" Armel could not believe it. Taikei was speechless.
"Captain, we have a point secured and...there's someone on top of a Carnifex."
The Captain voxed back, "What? That would be-"
"I am seeing him right now," Taikei opened up, "And he is riding that Carnifex like a common Grox. And I know. People on Chogoris have done this since the times of the Khan."
Captain Tassalar was incredulous. "I... Agh, I do not believe this. Nielen, go investigate!"

"You see it too, right?" Now the two bikers and the Sanguinary Priest were witness to the Carnifex-rider now riding the bucking monstrosity charging like a bull through the swarm, slamming full force into one of the Tyrannofexes.
"Well I'll be." The Sanguinary Priest opened his vox, "They are not seeing things. Unless I am seeing things too, there is a man on top of that Carnifex, and he is riding it towards a Tyrannofex."
Another exasperated sigh. "Alright, now I am convinced. We are en route."

By the time the Novamarine, the Crimson Fist and the Wolf made it, the Carnifex was docile again as the gaunts finished feeding on the dead Tyrannofex. "What in the twelve clans of Fenris is this madness?"
Tassalar looked at the bikers. "I have been proven wrong. This does not happen often."
"What should we do, Captain?" Carth asked.
"Our orders still stand," the Disciple of Caliban insisted. "We deliver the toxins."
"I agree," the Captain advised. "I am leaving it to you two. Nielen?"
"Right" The two got the vials and began speeding off.

So the bike began speeding off, firing upon any and every thing that dared cross their path with either bolts of fury or plasma doom. Warriors, Gaunts, Biovores, even a Genestealer Broodlord, all of them were gunned. As they reached the Reclamation pools, they found themselves under fire from the Hive Guards, who fired their Impaler Cannons upon the bike and one hit even punctured Taikei in the shoulder. Fortunately, though, they were able to fell one of the fiends and make it to the reclamation pools to deliver the poisons.

However, they were down to their last vial when they found themselves beset by the last thing any of them wanted to see: A Flying Hive Tyrant. It swooped to and fro, heckling the bikers on their delivery mission, occasionally opening fire with the twin-linked devourers.
"Damn, I cannot even get a bead on the blight!"
"And his air raids are making it impossible for me to operate!" A swerve managed to get the Tyrant to miss, but it also led them straight to a Venomthrope's suffocating toxic miasma. Armel gunned it again and boosted his way out of the way and found themselves colliding with another Carnifex. Armel tried to start the bike again, but the damage was too severe.
"Of all the times to break down...!" Taikei grabbed his power axe. "We will not abandon this to them."
Armel shared the sentiment and grabbed a flamer. "Not without a fight." He ignited the horde, giving cover to the Techmarine as he repaired the bike to the best of his abilities, but the beasts were growing bold. It was only a matter of time before the flamer became next-to-useless on them.
However, just before the horde swelled once more, it backed away. Fearing the Tyrant's arrival, the two spun about face to find instead the mounted Carnifex. "Ohhhh, what now?" Armel edged to Takiei.
"Allow me." Taikei raised his power axe to rider. "Hail, noble rider! Your mounting skills impress me!"

Silence.

"I will hold you responsible if he sics that on me."

The two were tense again when the rider spoke.
"I know why you are here. You seek to destroy this hungering mass." A rapping of knuckles lowered the beast's head. "It seems to be a trend that has not stopped since ages past."
"And for a reason." Armel lowered his flamer. "These things would devour the system if they were not opposed."
The rider took a step forward. It became increasingly more obvious that this man was more than some Astartes. Not even an Ogryn could grow this tall.
"So you seek oblivion instead?" The titan finally met ground. The two were now alarmed at how lightly armored he was. He bared his chest and his head to the monsters and wore only a simple robe. Marks of multiple hues and multiple patterns raced across his skin, looking like they were made in any sort of media, be they splotches or intricate webbing. "You believe that you have any more right to this world than they do?"
"This world does belong to the Imperium." Taikei leveled his axe at the titan.
"It will not stay so. All things change, no possession eternal." He then drew from behind him an axe that looked more like a mere stick with a Hive Tyrant's Scything Talons ripped off and tied to it. "This once belonged to a king of this species. I saved his life once when he broke his leg. His kin then showed me gratitude. They are more than things to kill."
Armel raised his flamer. "That...sounds like Heresy to me."
The titan scoffed. "It only makes sense you were raised by him as a role model." He took a step forward. "All he saw in the life beyond Terra was filth to be cleansed. What he could not exploit to his ends, he would turn to a flaming ruin for the mere sin of defiance."
"The Emperor is all."
"No. He is not." He began walking past them. "And no matter how many times I must repeat that, I will find none of you who will listen."

The two were content with just letting the stranger leave as they finished repairing the bike when the Captain opened vox. "Bring. Him. In."
It seemed that there was something far more than heresy that he was guilty of. Ironically enough, the Ravenwing rider, whose job was to explicitly find heretics and traitors to his chapter, could not figure out why.

"Get in!" Taikei cued him to switch spots, now operating as the driver. The two sped up in an instant to catch the giant again.
"What would you know about coexisting with xenos?" Taikei tried to catch his attention.
"More than any of your ilk would ever bother trying."
Armel cut in. "And who are you to claim that?"
The giant stopped. "So he's gone that far, huh? My very existence erased from history because I do not conform to his perfect plan?"

The Sanguinary Priest then landed beside them from jump-pack.
"What was it that- Oh... No, that would mean..."
"What?" The bikers turned to the new arrival.
"He looks... No, he is the size of a Primarch, but..." He was lost in thought.
"A Primarch? Are you insane?"
The giant silenced them all, "Primarch I once was called. Not anymore. That title belongs to murderers."

Everyone dropped their arms in dumbstruck awe.
"Tha-wha-this..." Armel was first to recover "No. No! That is a horrible joke. Now the truth!"
He walked again. This time Nielen began tailing the giant.
"Forgive my brother, he is a very upfront-"
"I have told the truth, and he did not listen."
"The truth?" Nielen asked. "No, there is more to this. Something that nobody is mentioning..."
Armel spat out, "He's a heretic! He consorts with xenos!"
"A Primarch? Consorting with Xenos? Why?"
"They have the same inheritance of this universe that we do. They belong here just as much as you do, and if he still fails to understand that, then leave me." The Priest began piecing something together.
"He? Who is He?"

The painted face of the giant grew a smile. "You seem to be the smart one among your kin. Figure it out."

Nielen kept his pace while thinking before halted in abject horror.
"That....By the Emperor, that.... No... You really are a Primarch. You mean the Emperor?" He stopped. "The Emperor banned Xenos interactions and in doing that, or perhaps before that, he had to remove your legion."
He turned around. It seemed that the Sanguinary Priest was right after all. "That legion was hardly mine. My people, they traverse the stars without need to murder everything for the sin of being different."
The Priest argued, "But the reason we are fighting the xenos is because they would destroy us otherwise. These things, they do not know anything other than ravenous hunger. How are we to stop that? Should we seek to instead befriend every race, even if they do try to destroy us?"
"I am not idealistic enough to believe that. But what I do believe is that there is a way to coexist without war."

Before he could even respond to that, though, Nielen's vox opened. "Nielen!" The Captain called. "An Inquisitorial shuttle will be here soon. Keep him there at all costs!"
"It will be done." He turned around to the giant.
"So, they seek to make me account for my sins?"
The Priest would have said yes. That was the obvious response after all. But after hearing this story, one that supposedly lasted far before Heresy was even a word, he hesitated. "I...I hesitate to that. I have no clue who you would be accountable to, short of Him on Terra, but even then, how am I to call that?"
The giant placed his hand on the Astartes' shoulder. "Do not think of what he or his fiefdom demand. What is your belief?"
"I..." He thought this over. "I do not believe I have the faculties to judge you for Heresy. Let someone else solve that."
The giant looked at his Tyranid mount. "I suppose this is the end, then."
Valk had arrived just as he began to speak in some bizarre language of growls and hums, mixed with words that had to be from some language.
"Wait..." he was perturbed, "Is he...talking to that thing? AND IT'S LISTENING?!"
"Wait, that was a language?"
The Carnifex left as the giant began walking with then. "Now I go along with your laws."
Nielen was surprised. "What? Why?"
"Because if someone like you exists, someone who knows more than just murdering in the name of a god that is not, then there is hope yet."
"God that is not?" Valk caught on to the insult. "You dare-" Nielen cut him off with a swift hand.
"Don't. This is the closest we have gotten to getting him to cooperate. I can only hope the Captain can do the same."

The Kill-Team reunited at the top of the hill, Tassalar and Carth reloading their rounds in the midst while Taikei and Armel rode in on their now-repaired attack bike.
"By the Golden Throne..." Uttered the Captain. "What is he?"
The giant intoned, "Someone whom history now sees fit to remember."
"What does that even mean?"
Nielen whispered over the vox, "There is too much here even I cannot make sure of."
The Captain followed along. "Did Valk scan him?"
"He is just as surprised as the rest of us are."
Valk jumped in on the vox, "He is more than a man. Far more than any I have met. For one thing, when he was talking to that Carnifex, I could sense something melding their spirits together. He has to be some sort of psyker, but not strong enough to get noticed by any means."
"A Psyker? Amongst Tyranids?"
"I can't make heads or tails of this either, Captain."
Before an argument could arise over the giant's possible status as a psyker, the Inquisitorial shuttle arrived and the Kill-Team, plus one, filed in.

"So," a voice welcomed them in. "You must be the team that was stationed on Andamiss Primaris?"
"Watch Captain Eiric Tassalar of the Novamarines," the Captaine bowed. "My kill-team is ready to do your bidding."
"And this one?"
"We..." he tried to remain formal while voicing his uncertainty. "We have no clue what he is. We wish to leave that judgment up to you, lord Inquisitor."
A man stepped in, wearing a black robe and several ornate medals among which was his Rosette. "What he is..." He began, "is the key I needed."
"What?"
"That man," He pointed to the giant. "He can talk to them. He can pacify the Tyranids! How does that even happen in this universe?"
"Wait..." the Captain noticed something suspicious. "Who are you?"
"Inquisitor Carrol Accipitus, Ordo Xenos. Your Lord Inquisitor had sent me to retrieve you."
The Captain rose and pointed his Plasma Pistol at the man. "Lord Inquisitor Demator may be an Almathian, but there is no way he is a Xenos Heretic."
"Because he isn't." The Inquisitor raised his hand, revealing a rosarius on his person. "Now, may I continue?"
The giant stepped in. "What is your plan then?"
Accipitus continued, "You must tell me how you managed to pacify those Tyranids. How did you make yourself invisible to the Hive Mind?"
"Invisible, I am not." He sat cross-legged on the floor. "But what I am is a friendly hand to those that need it, no matter their species or creed."
"Altruism? You're telling me that your power is altruism? That's absurd! Insane!"
"More than that." Everyone seemed to hinge upon the giant's words. "I am the link of nature between all forms of nature. Where your ilk seek to kill everything for obstructing a fabricated manifest destiny, I seek to build a bond between what exists."
"We believe he is a psyker," Tassalar gritted his teeth. "Not that this would make sense with the Shadow in the Warp cast over this world."
"A telepath?" Accipitus surmised.
"More. I am a kinsmen"
"Kinsman?" Valk cocked an eyebrow. "The feth does that mean?"
The giant told the radical Inquisitor, "Go to the world Ka'Savva. There is someone there that will explain this."
"Ka'Savva?" Inquisitor Accipitus balked, "But that's Tau territory! There is not a chance that I-"
"They will listen to me."

The shuttle eventually it made it's destination on the Inquisitor's personal cruiser. Once there, the ship began a Warp Jump to the planet mentioned.

As the ship was about to enter the system Ka'Savva was in, they heard a transmission.
"ATTENTION GUE'LA VESSEL. YOU ARE INTRUDING UPON THE TAU EMPIRE'S TERRITORY. TURN BACK NOW OR FACE RETRIBUTION."
The Inquisitor was about to make some response when the Giant stepped in. "I wish to speak with Shas'El Kel'Mio. I wish to make a point to these Imperials."
The line was quiet for a while when another voice came on. "The Thunder-Bearer? You live still?"
"It is good to see you too."
"Very well," the line went. "I will be on the shuttle to meet you. You may bring only two guests with you." It ended.
"Well, I can't believe it," Accipitus paled. "He has Tau friends."
Captain Tassalar, still trying to piece together what had happened, stepped forward. "I will not let you leave so easily."
The giant turned to face him, the Captain suddenly realizing the shadow cast over him. "I am not afraid of others because they are not human. That would be you."

The three went to the landing bay when the Tau shuttle landed. Emerging from there was a retinue of Fire Warriors and a much older Tau, wearing what looked to be some Imperial armour mixed among native Tau armour. The giant met the Tau and the two grasped hands.
"I am glad to see you still alive, Chief."
"I share the sentiment, Wind-Stalker."
The Captain and the Inquisitor were both alarmed by the familiarity, which neither of them had seen before in their lives.
"So how does this..." The Captain tried to motion, "relate to being able to control Tyranids?"
"That is a tale," The Tau answered, "that I still have a hard time believing."
The Inquisitor was still rather incredulous at such a sight. "So what, is he responsible for bringing the Kroot to your side?"
"I have met with Kroot," The giant mentioned, "But I am not responsible for their alliance."

The truth was, as the Alien Hunters began to learn, was that the giant was actually a vital part of how the Tau were able to expand post-Damocles Crusade, a note that made Captain Tassalar rather relieved that he kept Taikei, a veteran from the Damocles Gulf, out of sight. The Tau leader was leading a force of warriors on a planet when they found a very unruly species. However, as they were about to wage war, the giant had arrived and, in a shocking move, forge a treaty between the two races as the intermediary. The Ethereal Caste had caught wind of this and, hoping that this would eventually lead to a Tau-Imperial Alliance of some sort, began singling out open-minded Tau of every Caste into small sectors like Ka'Savva, where they would learn the diplomatic techniques their giant friend employed. While they had been able to only discover only part of his skills, there was more to his power that the Tau could not figure out thanks to their naturally weak link to the Warp. With only a tenuous hypothesis that his powers were possibly psychic, the giant decided to figure this out by the most dangerous means possible: Entering a Tyranid warzone. Him returning meant that somehow the power he held was not entirely psychic. Accipitus had to take a seat just to comprehend this, while the Captain, knowing no fear, could only stand rigid, but equally dumbstruck.

"So," the Tau asked, "How does that theory hold?"
"According to the black armored ones, there seems to be a possibility that it is indeed true."
"But..Psykers..." the Inquisitor tried to reason, "Shadow in the Warp...!"
"What is that, exactly...?" The two foreigners asked.
Before the Inquisitor could blow a fuse over the matter, the Captain stepped in, "The Tyranid Hive has this...trait that makes them not only resistant to any psychic abilities applied to it, but also grants this ability to snuff out the warp energies where they sense it. By what you are mentioning, that seems not to be the case...entirely."
The giant thought this over. "Perhaps. The results I garnered were not entirely what I expected would happen. I learned little else about them besides their hunger, and I do remember a sort of a headache upon meeting their king. Whenever he or the large-skulled ones left, it usually went away." He then added in, "Usually, I have been able to at least be seen as a kinsman to them, but if that is the case, then that would explain why they did so little with me."

The Inquisitor then asked a very obvious question, "And...all this time, you've never bothered to ask an Eldar?"
"Eldar are..." Shas'El Kel'Mio tried to answer, "very difficult to work with. We have tried before to communicate with a Craftworld long ago, but it failed. According to the Thunder-Bearer's story, that does not seem to be a rare occurrence."
"The last Eldar I had met to follow this lead were ones hailing from a 'Dark City'." The giant raised a rather large sword, but both of the Imperials noticed: It was a Klaive, trademark weapon of the Incubui of Commorragh. "They too sought only to kill, and for that they paid a grave price."
"So...what now?" the Captain had no clue. "We know you can pacify all sorts of xenos with some psychic power. So what do we do with that?"
Before the Shas'El could answer, though, the ship rocked. "CAPTAIN!" Taikei shouted over the vox. "We are being ambushed by Eldar Corsairs! Five, no six vessels! We need air support!"
"Scramble-" The Tau marched back to their ship and began takeoff. In the meantime, the Imperials and the giant ran back to the main bridge to asses their options. Another rocking, and the Inquisitor was nearly flung to the wall before the giant grabbed his hand and threw him in.
"Commander?"
"Scramble what support we have. The Tau are willing to truce with us for the time being." The Captain finished. "Keep an eye on them, but do not fire unless provoked."
"Understood," The Techmarine's contempt was barely disguised.

The battle was under way after the Tau returned with proper gunships. Their firepower proved to be a handy boon to the lone cruiser and what few fighters were docked, but the Eldar crafts were too agile to get a tack.

The battle turned for the worse when the Corsairs disabled the Tau craft. Without any reliable form of defense, it left the Imperials perfectly vulnerable to assault by the Corsairs.

When they began the boarding actions, the giant stepped forward to meet the Eldar. After a few tense moments of waiting, the Eldar finally broke through and were halted by the behemoth.

Their leader choked out, "W-what sort of..."
"I am going to ask that you leave." He demanded. "Now"
"Who are you to-" The giant grabbed his face. "What the..."
The two were still, and their forces kept all arms level.
"Now you will listen to me. Leave. We will not bother you."
"I..." The Corsair was helpless. "I am going to die..."
"No." He slowly removed his hand. "I only wish to depart with my allies in peace."
"But...why with Mon'keigh?"
"Because..." He looked to the Deathwatch Kill-Team. They were armed, but the Captain and Sanguinary Priest caught on soon enough to lower their weapons. "Like it or not, they are my kinsmen as well."
The Corsairs wordlessly departed to their ship, much to the awe of everyone present.

As they began repairs on the cruiser, they found a transmission for the giant: "I have heard of you before, Son of Thunder, but I did not believe that you were here of all places. Know that we of the Calbiath clan give you our respect. Perhaps you might be what our kind needed long ago."

Inquisitor Accipitus asked as he collapsed on his seat, "What do we even call you? What you have done here today... It just might be the breakthrough we need in our struggles against so many of our enemies. So many of them that could possibly be reasoned with because of your power!"
The giant looked out into the expanse.
"Taimak. And if you wish for my help, then I wish to meet with him."
Nielen asked, "To...to Terra?"

Corax and Shrike

>Deliverance, The RavenSpire

Corax stood behind his desk, gazing out the transparent bulkhead that served as a window. The Forge world of Kiavahr filled the space before him. Deliverance was on the night-side of the planet, and Corax could see the spiderwebbed traceries of the forges and habs spread out across the surface. He tried to match the layouts he saw with his memories of how the planet had looked in his time. His attention wandered for a moment, and his eyes focussed on the surface of the window... and the Space Marine reflected in it. Corax rotated on the balls of his feet, turning the face the silent astartes. The Marine's armour was pitted with bullet-holes and marks that seemed to have come from axes, but Corax could make out the insignia of a Captain. The Marine noticed Corax' eyes searching his plate, and spoke:
"The biggest Waaagh the Segmentum has ever seen is heading towards Deliverance. The entire chapter is engaged in operations to slow or divert it, but I had to come and see you myself."
Corax seethed at the thought that Orks could now threaten the worlds of his, or any, Legion, but his attention was drawn back to the present as the Captain removed his helmet. Pushing dark hair out of his eyes, the space marine saluted, and spoke again,
"Kayvaan Shrike. When Orks have nightmares, mine is the face they see."

Corax strode down the narrow corridors of the Ravenspire, his long stride threatening to overtake Shrike. As they walked, Shrike was prising off pieces of his armour, which he would hand to various serfs that they met on their way. "Where are we going?"
Corax' voice was soft, the marine seemed highly strung, as though he would lash out at the slightest provocation. "Refectory; I'm starving. Not eaten anything more nutritious than rations for months."
The marine halted suddenly, nearly causing Corax to walk into him. In front of them was a serf, holding a cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand and nervously fiddling with the hem of his robe.
"Vincente, wasn't it?"
The serf nodded jerkily, and held the bundle out to Shrike.
"Yes milord. My wife made these for you after our daughter recovered."
Shrike took the bundle and delicately unwrapped it. There were three small bread rolls in the center of the cloth. The scent of fresh bread tripped a switch in Corax' brain and his mouth watered, reminding him that he himself had not eaten for days.
"Give your wife my thanks," said Shrike "this is just what I needed."
Beaming, the serf nodded and strode away. Shrike waited until he was out of sight, and then stuffed one of the rolls, whole, into his mouth.
"Mhff"
The marine's eyelids fluttered with delight as he chewed and the two resumed walking.

Corax waited until the marine had swallowed before raising a questioning brow.
"His daughter had just given birth when I arrived here." The marine explained, struggling with one of his gauntlets, which appeared to have seized up, "They couldn't stop the bleeding, and the surgeon was on the other side of the spire. I lent a hand." Shrike held up his freed hand, dried blood was caked under his fingernails.
"Some basic sutures were all it needed, I've sewn my own face up so many times, I could do it in freefall."
Corax' mind withdrew as he pondered this. It was refreshing to see that not everything had changed since his time. His Raven Guard were still the same. Shrike tapped him on the arm, bringing Corax' full attention back to him.
"Hold this"
The marine held out the, to Corax, tiny bundle of bread, as he attempted to reach the seal for his gorget. Taking the bundle, Corax watched as the Captain detached first the power plant of his armour, and then unfastened the seals of his chestplate. Corax wrinkled his nose with distaste at the wash of foul-smelling air that rushed out of the marine's opened armour. As the marine stretched, groaning as the vertebrae on his back clunked, Corax found his voice: "Why are you here?"
The marine squinted at him for a second and then spoke
"Why am I here? I am here because, just as Abbadon's headbutted his way through the Cadian gate, Octarius has turned into Fabius Bile's wet dream and the Orks are battering down our doors, our prayers seemed to have been answered, with interest, and the Primarchs have returned out of legend. I am here to see if you are actually here, and the whole situation isn't because an Ork's finally got lucky and planted his axe in my head and you're not my oxygen-starved brain misfiring."

Corax was amused
"Do I pass muster, then?"
Shrike seemed to deflate, as though his rant had taken all the air out of him.
"Yeah. You seem real enough."
Corax attempted to change the subject:
"Will we be returning to the front?"
"I will be, you are staying here. We need to seek help from the other Chapters, and you're our best asset on that front"
Corax bristled:
"Who are you to order me?" He glanced at the marine's rank insignia
"3rd Company Captain? Where is the Chapter Master, or the 1st captain?"
Shrike glowered up at Corax
"No-one's seen flesh nor feather of the Chapter Master since before I was born, and the 1st captain got stepped on by a gargant, he's dead."
Before Corax could reply, Shrike went on,
"2nd Captain, Solari, has been MIA for nearly 2 months, so the Orks are probably drinking out of his skull by now."
Corax stared, this was bad "I am now the highest ranking member of the Raven Guard left, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to do."
Shrike fell silent, Corax drew himself up to his full height and spoke with an authority that came easily:
"It sounds as though we have our work cut for us then."
Shrike looked up warily as Corax continued "Meet me in the armour bay in 30 minutes, I need to see if any of my equipment is still around."

As he left the refectory with a bellyful of grox and water that didn't taste of cordite, Shrike mentally tried to inventory whatever scraps of the primarch's equipment remained to the Raven Guard. His conclusion was depressing: the majority of Corax' armour had been on the captain of the 1st company, and, judging by what Shrike had seen the Apothecaries scrape out of the crater, wouldn't armour a rat. The best (in Shrike's opinion) pieces were the talons and flight pack, which were his.
"At least" Shrike thought, quickening his stride: "it had been, when I gave it to the serfs to take to the armour bay."
He entered the armour bay nearly at a run, images of the primarch clutching mangled serfs flashing through his mind. The truth was somewhat more low-key, Corax was adding the finishing touches to a heavy bolter, which appeared to have had a stock and grip fitted. Shrike arched a brow at the sight of the massive weapon as Corax looked up at the captain.
"Compensating much?"
Corax gave a thin glare, before rising from the crouch he had been in, and speaking:
"The servitors tell me much of my equipment has been spread about the command."
Shrike nodded:
"That is correct, what's your poi-"
"Except for my talons and flight pack, which are in the possession of one Kayvaan Shrike." Interrupted Corax, glancing pointedly at Shrike's repaired and repainted armour, which hung on a wall rack, flight pack and talons nearby.
"Wha-What do you need those for, you've got that Big Fucking Gun!" Complained Shrike, struggling to keep the whine out of his voice. He rallied and continued: "Besides, it's all been resized to fit me now, by the time you get it fitted, the Orks'd be breaking down the door."
"Very well," replied Corax, haughtily, "is there anything that would fit me?" Shrike cast his eyes about the room, finally settling on an empty dreadnought shell. He pointed:
"That might, if you put a head-hole in it."
If looks could kill, the Captain would be a smear.

"I should have you shot."
"Good luck getting anyone to do that", remarked Shrike, checking his plasma pistol was secured properly.
"Half the men on this ship have never heard of you, they all know who I am."
Satisfied with his equipment: Shrike stood up and raised his voice;
"Right, you all know the plan, but incase any of you blockheads weren't listening, one more time:" He nodded at the techmarine standing by the projector in the center of the cramped drop-pod bay, who switched in on:
"The High-Value Target , an Ork warlord, who calls himself "Bird-Breaka", is holed up in this factory. We're going in through the ceiling, hence the drop-pods. We kill the warlord, we kill his guards, we kill his pet squigs, I don't care preferably in a messy fashion as possible, then the battle-barge will teleport us back aboard. This is a terror mission here, if we can demoralise the Orks, and take out the local leadership in one go, the Orks on this planet will be vulnerable to a flank attack. Any questions?"
"Yes": Corax, of course.
"Why is the projector so blurry?"
Shrike looked at him, then at the elite veterans surrounding him, as though to say "Can you believe this?!"

Corax ducked his head under the upper lip of the drop-pod and squeezed himself into the interior. His primarch size meant that he had a dreadnought pod all to himself, while Shrike and his veterans crammed themselves into two regular sized pods. Hanging his custom heavy bolter on the pod's weapon rack, Corax set about working himself into the rig that would usually hold a dreadnought in place. As he tightened the straps around his shoulders, he rubbed at his neck with his free hand. The rough edges of the head-hole in what could loosely be called his armour were chafing his throat. Dismissing the discomfort, Corax jabbed the button that would tell the drop-pod cogitator he was secure. He shifted carefully, breathing deeply through his nose, tasting the cool iron-smelling air. He was ready.
"Optimal position for drop achieved." said Shrike, over the drop-pod intercom:
"Beginning Countdown. Five... Four... Three... Two... One."
Corax closed his eyes.
"Fire"

BANG

The three drop pods jinked wildly left and right, spraying chaff and decoys in every direction, weaving through long ribbons of Ork ground fire as they plummeted groundwards. Corax' back teeth ground together as he listened to the airframe creaking and groaning around him. He hated this feeling of powerlessness, he was used to being able to control his flight, this was too much like falling out of control for his liking. Suddenly a deafening roar drowned out the sounds of the Ork gunfire, and all the blood in Corax' body began a concerted effort to climb out of the top of his head. Just as Corax thought he could take no more, the roar cut out with a thunderous BANG that almost smashed Corax into the ceiling. The doors of the drop-pod flew open and Corax lurched out, barely remembering to snatch his heavy bolter from its rack as he staggered out into the open air. The drop pods had landed directly on target, smashing through the roof of the factory and taking the Orks completely by surprise. One of the Orks in question was standing not 20 feet away from Corax, squinting at him through the thick dust that filled the room. The Ork's eyes widened as Corax' gun snapped up and attempted to yell a warning, before the heavy bolter spoke, drowning out the Ork's scream. Corax lowered the weapon and looked about, he appeared to have landed inside a room that looked out onto a raised gantry, which overlooked the central factory space. That was where the warlord had set up his throne, amidst a maze of mangled machinery. Shrike's veterans were engaged in a frantic gunfight with the Ork's armoured bodyguards, but the awkward angles and large metal objects scattered about were providing the Orks with a good defencive position.
Just as Corax began scanning the gantries for a good vantage point, he was alerted to something landing behind him. Corax wheeled about, but untensed as he realised it was Shrike. However, Shrike looked... wrong somehow.
Kayvaan seemed to have grown taller, nearly as tall as Corax, the long wings of Corax' flight pack had draped themselves over him like a cloak, and the talons he wore had lost their lustre and seemed hooked, like a real bird's claws. The eyes were the worst part though, blazing red slits that glared out at Corax through the curtain of metal feathers. Corax heard the tramp of hobnailed boots on the gantry and turned to see three Orks charging towards him. The Orks slowed, jaws opening wide in horror. They weren't looking at Corax.
"ITS DA BEAKIE!"
"OH ZOG ME, RUN!"
Dropping their crude weapons, the Orks sprinted away from the monster standing behind Corax. Shrike surged past Corax, leaving a strange smell of rust and dried blood on the back of Corax' throat. He leapt into the air, at the peak of his jump, letting out an ear-rending distorted screech, which was answered by wails and sobs from the Orks, who were now pushing each other aside to get away. Shrike fell on them like the angel of death, ropes of thick Orkish blood flew through the air as his talons tore apart their green flesh. Corax noticed an Ork choose to pitch himself over the gantry railing, rather than face the living nightmare that Shrike had become. An Ork found Shrike's talon closing about his head, and didn't have time to scream before his head burst like a dropped watermelon, smearing Shrike's bone-white helmet with gore.

The Orks who were not in, being subjected to evisceration were now in a state of full retreat. Shrike's sternguard veterans, now given the opportunity to properly use their weapons, cut the fleeing Orks down with a hurricane of customised bolt shells. Corax saw one Ork collapse in on himself, and then vanish in a single point of warped light as a space marine found his mark. The survivors were fleeing into what had been the loading bay, ducking fire from the space marines as they stampeded into the darkened room.

Shrike, seeing that his prey was escaping, gave a barely human snarl and leapt over the railing, closely followed by Corax. Corax landed awkwardly, hampered by his heavy armour, while Shrike rushed along the ancient production line like a wraith out of legend. All the surviving Orks had vanished into the gloom of the loading bay, and Shrike glared into it. He glanced about and saw Corax. He pointed to an enormous rusted rubbish skip:
"S̴̹͊e̸̹͌t̷͕͑ ̵̙̑û̵ͅp̴͚̾ ̴̟̇o̶͈͘v̶̟̍ē̶̪r̵͉͆ ̸͇̋t̷͉͊h̴͈̀e̸͍̍ṛ̷͐ë̵̲,̷̛̮ ̷̝͒g̷̮̐i̷̺͒v̴͚͗ë̸̯́ ̴̦̑ḿ̵ͅę̴͘ ̶̳̋c̷̢̽o̸͖̍v̴̠̉e̸͉̐r̵̬̈ ̷̭̇f̶̦̏í̷̙r̸̮͐e̶͉̒"
The marine's words were barely understandable, his voice had turned into a screechy, barking sound that seemed to be coming from the bottom of a deep well. Corax nodded and took cover next to the skip, seeing the sternguard veterans taking similar positions. Shrike took a deep breath, his vision could penetrate the dark, he could see what was stepping towards him, shoving smaller Orks out of it's way. It's height was such that it needed to duck it's head to fit through the doorway to the loading bay, which were twice as high as Corax. The titanic Ork warlord's glowing red eyes fixed on Shrike, who seemed to be growing smaller as the creature approached. Bird-Breaka huffed once, and then let out a roar that rattled Corax' teeth: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!"
Shrike's reply was immediate: he flung his arms out, and down to his sides, his talons reaching maximum extension. Arcs of lightning crackled between the blades as Shrike supercharged the talon's capacitor. The turbines of his jump-pack flared eagerly, as though waiting for orders. The warlord snarled:
"IMMA KEEL YOU, SPESS MAREEN!"
"Better men than you have tried, Ork." said Shrike:
"And things so far beyond men you can't even begin to imagine them."
The Warlord charged.
The Raven leapt.
The battle was on.
Shrike corkscrewed as he rose, crackling blades carving a chunk out of the Warlord's face, sending the titanic Ork reeling. Shrike caught hold of the Ork's head and held fast, slashing repeatedly at the monster's face with his free hand. The Ork bellowed and screamed, swinging it's massive arms in an attempt to knock the space marine off. The surviving Orks, emboldened by their leader, charged out of the loading room, diving between the warlord's legs, firing their crude weapons at Corax and the veterans. A hail of bolter fire met them, Corax in particular scything down a howling meganob who was trampled by his fellows as soon as he fell. Corax jerked his head back as a slugga round took a shower of sparks off the edge of the skip.
"Don't worry!" called one of the sternguard:
"Orks are the worst marksmen in the universe!" A bullet ricocheted off his helmet with a Clung sound.
"Although they do occasionally get lucky!": Corax called back.
He glanced back at the warlord, whose sheer size was making difficult to reach Shrike, who had climbed atop the giant Ork's head. Corax sent a burst of heavy bolter fire at the Ork's legs, sending the warlord to his knees. Shrike stabbed his talon as deep into the Ork's skull as he could go, and then discharged the power field. The Ork's eyeballs exploded as the fluid in them flash-vaporized. Arcs of lightning leapt through the Ork's brain, charring it from the inside out. The monster went limp, and fell on his face. Shrike stood as the remaining Orks turned to regard their fallen leader. Shrike's red eyes blazed out at the Orks as he seemed to grow impossibly tall. His wings spread out behind him, casting shadow over the Orks and leaving him in silhouette.
All that could be seen were his eyes.
The Orks screamed.
Corax smiled.

-TIMESKIP- Corax looked about, the Marines had cleared a wide space where they could be teleported without risk of bringing anything with them. Shrike was talking on his radio, conversing with the orbiting battle-barge. From what Corax could make out, the astropaths aboard the ship were talking about some kind of rallying point, and Corax' spirits were lifted considerably by the mention of other Primarchs. Since his mysterious arrival at the Ravenspire, Corax had wondered if any of his brothers had been thrown forwards as he had. He was broken out of his reverie by Shrike poking him in the stomach.
"The Battle-barge is ready for us." Corax nodded and took his position with the other marines, each maintaining at least a metre of distance between each other.
"We're ready," said Shrike.
"Energize" (AN. Sorry, I couldn't resist) There was a flash, a feeling of sudden cold, a whirl of colour and Corax found himself standing in the teleport cradle, with frost tickling his eyelashes. Shrike was already out of his cradle and speaking intently with a tech-marine. Corax spoke:
"Are we going to the muster?" Shrike looked up:
"You are, yes, but not aboard the battle-barge, the situation here is too urgent for me to leave." He beckoned Corax to follow him and began walking swiftly out of the room, continuing as he went:
"The muster is happening around some minute speck of rock called Fervent, or so I'm told. The navigators tell me that the warp-tides are good, so you should make it there within two or three days, maybe more."
He rounded a corner and the two walked out into the hangar bay, where a thunderhawk sat idling.
"This will take you to the Strike cruiser." said Shrike, pausing at the base of the embarking ramp.
"I understand that I haven't been forthcoming with information, or gratitude."
Something of an understatement there, thought Corax, but nodded for Shrike to continue.
"And I can only say that I wish we had met in better times. If half of what the astropaths say is true, however, then better times may already be upon us."
Shrike smiled weakly.
"It was a pleasure."
Corax nodded:
"Likewise. It is good to see the Guard in capable hands, Captain."
They saluted, and Corax strode up the ramp, banging on the ceiling with one hand to inform the pilot that he was aboard. Shrike watched as the thunderhawk lifted off, before flying out of the depressurized hangar bay. He watched until the shape was lost among the stars, and strode back back into the ship.
He had a war to win.

==Shrike's Sabotage of Ghazghkull As his underlings scurried about, sending world throughout the fleet to make for the humies' boss-world, Ghazghkull sat down heavily on his throne, grinning with satisfaction. Something in the corner of his vision caught the Ork's vision, and he caught a glimpse of a pair of glowing red eyes watching him. He turned to look directly at the eyes, but by the time he had looked around... darkness there, and nothing more.
The Ork sat down again, but the sight had disturbed him. It reminded him of a story that one of Skullcrak's boyz had told him, about a daemon that could move faster than bullets and soak up more fire than a squiggoth. The warboss' train of thought was interrupted by a rapid beeping sound. deet-deet-deetdeetdeet-KABOOM.

A blast of white light filled the bridge, along with a powerful force that tore at Ghazghkull as he clung to the arms of his chair. The boyz who hadn't the foresight to grab anything were being dragged towards the light, their screams choking off as they disappeared. The bright light stopped suddenly, along with the pulling force. Ghazghkull released the arms of his chair and stood up, just in time to see a black figure sprint out the door. Everything came together in Ghazhgkull's head: "IT'S DA BEAKIE! GET 'IM!"
The orks hesitated for a moment trying to decide who they were more frightened of. A second later, they were piling through the bridge door after the fleeing figure. Ghazhgkull lurched after them, screaming encouragement:
"GEDDIM BOYZ, CHEATIN' GIT HEARD EVERYTHING, HE'S GONNA TELL THEM!"
Evidently the fleeing space marine heard this, as the next corner the Orks rounded found them meeting a hail of bolter fire from the Space Marine. With minimal cover in the narrow corridor, Orks were forced to diving behind each other as they tried to return fire. Ghazhgkull, taller than the others, let loose a massive burst of dakka, sending the space marine diving for cover. Emboldened by their leader, the Orks charged the Astartes.
The space marine pulled something from his belt and threw it underarm at the charging orks. It exploded in midair, coating the orks in a burning silver powder that burned through their thick skins as they tried to scrape it off. Ghazhgkull elbowed his way through the mass of screaming minions and charged after the retreating space marine. All that was in the direction the beakie was heading was a couple of big gunz, Ghazhgkull grinned, idiot was trapped. He rounded another corner, seeing a metal door that had been blasted open. Squeezing through the narrow gap, Ghazhgkull looked into the room, it contained a massive accelerator cannon they had pulled off a humie ship. The cannon was armed, and Ghazhgkull heard the salvaged console ticking down a countdown. He looked about the room for the Beakie, his boyz flooding the room behind him.
"E's not 'ere, boss" complained an underling, Ghazhgkull slapped him out of the way, realising what the one place he hadn't looked was. He reached for the fire console, and looked into the cannon barrel itself. The beakie looked back, and Ghazhgkull somehow knew he was grinning behind his helmet. He looked down at the timer:
2
1
THOOM

Shrike screamed into the void, jets of flame from the afterburners of his flight pack pushing him even faster. His vision tunnelled, and darkness crept in at the edges as he pulled a 15g maneuver to dodge an Ork fightercraft. His secondary heart was thumping like a war drum, and gel pouches inside his artificer armour inflated, squeezing the blood back into his head.
He glanced at the counter on his HUD, counting rapidly down. He almost didn't see a rocket coming at him, and dodged by such a narrow margin, he saw the grot steering the rocket making obscene gestures at him. He switched the view on his HUD to one behind him, and saw what seemed to be the entire Ork fleet chasing after him. An urgent bleep from the machine spirit returned his view to a frontwards one. After a moment, counter hit zero, and Shrike flipped onto his back, before leaning on the afterburners with everything he had. His vision began to redden and his head span as the negative Gs sent all the blood into his head. The Orks watching were surprised as what appeared to be a pair of doors opened in the middle of empty space, then closed as soon as the space marine had passed between them. Shrike slammed into the hangar deck with enough force to send him spinning into the air again. He bounced twice more, before crashing to a halt. As soon as word reached the bridge, the cloaked Strike cruiser turned and ignited its main drive, burning away a nearby Kruiser like a block of butter before a blowtorch. The Ork fleet, already in disarray, attempted to make chase, but were forced to retreat as it engaged its warp drive, sucking several smaller ships in with it.

Back at his command throne, Ghazghkull fumed. The humie had got away.
Still, he thought, Shooting yourself out of a cannon in order to escape. That was pretty Orky.

Wheezing like a pair of punctured bellows, Shrike pulled himself off the floor. He wrenched off his helmet and staggered, not all of his blood was in the right place anymore. He caught sight of a worried techmarine and grinned.
"Did you fucking SEE that?!" I am a monster truck that walks like a MAN!" He wobbled and fell on his arse, the weight of his steaming flight pack pulling him backwards. He pried a tube from his gorget and slurped down water greedily.
He looked up at the tech-marine again: "Are we underway?"
"Yes Captain."
Unclipping his heavy flight pack, Shrike stood up, "Send word to the astropaths, they're to tell anyone who flies under the Aquila, the Orks are heading for Terra."
The few flesh-parts of the tech-marine's face paled.
"Tell them to send it as a Code: Nightmare Ultraviolet."
"I didn't think the scale went up that high."
"That's because there's never been a threat this bad for thousands of years. Enough chit-chat, get moving!"

The Raven and the Night Lord

Curze sat quietly in a cramped corridor in one of the Vengeful Spirit's forgotten decks. He stared at the floor, eyes seeing nothing. The faintest sound caused him to look up. Corax looked back, his pale face practically the mirror of Conrad's. The differences between them spoke volumes: Corax' hair was swept back from his face, while Conrad's hung over his face, obscuring his eyes. Conrad's eyes were sunken into his face, while Corax' cooly regarded the Night Lord, easily piercing the gloom of the abandoned corridor.
"I was wondering who would find me first." murmured Curze,
"Of course It would be you."
"I was born in the dark as well, Konrad." said Corax, sitting down next to his fellow primarch. He watched as Konrad dropped his head into his hands and began kneading his skull with the tips of his fingers.
"Headache?"
"No." Konrad looked up with a faintly crazed look on his face.
"For the first time in... before I can remember. My head is clear. Look:" He seized Corax' wrist in his hand, fingers digging in like steel cables.
"Nothing. I see nothing." He let go of Corax and shuffled along the bench they were sitting on.
"What did you see?" said Corax, attempting to coax the feeling back into his hand.
"Everytime I touched someone, I would see how they died. Anyone."
"We've touched before now, what did you see of me?"
"You were killed."
"There I was, thinking I'd choke to death on a fish bone." Conrad snorted. Corax continued:
"Who by?"
"You".

Capturing Cassini

The Ragnarok's strategum room had emptied, the other primarchs leaving to sort out their own legions. All that remained was the Lord of Ravens and the Night Haunter. Corax was studying the strategum projection of the Sol system, with Curze standing off to the side, intrigued in spite of himself. Corax' fingers moved deftly over the controls, panning the view away from Terra, and closing on a ringed planet which Conrad did not recognise.
"What's that?"
"Saturn. Base of Battlefleet Solar, and location of the Imperial shipyards." The view zoomed in further, to a large planetoid in orbit of saturn. Conrad glanced at the tag affixed to the projection: TITAN. Corax zoomed in even further, past the moon, to a minute station that quickly expanded to fill the projection.
"There," said Corax, stepping back from the controls:
"That's our target. The Cassini array."
Conrad stared at him.
"Care to elaborate, for those of us who do not share your thoughts?"
Corax scowled, as though his plan should have been obvious.
"The array is an ancient lance array, built during the Golden Age, the mechanicum reverse-engineering it lead to the use of lance weapons today. It's shots can reach past the orbit of Pluto, but if we turn it inwards-"
"A clear shot at Terra, I see."
"We can destroy half terra's defences before they know who is shooting at them."
Curze folded his arms.
"Are you forgetting the Inquisitor's Final Solution?"
"Leave the torpedoes to me."

A prismatic burst of warped reality was all that heralded the first time a primarch had entered the Sol system in 10 thousand years. As the warp rift closed behind it, the strike cruiser began to fade from sight, before igniting it's drives, and slipping through the void. -TIMESKIP-
Corax stood close to Conrad, compulsively checking the seals of his void-suit. Conrad, for his part, just stood with his arms folded, watching the countdown next to the airlock door. He glanced at Corax:
"Relax, brother" his voice had a hint of sneer,
"It's not as if we haven't done this sort of thing before."
Corax forced himself to stand straight and keep his hands at his side. He had always been a compulsive fidgeter. He checked the readout again: 15 seconds remaining. He looked out the viewport, the array was a black cut-out against beige Saturn, glittering where it caught the sun.
5.
4.
3.
"Oh, I'm having the strangest feeling of deja vu", thought Corax.
2.
The primarchs braced themselves:
1.
The thunderhawk door opened with a bang, the air rushing out instantly, carrying the two primarchs along with it. Corax turned over lazily, seeing the thunderhawk turn and vanish into the void. He turned back around, the array was rushing towards him at a breathtaking pace. He stretched out his arms, tensing for the impact. But something had gone wrong. His angle was off, he would miss the array by the most tiny margin. Corax stretched his arms out further as the array passed underneath him. Fingertips scrabbled along the smooth surface, desperately seeking a handhold. Cassini slipped away, just out of his grasp. An iron grip on his wrist almost tore his arm out of its socket. Corax looked up. Conrad, magnetic boots firmly attached to the station's hull, had seized his arm at the last moment. He tugged on Corax, bringing him close enough that the Raven Guard could lock his own boots onto the station. Corax bumped their helmets together.
"Thank you, Conrad. I thought that was the end for sure." Kurze pushed him away, saying nothing. The two clambered across the hull in eerie silence, Corax' breathing loud in his ears. He stopped as Conrad held up a hand and pointed. A viewport, big enough for both of them to fit through. Corax could dimly see the shapes of men moving around through it. Conrad drew back his fist and looked at Corax for confirmation. The Raven Lord considered for a moment that the men within were loyal servants of the Emperor, merely following orders. Part of him hated himself as he nodded.
Curze punched his fist through the window.
The air rushed out with a howl, buffeting the two Primarchs as they clambered in. The men that Corax had seen were scattered, many clutching at their chests, and coughing up blood where the sudden change in pressure had caused their lungs to burst. One of the men who had managed to empty his lungs in time turned to the primarchs. Curze caught his head and crushed it like an egg. The survivors were running back along the corridor, towards the safety of a hydraulic blast door. As the Primarchs advanced, the door began to rapidly slide closed. Corax darted forwards and jammed himself into the gap, grimacing as the door closed on his arms. Bracing himself against the frame, he pushed against the door with all his might.
"Cut the hydraulics!" he gasped, gesturing to the chevroned panel with his head. Konrad wrenched the panel open and tore out the thick cable he found within. The pressure against Corax slackened immediately, and he forced the adamantium panel back into its housing with a percussive bang. Curze pushed past him, sprinting into the nerve centre of the defensive station. Corax followed, ducking a blast from the shotgun of a particularly quick-witted crewmember, whose neck was immediately snapped by Konrad as he fumbled for another shell. Corax leaped up a ladder, heading for the command console that would give him control of the station. He tried to shut out the screams of the station personnel at the mercy of the Night Haunter. Corax spotted the cylindrical room he had been looking for, and sprinted for the entrance. At the last moment, he saw the edge of a red cape flutter, and turned his sprint into a roll that carried him under the power axe's sweep. Pivoting inside the cramped room, Corax seized the techpriest in a bear hug, trapping the power axe against the Adept's chest. He squeezed for all he was worth, until something in the writhing body collapsed, and cold fluid dribbled out of the red robe.
He let the adept fall and turned to the command console as he heard Konrad's tread behind him. Corax beheld the pulsing text on the main screen, and his eyes widened a fraction.
REACTOR CORE OVERLOAD PROCEDURE: INITIATED. TIME TO OVERLOAD: 180 SECONDS.
Corax heard Konrad speak behind him:
"FUCK!"
He couldn't help but agree.
Corax turned, shoving Konrad out of the doorway, and looking frantically up and down the cylindrical station.
"Reactor's to the left!" barked Konrad, spurring Corax into action. Together, the two raced for the large door at the far end of the station, emblazoned with warning signs.Corax wrenched the door open and the two forced themselves into the searing heat within.
"Look for the coolant systems!" Corax roared, vaulting a crate of spare parts and looking quickly left and right.
"If we can re-engage it manually, it'll stop the overload!"
"To the right!" yelled Konrad, pointing to a flashing cogitator. Corax leapt for the console and began punching in commands. Konrad turned to a separate console, this one marked CONTROL RODS, and began the insertion procedure. Several tense moments followed, both Primarchs utterly absorbed in their work, heedless of the rising heat and growing roaring sound from the sealed chamber before them. Corax leaned back from the controls, helpless to do anymore than watch the blinking cursor as the cooling systems cycled up.
After what seemed eternity, a servitor's voice spoke over the roaring of the reactor:
"COOLANT SYSTEMS RE-ENGAGED. REACTOR TEMPERATURE: FALLING" Another voice immediately spoke up, cutting over the first:
"CONTROL RODS INSERTED. REACTION SLOWING"
Both Primarchs slumped against their consoles with relief. They looked up at each other, reached out, and tapped their knuckles together.

Konrad stood at the control console, watching the screen showing the thunderhawk carrying Corax jetting away from the station. As it vanished from the sensors, Konrad glanced at the fire control console. Corax had been right, the station's range would reach Terra... and the multitude of starforts and battleships surrounding the planet were proving a very hard target for Konrad to ignore. An alarm bleeped, informing him that the array's sensors had picked up the cloaked strike cruiser passing by.He cancelled the alert, preparing for Corax' signal to begin the bombardment...

ABOARD THE STRIKE CRUISER

Corax strode into the quarters he had claimed for his stay aboard. He nodded at the two Luna Wolves who were standing guard at the door, two of the thousands aboard who were preparing for the first stage of the liberation of Terra.

Corax paused on the threshold... and then smashed his armoured elbow into the helmet of the marine standing to the left of the door. The primarch's strength slammed the back of the marine's head into the inside of his helmet, knocking him senseless. Corax moved forward, knocking the other marine's bolter away with one hand and seizing his helmet with the other. The primarch swept the marine's legs out from under him and pinned him to the deckplate with his knees. He twisted off the struggling marine's helmet and smiled:
"Hello there... Brother Alpharius."

Perturabo and Dorn

I imagine that Peturabo would be very bitter, and since we're getting them before they started hating eachother, he'd be mostly angry at himself for having let something so silly get to him. I don't think he'd go in for buddying up with Dorn, and Dorn seems like enough of an asshole not to give Peturabo the chance to do so anyways.

I think Peturabo would be obsessed with drawing out the original one, sort of an Iron Cage thing and in a moment of pure badass, he'll reveal that he did work things out with Dorn well enough to let Dorn in on the plan.

One of those 'But I know you, this is the end, there's nowhere for you to run' 'You're right about that, but there's something you missed' <Enter Dorn with a thunderhammer> 'I learned from your mistakes.'

Burying the Hatchet

Perturbo stood alone, divested of his armour, studying several of his latest plans. Paper rustled faintly as he pinned one of the drawings to the edge of his drawing board. He let his eyes wander over several of his favourites, an amphitheatre based on an ancient sketch he had found of somewhere called "The Globe", a plan for a style of arcology that took the shape of a sky-piercing shard of glass and adamantium. He leaned back, thoughts darkening. After the battle with the corrupted Astartes, Terra was in ruins. Admittedly, he thought, there had been adequate time to evacuate much of the civilian populace, and spare them the horrors that the traitors had wrought. Still, much of the infrastructure had been razed to the ground, and the Imperial palace had been wrecked, despite Dorn's last-minute fortifications. Perturabo's thoughts darkened further, no doubt that pompous fool was already setting about rebuilding the place in his favourite Greco-Roman style. Perturabo snorted, Dorn's favoured architecture spoke volumes about the man: ancient, tired, dull. As if on cue, the lord of Iron heard the tread of an armoured boot behind him. As if my luck is this bad, thought the primarch, resignedly turning to meet the eye-searing yellow of Rogal Dorn's Terminator armour.
"Shouldn't you be banging rocks together, brother?" said Perturabo, making sure to obscure the drawing board with his body. Dorn, he noted, looked tired. Shrunken somehow, as though he had aged millenia all at once.
"I wanted to ask you something" said Dorn softly, setting off warning bells in Perturabo's head. Dorn never spoke quietly, there were Ork warbosses that were more softly spoken than him.
"Go on." Dorn seemed to grind his teeth for a moment, as though there was a great internal struggle going on within him.
"I want... your help."

For a moment, Perturabo wasn't sure if he wanted to punch Dorn in the face or laugh at him.
"My hel... What do you need ME for? I thought you wanted to rebuild the palace." Dorn looked over Perturabo's shoulder, straight at the drawings, the Iron Warrior noticed with a jolt.
"Why? I thought you were the only one He allowed to build the things he wanted."
"The Emperor is still on the throne, brother. He cannot order you from there." Perturabo glared at Dorn, desperately trying to smother the faint feeling of hope within him.
"Why should I?" Dorn gave a small smile. "It would humiliate me. Any barbarian can build a wall, but it takes a genius to make what you have on that board. Imagine, showing everyone that you really were better than me." Perturabo gaped at Dorn. This was... ridiculous, Dorn would never allow such a blatant shot at his ego.
"Besides," the imperial fist went on,
"I thought the whole Greco-Roman style was a bit tired after 10 thousand years, eh?
" "Was that a joke?"
"I think so."
"Stick to knocking walls down. I..." Perturabo breathed out, this was all happening so quickly.
"I will think about it." Dorn, knowing his objective was achieved, nodded and left the room, leaving Perturabo staring at his drawings. His mind raced, all the ideas and possibilities that had been bottled up inside him for so long.. he finally had a chance to show the imperium what he could really do.

Outside, under a sky still choked with smoke and pulverized stone, a figure in yellow met with a one-eyed giant.
"I have spoken to him." Said Dorn.
"Thank you, Rogal." said Magnus.
"Now, while our brother rebuilds Terra, you can try and rebuild the Legions, whilst I..." Magnus gazed at the bulk of the Palace, his warpsight seeing the golden light within.
"I shall put my mind to father."

The Iron Cage Revisited

It was a scent of iron on the immaterium that attracted Perturabo's gaze. High above the screams and rumble of the daemon forges, the scent made his pulse quicken, his jaw clench. It was as though someone was watching him from some far off place. He shifted uneasily in his Daemon Throne for a moment before the awareness hit him with the force of a thunder hammer. He could feel it being built, towers raised, trenches dug, enfalides planned. Those ruins he had fortified so long ago were being fortified. Nay, desecrated by some lesser hand. But it wasn't a lesser hand. And that was what was galling. He could feel the ingenuity, the careful attention to the smallest detail. It was the work of a genius. It was something He would build. Only one person... but he was dead. He had to be. Dorn. But he had Dorn's hand right there on the table. He had made Angron give it to him. He had almost fought Angron for the skull. Why hadn't he fought Angron for the skull? Was it because he was afraid of Angron? Ha! Afraid of that bloody fool. No, he'd let Angron have his way. Yes, let the petulant fool have his way. Perturabo didn't need it anyways. But Dorn. Only Perturabo or Dorn could build like that. So it must be Dorn. He should have known that Angron couldn't have killed Dorn. Only Perturabo could defeat Dorn. Foolish of him to think otherwise. But there was the hand! Mocking him! Making a fool of him! In a rage, Perturabo lunged at the table, siezed Dorn's arm and roared "You're dead! I won. You died! You can't build anymore! I'm the better man! The better son!" He tried to choke off those last words, but the came out anyways. He felt his entire body tense. The gods were watching. The other primarchs were watching. Angron had done this to make a fool of him.

Dorn and Angron had been in on it from the start, laughing at him, hadn't they said as much? They didn't need to, he knew. Behind the smiles of the other Primarchs had been only mockery. Even Horus. Horus who'd failed and humiliated them all. How disgusting. And now Dorn was laughing at him again. They were all laughing at him.
Perturabo's grip on the dessicated arm tightened with mad fury. He could feel Dorn's laughter in it. He pounded it against the wall.
STOP
LAUGHING
STOP
LAUGHING
The bones stronger than ceramite snapped, but still Perturabo kept pounding.
The bones crumbled to dust, but still he kept at it.
Only when his fingers were bleeding did Perturabo stop, his chest heaving with rage.
He'd just have to prove Dorn wrong.
Yes. He'd show Dorn. He'd teach Dorn a lesson he'd never forget. And this time there would be no Gulliman to save him. It would be Dorn and Perturabo and this time he'd show him.

Perturabo stormed from the his chamber and roared at the men who worked in the rooms below: "Honsou! Shon'tu! Assemble the men and ready the fleet! We go to crush the enemy!"

On Istvaan V, Perturabo looked up from the construction. Something had changed in the wind. He could feel the baleful light from the Eye, though he couldn't see it. He smiled. Everything was right on schedule.

Perturabo sat uneasily in his seat aboard his flagship. He wanted to tell his men to slow down, to give the whelp that was Dorn more time to prepare, to make his victory all the sweeter. Yes, let Dorn laugh while he still could. It was funny, how that fool strutted and postured, when death came for him. Perturabo almost laughed. But he didn't. They might think he was nervous. He wasn't, but Honsou and Shon'tu. They both thought they were better than him. They were waiting for a moment of weakness from him. And then they'd strike, betray him. Laugh at him. But no. That would never happen because Perturabo was the greatest mind there had ever been. Wasn't this fleet, this vendetta the proof of that? No, the proof would only be when he had Dorn's head in his hand. No more humouring Angron. Angron, Dorn, they'd all pay.

The fleet arrived in orbit around Istvaan V. For a second time Perturabo prepared to drop to its surface. If only Dorn had been there to see him in his glory. A message came in over the Vox. Perturabo prepared to laugh in the face of Dorn, but it wasn't Dorn.
Perturabo found himself staring at Perturabo. Perturabo was smiling at him. Laughing almost. Making fun of him!
"WHAT CRUEL TRICK IS THIS?"
"This is no trick, my twin. I'm here and I've made a challenge for you. For us. Because there can only be one of us. The true Peturabo will be the one that leaves this planet alive. So come, crush my citadel. If you can."
With that the channel cut out.
Perturabo shook with barely hidden rage. His men were staring at him, confused. No they were laughing at him. Secretly. They thought him a fool! How could he have thought it was Dorn. Dorn was dead. He had his arm. He crushed his arm. And Dorn could never build a fortress like the one awaiting him below. Yes. Dorn would cry to see such a beautiful work. Only Perturabo could build like that. And that was the challenge. He had to crush the imposter. He'd prove he was the real one. The other one was a drone. A doll. And he was not a doll. No, he was a man. A God!
He turned to his men.
"Begin the bombardment, we make planetfall in an hour. Kill everything you find, but leave the impostor for me."

Perturabo and his men surged through the bunker. They'd been on Istvaan for hours now, fighting their way through killing fields and defense lines, into the Citadel, and down, down, down into the bunkers. They were good, but he was better. He knew it. And as the blast doors came down before him, he knew he was. He fought at the head. In hopes of siting the impostor. So his men wouldn't slay him before he could get his hands on him and tear off his laughing head. Honsou probably wanted to steal the glory. Shon'tu as well. Where were they? He'd lost track of them in the fighting. Maybe they had gone off alone and died. Yes. For their arrogance. No. He liked them. They were good soldiers. Good subordinates. But they needed to know their place. He hoped they survived. Maybe wounded. So that way they'd see how inferior they were to him. Yes. That would be good.
He moved faster and faster. Killing, rending, ripping. He began leaving his men behind. They could follow. He knew his way. He knew where the impostor would be, knew that there'd be little in his way. Puzzles perhaps, but nothing he couldn't solve. He'd show him. Yes. He'd be there soon to wring his smug neck.

Perturabo kicked down the last set of doors. This was it. He'd designed this place. He'd find the impostor here. He would kill him and he would prove he was the real one. Yes.
And there he was, the imposter, standing in front of him. But he was no match. Perturabo was a Daemon Prince and the man before him was a mere mortal. Perturabo allowed himself a rare smile.
"This is it. This is the end. Your end."
Perturabo said nothing.
"But you're finished! Nowhere to run! I know you. I know how you think! But I outsmarted you! You're trapped in here!"
Peturabo smiled wanly (Why did he smile?!) and replied. "You're right. This is the end. But there's something you missed."
Perturabo's eyes narrowed.
Clang.
He hadn't he'd missed nothing.
Clang.
He'd ignored the other branches because none of them led here.
But that sound, the sound of ceramite boots on a floor. What was it?!
Perturabo turned. Behind him, in the hall, advancing with a thunderhammer in his hands was Rogal Dorn.
Perturabo backed away. Backed away from both of them.
Perturabo was smiling. Perturabo was laughing at him. Dorn was laughing at him.
"You see, I learned from your mistakes."

And in that final moment before the hammer struck, Perturabo wasn't sure whom he hated more. Dorn or Perturabo.

Horus

As Horus sat down in a small - now void of any souls save for his own – chapel to the Emperor, his gaze wandered, his mind full of questions and doubts. He knew full well of the developments of his past self's heresy. He knew of betrayal. He knew of the grief that has been caused. Yet he knew, deep inside, that the betrayal was so grave not only because he had turned his back on his father. He knew that in the final hours what he casted aside was, first and foremost his humanity. When he saw the brave soldier, the lone man standing between an enraged demigod, a Primarch, and his beloved Emperor, the human being that did not waver and did not make a single step backwards. By striking him down he became an enemy not only to his own parent, but to whole mankind. What caused this was of no consequence. What led to this was irrelevant. Horus was a man of honour, and he needed to atone for what he had done. Only now did he realise that he was no longer alone in the chapel. He was so focused on his own thoughts that even his excellent senses did not notice that another man has entered the holy ground. A few metres behind where he was seated now stood a small, frail figure, with its face engulfed in darkness by the hood of his cloak. The silhouette did not flinch when Horus stood up. Then it spoke, abruptly breaking the silence that fell, its voice confident yet soft.

- Do you know of the religions of old, son of Emperor? - the words rang.

Horus did not move after hearing the man speak, and watched as he passed him, slowly moving towards the altar at the end of the chapel.

- Walk with me, and let me tell you a tale.

The two strode along, the powerful demigod listening in silence as he followed the hooded man.

- In past times, men did many things in the name of religion. Things that led our Emperor to believe that every belief in the supernatural was evil and led to suffering. But there is one thing in the ways of old that I see as inherently human, the best virtue that men can aspire to. Do you know what that is?

Horus found himself strangely enthralled by the speaker. Though his mind was sharp like no other, and he knew the immediate authority his very being held among men, somehow he knew that in this very moment it was his role to listen.

- I do not.

- It was forgiveness. Belief that no act, no evil deed would be so foul that it could not be forgiven. Not even the greatest of betrayals.

They stopped, as the were now only a few steps from the altar, and the steps that rose towards it. Horus turned towards the figure, his mind now certain that he knew what needed to be done. He reached to his side and unsheathed a dagger, a weapon that seemed fragile and tiny in his powerful hand, but for a normal man would be as big as a sword. He held it out, and knelt. Even though there were only two of them in the whole chapel, it felt like the whole chamber was now filled with eyes staring intently. Millions of souls waiting for what was to come.

- I know not who you are. And I need not know, for I know what must be done – Horus said – though I am reborn, the man that caused all the suffering and grief, the man turned against his brethren is a part of me. And it is by these brethren that I should be judged.

The hooded figure took the dagger, and though its eyes could not be seen Horus felt as if he was looking at the dagger, pondering. He held it with a firm grip, and it seemed as if he was no longer the frail, small human that entered the chapel. In front of him was a being as tall and powerful as any Astartes, and his voice was much more powerful as it echoed along the arches.

- It is only right indeed. - as he said these words it seemed as if the darkness that shrouded his face was now gone, and instead a blinding light shone, illuminating the surroundings. For a blink of an eye, for a moment as brief as a heartbeat Horus though that he recognized the visage of the last man he killed, the man that stood firm against evil that he once represented and paid the ultimate price. Or was it just what he hoped for, what he wished for? Maybe he wanted it to be Ollanius, he wanted it to be the man most worthy of punishing the Warmaster.

- But it is not today that your life should end. You are your own man now, no longer bound by the wickedness and treachery of Chaos. You no longer are Warmaster. You are Horus, son of the Emperor, and for you had done you must atone.

After hearing these words, for the first time, Horus wept. When he rose, the man was gone and no trace of him left in the chapel. The light was still there, as if the whole chamber was now filled with a strange glow. The dagger lay on the ground. As he rose, he felt as if the gazes of every soul that seemed to fill the chapel were no longer judging. They were proud. He was once more one of them. He was once more the finest of them. He knew what lay ahead of him and as he walked out, he felt ready to face his father, to face his future, to face the great undertaking – the undoing of his own, past deeds.

Captain Mathaius Ward on Guilliman's Return

"Sorry son, you see... your brain its, well I'm not going to fool you, the blood vessels on your brain are going to explode with the first set of implants and augments. I'm sure you're a loyal citizen of the Imperium but I'm sorry you wont be able to be an Astartes"

And that's it, thats how an old Medicae officer crushed my dreams of being an Astartes, one of my biggest dreams that will never be. But now the real big dream of my life is going to be real, to finally see with my own eyes the biggest primarch, second only to the Holy Emperor, a titan, a demigod and writer of the Codex Astartes. Today, finally I'm going to meet him, Roboute Guilliman

The naval officer was nervous, like a child on Emperor's day, even a veteran of countless battles was not used to see Astartes on real life, and a primarch, a hero of legend was a honor beyond his wildest dreams. He checked again on the mirror every minor detail of his uniform, every brass button and insignia of his parade uniform was polished, his boots, his sword, everything was perfect.The disappointment of youth was long past forgotten, the countless times he visited the Shrine of Guilliman, the visions of fighting the enemies of the Imperium under the orders of his spiritual liege, every minor detail of his life will take him here to this single day.

The sky over the Fortress of Hera was bright, not a single cloud on it. Around the spaceport the ultramarine banners give a festive yet solemn aura to the scene. Fast as a brid of pray the Thunderhawk approached while the honor guard stood waiting for the Primarch to arrive.

The giant spaceship opened its bay doors and an imposing figure, returned at last after so many years to his homeworld. The Astartes honor guard were the first to welcome the primarch, the noble Marneus Calgar seem small for the first time at the side of Guilliman himself, a thunderous clash seemed to shook the spaceport itself when those two warriors embraced like long lost brothers of arms, two noble and proud warriors separated by millenia of war

The civilian authorities of Macragge, with a pdf and naval honor guard walked to welcome and greet the living legend, the naval officer wanted to tell him about how honored was to be able to see him, to tell the primarch about his dreams and how loyal and proudly he served on the Fleet over Macragge but the anticipation was to much for him, he started to walk towards the towering Astartes but he fainted and everything went dark

While a couple of PDF guards took the unconcious naval officer to the Medicae, Guilliman and Calgar walked to the Fortress

You know, that captain seems... well, disturbed -Guilliman pointed to Calgar-

Yes my lord, he's loyal and brave beyond doubt but you know he seems to think you're a demigod sometimes I think he's obsessed with you

That could be dangerous, -Guilliman's face showed real concern for the human- please Marneus, be sure that he gets the best medical attention possible. He's a loyal servant of the Imperium even if he's not the brightest one. What's his name ?

He's Captain Mathaius. Captain Mathaius Ward. -Calgar answered with a faint smile-

Magnus

Magnus1 has clearly been stalking Magnus2 and Tzeentch daemon incursions are becoming more frequent. Finally, something happens and they meet face to face. Magnus2 is nervous, grips his holy lance and prepares to slay himself. He's clearly not quite ready for it, his encounter with Russ was only a few days before, and he isn't sure that he even blames Magnus1, but here, in the moment, his lance crackles to life and he tenses for the fight.
But Magnus1 stops him, drops any weapon he has, lowers his arms, lowers his psychic defenses.
'I only wanted to see you with my own eyes. To make sure you were real, to make sure you were me. And you're not me. You're better. So I'm satisfied. Take care of our legion.'
And then he turns towards the conveniently placed Fateweaver or what-have-you of Tzeentch and sets off the psychic equivalent of an A-Bomb. His mortal form psychically combusts as he releases the daemon princedom and the powers his father gave him. You can barely hear him say: 'Forgive me father'. All around, across the battle, daemon's heads explode like its fucking raiders of the lost ark. Chaos Sorcerers are blinded and the Rubricae stand tall, their souls re-bound and they look towards the new Magnus as their leader.
Meanwhile the blazing form of the Primarch grants some sort of stability to the Magnus2's legion, like a mass soul binding with the Emperor, with the spirit of M1 as the bridge.

If we were to talk about Legion practice later, new recruits would drink some holy Soma and enter a trance where they'd see the history of their legion and as it happened they'd feel mutation and impurity surge across them until M1's sacrifice healed them. (By the grace of the God Emperor!)

Another Take

He stood upon a dead world of ash and bones, his hands tightly clutched around his spear. His back ached, the multitude of ‘holy’ sigils etched there smarting still. A part of his mind rebelled and railed against this word; holy. Belief and faith in the Empire was one thing, but to treat him as a god? It was the antithesis of all the great crusade had been about!

Deep breaths calmed Magnus enough to ease his mind into the familiar routines of battle meditation. He came here with a purpose so great and terrible he needed all the help he could get, whether or not he agreed with the philosophies of the grey armoured Astartes who had armed him. Slaying Daemons was their trade, after all, and he had come here to slay a daemon of unfathomable power, the one they named the crimson king.

Nikaea. That was the name of this rock. He was assured it meant a lot to the King, and that he would be unable to resist the challenge of activity on Nikaea. In truth, the crawling, scraping, bowing scholars that had suggested this place had been most vague as to why. He had been somewhat distracted at the time, as a dozen chanting knights had been carving 666 symbols into the flawless skin of his back. Now his mind sifted through the likely possibilities. Was the King defeated here? Humbled? Or is it the sight of a victory? A testament to his ruthless treatment of defeated worlds? It could mean everything or nothing.

Through the aether, he felt the quake. The second skin of reality seemed to tremble for a moment, shaken by the arrival of his target. He was not alone, however. In front of Magnus, next to the nexus of swirling energy that was the King stood a humanoid avian figure as tall as a Primarch. Its body seemed withered and twisted, however, perhaps because of the hideous mutation of an extra head. Its spindly hands clasped a huge staff that reeked of warp energy. It seemed that the daemon, and Magnus could think of no word to describe it so perfectly, was responsible for his foe’s arrival.

Yes, his foe. The twisting light slowly dimmed and dissipated until the figure was revealed. Magnus wasn’t sure what he had expected, other than that it would look at least somewhat like him. Whatever image had been in his mind, it wasn’t what stood before him. The King was, before everything else, clearly him. From his stature to the slight smile playing across his lips to the mane of red hair, yet each was a twisted. The smile was a little less kind and a bit more contemptuous, the hair a little bloodier and less regal. He wore interlocking plates of gold and blue armour, though it seemed more ornamental than practical, and bore a staff not unlike the daemon’s.

Magnus cleared his face of emotion and stepped forth. The King raised a hand and the daemon bowed and stepped back. Then the towering entity walked forwards to meet himself. When they were finally face to face, the King lifted his hand to touch his own empty socket.

“Together, we have a the correct amount of eyes”

Magnus didn’t reply, his jaw clenched. He could feel the power seeping for every atom of the King’s being. Even when standing before his father on the steps of the Imperial palace on Terra, he had never been so sure that the being who stood before him was his superior in psychik might. It was insane to even dream of fighting the king. Had they known that went they sent him here? It mattered not. The King’s failure was his as well and he would wash it away with blood, and he cared not from whence it flowed. Magnus prepared to begin his assault, with magic and mind as well as tooth and nail.

“Hold Brother. I am not here to fight you. I had to see”

These words cut through Magnus’s concentration perfectly. He stopped readying his mind for the oncoming floor and considered the King’s words.

“You had to see what?” He said at length.

The King smiled sadly.

“I had to see if it was true. They said you were me, but they were wrong. You are more than I am, than I ever was. You haven’t failed. You won’t fail. You will be what I should have been. I only ask that you remember my last act, not those that lead up to it”

Magnus wrinkled his brow in confusion, all attempt at seeming impassive and aloof forgotten.

“I do not understand. They told me you were a traitor, an unrepentant enemy of the Emperor. What happened to you?”

Now the King’s smile collapsed into a look of despair.

“Much happened to me. I never sought to betray him, please believe that. All I wished was to warn him and to save him... but I disobeyed him. In the end, I am as guilty as any of my brothers. Now I must say goodbye, Magnus the Red, for I have one last spell to cast”

So saying, the king turned and strode towards his daemon accomplice. The thing opened its mouths to speak and Magnus could feel its infernal mind spreading through the air. But the King stopped both with a single gesture, holding it immobile until he stood before it. He reached out and gripped it by the throat, pulling it close. Magnus just heard the words that came from his lips, despite the growing roar of the winds and crackle of the warp.

“Didn’t see this one coming, did you?”

Now Magnus could see, with the eye closed to the material world, what the king was doing. All that power was being turned inwards, twisted back on itself again and again, each twist making it more potent and less stable. The daemon was struggling to escape but the King was twisting its essence into his own. The only conclusion of the spell would be the destruction of both and the psychic ruin of the entire planet. Magnus spent less than a second calculating the odds of escaping the planet before the King completed the spell and dismissed them. He would witness this with his last seconds, a worthy end to a life of magic.

Then the spell changed. The mass of energy was no longer twisting inwards. Some of it flew through the aether, further and faster than even Magnus could follow it. He could easily guess its destination, however. It was aimed at where he had left his legion and for a moment he feared for the fate of his sons. The King, surrounded by impossible and unthinkable energies never meant to be gathered in one place, turned to Magnus and smiled.

“I will not let them be used against you as they were against me. Never again shall a Son fall to the flaws of his flesh”

Then his eyes closed and the energy swallowed him and the struggling daemon completely. An orb of sheer oblivion swelled for a few seconds, swallowing much of the ground in front of Magnus but stopping just in front of his armoured feet. He felt the mental presence of both the King and the daemon simply... vanish. The great ocean was still for a moment as the orb dissipated then exploded into a terrible storm. Warp travel around Nikaea would be impossible for some weeks, but that was not Magnus was thinking of. Instead, he wondered whether he had heard what he thought he had just before the climax of the destructive power.

“Father, forgive me and forget me. Magnus will be all that I should have been”

Ahriman

On the dead world of Prospero, 18 figures stood. 2 sets of 9 warriors regarded each other. Both regarded each other with disgust and hatred. All, a teacher and student of the Great Ocean. Two Captains regarded each other.

Ahriman looked to his former self. A torrent of emotions washed over him. Anger, disgust, hope, envy, and despair. Likewise, his counter part also had a flood of emotions washed over him. Both controlled their emotions and powers through the use of the higher enumerations taught to them, by their Father.

"I assume you know why you are here." He said to his past.

"You intend to destroy me? Out of hate? Disgust?"

"No. I intend to do to you, as you have hoped to do to the Imperium and it's citizens. What I had hope to do."

Ahriman looked at him in the eyes.

"I intend to enlighten you. To our mistakes. Our despair. And our hopes. I believe, by having you know our fall, you can avoid our mistakes and attain our goal."

"I do not follow you. After all, do you not wish the destruction of mankind all for your own goals?" Ahriman spat with venom towards his twisted self.

"No... I do not. I seek our redemption. Our salvation. Father may have forsaken us. Some of our Legion, our Brothers, have forsaken us as well, but I have not. I am loyal still and all I care, is to prove our worth. Our strength. Our loyalty."

"After the destruction of our home.... What caused the destruction of our Legion? Our brotherhood?"

"Much. Father forsaken us, trying to scry into the far, far future, to assure himself. Meanwhile, I had tried to save us, only to damn us to a slow and agonizing undeath."

He sighed.

"But that is a tale for another time. Now, I must hand this to you. It is time you carry our burden, our knowledge, our hope, and our salvation."

He handed the scarlet warrior a leather bound grimoire.

"It is my life's work. My shame, my pride and the start of your journey, and the galaxy's salvation."

Magnus and Russ

Russ stepped into the ready room where Magnus was already waiting, Russ unshaven and smelling of mead and Magnus not bothering to conceal his impatience.

'It took you long enough.'

'I've had an eventful past few days.'

'Haven't we all.'

'You try being cast up out of the warp after thousands of years to find your old fleet waiting and brothers you thought lost and dead again alive.'

'Some you even had a hand in killing.'

Russ shifted uncomfortably.

Magnus continued, 'I've learned a lot these past few days. You see, I don't remember what happened at Prospero. I wasn't there. But as I understand it, you were. So why don't you tell me about it? Tell me of your glories, Russ.'

'Not all war is glorious, Magnus.'

'Oh, is it now? Master of the Rout. But it was war that came to Prospero?'

'No, I don't suppose it was.'

'Well, then, why not tell me what it was that toppled and made topless the towers of my home? What was it that killed my planet?'

'The Emperor ordered me, I thought he'd ordered me.'

'Ever the obedient hound, Russ, when it suits you. But tell me straight to my face that you didn't relish the battle. Tell me you didn't enjoy it as Prospero burned.'

'Look! What did you come here for? To start a fight?' Russ spat it all as a single unbroken line of sounds that didn't quite assemble into words. He took a deep breath. 'What do you want from me.'

'Recompense.' Magnus pushed the table aside and rose. Russ stood dumbly, his eyes giving an answer that Magnus decided not to hear. He advanced towards Russ.

'What, Russ, after all the judgements and advice, finally out of words, are we?

If only you'd stayed your tongue like this at Nikea. Or perhaps taken this passivity at Prospero. Or maybe if you'd ever bothered trying to master yourself enough to not let Daemonic Horus use you. But no. You wanted to let loose the warhound within. My dear brother wolf, you've always been the wise one for counsel, about the dangers of the warp, keeping in line. Never mind that your Rune Priests are witches, never mind that your legion turns into beasts. Yes, I know that. I know that and more. They've been very thorough in my education these past days. Why don't you say something? Reply! Answer for your crimes!'

And then Russ broke down. He wept, his speech broken by heaving sobs and Magnus' blows.

'I'd never wanted to. I'd never meant to. I was afraid of what would happen to my legion.'

'Stand up and fight, Russ. Let me see if there's any honor in you.'

Magnus dragged Russ to his feet, moved his arms into a fighting stance.

'Fight me!'

'I can't! I can't do it again! The first time nearly broke me! You're more right about me than you know! I am indeed a dog. Loyal to my father, loyal to my brothers. I'd wanted to talk to you, talk it out. But Horus. Horus manipulated everything. Made me believe you'd gone rogue.

After Prospero, I defended Terra. I defened the Imperium. But mead lost its taste, the sky lost its colour. Battle and song lost their joy. I tried, oh I tried, for centuries to live, to go on knowing what I had done, what I was. And that was when I thought you were a traitor! Every year, I hated everything more and more. I could only think of you. I left. I left Fenris. I went into the warp, to find you. To end this. Either with your death or mine and Emperor, I hoped it would be mine. So go on, kill me. I deserve it and if you don't maybe I will. It isn't like I've not considered it, sitting here. Even the mead doesn't do anything anymore. So go on. Do it.'

Magnus just stood, silent. He'd never imagined that Russ was anything but the Emperor's hound. He advanced towards Russ again and embraced.

Another Take

'I. Will. Not. Let. It. Happen. Again.' grunted the Wolf as he forced his blade against the Cyclops's lance. 'I will not let you tear the galaxy apart again!' The Cyclops watched as his brothers blade pushed against his own weapon, forcing it lower and lower until the edge of the power field began to cut into his armor. Drawing his psychic might he knocked his brother back against the far wall, his adamantium armor, scavenged and mismatched, cracked and fractured from the blow. But the wolf was raging now and the strike did nothing to stop him. Launching himself back at his brother he brought his great sword against the golden lance of the Cyclops again and again, wild blows that if swung by anyone else would have left them open to easily retaliation. But the Wolf was maddened, frenzied, and faster than he had ever been before and would ever be again.

Time and time again the great frosted blade beat against the golden flaming lance. Blow after blow the Cyclops parried, blocked and dodged. Unable to stop the Wolves crazed but deadly attacks, unable to concentrate to bring his otherworldly powers to bare on his brother.The Cyclops was faster, stronger and a hundred times more skillful than the last time this battle was fought. But for all his speed, strength and skill he was taken by surprise when the Wolf slammed his forehead against his only eye. He only just lifted his lance above his head to block the next blow that drove him to his knees. The Wolf knocked the lance out of his hands with a mighty overhand blow.

'So I guess after all this time you are still the better fighter.' the Cyclops growled defiantly. Staring into the eyes of the Wolf.

The Wolf stared down at him. Cold grey steel eyes met a singular one, even more red than usual. 'I cannot let it happen again.' The Wolf whispered as he lifted his blade to take the final blow.

The Cyclops closed his eye and waited for the final blow. Unable to bring himself to fight his brother anymore.

The Cyclops felt the air in front of his face move as the great sword swept down in its final strike. He heard the blade sink deep. He heard the ragged cry of defeat. And he heard his brother crying.

Opening his eye he saw the Wolf kneeling, his sword sunk into the great stone floor, face against his chest. He heard the great Wolf crying. And he finally saw how old the Wolf has become.

Aged beyond time. Wearied by forces unimaginable. The great Wolf knelt on that floor. His mismatched armor crumbling and flaking away. His blade chipped by a million strikes. Unable to gather the strength to look into his fallen brothers eye.

The Cyclops rose above the Wolf. Golden light glowing from his form. 'Do you wish to continue brother or are you done?' He asked. His tone hard and unforgiving.

The Wolf looked at his brother. The grey eyes were no longer strong and determined but broken and empty. The red was still hard and full of fire. 'Do not let it happen again Magnus. You do not let it happen again.' The Wolf sighed. The last of his great strength leaving him he lay his head against the hilt of his blade and closed his eyes.

Angron

Angron looked skyward at the daemonic embodiment of the failures his anger caused. It's massive size eclipsing the faint red light that the planets star cast over the planet, dwarfing even the massive visage of the younger, much less corrupted Angron.

It charged forward but the Primarch stood fast until its daemonic axe was about to come down upon his head before he leaped out of its path. Every time his daemonic self charged towards him he dodged out of the way, further enraging the giant daemon.

"Hold still! Fight with honor!!" It bellowed loudly, as he attempted to attack the Primarch again, as he did Angron shifted to the left of the blade and brought his massive chainaxe down on the crimson arm, chopping through the wrist. Boiling blood sprayed from its severed wrist. The daemonic Primarch swung his left arm at the uncorrupted Angron and the handle of its khornate axe smashed into his cerimite bound frame flinging him into the arena wall. He charged at him screaming "Blood for the blood god!!!" The Daemon Princes howls splitting the sky with fury. Angron's impact into the wall caused a huge section to come down on him, he flung himself out from the rubble and slid under the charging daemon prince, slicing through his right ankle as he did so, it knelt and shrieked at the sky before turning itself towards the pure Angron swinging its remaining axe and slamming the stump of its wrist at the Primarch missing every blow and become more furious.

"You serve this Blood God and this is all you can do?! Your gods have made you foolish and blind! You are weak and so are your gods..." The last part calm and far more enraging in its mocking tone. He grabbed the injured wrist of the daemon he had become in fates hands and slammed it to the ground, bending back the elbow, and charging to its neck. He grabbed unto its head and slid his chainaxe beneath its neck. "And now you may rest." He said in a tone of pity as he carved through its neck.

Konrad and the Order of the Obsidian Mirror

Kurze looked around the command hall again. Order of the Obsidian Mirror seals were still on the wall by the door behind the rows of vox and cogitator terminals at which Sororitas and Astartes sat. When he'd visited the space in the morning, he'd found it depressing, the fact that his Legion was being merged with ex-Inquisitors, Arbites, and Sororitas, as part of an Imperial Security Service, seemed a testament to his failures. After the day's meetings and exercises, after seeing these people in action, he found he was feeling something verging on hope. The Inquisitors were clever, the Arbites dedicated, and the Sororitas facile with data and full of surprises. No, he decided, he wouldn't change the emblem. His legion would always be the Night Lords, but the time had come to step from the shadows, not just to inspire terror, but heroism as well. If these mere humans could do it, then so could he; wasn't that what the God Emperor had made him for?

He almost allowed himself a smile.
A furrowed brow.

'What happened to me... ah, him. After he... er, I destroyed Nostromo?' he asked one of the Sororitas who had been guiding him. Yketrina was it? She didn't say anything, clearly thinking.
'I wasn't wrong about Nostromo. What I did.'
He thought he saw her nod ever so slightly. He felt an odd warmness and again almost smiled when she spoke: 'He survived the Heresy. He withdrew to the edges of the Imperium and allowed an assassin to take his life. He'd been waiting for her, it seems. His legion didn't survive his death; it broke up into roving terror bands that haunt the Imperium to this day.'

Kurze thought for a moment about that, about the assassin, and, without thinking murmured aloud:
'Death is nothing compared to vindication.'

The Old Man on Terra

He just appears one night, past the guards and assasins, in a teleportation locked room, before the inquisitor.
Just to talk.
He identifies himself as the hand of the Emperor's Judgment.
And he looks it, his ornate armor nearly aglow with witchflame.
Inq goes for bomb,
shhhhh. No... now is not the time for that, besides I'm not one of those 18 primarchs. Now there are only dreams. So let's talk. You're here, sticking to your principles. I respect that. But are you sure of things? I mean you're talking to a 20 foot tall dude who appeared in your inner sanctum.
No, don't call the guards, I'll be gone before they arrive.
Consider me a figment of an overworked mind. I know that's how I think of myself. Something unsettling about warp travel, no matter what we say about it. So you make up a story. Helps you, your men. You make up a character. He'd never worry about the warp and the clawed things that craw there beyond men's sight.
He'd never worry about the warp and the clawed things that craw there beyond men's sight.
He's one of them. He's divine justice. You feel a bit more at ease because you can half believe in him. And your men do completely.
So what's your story? Guardian of the Imperium?
The way things are must be for a reason? Otherwise you've got to deal with the idea that the God Emperor isn't always there for you?
Yeah, I get it. I don't even blame you.
But are you sure?
And I don't mean sure as in the 'If it's not true, then I don't want to live in that world!' sort of way.
I mean are you sure that what you think is actually what you think?
How did I get in here?
Is that really a cyclonic torpedo you've got there?
I read a story once, or maybe it was a dream I had. They're hard to tell the difference on some times, aren't they?
It was about a man who lived on a world where it had always been night and he'd heard that dawn was coming. So he fought it, he built walls and passed laws, you get the idea. Anyways, he awoke. Turned out it had been day the whole time and that he'd been piling pillows. And what I'm saying is that that torpedo looks more like a pillow to me. But what do I know?
It's not possible for me to be here anyways.
And with that, the man began fading, until only his smile was left, which lingered for a few moments before it too vanished.
The Inquisitor ran to the door, to find his guards standing at attention. Dismissing their questions, he returned to his room, though where he'd thought the torpedo had been, was his cat. Asleep as usual, but certainly not as he remembered things. The torpedo was at the foot of the bed now. Where he'd put it in the first place. He turned to get back into bed. To find his face inches away from the giant from before. It bent down.
Just be sure that you're sure of things before you go blowing up Holy Terra.
The Inquisitor staggered backwards.
Guards!
But it was too late. The giant was gone.

The Compliance of Erandi Setii Seven

It was a few days after Kurze had assumed command of the Imperial Intelligence community's ISS, long enough that he was no longer surprised by the numbers of humans around, but not long enough that he was entirely comfortable with it. Most of them looked at him with a mixture of fear and a distant sort of respect and the ones like Yktrina, who openly admired him (for what he had no idea), were worse. He felt more comfortable around the dark cynicism of Jago and the rest of the marines. They at least knew he was no hero. He gazed distractedly at the planet below. He almost felt bad for them; they'd revolted along with the rest of the sector, at the instigation of The Hand of the Emperor, that crazy old Inquisitor on Terra. Kurze had helped to break him. His duty to bring the Emperor's Justice, just as it was to do so here. No, what concerned Kurze was that he'd enjoyed it. He hadn't really felt comfortable discussing it with anyone, not even Corax or... he paused as he realized he'd never gotten his brother's name. He'd said 'Call me Ishmael', but Kruze had suspected that wasn't it. Ishmael had just laughed 'Names are power. I give you my true name, what's to stop you doing warp-magic and turning me into a newt? Besides, does it really matter what my true name is so long as you've something to call me?' Kurze had had to admit it didn't matter and that had been that. But no, Ishmael had enjoyed his part as the 'face of judgement'. Corax had clearly enjoyed the sneaking about, and Alpharius had clearly enjoyed the planning. And he'd enjoyed it too, but the company most of all. Yes, they'd all enjoyed driving that old man insane, driving mad his disciples, and breaking apart their entire force from the inside. Kurze had had to fight to keep from giggling (Corax did), when the old man had given Ishmael the detonator, convinced that Ishmael was a lieutenant and that he was no longer able to judge reality. What fun. And yet he couldn't deny that he'd enjoyed it, smiled as suicides had increased, as inquisitors fled from the fortresses, pursued by assassins. It meant they were saving Terra, he'd told himself, but a deeper, more honest knowledge told him he enjoyed the challenge. And what was so wrong with that? Alpharius did too. Alpharius started up a betting pool for how long it would take high priority targets inside to break. Ishmael was uncomfortably accurate. And yet they were the heroes of the Imperium, the God Emperor's semi-divine sons.

And here he was, to bring 'justice' to another world. As he looked around his staff, he couldn't blame the assembled humans. They had conviction, and, more importantly, they'd never brought a world to compliance. And Kurze could at least comfort himself that he didn't exactly enjoy this either. All except for that same voice as before which told him he did, which told him to make the streets run red. On Nostromo, he'd used to listen to that voice. He tried to ignore it now as he prepared to give his orders. "Make the traitors pay, make them suffer", it said. "This is a grim task, that we have before us, but these people have declared war on the Imperium. They have turned their backs on the God Emperor. They're just afraid. And when they're afraid, they become stubborn, and like this, we cannot reach them except on their own terms. Most of them are good people caught up in the moment. It falls to us to pass judgement." He paused for a moment. The humans looked at him with respect. And Yketrina was admiring. He wondered if they'd still look at him like that when they were finished. In that moment, Kurze made a decision. It was a new era, he could try something new. "We commence the operation at dusk."

At dusk, the drop pods fell from the sky. Marines in midnight clad emerged, bearing icons of the Emperor. "You have denied his will. Return home and to the Imperium, or face his judgement." Kurze relaxed visibly as most did just that.

The rest began throwing stones and firing primitive stubbers at the Astartes. "You have been found guilty." The bolter fire cut down the rows of rioters. In minutes, every major dissident group on the planet had been torn to shreds. The bodies were left where they fell. Kurze spoke over the voxes, "We have been merciful. Imperial control is restored."

Three planets in the area capitulated. Most ignored the event except to stockpile weaponry. For the next few days, Kurze carried on the compliance of the sector listlessly. Marines had to fight on every world and the secessionists only grew bolder.

It was late when Yketrina came to his quarters with news, but Kurze told her it could wait a moment. "You seem confused by my actions of late." "Well, it was just that your reputation was..." "Bloodier?" "More effective. You know, the Obsidian Mirror has done compliance operations, too. There are arbiters on this ship. We've all experienced imperial justice before." "I know that, but I was hoping that there was another solution, that the heads wouldn't have to adorn pikes. I figured my brothers and I have been given a second chance, so I might as well try to take it." Yketrina paused. "Then it grieves me much to tell you what I must." She told him that militants sized infrastructure on Erandi Setii Seven and several other planets they'd brought back into compliance. People who had surrendered and returned home had been tracked down and killed, their bodies placed on public display. Chaos iconography had popped up on other planets that were preparing for war. On the worlds that did remain loyal, terrorist cells were beginning public bombings. Kurze closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Inside that voice was laughing. "People never learn, they only understand one language. You know what that is Konrad." He ignored it. "We return to Erandi Setii Seven. I fix my mistake."

Hours later, the fleet arrived in orbit over Erandi Setii Seven. Kurze went on the vox all over the sector. "Hello. It seems that my initial visit was not enough to convince you the error of your ways. And really, that's not my job. Lorgar is the one for theology and worship. Sanguinus is the one to set the heroic example. I'm here as judge, jury, and executioner. I'm the law and I find you guilty. What you need to understand is that when you commit a crime, you undermine the structure of your society. To those of you who consider yourself 'innocents', every one of you is in a unique situation. Many of you are too afraid to fight for what is right. I understand that. Perhaps you have family that they'll hurt if you stand up to them. Fair. But if you let them have their way, how long will it be before they come for your family anyway? You let them have their way and it means that we must fight them. When you stand by, you let them have their way. Some of you are too young or too old, and sometimes there are not enough of you, and in these cases, I am sorry. But in cases like these, the guilty will take the innocent hostage. The terrorist hides in a school, the tyrant behind the voice of an oppressed people. And we cannot afford to allow this. We do not negotiate with terrorists, we do not allow the guilty to make a shield of the innocent. We will try to save hostages whenever possible, but it isn't always and for that, I personally apologize. I pray that you find your way to the Emperor's side, but we cannot allow justice to be stayed. I hope that the rest of you watching will learn from this little lesson so that I shall never again have to repeat it. I hope that the sacrifices of today are worth it. To all of you: Think on your sins. We have come for you." As he went off-air, he hoped he was doing the right thing. "You may begin."

Within moments, the arrays deployed, turning day into night across the world below. Marines rode drop pods screaming towards the ground. Their orders were simple: 10 heads per marine, kill any that resisted, leave children alone. Pile the heads in town squares. Take trophies of judgement as usual. If a site was home to organized resistance, level it.

Within 3 hours, resistance had ceased. The leaders of the rebellion and the cells were captured and flayed alive, their screams broadcast across the sector. On dozens of planets, riots broke out immediately, the citizens attempting to return to the Imperium. Several suceeded even before the support squads Kurze dispatched arrived.

That night, Kurze dreamed of Ishmael. Ismael was sitting, talking with him and told him to call him Brother Ishmael. They talked about books and about drama as they had on many evenings when they'd been together, but in the dream, they talked about the relationship between actor and role and author and book. The dream was interrupted when a Void Reaver entered, 'O Captain, my captain' and Ishmael had had to leave. Kurze awoke thinking about that. He remembered that amongst Ishamael's men, he'd only ever heard of them call him 'Captain' or 'The Captain'. And Kurze understood.

When his fleet arrived at the few worlds that still resisted, Kurze tried something new. "When Conrad Kurze came, he offered you the chance to surrender. That chance is gone. Now, Night Haunter is here. Now, it is time for justice." After this broadcast, he turned to a surprised Yketrina. "Conrad Kurze is merciful, but he only comes once. I think the most important thing for us, is that we have rules and that we follow them. Otherwise, we're just monsters in a uniform, imperial sanction or not." Kurze still wasn't sure he believed it, but at least time her admiration didn't make him feel unclean. And that, for now, he could live with.

Argel Tal and Kharn

Another day, another population put to the axe.
It had become so damn routine to Kharn the Betrayer that it was almost impossible think about anything else other than how boring it was to kill these ordinary people. So when word came of Space Marines coming to this planet, it had given the Chosen of Khorne hope that this day could be salvaged somehow.

It was almost an insult to send the entire Word Bearers fleet to a single planet, much less to kill a single man, but this was a goodwill mission. Lorgar wanted to have the people on his side.
Instead of that overkill, it was Argel Tal who took the charge. Argel Tal had, after the public execution of Kor Phaeron, become the new First Captain of the Legion. While Lorgar felt that the notion was almost too prophetic in nature for the man who was the Crimson Lord of this timeline, he had let it pass as the captain had an incorrigible sense of honour. Tal took with him an elite company to ensure that only one man was responsible.

"Wait..."
The Betrayer had certainly seen weirder stuff before in the warp, but this was a first. In front of him stood a warrior in immaculate grey armor, a book adorned to his left pauldron. Even more pressing was the notion he was getting. He didn't even know he had notions.
"I recognize you from somewhere. Where was it?"
Argel Tal responded, "I surely do not recognize you, red fiend."
It was ridiculous. His job was to slaughter, so why was he thinking? What was it about this stranger that had Kharn's mind racing?
"Say..." Forget it. The memory will come eventually. He took a single swipe with Gorechild.
"A poorly chosen first move. I had too much room to block you."
Somebody dared criticize his fighting technique? He, the son of Khorne? What madness-no, wait. The memories again... Ages ago, before his armor had so much blood on it. Damn it, who was this person?
"I know you from somewhere, Astartes!" Another swing with Gorechild. Another parry. Again. Again. "I WILL find out, even if I need to kill you before then!" Argel Tal was humored by the butcher's words. "I just have to incense you enough to remember then?"
"I will NOT be made mocked, much less by a corpse-slave!" This was better, Kharn thought. Kill, don't think. As a matter of fact, stop thinking. Thinking gets in the way of killing.
Another parry, this time using Kharn's momentum to force Gorechild to the ground, and then kicking him square in the ribs and then using that same spin to swipe his sword, leaving a scratch upon his helm. This man had to have learned that move from somewhere. Moreso, he had to have learned it in a Gladiator Pit. Wait... "You almost seem to fight like Kharn." What? His name? "So much anger, and he finds the only release for it in killing."
"You know me." The Betrayer took rise. "YOU KNOW ME!! WHY DON'T I REMEMBER YOU?!"
Argel Tal smirked. "Hardly my fault."
Kharn then took notice of the prow of the Astartes craft. A Two-headed eagle, the bawdy trinket of that Imperium. Funny, it was under the shadow of one of these that he saw the corpse of...
"ARGEL TAL..."
"Ah, so you do have a mind."
This was perfect! He remembered now, that Word Bearer he was friends with once! Okay, friend was a bit of a stretch for World Eaters, but it was something! "Now I remember...! Now I have a reason to kill you!"
Argel Tal cocked his head. "Would that mean I recognize you?"
Kharn raised Gorechild high in the air. "Know this, Colchisian! I am Kharn the Betrayer, Chosen of Khorne, Butcher of Legions! I will kill everyone and their skulls will go to Khorne!" He lowered his chainaxe and then turned around.
"Does this mean you're a coward, too?"

Kharn stopped. A violent glare erupted. "You misunderstand me. I do not need to kill you. I already had my fill. But next time I hunger, know that you will be next."

Mortarion vs his Daemon Prince Self

Around Mortarion his legion was dying, the vile plague that had wracked this world and brought his "counterpart" here had run its course through his marines. The sick were swiftly executed, he would not make the same mistake as his damned twin had. In the ruins of what was once a hive he stood with the last line of defense his marines had put up, nowhere to run and a horde of Nurgle's vilest servants immune to pain and the fear it brings charging towards them, their predecessors vile with weak will and corruption. Pathetic is the only word that could come to his mind as he opened his mouth and in his grave voice he spoke to his marines "These pathetic hordes wish to see us dead and broken, but we have not bowed like our predecessors. We held our strength and endured the worst plagues these foul creatures god could create. AND WE HAVE ENDURED! AS WE ALWAYS HAVE! NOW I EXPECT YOU PROVE TO THESE WRETCHES WHY THE DEATH GUARD IS THE MOST STALWART LEGION AND WHY WE WILL ALWAYS ENDURE COMPARED TO THESE WEAKLINGS. NOW ON ME MEN WE WILL MAKE THEIR PATHETIC MASTER REGRET SENDING HIS "DEATH GUARD" TOWARDS US. FORWARD FOR THE IMPERIUM, FORWARD FOR REDEMPTION!"

And so with an uncharacteristic yell the remaining Death Guard charged. Mortarion bounded ahead his power scythe cutting down plague marines, ripping their foul insides out of them. When at last he spotted the one he had hoped would come. A great black shroud covered the towering figure, a great rotting scythe dripping with the foulest plagues of Nurgle's creation pointed at him as his deathly voice cracked "You... Impostor, come accept your death." Mortarion grinned "We shall see who endures you weakling, I will not bow so easily as you!"

He ran forward slicing his scythe at the torso of the cloaked one who easily blocked it with his own the rot rusting Mortarion’s Scythe. "You are slow..." The figure hissed, Mortarion jumped back as the figure's scythe tore apart the ground he stood on moments ago. "And you are weak willed!" He ran forward ducking low and around the figure his scythe raking along his back ripping apart his black cloak, as it fell he could see the corruption it hid. Foul boils and sloughing skin covered the daemon Primarch his flesh stripped bare on his hands. He looked at a visage of corruption that parodied his own. "Gaze on what true power looks like..."

The figure whipped around before Mortarion could so much as blink and brought his scythe down on the kneeling Primarch, he only had time to block it with the his own scythe which shattered from the blow a great light blasting him back. Mortarion coughed and looked at his battered armor; then his weapon, it was shattered but so was his counterparts who hissed at him "Come accept your death."

Mortarion spied a ruined edge of his scythe shattered on the ground. "Never."

He jumped up with inhuman speed and grabbed the edge driving it through the eye of his foul counterpart a sickening squelch as his eye and the puss that filled it popped. "I will endure."

He ripped it out tearing a chunk out of the daemon prince's head and the sent it through his neck "My death guard will endure you pathetic fool."

He looked around, the battle had not stalled around him and as the traitor's saw their prince destroyed by a mere mortal they began to run, not fast enough though as the remaining death guard cut them down. Mortarion raised his voice "WE ARE REDEEMED BROTHERS! THE WEAKNESS HAS BEEN PURGED! FOR THE IMPERIUM!"

A cheer rose up, and Mortarion allowed himself to smile... The coming weeks were arduous, the remains of the Daemonic Primarch was thrown into a boiling vat of silver then cooled and covered in the greatest wards possible before being put into a stasis field and thrown into the core of a dark planet only Mortarion knew the location of. His legion was broken, but they would endure and grow strong again and once more guard the weak from death.

Another Take, both, of course, are equally true

Moritarion climbed. He didn't look back. He didn't need to; he knew that his men would win. Even though they were mere mortals, unblessed by any god, they had something that those plague bloated parodies lacked. Just what that was, Moritarion didn't know, but he'd seen it. His men braced themselves against the recoil of their field guns wit some sort of silent satisfaction. Their artillery pieces were as some sort of call to greater action. Though their advance was one where blood was paid for every inch, they seemed to move with some sort of serenity, that absorption of one for whom the impossible is not beyond hope, but a rallying cry, because they know that the insurmountable can be surmounted, the unedurable endured. The plague marines, though tough beyond belief, were simply there, as though they'd sprouted on the battlefield and kept to war out of some old habit. And that's why Moritarion's men were winning, why he'd been able to reach this mountain and why he climbed. But what made them fight and what made him climb, he had no idea. He only knew that he did.

It was in smog and night that Moritarion reached the summit. The filth corroded his armor, he'd have to finish this quickly; no one was coming to save him this time. 'Hail Moritarion, son of the Emperor', called a voice that sounded like the emptying of bedpans in a mocking tone 'That name, you lost the right to call me by.' Nonplussed the voice responded, 'Fine, have it your way. Butcher mythology and become a self made Prometheus. I don't care.' A pause, as if hoping for some sort of rise from Moritarion. 'Anyways, what are you doing here? Come to undo a mistake or something? I think you're the mistake. Listen to me. Remember that first day when we came down off the mountain? And we saw the people in the fields, just gathering in the harvest? Just nice simple people. They had no big dreams, they didn't know how to. And then we came in, we changed everything. We showed them that fighting back was possible, gave them hope that they could be free, be more than they were. And all we wanted to do was sing harvest songs. And then we lead them. How many died? How many died in misery, as failures, their hopes crushed? And then the Emperor came, and suddenly the universe was so much bigger. And people worried that their farm life wasn't good enough, they were scared of the immensity of the possibilities. In a world where you can be anything, it requires so much confidence to be something. They were better off in their hovels, where they didn't have to worry about potential and opportunity. The were better off without us. That's why your men fight, you know? You. They see you as an inspiration, that you make a space for them to achieve their own greatness. And where has it gotten them? Dead, mostly. Better, I say, they'd stayed at home and never dreamed. Really, who's more powerful, who's better, the man who spends years making a statue or the man who smashes it?'

Moritarion responded: “So what are we supposed to do? Bedeck our mountaintops with toxic fog?

‘You’re not listening!’ Petulant more than angry. ‘Think about it this way. A cold coming they have of it. It’s so hard, such work, such hard work. Them pushing themselves to keep up with the possibilities in our strides, all with the voices in their ears, saying that it all is folly. But there’s a solution! Teach them that smashing the statue is the same as making it. Better even! When birth and death are the same thing, it takes the pain and bitterness from the death and the special joy from the birth. Then they can go back to their hovels and their little groups, confident that they have discovered happiness. They blink, and say that formerly all was chaos. See? Now they can be glad of another death.’

‘That’s not what that meant.’

‘Does it matter? I made it my own. What’s some long dead poet going to do about it? No skin off my ass.’

‘Leave to me my world and our works, which you had no hand in. I know of nothing more despicable than you and your ilk; perhaps, back then, when I was a child and did not know better, I perhaps thought as you did. But when, ever, has mediocrity led the way forwards? When ever, has it devised better hearths, warming hearts? When ever, has it heightened our joys? You did point out something that I’d missed. I am an inspiration to my men. And they don’t hate me for it because all I do is provide them with confidence to be the men they are. Just look below. Who’s winning? There they are, men in my own image, to struggle, to weep, to feel joy, and to cast you down.’

‘That may be so, but I doubt you’re going to defeat me. You can’t even breath up here. All I have to do is wait. That’s why apathy is so powerful, because passion eventually cools. It has to. Doesn’t it?’

‘You know? On Barbarus, I had to slay that thing. You, I don’t think I have to. I’m leaving.’

‘Wait! You can’t do that! You can’t leave me here! What if I do something?!’

‘You won’t. Maybe, before I returned, you’d have done something, but now? You’re going to sit right here, trying to prove me wrong, because if you don’t you’ll become me. Action now will invalidate everything you are.’

And over screams of protest, Moritarion climbed back down the mountain. He’d return, glass the site from orbit and coat it in molten adamantium, but that was perfunctory. The old Moritarion was gone. Moritarion returned to the foot of the mountain, to his legion and the world of men bearing fire in his heart.

Magnus revives the Emperor

So I sincerely believe that Magnus has the power to revive the Emperor. Hear me out before you go on about the Astronomicon and shit. Magnus IS a fantastic Psyker and so are the Thousand Sons (duh). So Magnus goes down to the Golden Throne with a few thousand warriors. Seeing his father's corpse-like body during his first return visit to Terra shook him to his very core. He knows that despite his power and the good intentions of his brothers, they need the Emperor now more than ever. For the first time in ten thousand years, times are changing. Mankind has a chance to turn the tide of chaos and once again retake the galaxy.

He approaches the Throne as his warriors rise through the Enumerations. Opening himself to the warp, he's nearly blinded by the light of the Astronomicon. Over the thousands of years the light has dimmed a bit, a very worrying development. He drops to his knees and places his hands through the stasis field, grabbing the Emperor's robe.

Days, weeks, months pass. His marines have been taking rotating shifts of 666 members of six choirs, communing with Magnus and fueling his efforts. The strain on these psychic warriors is immense, but their Primarch bears the brunt of the Chaotic onslaught attempting to prevent him from completing this most crucial task. The first two months are spent in preparation for the task ahead, his sons providing a bulwark of psychic energy while he completes the delicate rituals needed to call the energy needed to revitalize the Emperor. The next three are spent with his sons battling and purging the denizens of the warp and preventing daemons from possessing even one of the many warriors gathered. One month is spent channeling the warp, gathering enough energy for the final phase.

On the first day of the seventh month, the tipping point is reached. Magnus has not moved an inch, his sons out of rotation from the choir tend to the many wounds that have appeared on his body.

Throughout the entire ritual, the Custodes have kept watch on the Thousand Sons. They have trained on them their most devastating weapons that can be wielded so close to the Golden Throne. Their orders are clear. If at any moment they have even the slightest reason to believe the Emperor's well being to be in jeopardy they are to eliminate all members of the Thousand Sons and take their Primarch into custody.

Despite their best precautions, a few of the marines do succumb to the warp. Corruption soon appears and discord is sewn through the Choirs. The Thousand Sons have planned for this though. Each member of a choir has a watcher, a brother marine who stands vigil over his charge. The second any sign of corruption is detected, a bolt shell is put through the back of the corrupted marine's head. The longest outbreak of corruption recorded during this event was exactly thirty-five seconds long, the delay in granting the Emperor's Peace attributed to a jam in the watcher's bolt pistol. He was reprimanded and placed under censure, his punishment to be decided after his Primarch returns from the aether.

On the second day of the seventh month, the battle against the beings attempting to prevent the Emperor's resurrection has been won. After the tipping point was reached just a day before, an aura appeared around Lord Magnus. The Rites inscribed on his back began to glow, then burn. Golden flames licked the shimmering air around his body. His grasp on his Father's robe tightened. Sweat poured down his body in thick rivers, pooling beneath him.

The Choirs of Resurrection began to howl and the room's temperature dropped significantly. The Custodes surrounding the Thousand Sons began to shift and stir, the change in the Choirs and the Primarch proving to be highly unnerving to them. All members of the Thousand Sons joined in with the Choirs, lending their strength to their genefather.

A new light burned next to the Astronomicon. Not nearly as bright or powerful, but bright enough to be seen by Astropaths close to Terra. Thousand Sons began to burn out, slaving their life essence to the new beacon. Each marine who perished were witnessed to simply burst into gold and crimson fire which was drawn toward and into the trembling Magnus. In all, eight hundred and seventy three marines gave their lives.

The room was silent. Not even the constant background noise of the Golden Throne's quiet humming could be heard. Light began pouring into the room, the source was Magnus himself. For the first time in seven months he let go of his Father, tears of liquid fire streaming down his cheeks. Bright red wings of flame hung behind his back, his one eye, now open, shimmering and dancing with thousands of shades of colors.

"Thousands of years ago, the one who both is and is not me undid your greatest work. I turned on you, the one who gave me life, the most perfect being to stride the stars and delve the immaterium. The one who is both I and not I not only destroyed that work, but along with the other traitors attempted to destroy your Empire in the name of false gods. On that day thousands of years ago your most trusted son turned your body into a corpse. On this day thousands of years later, with the return of your sons, with the power you gave me, you, through me, restore this blessed body so that you may once again lead us against the enemies of man. We are your generals, we are your servants, we are your sons. From you came me, and now from me returns you."

With the words he needed to say finally said, Magnus turned his head to the sky, his mouth agape, his eye wide, and his hands raised in praise. White hot light poured forth and pooled around the Golden Throne, the chants of the Choirs reaching their climax. A mighty shout was raised, streaming out along with the light through Magnus' open mouth. The light pooled around the Throne appeared to be drawn up through the Emperor's feet, giving his body a steadily brightening golden glow.

None could look upon the Golden Throne, for the blazing inferno that raged around it seared the eyes of all who tried to gaze upon the wondrous sight. Magnus, his role now fulfilled, leaned wearily against a column as Ahriman rushed over with food and water. Magnus had not ate, drank, or slept for all these long months.

For five days Magnus slept and for five days the inferno of light engulfed the Golden Throne. On the fifth day the light began to die down and strange creaking noises could be heard from within the torrent. A loud burst like that of a thousand warriors teleporting to the surface of a planet with a particularly dense atmosphere rang out and a being of golden light descended the stairs toward Magnus.

All eyes were cast down, all bodies prostrated before the wondrous being of golden light before them. Any person even remotely in the path of the being scrambled to clear a path. Through this, Magnus slept, his chest rising and falling.

The figure who could only be the Emperor of Mankind knelt before his son and drank in the sight before him. What was once one of his most beautiful and regal creations was marred with bruises and lesions throughout his body, his aura flickering like a torch in a windstorm. Not even when his traitorous self flew from Prospero many years ago had he exerted so much strength, poured forth so much of himself into a psychic exertion. The Emperor lowered his hand and brushed away the bright crimson mane from Magnus' forehead. He extended one finger towards the center of his son's forehead and placed his other hand on his own chest.

Instantly the many bruises and lesions covering Magnus disappeared, his aura once again burning bright. Magnus' eye snapped open and with a sharp intake of breath he jerked his upper body vertical. For the first time in ten thousand years, Magnus looked into his Father's eyes.

Before he could say anything, The Emperor lifted one hand to the blank spot above his cheek where Magnus' eye once sat. When his hand was removed, his eye had returned. Tears rolled down the Crimson King's cheeks, the pain of the long months spent battling the forces of Chaos on their own turf evaporating in an instant.

For the first time in over ten thousand years, The Emperor of Mankind, the being most humans revered as a god, spoke:

"My son, I am here."

Reunion of the Primarchs before siege of Terra

The battlefleet has been forming for months. The size of it was incomparable to anything that Mankind has seen since the Emperor first ventured out in search of his stranded children. First were the Space Wolves, the massive grey battleships silently orbiting a small moon in the system of Fervent. The whole chapter was the quickest to act, as even after milennia had passed they were never broken down into various successor chapters as the other legions, and it was rumored that the famed 13th Company has been stationed onboard their flagship Ragnarok, after their return to Fenris in circumstances shrouded by mystery.

Next was the orderly and well-equipped detachment of the Ultramarines, their vessels joining their brethren in orbit of the rocky globe. In short notice their successor chapters began arriving, and it would be that every day a seemingly endless stream of reinforments from these countless chapters poured down into the solar system. Then came all the rest, every Emperor-loving soul, both Astartes and Imperial Navy alike, the corvettes, the cruisers, the carriers. There was a sense of agitation and eagerness in the crews, for it would be that after ten milennia of endless battle, bitter defeats and bloody victories, humankind had the upper hand once more. Along the miriad vessels which formed up around the moon of Fervent II, there was one ship which looked as insignificant as can be – a small, frail corvette, its hull painted white-and-black, which flew straight towards the Ragnarok, where the Primarchs that had already arrived have gathered. As it went, it looked as if it was swallowed by the bristling organism of the fleet, ships changing paths to make way for its precious cargo. It entered a docking bay on the side of the battleship, and sat down on the steel deck.

The hall was empty, save for a few servitors gathered around its edges, busy with maintenance duties, and a single Astartes, his grey armour scarred and battered, bearing memories of countless battles. His helmet was on, and it looked as if he was a part of the ship itself – so firmly he stood, waiting, with a power glaive in his arm. As the ship descended and opened its hatches, he watched as a tall, powerful figure emerged, followed by many other Astartes, guardsmen and naval security officers. He walked straight towards the waiting Grey Knight, with his helmet at his side, revealing the face of a Primarch – the one who led the betrayal, who began the Heresy – Horus.

The Grey Knight did not move an inch as Horus stopped in front of him, and silence fell. The Primarch broke it first, his powerful voice echoing in the hangar bay.

- Now I see how right they were, calling you the quiet one, my son – he said, staring into the visor of the helmet, with no trace of any emotion on his face.

The words rang, and for what seemed an eternity, nothing happened. The guardsmen froze, gaping at the scene and waiting for what was to happen in anticipation – and perhaps fright of such powerful beings. And then came the strangest thing – the laughter. The Knight began shaking as if in spasms, and took of his helmet, revealing a bustle of grey hair, a face strangely old – even though Astartes were beings practically immortal – and a pair of eyes that radiated joy.

- In truth, I came here to see for myself if the news were right, and to strike you down if need be. But look at me now – cheering like an initiate after his first victory, me – a veteran of old – he said, and looked Horus straight in the eye – for I can see taint where it lay, and I can say that there is none in you. And this feeling was worth waiting for milennias.

Horus nodded after hearing those words, yet he did not make a step yet. Instead he spoke.

- There was an old ritual, a tradition that was practiced in the old days that I was always fond of. Is there a man here willing to bear witness? - He turned, facing the people that have now gathered around them. From the crowd a man walked forth, his black, bleak uniform covering his body, and with a single, golden rosary pinned to his chest.

- Inquisitor Casimir Gaunt, my lord. - he said, gently bowing.

- Very well. Loken, do you still remember the words?

- As clear as day. - the Knight held out his glaive in one hand, as he handed a parchment to the Inquisitor to write down the words.

- I am here to hear you, and Inquisitor Gaunt is here to witness it. Do you, Horus, son of the Emperor, accept your role in this? Do you promise to lead your men into the zone of war, and conduct them to glory, no matter the ferocity or ingenuity of the foe? Do you swear to lead the Legions once more in the name of the Emperor and mankind, to strike down the enemy and retake what was lost? Do you swear t stand true to his words and not succumb to the treachery of the taint? Do you swear not to waver in your resolution?

- On this matter and by this weapon, I swear. - Horus said. Though there were scores of men around them now, not a single word was uttered as the oath was taken, everyone engulfed in what was to become a historical moment.

- Kill for the living, father, and kill for the dead – Loken said, and he took the parchment now inscribed with this testament from the Inquisitor. He gave it to the Primarch, who attached it to the chest of his armour plate. As he did it, men cheered, and the scream was so loud Loken could have sworn it was heard in every single ship of the fleet. The Grey Knight thought to himself in amazement, how his Primarch did not change. In a simple way not only did he garner the support of every man under his command, bolstering the morale of those who would still doubt the reborn son of Emperor. He also gained back the trust of his former advisor, he who was prepared to use his glaive to kill the Warmaster if he noticed a sign of heresy. Millenias go, and nothing changes – here I am, once more the quiet one. Once more a Luna Wolf by heart.

- Let us go then, your brothers are ready at the strategum, sire – Loken said and went ahead, as if a herald bearing word of hope, as his Primarch walked to begin his Crusade anew.

The walked through the corridors of the Battleship, passing Astartes and guardsman alike, getting ready for the oncoming onslaught. They eventually arrived at the main cathedral of the battleship, its gigantic doors bearing the emblem of the grey wolf as big as a land raider. The doors opened with a loud wail, and revealed a massive archway leading to an altar – now remade into the heart of the strategum, covered with maps and parchments. Above it was displayed a sizeable image of Sol, slowly rotating, with small dots indicating confirmed hostile warships. At the edges dozens of vox comms wailed, as reports were pouring in.

At the head of the altar stood the host, clad in grey armour and with wolf hides around his pauldrons, his long hair hanging down as he looked down upon a data slate. To his right was Perturabo, his apparel immediately recognized by Horus. His siege warfare expertise would be most useful in the oncoming battle, and now he was briefing the other Primarchs about the basic strategy of the future siege of Terra, seconded by Dorn in his shining, yellow armour, both of them working in unison.

To the left of Russ they could see the Lion and Guilliman, engaged in a discussion, their gazes fixed upon the enemy fleet positions. Closest to the entrance, and with their backs turned to the entrance, stood three other Primarchs, one of whom wore what seemed like a dreadnought plate on his chest and shoulders, though at first Horus could not recognize who it was. Only he walked towards them, with Loken still by is side, could he see that one of them was in fact the most talented among the psykers – save for the Emperor himself – Magnus the Red, clad in a bright red-and-gold armour, his hands crossed as he watched the events in silence. To his left there stood a pair of his other brothers, both silent and grim. As he came close they turned to face him, and he recognized Corvus Corax in his unorthodox armour and Konrad Kurze, eerily alike in their stern expressions. Their gazes taxed him and judged him, as he approached the altar. The discussions stopped, and everyone fixed their eyes upon the Warmaster.

- Brothers. - Horus said, his voice confident and full of authority. Indeed even Loken could see, that though the sight of so many demigods gathering in a single place was awe-inspiring in itself and not for the faint of heart, Horus was something else entirely. It was as if every one of the leaders knew in their heart that it was him that was meant to lead this fight. - There is much to be said, but there is little time for that. Right now I need a briefing on the current situation, and – here he made a smirk as he looked at Corax's new garments – perhaps a quick explanation what is this heap of metal is doing here.

For a moment, Loken could've sworn that Corax was going to punch Horus straight in the face. Be it due his respect for the Warmaster, or due to his own sense of humour – that he did not know, but the first one to break the silence was the Raven Guard Primarch himself, who – oddly for him – began to laugh out loud. The atmosphere at the table changed, as all the rest of the brothers joined in, Russ' laughter as loud as a cannon's roar, and even Kurze allowed himself to smile a little.

The stage is set

The command centre on the surface of Mars was filled with servitors and Astartes going about their duties, a nest of neverending commands, reports, exchanging of information and various tactical displays. In the massive hall where it was set up, in the heart of a lonely pinnacle in the middle of ruthless red wastes that Mars was covered with, there was a sense of agitation. Behind the strategum table, surrounded by rows of seats where representatives of Imperial Guard, Imperial Navy, the Inquisition, the Mechanicum and many other orders that had come together to fight off the Black Crusade, there was a massive door leading to the private chamber of the Warmaster Horus. The chamber was mostly empty, save for a table surrounded by two couches and a few chairs, big enough to allow a Primarch to feel comfortable. It ended with a window spanning metres above the floor, revealing the surface of the planet and the skies above it. Looking through the glass stood Horus – at his sides two other Primarchs, Dorn and Russ, each clad in their armour, their faces stern. Neither was wearing a helmet, with Russ' long, red hair falling softly on his shoulders, his pauldrons covered by a wolf hide much like that of Horus. Compared to him, Dorn seemed much older, and much more composed, with his short, grey hair, and weary skin, a cold and calculating look in his eyes. At the table sat Garviel Loken, still wearing the colours and emblems of the Grey Knights, quiet and calm and Imperial Fists First Captain Darnath Lysander, seemingly undisturbed by his Primarchs' return to life. Next to them stood the gigantic figure of Bjorn the Trueclaw, his body entombed in the might Dreadnought vessel scarred and battered in countless battles. To each Primarch – an advisor, to each leader – an aide. Each waiting for their parents to discuss the matters of war.

- The defences are adequate, I've done all that was possible with Perturabo to fortify our positions in Sol. In fact he's overseeing the lines as we speak – spoke Dorn, his words very matter-of-fact and confident. - Shall they break through the naval blockade and actually launch their invasion, they shall be greeted by a barrage of anti-aircraft artillery and swarms of atmospheric fighters. If they manage to make landfall, their beachheads will be assaulted tirelessly by Titan legions, courtesy of the Mechanicum. Should our infantry fail at driving them back, Russ' forces will prove more than adequate, their offensive capabilities making sure that not a single heretic survives the sin of raising their hands on the Imperium.

- My men will wreck their skulls and maim their bones until there is nothing left standing – said Russ eagerly, as if hoping that he would personally get a chance to throw himself into the fight – I'm afraid that there will be no glory left for the Imperial Fists, brother. - he smiled, as if taunting Rogal.

- What if they make for Terra, disregard Mars? - asked Horus, though he knew very well the answer to that question. He wanted someone else to go through the plan, check for mistakes, hear it for himself so he can verify that there was no mistake in their preparation. Indeed, any error would prove fatal for the very being of mankind.

- Then that will be their undoing – spoke Lysander, rising from his seat. Horus turned to face him, as did the other Primarchs. - The Cassini array is operational, its lance wrecking any units that dare detach themselves from the fight. In the shadow of Mars a reserve fleet, hidden from our enemy's sight, lays in wait, their batteries ready to rip apart anything that goes beyond their brethren in the frontlines. And on the surface of Terra – the very best of the Imperial Fists and Adeptus Custodes guard the Imperial Palace, aided by countless guardsmen. Luna itself an impregnable fortress, the most powerful orbital defense systems the Imperium has to offer waiting for a chance to strike. And on the orbit of Terra – the Phalanx, our fortress monastery. By the Emperor, if they thought Cadia was a hard nut to crack, I dare them to take a shot at what we've got in store. - and as said these words he grinned, as the defense plan was the greatest fortification effort he'd been part of, the very scale and precision of it very true to the doctrine of his order.

- Isn't the enemy aware of that too? - Loken found himself suprised as he heard himself speak the question out loud. Horus smiled as he tilted his head. Loken cursed himself for not remembering what it was like being in the Mournival. He wanted me to say this. He wanted me to be the one casting the shadow of doubt, and me being ridiculed by them so that others speak their minds. As much as Russ and Dorn would not hesitate to do so in front of Horus, Bjorn and Lysander would likely hold restraint in questioning the Warmaster – they won't hold back against a man of the same rank.

Lysander waved his hand as in disbelief.

- You're suggesting these crazy fanatics have common sense? They won't even get to Mars, nevermind Terra. The very idea is preposterous.

- Let him speak, Darnath, I think he did not finish his thought – Dorn spoke – speak your mind, Garviel.

- Well, if I may be blunt, they were stuck on Cadia for hundreds of years – and that's just thanks to the Imperial Guard and their illustrious generals. They surely know that what we've prepared here dwarfs that force by multitudes. If they choose to attack us head on, then perhaps they have a different plan in work, something much more sinister, something that would give them the upper hand? - Gavriel asked these questions, himself unsure how to answer – It must be more than Abbadon's pride leading him, for all his vile acts I don't think he'd be a mindless moron that would throw away all the forces that he'd gathered - just like that.

The men pondered on these thoughts, and it seemed that there was some merit to these words. Indeed most of the Chaos armies' actions, though mindlessly cruel, they proved to always find a way to thwart the Imperial defenses however powerful they be, be it by deceit, treachery or outright ferocity of the assault.

Bjorn, who so far stood silent as the council debated, now bellowed with his hollow, metallic voice, though one could easily recognize that the ancient dreadnought grew wise with age, his words like those of an elderly scholar.

- The captain raises concerns that ought to be resolved, for it is clear that we are well-prepared for a direct assault, thanks to our illustrious brethren of the Imperial Fists. - now he had the attention of the council, everyone listening to the words of the Space Wolf – If we want to prepare for what is to come, perhaps we ought to see if the enemy plan is as mysterious as brother Loken made it sound.

- What do you mean, old friend? - Russ asked.

- What I mean is rarely does one stray from plans that succeed. Abaddon the Despoiler won his fight for Cadia. He might believe that we he had done there will work in Sol just as well. Pride is a thing most powerful, and it had always been the undoing of many. - as he finished, the dreadnought fell back on its legs, and rested as if tired by such a long conversation. His point had been made.

Now it was Horus who spoke.

- Abaddon never was a man capable of grand schemes. He's effective at what he does, yet simple in his plans. The blow will not come from within. It will be something much more mundane. - he began – He would strike at the heart of the enemy, seeking to sever the command structure, decapitate the enemy with a single, potent blow. His main advantage on Cadia was the vicinity of the Eye of Terror. Now the warp rift closes in on Terra, feeding his forces with reinforcements. If we are to stop him, we must not let this battle turn into one of attrition, lest it become another gruesome conflict we'd be doomed to lose.

- And how do we go about that? - Loken yet again asked the obvious question, now getting used to being the naysayer in the group.

- It's simple. We let him have his golden opportunity. He will not hesitate to act if he thinks he has the upper hand. We let him make planetfall and rid us of his presence – once and for all. - as Horus finished these words, he looked at his brothers.

Both Primarchs stood there, both of them strangely fond of the plan. Dorn would get to test his bulwark against the tides of Chaos, and Russ would be given his fight, his Wolftime. Here was a man eager for battle if there ever was one.

- We will need the Navy to fool the enemy into thinking they're center ranks are crumbling and retreating. Have them fasten their flanks and let the heretic hordes sweep past them, and as they land cut them off, leaving them stranded with an attack from all sides.

As the Warmaster began working on the details of the plan, Loken gazed upon the skies, where battle had already begun.

Battle for Terra - Varynski's last charge

- Target the Spiteful, all starboard batteries – open fire! - the order rang out through voice comms from the command bridge of Ragnarok, and shortly after every available cannon spat out what was to be a deadly salvo of laser fire. The enemy cruiser burst into flames and trembled as its hull was shattered, the debris filling space between the two ships. It was no match for the flagship of the Space Wolves 1st Fleet, and soon went up in a bright explosion, which was shortly after extinguished by the vacuum of space.

At the strategum, now filled with red light as the whole fleet entered a full-scale battle with invading Chaos units , Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski was looking at the tactical appraisal of the current situation, his firm, clad in dark blue uniform silhouette surrounded by various officers of the Navy. A few metres behind him stood the Space Wolves 5th Captain, brother Anatolius, his bolter held in front of him, helmet by his side. The admiral took off his cap ran his fingers through his long, grey hair.

- Master Garth, have Jormugand and Odin follow us into this breach in formation pattern Mercury, keep it tight. With the destruction of the Spiteful we have an opening. Ready the batteries for full broadsides and have them hold their fire.

The first officer nodded and began transmitting through vox. The Chaos fleet that emerged from warp no more than a few hours ago was now engaged in a full-scale battle with the loyalist ships, and the engagement reached its climax. Their forces were spread thin, and through an opening in their formation the Ragnarok could make an attempt to break their force in two, turning the battle into an easy victory for the Imperial forces. The only thing of importance right now was momentum, and, Terra, Admiral Varynski would get his Emperor this victory.

- Full speed ahead!

He watched the tactical display above the strategum table, which indicated that the Cassini array was still defiant, broadcasting what seemed to be a litany to the Emperor on all external comms, flooding the Chaos fleet with Imperial chants. He chuckled.

- Have the 3rd squadron, the Justice and Fenris Defiant move in on our right flank. How much left before we're in range of enemy fire?

- Sir, two minutes before their battleships are in range.

- Very well. Brace for impact men, and don't forget that the Emperor protects. - Varynski uttered, as they went at full speed into the space between two enemy battleships, their cannons already fixing their aim on the Ragnarok. After a few moments, a devastating salvo fired from both of them, hitting the flagship's hull. The bridge trembled, and men fell to the ground.

- Status report! Now! - the first officer yelled, as he stood up.

- Sir, two hull breaches reported, and we lost starboard batteries two to four. Also hangar bay number 5 is gone.

- Seal the breached compartments, and send repair crews immediately. Now show them how we deal with heretics on Fenris. All batteries, take aim! - Varynski yelled, and his order was passed on through the officers at the strategum table. - Fire! - as he spoke those words there was a moment of chatter, and suddenly everyone could feel as the whole room trembled.

Every side battery fired and for a brief moment Ragnarok was surrounded with bright lasfire, as it tore through enemy hulls. The two capital ships to its sides wiggled as the impetous salvos hit their marks. The flagship did not wait to see the results, instead going at full throttle to separate the battle groups. In his wake the other two battleships followed, with gigantic statues of the Emperor shining at their bows as if empowered by his grace. The Black Crusade ships didn't get a chance to recover from the first strike, as both Jormugand and Odin unloaded a full broadside each, finishing the kills.

- Captain Anatolius, tell your men to be ready to board. We're going to engage in close combat with enemy forces now. - the admiral spoke, and the captain nodded, a rare event of an Astartes following orders from a simple naval officer. That being said, Varynski was the commanding officer of the whole fleet, and his authority was granted by Leman Russ himself. At that moment, it was as if the Primarch was behind the command.

- Launch the reserve fighters, have them clear the path for our squadron. Turn the ship starboard, have Jormugand and Odin follow our assault, with Justice and Fenris Defiant holding our former position. Let us unleash the Emperor's fury upon these wretched souls!

The first officer did not wait for his commander to even finish his orders as he began relaying through vox. The Ragnarok, though battered, began its lumbersome turn, leaving behind the ravaged wrecks of Chaos ships, with friendly units following him. From its hangar bays a myriad fighters emerged, immediately taking point ahead of their mothership, and taking course on the enemy screens that began to adjust their positions in anticipation of the Imperial manouver.

- Sir, new contacts! Five, ten, thirty – the comms officer suddenly stopped as he watched his screen get filled with various new signals – Sir, we have more than a hundred unidentified warp signatures, quadrant Mars-two-two-zero, emerging now!

- Identify those ships, now! Begin hailing them and demand compliance to the Imperium this very moment! - Varynski fought to get his orders through the chatter that filled the strategum – Silence! What do we know about these ships?

- Sir, some of them are stored in our memory-banks, pirate or rogue units. Most of them we have no record of. Sir – the second officer spoke – we don't know who they are.

- Keep reaching them and focus on the matter at hand. Give our fighters support fire from bow batteries, and keep our formation with Jormugand and Odin. This is our chance, men!

- Aye, sir! – multiple voices responded, as the bridge staff took to their duties.

Officer Garth walked to the admiral's side and hushed.

- Sir, if I may, we should consider altering our formation in case these units prove hostile. We might get caught up between two enemy formations, sir.

- Objection received and noted, master Garth. But this is our chance – here Varynski pointed to the tactical display – If we get the enemy flank routed, we can rebuild our right wing and form up defensive positions, with half the enemy fleet gone. We cannot let this chance slip away.

- Sir! I have a response, sir! - second officer shouted in agitation as he continued on – Sir, they're Imperial! They're transmitting old codes, sir, milennias old, but they're definitely Imperial!

- Who in the name of Terra is leading them? – the admiral spoke as if asking himself. - Master Garth, you have the bridge. - As he said, the officers responded and saluted, watching him walk to a vox station. The aged admiral put his hand upon the operating officer's shoulder – Son, patch me through to the unit responding our hail. Demand to speak with their commanding officer.

- Aye, sir.

Tense moments passed as Varynski listened to his subordinate patch through to the new formation. Eventually he handed his headset to the admiral, nodding.

- This is Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski, commanding officer of the 1st Fenris Fleet and acting commander of the Ragnarok, state your purpose and identify yourself!

- This is the commanding officer of Keshig, captain Ogedei Berke, and acting commander of the fleet. Our vessel carries White Scars' Primarch, Jagathai Khan. We bring aid to your units. Do not – I repeat – do not open fire, we are friendly. - the vox headset rang, and Varynski nearly froze as he heard those words.

- Confirm the presence of Jagathai Khan, Keshig.

- Message confirmed, we have the Khan onboard. It's good to be home, sir.

The admiral couldn't help but allow himself to grin. By the Emperor, the tides have finally turned. He walked back to the strategum, making his way through a crowd of bridge officers.

- Have the Khan's fleet join us in formation pattern Ardentium – it's old, they should recognize it – and aid us in a pincer attack. Broadcast to the Cassini Array, have them provide fire support on the enemy vessels on the right flank. This is what we've been waiting for, what humanity has been waiting for, men! This is our moment of glory! - As he said these words, the officers around him cheered. The old admiral seemed as if invigorated with youth, his gaze eager to engage the task at hand. He was born to lead his men in this very battle, now he knew that for certain. He watched as the display showed the Khan's ships join up and wreak havoc among the rear Chaos ships, and witnessed the whole flank crumble under relentless assault.

The Ragnarok has forgone broadsides in favour of continous fire, targeting multiple ships as it aimed at doing as much damage as possible and sowing confusion in the enemy ranks. And when all seemed to go as it had been planned, a new message came through.

- Admiral, we have new warp signatures, quadrant Mars-two-three, they're emerging now!

- Give me tactical display. Are those Khan units?

- Sir, we recognize the signatures. They're Dark Eldar vessels!

All the officers at the strategum watched as display got filled with small red dots, each one – an enemy ship emerging from warp behind the Khan's fleet in what seemed to be a pursuit. Ten, twenty, fifty, so many that Varynski eventually stopped taking count, as the dots formed a chaotic and irregular formation. They were extremely fast, and were heading at full speed in their direction. He saw one ship in particular, designated Delta Echo One, that looked as if it was keeping at the rear of the formation, despite it's monstrous size. That would very well be the flagship of the Dark Eldar, the race ever-hesitant to risk their lives in vain.

- How long before they reach Khan's fleet?

- Sir, about thirty minutes. Khan won't make it in time.

Indeed, as the display zoomed out they could see the situation clearly. Closest to Mars, where the Imperial Battlefleet had drawn the line, was the main battle, with units fighting among asteroids and in the vast vacuum of space around the planet and its moons. Then, there was a good few dozen, close to a hundred small ships, a ragtag band of rogues and pirates brought together in some mysterious way by the Khan to aid Terra. And then the powerful Dark Eldar fleet, its size such that it could very well turn the tide of the battle. If they strike now, Varynski thought, the whole right flank of the Imperium would crumble, and with it – the whole formation, as most ships were now engaged in close range fights.

However, if Ragnarok could delay the Dark Eldar somehow long enough for the right flank to rout the Chaos forces completely, they would stand a chance. Not a big one, but that was at least something to work with. For some reason, the elderly admiral reminded himself of his old mentor, back from his cadet days.

---

- Engage thrusters, Daniel, slowly. Just like in the simulator. That's right. - he heard the calm voice of Chief Instructor Toivonen guiding him, as their vessel lifted off the ground. It was an unarmed, training ship, fairly agile and fast, designed to test the abilities of a pilot as he was given a very sensitive unit to handle. Terra, Daniel would show them how it's done. He'd spent hundreds of hours in the simulators, and by now he could've done it with his eyes shut. - Now there, don't be cocky, cadet. We still haven't reached the orbit. - the instructor said through vox, as he saw the confidence of the young pilot. It didn't change the fact that he smiled as he was saying those words, happy he wasn't there for his student to see him.

- Aye, sir.

The ship went higher and higher, above the spires of the port authorities, above the highest houses of the nobility, and then – into the vacuum of space around the planet of Tars, a system located a few light years from Fenris, an important world on the ever-busy route to Cadia. Through the glass of the cockpit's visors Daniel could see his instructors ship, the same class as his own, rise up next to him.

- Allright, let's do this nice and easy then. We have two rounds around Tars II to do, and after that manouvering through Tars III asteroid fields. Cadet Varynski, commence training exercise.

- Roger that. Moving to two thirds sublight speed.

The pair of ships began their flight around the planet, with the cadet's ship performing various manouvers around the artificial sattelites and through traffic routes as per the training's schedule. After a good few hours, they found themselves en route to the rocky belt surrounding the star of Tars, near Tars' III orbit. All was going well, until the scanner picked up a strange warp signature.

- Sir, flight Echo One Nine, reporting unidentified warp signatures in quadrant Tars-four-one-five, relaying data now.

Toivonen raised his brow as he watched the information pour in. By now his sensors also received the signal. Weird, he thought, there was nothing scheduled here from Cadia today.

- Ignore that cadet, focus on the task at hand. I'll analyze the new data.

- Aye, sir.

And so they kept their course, as they went closer to the signatures' point of origin. By now they were close enough for the training ship equipment to properly assess the data. When he saw the feed, Toivonen went pale.

- Cadet Varynski, form up on me, pattern Jupiter five, and do not stray.

Daniel did as he was ordered to, though reluctantly. What was going on? Was it that weird signal? He fought with himself, but eventually he disregarded his order and began to run analisation sequences on the few ships that entered the system. By now they were nearly at the asteroid belt, and a few of the signatures separated from the main group of about five. It seemed that some light ships, possibly fighters were heading their way, with ETA at about ten minutes. He realised he'd began sweating now.

- Cadet Varynski, I need you to plot a course for comms array Epsilon right now and head there at full throttle. Have them contact Tars Primary and Fenris. Tell them that we have hostiles inbound for Tars Primary. - the rest of the transmission he did not hear properly.

- Sir, repeat your last order.

- I repeat, Cadet Varynski, make haste for comms array Epsilon, now! Tell them that we have Chaos ships inbound to Tars Primary! Get a warp-ready ship and make at full speed for Fenris! Get help goddamnit!

- Sir, what about you?

- I'll provide cover from those fighters that are inbound.

Varynski looked at the screens. The training ships were unarmed. It was madness. Chaos ships came from the direction of Cadia. Terra allmighty! They passed the blockade! It was a splinter from the Black Crusade! By now he realised what was going on. Tars' Primary sensor arrays were on the far side of the planet right now. Before they get past the shadow of the globe, it will be too late. The ships will begin their assault before they even get a warning. But if they made it in time to Epsilon...

- Sir, I advise you follow me and we both head for Epsilon. You will die there, captain!

- Their fighters are too fast. Besides, I shouldn't hog all the glory. Toivonen out, and may the Emperor watch over you.

He watched as the instructors' ship changed course to intercept the fighters, and engage them in a horribly one-sided dogfight among the asteroids of Tars III. He would die there, for sure. But he might just get them focused enough that they forget about the single training ship that will sound the alarm.

He knew Toivonen had made his choice, and it was up to him if his sacrifice would be in vain. He pushed the throttle to its maximum and his craft began its journey towards one of the stations around Tars III's moon. He watched as his radar showed five Chaos fighters engage and pursue the single, defiant green dot that danced its way through the rocky path. Explosions, quickly vanishing in the vacuum, burst as their laser fire tore through the asteroids. Now it was too late to change what they've done.

It took a good few minutes before the array was visible, with his instructor's ship long gone from his scanners, too far to see. He hoped he would make it. He knew he could not. He began hailing.

- Epsilon array, this is flight Echo One Nine, requesting clearence to dock. I repeat, Epsilon array, this is flight Echo One Nine, requestion clearance to dock. This is an emergency. Open the hangars! - he could hear the panic in his own voice as he voxed through.

- Echo One Nine, this is Epsilon array. You are not scheduled for docking. State your business.

- Epsilon array, this is Echo One Nine, open those hangar doors or I'll ram my ship in them! We have Chaos ships in the system inbound for Tars Primary!

- Wait a moment, we need to check your information. - the painfully cold voice voxed, and now all that was left was static. Goddamn fleet bureaucracy! There is no time for that now, Daniel thought.

- Clearance granted, hangar bay two opening up now. Follow docking procedures.

- Roger that Epsilon array, Echo One Nine commencing docking now.

If there ever was an ideal docking, it was done now. He didn't even slow down as he made at full speed for the bay, using his reverse thrusters to put the ship to an abrupt halt as he flew in, smouldering parts of the station's hull as he entered. There is no time, there is no time, he uttered to himself. The hatch opened and Daniel jumped out and ran through the hangar, ignoring the alarmed shouts he heard from hangar personnel. He burst through the corridors and went directly to the command room, almost knocking down a few naval security officers as he ran.

- Relay the information to Tars Primary! We have a small Chaos unit inbound for the planet, coming from the direction of Cadia! - he yelled towards the commanding officer at one of the stations. The array was a small outpost and there was hardly any crew in the room. - I'm under orders from Captain Toivonen of 5th Stormbolts to secure and command a warp-ready vessel, and get you to send distress calls to whoever can answer.

The commanding officer looked at him as if he did not understand what he just said. Daniel cursed under his nose and just went up to one of the comms officers.

- Give me Tars Primary, now!

- Sir, what are you- the commanding officer began and froze, as Daniel simply reached out for his gun and pointed it at him.

- I am no commissar, officer, but as a fleet cadet I am of senior rank here, and I will lay down His wrath on anyone who dares defy His work. Now give me that fucking connection!

The comms officer did as he was told to, and soon Varynski was done. All was in the hands of the good souls on Tars Primary now. They did not have much time, but at least they could shelter some of the hive cities' population by the time bombardment begins.

- Now get me my ship and an astropath.

It took months to fight off the incursion. He made it to Fenris, almost killing the Epsilon array's commanding officer in a fit of rage in the process. He warned the fleet there and soon an expedition was on its way to liberate the distressed system. Captain Toivonen's shipwreck was found days later, among debris from two of the Chaos fighters that could not match his piloting skills and crashed into the asteroids of Tars III. Toivonen had no guns, and still managed to save countless lives. For their achievements, Daniel was awarded command over his own ship and began his career as a high ranking officer of the fleet, with personal recognition from the Astartes chapter. Posthumously, Toivonen was raised to admiralty, and awarded a Macharian Cross.

---

Now it was different. He wasn't unarmed like Toivonen. He had the fleet's mightiest ship under his command, and he knew what needed to be done.

- Master Garth, get me vox comms to all friendly units in our vicinity, and reach out to Khan's ships. I have something to say.

- Aye, sir.

After a few moments, he was ready.

- This is Grand Admiral Daniel Varynski of 1st Fenris Fleet and acting commander of the Ragnarok. To any and all who can hear me, we have a new situation on our hands. We have a sizeable Dark Eldar fleet inbound, pursuing vessels of our beloved Emperor's son, the Khan. The Ragnarok will engage that fleet and delay their arrival for as long as it is able to, securing a safe passage for our allies and buying us time to completely rout the Chaos forces on our flank. I hereby transfer command of the 1st Fleet to Admiral Sofon onboard the Jormugand. Any ship willing to aid us in this task is welcome to do so, though chances of success are slim. Good hunting men, and may the Emperor have mercy on us all.

As the words rang out, the whole strategum went silent, everyone staring at their Admiral. The Astartes captain Anatolius walked forth, and stopped at the strategum table. The Admiral spoke once again.

- Have the crew man any fighters, thunderhawks and escape pods they can. Transfer batteries command to my station. Brother Anatolius, have your men off this ship. We're not going back from this one.

- Admiral Varynski – the Astartes captain spoke for the first time during the battle, his voice calm – I am born to fight, not to run. We will stand with you.

The fleet commander gazed at the people around him. Every man in the chamber was now standing, looking at their leader. Not one of them deserted his post and it wasn't looking like anyone was planning to. Varynski felt proud to be the leader of those brave soldiers, and proud to be human. The eyes of his subordinates were full of defiance, of courage, the look that he thought Captain – no, Admiral Toivonen had when he sacrificed himself for the good of the Imperium. The first officer broke the silence, and handed a vox communicator to the Admiral.

- Sir, this is for you.

Daniel grabbed the vox comm and spoke.

- Strategum, over.

- Admiral, this is Chief Mechanic Sareth. Forgive me for speaking bluntly, sir, but I think I speak for all of my men when I say that if you think we're leaving you now you're much dumber than I thought. Sir. - Varynski could hear a distant cough and almost see the tense faces of the men gathered in the engine room, as his officer began to understand that what he just said could easily end in a martial court in normal circumstances. He smiled.

- Objection noted, Chief. - he said, as he looked up upon the display ahead of him.

- Allright men, show is over. Let's see what this beauty can do, shall we? Turn her about Master Garth, and give me as much speed as we can get. Ready the fore batteries!

The Ragnarok took a slow turn, as it raced to face the Dark Eldar vessels already on their way to intercept Khan's fleet. Its giant and majestic hull danced through the enemy formation, never ceasing to continously pummel the surrounding enemy ships, now scattering in panic. A small corvette of the Chaos fleet didn't anticipate the Imperial ship's manouver in time, and simply blew up as it crashed its miniscule form on the starboard of the monstrous flagship. To his surprise, Varynski could see the display showing multiple friendly units forming up in an offensive Scythe pattern ahead of the Ragnarok, with multiple ships changing their course to follow in their wake, including Fenris Defiant and Odin, two sizeable battleships.

- Grand Admiral, this is Commodore Ulther of the battleship Odin – the vox chattered – we'll be proud to be of aid.

- Rangarok, Foxtrot Wing is glad to provide fighter cover, over.

Similar reports kept pouring in as the ships nearest to their flagship heeded the call and formed up around it. Most of the fleet, however, kept formation, hurrying to finish up the fight on their flank and get ready to repel the new threat, with Jormugand engaging in what seemed to be a boarding operation with the enemy command ship.

The ragtag fleet of pirates and rogues under Khans's leadership flew past the makeshift defence fleet, hurrying to join their compatriots. The enemy fighters were already beginning to fire at straggling units, as they closed in on marauders.

- Fore batteries, provide covering fire for the Khan. Fire at will! - the first officer shouted over the strategum table, and shortly after lasfire and projectiles created a monstrous barrage in front of the ship, blowing up a sizeable chunk of the enemy fighter formations. They spread out, and that was to be their demise as Foxtrot Wing jumped in on them, flying in formation as if on a parade, and killing what was left. Still ahead of them loomed the whole fleet though, with the enemy flagship designated Delta Echo One beside the first waves of cruisers.

- Rudder five degrees to starboard, take course to intercept target Delta Echo One, have fore batteries make us a path and hold your fire on port batteries! - Grand Admiral ordered, and the ship adjusted its bearing slightly. First enemy vessels were getting in range and a carpet of lasfire opened up between the two sides, as they closed in.

Varynski remembered his years back in the officer school. Dark Eldar are best beat when forced with overwhelming odds, and if he could make it look like their very lives were in danger, he could force the enemy commander to retreat, leaving his fleet to its doom.

- Captain Anatolius, have you men get ready to board Delta Echo One, if we can't take it down by force, we'll take it from them with the help of your battle brothers. - he spoke to the colossus next to him.

- I'll lead the charge myself. - Anatolius said, as he began to walk out, headed towards the hangar bays. - It's been a pleasure, Admiral.

- Likewise.

The Astartes walked out, his heavy armour clanging on the steel deck. The doors to the strategum were shut as he left, leaving the Navy to take care of the task at hand.

Which was ardous to say the least. Ragnarok was now receiving fire from a multiple of enemy detachments, and though each one of the enemy vessels was laughingly small compared to its bulwark, their combined efforts began to tear apart the ships front armour. The flagship however was not falling short, as it wrecked any Dark Eldar spacecraft in its immediate course, securing a bloody path towards its goal.

As the two behemoths lined their sides towards each other with no more than a few hundred metres between them, an eerie silence fell in the strategum as everyone waited for the Admiral to make the call. Finally, the order came.

- Port batteries, open fire! Full broadside! Boarding ships, follow up on the salvo! Rudder to port, ten degrees, slow down to two thirds! - Varynski called, and his officers relayed the orders through vox.

There was a powerful blaze as both the Dark Eldar and Imperial ships opened a relentless barrage, their batteries shredding enemy hulls and sending both ships into a dance of death.

After the opening exchange of lasfire, drop pods and thunderhawks shot out of the side of Rangarok, looking as if a second broadside was fired – instead this time delivering a deadly payload of enraged Space Wolves. Their ships went through holes torn out by their motherships' guns and began the assault.

The enemy fleet seemed stunned by the audacity of the Imperial Admiral, fighting to scramble ships to aid their distressed flagship. Their advance toward Terra was put to a halt, and a bitter fight ensued between an overwhelming Dark Eldar fleet and the few ships that followed the Ragnarok in its charge. Seeing the events on the display, Varynski couldn't help but smile. The plan was working. Terra, it was working!

- Sir, we have multiple hull breaches in starboard compartments. We're getting blasted here, admiral. - First officer Garth relayed the report. - The ship won't last long.

- I am aware of that. - he replied, and looked across the table at the one man that kept silent throughout the whole battle - Inquisitor Moros, I ask for the Holy Orders of the Inquisition approval of cyclonic torpedo use.

The chiefs of staff assembled at the strategum all looked at the Inquisitor, who didn't respond for a moment, assesing the situation as if feeling its gravity. And then he spoke calmly, his decision made.

- By the powers granted upon me by our beloved Emperor, I hereby approve the use of cyclonic torpedoes to rid this xeno filth from the face of the Materium. You are free to proceed, admiral.

- Very well. Transmit a message to all those that followed us telling them to steer away as fast as possible. Have the armaments officers load up torpedo tubes one to fourteen with cyclonic torpedo payloads. - and, after a second, the Admiral spoke, looking in the eyes of all those surrounding his elderly figure – It's been an honour serving the Emperor with men like you.

By this moment Ragnarok was merely a shadow of its former glory. Its starboard armour wrecked, with gaping holes ripped by enemy fire, still pouring down on the helpless battleship. Its nemesis, the Dark Eldar flagship, was also heavily beat up, with parts of the hull seemingly blowing up from the inside, obviously the work of the boarding troops wreaking as much havoc as was possible and placing detonator charges inside its wretched halls.

The Odin and a few other corvettes, aided by what was left of the illustrious fighter wing that heeded the call, were now turning about, their engines roaring as they made haste to clear from the immediate vicinity of the two behemoths. After them many enemy crafts went in pursuit, shooting down whatever targets they could lock on, slaughtering the Imperials thanks to their agility and firepower.

Then Jormugand's torpedo tubes opened up one after the other, screeching as they went. One, two, five, ten, fourteen shafts opened and in one moment spat out fourteen deadly missiles, which went straight for the heart of Delta Echo One. First, they used melta detonators to bore through the hull of the flagship, and after that – they disappeared.

For what seemed a milennium nothing happened, seconds going by. Then a powerful blaze encompassed the two ships, cought up in their deathly embrace. The Jormugand's hull cracked and broke in two, seconds before it was swallowed whole by the fireball. It kept encompassing more and more vessels, until it swept a good chunk of the Dark Eldar fleet away with a potent blast. The blaze was so huge, that it could be seen on the surface of the planets of Sol, and even Terra. Then came the shockwave, hurling the retreating Imperial forces towards their kin, their ships spinning and struggling for survival.

The men onboard the Imperial vessesls still fighting off the Black Crusade cheered as they saw the sacrifice of their leader, who even in death was able to deal a mortal blow to the enemy.

The old man has shown them what we're capable of, they thought.

He's shown them we're not going to back down.

He's shown them we're going to win whatever the cost.

Angels Resplendent

Kanvolis
Sanguinius, the Angel, primarch of the Blood Angels, stared at the gates of the fortress-monastery. From the outside, the fortress looked abandoned, no lights shone from it's windows, and several of its towers had fallen into disrepair. Gently, the Primarch pushed on the great door. The hinges squealed as it swung inwards. The Primarch stepped into the gloom, his faint halo providing a glow bright enough for him to see by. What he saw concerned him. Deep scratches adorned the stone walls, on which had been scrawled nonsense and crude symbols that Sanguinius did not recognise. He passed close to one of the scratch marks and found, to his dismay, the marks fit his fingers. It had not been some species of xenos that had made those marks. The Primarch stode on, he had arrived at the fortress of the Angels Resplendent seeking his sons. Now he just wanted to know what had happened. Something squished under his boot, and the primarch crouched down, focusing on the floor. What looked like the remains of some kind of cloth lay on the ground, rotting into mulch. The Angel's eyes were able to make out the remnants of several pigments still clinging to the threads. They seemed chiefly gold and blue, although the Primarch noticed several smears of bright red. He stood up, pushing his enhanced eyesight to penetrate the gloom beyond the light his corona cast. All along the corridor lay destroyed tapestries like this. Glancing at the wall, Sanguinius noted several pegs that the tapestries had been mounted on, some still adorned with small tufts of thread. The artwork of the Angels Resplendent, regarded the galaxy over, had been torn from the walls, trampled on, and then left to rot. The Primarch increased his pace, heading deeper into the fortress, his resolve to find answers growing.

The Primarch strode down through the forsaken halls of the Angels Resplendent. His sword hung heavy at his hip, and his hearing strained for the slightest sound. Suddenly, he thought he heard a voice, and stopped. Closing his eyes, the Primarch rotated on the spot, searching for the sound.
"THE EMPEROR CONDEMNS!"
The scream echoed through the fortress, causing the Primarch to turn. The sound had come from an antechamber, off to the Primarch's left. Without a moment's hesitation, Sanguinius sprinted for the source of the sound, leaping over shattered statues and piles of ruined tapestries. He arrived in the antechamber with such speed, he skidded on the thick layer of mulched tapestries that covered the floor. His wings fluttered as he recovered his balance, and the sound they made elicited a whimper from the far corner of the room. Sanguinius cautiously approached the sound, boots squelching on the muck. As he approached, his corona lit the corner. A Space Marine, helmetless but otherwise armoured was curled up in the corner, attempting to press himself into the corner. In between whimpers the marine whispered a desperate prayer with barely a pause for breath, words tripping over each other:
"theemperorcondemnsnonearebeyondhissightogodpleaseforgivemeididn'tknowididn'trealiseithoughttheywereright." the marine's words were choked by sobs. Sanguinius knelt down, reaching to place a hand on the marine, when a glance at the marine's armour stopped him. The armour was a matte black, daubed with lines of a tarry reddish-brown colour. At some point, some of the paint had been scraped off, and the colours beneath were blue and gold. The colours of the Angels Resplendent.
"My Son." said Sanguinius, soothingly as possible.
"Who did this to you?"

The marine turned at his Primarch's voice.
"The prophet, the martyr, he told us how we had sinned. He said we had to kill them."
"Kill who?" the primarch's voice rose with alarm, but the marine was no longer listening:
"OH GOD-EMPEROR I'M SORRY" The Marine's screams echoed through the fortress. "Listen" Sanguinius caught one of the marine's hands and squeezed it tightly. "I will tell the Emperor you are sorry, if you tell where the ones who did this are." This seemed to calm the frantic marine slightly:
"I-in the centre of the fortress. They judge us from there."
Sanguinius stroked the side of the marine's face.
"Thank you, my son"
With a violent twist, he snapped the marine's neck. It was a mercy, he said to himself, then stood. He walked from the room, drawing his sword as he did so. He took a moment to orient himself, and began to stride in the direction of the fortress' council chamber, where the captains would gather.

As the angel walked, his face showed no trace of emotion, but his psychic corona brightened steadily, lighting up more and more of the fortress as he passed through. He could see the faint shapes of astartes moving through the gloom, staying at the very edge of the light. Why do they hide from me, the primarch wondered. A small voice in the back of his mind spoke up: maybe they remember who you are, and they're ashamed of what they've become. The primarch stepped through a tall archway, into the council chamber. The faint smell of charred ceramite hung in the air. Sanguinius stepped into the centre of the room, and looked around. Astartes crowded into the room, none willing to step into the light, all wearing black and red armour. Atop thrones made of scorched ceramite, some of which still had blue paint clinging to them, a circle of nine chaplains regarded the Primarch. The red lenses observed him out of skull faced helms crowned with barbed wire.
Sanguinius asked the only question he could:
"Why?" "We are unclean." Chanted the chaplains.
"The curse is in our blood"
"We must show our purity before the Emperor."
When Sanguinius spoke, his voice trembled with fury:
"This is not purity. This is a Nightmare. You were the exemplars of what we could be." The chaplain immediately in front of Sanguinius stood up.
"Those who stood unblemished yesterday shall fall tomorrow or the day after, for treachery hides in our blood, cloaked in pride."
Sanguinius looked at the Chaplain. "Was this your doing?" "Yes, lord. We are your sons. We would do anything to show our father we were worthy."
Sanguinius struck his head from his shoulders. He turned to the others, eyes blazing with psychic power held barely in check.
"You are not my sons. You are an insult to me and the Emperor. You are animals, and I am putting you down!"

The first Chaplain to go for his crozius, Sanguinius decapitated. The others leapt from their thrones, moving out of the primarch's reach. They were in a circle around him, so he could not focus on all of them. A strike to the back of his knee brought the angel to his knees. THe chaplain in front of him lowered his crozius and spoke: "We cannot allow you to blaspheme against the Emperor."
Sanguinius heard the others hiss:
"Blasphemy"
His reply to the chaplain was succinct:
"BURN" The chaplain shuddered for a moment, and then he screamed as the psychic power of the primarch immolated him from the inside out. The primarch surged to his feet with a single flap of his great wings, whilst the other Chaplains reeled back from the incredible heat that had melted their comrade. A chaplain to the left charged the Primarch, swinging his crozius at the angel's head. The red sword passed beneath his guard and cut him in two without stopping. Another charged from behind, and a mighty wing smashed him into the air, where he crashed against a pillar and then went still. The remaining four chaplains grouped together, facing the Primarch. The astartes around the circle closed in tighter. The Primarch looked around at them, taking in the pale faces and sunken eyes that regarded him. He pointed his sword at the circle of chaplains and spoke to the lost marines.
"If you truly are capable of redemption, destroy the architects of this travesty!"
The marines pressed inwards for a moment, before a chaplain shouted:
"The Emperor Condemns!"
They halted, hope fading. Then a desperate, nameless marine somewhere in the crowd shouted back:
"WE WILL RISE ON BURNING WINGS!"
The Angels Resplendent charged the fallen Chaplains.

Outside the ruined fortress, Sanguinius studied his Resplendent sons. The ones that could had cleansed their armour of the tarry, dark colours of the Angels Penitent. As the Primarch watched, an honour guard of Marines marched out of the gate, carrying between them the Chapter banner. The banner had been kept safe by a serf who had seen the madness overtaking his chapter and vowed to save at least one thing from the iconoclasts. It bore the symbol of the Blood Angels woven onto a scroll, with the blue and gold of the Angels Resplendent surrounding it. As the guard carried it past the crowd of marines, they all turned to watch it, what little conversation there had been dying. The Angel, standing in shadow of a thunderhawk that had answered the urgent requests of the Primarch, stepped forwards, nodding to the honour guard as his mailed fist closed around the haft. He raised the banner into the air and then planted it into the Earth. He looked at his sons and spoke quietly:
"Rise on burning wings. You are so much stronger than you think you are." Without another word, he turned and walked into the dark interior of the thunderhawk. Another man walked out. Among the crowd of space marines, several eyes widened. It was Varzival, the Knight Resplendent, thought lost for so long, who had returned to them at last. He looked at the Astartes facing him, then at the Chapter banner, then back again.
"Shall we?"

Legacy of Sanguinius

"STRIKE AT THEM BROTHERS!!!" - Cried out Chaplain Argus, clad in Terminator armour, as he led the charge of his Death Company Terminators into the heat of the battle against the Glistering Host. The old Lamenter was raging at what he saw in the fallen progeny of his beloved Primarch and the atrocities they committed.

"IN THE NAME OF SLAANE--GUAH!!!" - the fallen marine felt under the strike of one of Argus's Death Company Terminators. The assault was relentless and merciless as the berserking Lamenters steamrolled their way into the inner sanctuary the Chaos Marines have erected over the ruined city that was once Valaran.

Before the Glistering Host descended on the agri-world of Lyon, Valaran was a peaceful place where the citizens worked hard to produce food for its home sub-sector. Yet when the Slaaneshi worshipers descended on them, they leveled the city and did horrid and abominable things to the people there.

The Lamenters heard the people's cry for help and went en route to save as many as possible. What they saw was something that couldn't be described in words. The Chaos Marines spared non, not even the youngest.

The Terminator members of the Lamenters' strike force were immediately overwhelmed with the Black Rage after what they saw. This was something that Argus didn't anticipate. For that the Commander put him in charge of the Terminators and lead them to their final fight. "BY THE EMPEROR, WE WILL REMOVE THOSE ABOMINABLE PARODIES OF OUR PRIMARCH'S IMAGE!! TO BATTLE!! FOR SANGUINIUS!!!" - cried out Argus as he opened fire from his Assault Cannon.

The Terminators that the Lamenter's Chaplain led had their wargear hastily replaced with the heaviest weapons the Techmarines were capable of finding and modifying. Such was the wrath of the Lamenters that they even took the weapons that were left as emergency supplies and after hastily altering them, grafted to the Argus's Terminators. Apart of Argus and two other members getting Assault Cannons, the rest had a combination of Multi-Meltas, Plasma Cannons, even Heavy Bolters instead of traditional Storm Bolters. Some sported Cyclone Missile Launchers, not to mention that they even had their Power Fists replaced wit Lightning Claws, Chain Fists and other Power Weapons.

The Death Company Terminators and Argus went deeper and deeper into the sanctuary, dispatching more of the Glistering Host. Even the two Hellbrutes that guarded the entry to the utmost inner part of the sanctuary were quickly dispatched by the enormous firepower the Lamenters sported.

When they breached into the central part of the Chaos construction, the Death Company met its quarry. The Daemon Prince that was the mastermind behind the destruction of Valaran and the forces that were tormenting Lyon.

"What do my eyes see? Our brothers from the Lamenters, how delightful of you to come and pay a visit to a fellow Blood Angel successor. It's a good thing that you were to appear. I hoped that would happen, as any successor from other of the 1st Founding Chapters wouldn't be quite the same. Now brother, let us--" *DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA* - The Daemon Prince of the Glistering Host was promptly interrupted by a salvo from Chaplain Argus's Assault Cannon. The Chaplain was sickened, if not barely controlling himself from falling into the Black Rage himself.

"SILENCE DEGENERATE ABOMINATION!!!" - shouted the Chaplain - "YOU'RE NO BROTHER OF MINE AND HOW DARE YOU EVEN UTTER THE NAME OF OUR PROGENITORS!! YOU WERE A SON OF SANGUINIUS!! YOU ALONG OTHER SUCCESSORS WERE SUPPOSED TO BE A SYMBOL OF HOPE FOR THE IMPERIUM!! INSTEAD YOU AND THE REST OF THOSE TRAITORS SOLD YOUR SOULS TO DARKNESS!! FIGHT HERESY WITH HERESY!!? ONLY THE MOST MISGUIDED AND DELUDED OF THE INQUISITION'S RADICALS USE SUCH WAYS OF THINKING!!! AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO THE PEOPLE OF VALARAN, AND THE TORMENT YOU UNLEASHED ON THE REST OF THE PLANET, I'LL SEND YOU SCREAMING BACK TO THE WARP FOR TEN THOUSAND YEARS!!! PREPARE YOURSELF DAEMON, FOR RETRIBUTION SHALL BE DELIVERED IN THE NAME OF THE PRIMARCH AND THOSE WHOSE LIVES YOU WASTED!!!" - Argus finished. Now he was calmer after he threw out what he thought. Still his rage was burning like the ray shot out of a Melta Gun.

The Daemon Prince fell when he was unexpectedly shot in both face and chest by the barrage. The Glistering Host stood up as if nothing happened.

"Pity brother, and I thought that I would have a short chat with you before I slay you and sacrifice your geneseeds to Slaanesh. Whatever. Let us get to business then. Show me how you Lamenters die for those you cherish." - The Daemon finished smugishly as he opened warp portals around the marines... Possessed!!! - Chaplain Argus immediately realized what he was facing. Vile traitors that allowed daemons to inhabit their bodies for greater powers and capabilities. Argus had it enough of the Glistering Host and he would see it through to defeat those bastards even if his limbs were to be ripped off his body.

As the Possessed Chaos Marines leaped out from the portals, they were immediately met with the fury of Argus's Death Company Terminators. It was a very good idea to equip all of them with weapons heavier than Storm Bolters - he thought. Even with the overwhelming firepower and the immense close combat mastery, the Terminators lost five of their members to the mutated traitors. Four more died while they attacked the Daemon Prince himself. They were either swept aside by its wings and daemonic mace, or thrown through the walls by its tentacles.

Of the ten Death Company members under Chaplain Argus, only sergeant Antonius remained. As he dispatched the last possessed Chaos Marine, Argus had one last remaining target, and that target was the foul daemon.

"You wanted to see us dying monster. Then we will show you, but not until we banish you to the warp. BRACE YOURSELF!!" - Argus immediately turned to Antonius - "WITH ME BROTHER SERGEANT!!!" - cried out Argus to the sergeant as he charged the Daemon Prince, still firing his Assault Cannon. Antonius promptly followed.

"Naive." - Uttered the Daemon as he swiped the Chaplain with such force that the marine dropped his Assault Cannon. The weapon did nothing to the warp creature like the first time, for the Daemon was taken by surprise. - "Truly Chaplain, I thought that you'd be something of a intriguing plaything for me, but it seems that I was wrong. Now prepare to join your br--GAAAAAH!!!"

he impact of the force that sent the Chaplain flying would've killed him in a instant if it wasn't for the Terminator armour he was clad in. The only weapon he still had was his Cronzius, and even then it was little to face the foul warp abomination. When he heard it scream, he saw lying on floor what caused the Daemon Prince pain.

Sergeant Antonius managed to close in fast enough to slice the daemon with his Glaive Encarmine. The wound was deep and gaping as it started to spill out daemon blood.

"YOU DARE!!!?" - Cried the daemon, angry for the first time when he finally suffered a wound that actually made him loose his composure. The Glistering Host smashed sergeant Antonius with such force that not only did he reduce him and his Terminator armour to a crater filled with gore and armored bits, but the force also destroyed his mace.

When the daemon killed Antonius, the sergeant's Glaive fell towards Argus. The Chaplain immediately stood up and picked up the Glaive while the Daemon was tending to its wound. The Terminator Chaplain immediately charged by dual wielding his Crozius and the sergeant's Glaive, striking at the daemon before it could react.

"RETRIBUTION IS UPON YOU MONSTER!! YOU SHALL FALL HERE!!!" - bellowed the Chaplain as he assaulted the daemon with Crozius and Glaive, inflicting deep wounds and crushing the armoured parts of its body.

"FOOL!! YOU WISH TO DEFEAT A CHOSEN OF SLAANESH!!!?" - replied the Glistering Host in pain - "I'LL DESTROY THAT CONVICTION OF YOURS!!" - and with that, blades sprouted out of its body.

Before Argus could realize what was happening, the blades popped out in a flash, going through the joints between the body armour and the pauldrons, cutting off the Chaplain's arms off. The Lamenter felt immense pain as his arms were cut off. The daemon retracted the blades back to its body and punched the marine into the wall. The impact was weaker that the previous one, yet it still had serious physical power behind it.

Argus slumped to the ground, armless, and completely unable to fight. He was slowly losing consciousness, yet he saw the daemon approaching him with the Glaive he was wielding.

"The Glaive Encarmine." - uttered the daemon, with his composure regained - "A weapon given to the members of the Sanguinary Guard. I do wonder why a lowly Death Company member wielded this weapon. Was he given it after one of your members died in a previous battle and you didn't chose who to give it to yet?" - he continued as he looked at the weapon, as if transfixed by its beauty - "You know what brother? I wish that this situation ended differently, yet it seems that I'll have to dispose of you now." - he finished speaking and looking at the Glaive and turned to the Chaplain.

"Do your worst traitor. As if you would think that I would start begging for mercy." - responded the Chaplain with a measure of difficulty. This time he was loosing consciousness faster with each passing second.

"I didn't think so. Still, I'm quite merciful, so I'll quickly kill you with the Glaive." - said the Daemon Prince as he raised the enormous blade - "Prepare to meet your brethren Lamenter."

Chaplain Argus, barely conscious of what was going on, braced himself for the Impact, when suddenly a flash of light started to shine from behind the Glistering Host...

Commander Makkan. Captain of the Lamenters forces that operated on Lyon, was racing to the center of the sanctuary along with two tactical squads. He hoped that he would be able to save Chaplain Argus and what few fellow Death Company members remained. The marines passed the dead Glistering Hosts and the two Hellbrutes that were mutilated by the Terminator's firepower. When the Lamenters finally entered the sanctuary, they saw the carnage that happened there. Both Chaos and Loyalists. Mutilated horribly while fighting each other. That was not the case however, as the Captain saw in the middle of the large sanctuary.

A winged figure was kneeling before the slumped Chaplain, while the Daemon Prince was lying dead on the ground next to it, its face frozen in shock and unbelief as it had its chest ripped open.

"Who. What?" - the Captain was stupefied as he looked at the scene, only to gain a better composure - "Who are you?" - asked the Captain.

The winged figure stood up and turned to face the marines. For a moment, the Captain didn't expect anything from the figure, but when he looked closely, his eyes widened in unbelief, while his fellow brothers froze after looking at the figure.

"Fear not my son, for I came here to aid you after I felt your struggle with the great enemy." - replied the figure. Armed in a golden suit of armour, wielding a enormous blade as big as the Glaive Encarmine which was coated in the blood of the Daemon Prince. It's wings silver-like, yet what was actually striking in it was the figure's face.

"It can't be..." - uttered the Captain - "This canno--" - "But it is." - interrupted the figure - "Lamenters. Successors of the Blood Angels Legion. I have returned."

From this moment the marines knew what the figure was. Sanguinius returned.

"My sons. Before I traveled here, I had to make sure that one of the Blood Angels' successor was set back to the way it was lost. Now I'm here to repair the damage the Imperium has taken. I also want to learn more about the history of the other successors, for what I learned from the Angels Resplendent was not enough since I was in a haste." - Sanguinius spoke out, warmth emanating from him.

As he stood there, some of the Lamenters fell on their knees. Captain Makkan regained his composure.

"What about the Death Company and venerable Chaplain Argus?" - asked the Captain, still barely believing that the Primarch from which the Lamenters are descendant is standing in front of him and his brothers.

"I managed to save the Chaplain, yet I regret that I couldn't save the others. If I were here faster, then none of this would've happened." - replied Sanguinius as he turned towards the Daemon Prince - "Yet what really makes me feel curious is the daemon that I slew to save the Chaplain. Something familiar is about it."

The Captain didn't know how to tell this to his Primarch.

"Lord Primarch," - he started - "this daemon was...still is part of a Chaos Warband known as the Glistering Host. They are...were one of the successors of our parent Chapter. Successors of the Blood Angels." - he finished.

The Primarch turned to him, eyes widened in unbelief and shock, and then back to the dead Daemon Prince. Makkan didn't know what to expect from his Primarch. What he saw was also something unexpected...

Makkan thought that Sanguinius would be angry. That the Primarch would be furious at how far into disgrace one of the Blood Angels successor fell into the darkness of Chaos. Instead, there was sadness and pity coming from the Angel of Baal.

As he looked into the face of the Deamon Prince of the Glistering Host, a single, tiny drop of tear felt down on the floor. After a few seconds, Sanguinius spoke, still looking at the daemon.

"Captain" - he spoke without turning to the Captain - "take Chaplain Argus to the Apothecary. Retrieve the fallen Lamenters. I'll join you later. For now, I want to be alone here."

The Captain wanted to ask why, yet he quickly realized what Sanguinius wanted. The tactical marines took the Chaplain and the Death Company Terminators. Carrying them with all the arsenal they were equipped with made them difficult to move. As the Lamenters exited the sanctuary, Sanguinius remained, still looking at the Daemon Prince's face.

"My son," - he muttered to himself as he touched the daemon's face - "what have you done to yourself?" - he finished. Every word he uttered was filled with pain over what one of his own geneseed turned into.

As he composed himself, Sanguinius stood up as the daemons body started to be engulfed in warp fires. When the corpse disappeared, the Primarch halted and started to talk.

"You know, you don't need to hide yourself." - he spoke as a figure in golden armour walked out from the shadows.

"When I was still with the Angels Resplendent, I noticed records about you." - the Primarch continued as he looked on the golden man with silver wings - "You appear when the Blood Angels or any other successor of theirs is in dire need, only to change the tide of the battle. Noble, I say, but you don't need to disappear after each battle."

The Sanguinor stepped closer towards the Primarch. His golden armor looked as if it was perfectly suited to his body. His Death Mask shined even more intensely in the light. He looked for a moment at the Angel of Baal and replied.

"We know who you are. I am both you and Azkaellon. United in symbiosis. Looking over the Angels and their progeny. If we wanted to, we could've lived among them." - said the Exemplar - "Yet how would they react to the fact that from the inside, the warrior who they call as a reborn you, looks completely differently from what they thought."

The Sanguinor removed his Death Mask, showing the Primarch his true face. Like a maggot ridden corpse in a advanced state of decay he looked. Maggots were moving under his face. His eyes were bloodshot with darkened blood. In this moment he actually looked like some warp abomination. Sanguinius however was unscathed by it and replied to him.

"Even so, you shouldn't vanish after every battle. The Blood Angels and their successors need you as much as me in these dark times, if not more. Come with me to strengthen the Chapters. I am you and you are me. Though different, we are the same. We share the same ideals. I want you to help me to free them from the Black Rage and Red Thirst. Please, do this for me. With me. You are also Azkaellon. So the two of you should know how important for me it is. As well to not allow other successors to fall the same way as the Glistering Host did." - Sanguinius replied, stretching out his hand towards the person that was both him and Azkaellon sharing one body.

"We wish It was that easy," - replied the Exemplar - "but We cannot. There are also quarries that We have to face so that the Imperium would avoid tragedies. We don't appear only to fight along the children of Baal and their progeny. We also disrupt the machinations of Chaos from making them real along those that others call the Legion of the Damned. For now, We want you to guide the Blood Angels and their successors. We want them to see a Primarch, their father. We want them to see Sanguinius, not some abomination that is controlled by the souls of someone slain during Horus's Rebellion and one of his Honour Guards. Make sure they'll simply see the brighter side of you in us." - as they finished, the souls of the original Sanguinius and Azkaellon put on the Death Mask, turned around and opened a warp portal. Before they departed, the Sanguinor said one last thing to Sanguinius. - "I will continue doing what I did during these millennia. Do what you can for them."

"I promise." - vowed Sanguinius - "Yet I hope that the two of you will be appearing more frequently from now on. Not only to change the tide of a battle."

"We will see what we can do." - the Exemplar added as he vanished into the warp portal.

For a moment, Sanguinius thought about what the Sanguinor said. He was the Primarch of the Blood Angels. Yet a Legion, a Chapter having two Primarchs? Maybe the two were right about it. He then turned his way towards the exit to join with the Lamenters.

On the Lamenters' Cruiser, the Sanguine Shine, the Primarch studied the records of the Lamenters as they were travelling through the warp. Sanguinius couldn't comprehend the amount of things that the Lamenters went trough. It was simply some bizarre miracle that they still functioned somehow despite being betrayed, deceived, blown up, butchered, left for death, running into one of those things that Imperial Scholars called Tyranids and survived. In all his life he never met someone who had that much bad luck, yet alone a whole Chapter. And despite all of this they never ceased to help others. They were indeed his sons, albeit supernaturally unlucky.

It was ten days since the battle on the ruins of Valaran. Chaplain Argus had his arms replaced with powerful bionics. When the Chaplain saw Sanguinius, he had the same stupefied reaction like the other marines. The marines that ceased to behave stupefied behaved naturally around the Primarch. While Sanguinius and Captain Makkan were walking down the corridor, the Captain asked the Primarch about what should they do if he has returned. The Angel had a simple answer.

"I will do everything in my power to strengthen the Blood Angels and every single successor Chapter of theirs. This should aid militarily the Imperium if my progeny will be replenished. I will also try to have an impact on the decisions the High Lords have been executing. For now the Lamenters will accompany me in my travels. But before I set my plan in motion, I must address the situation of one of the successors."

"Which one Lord Primarch?" - asked the Lamenters Commander.

"I have heard that the Knights of Blood were decreed renegade by the High Lords due to their "excessive" behaviour on the battlefield. Since then they were being hunted by the rest of the Imperium. I would like to set them straight a little. Not to mention a couple of other Chapters." - replied the Primarch.

"Lord Sanguinius," - Makkan said with a serious voice - "The Knights of Blood would be everywhere as we speak. They became very adept in masking their presence in Imperial space. Looking for them is the same as looking for some incredibly ancient and rare STC...unless there would be a alternative method to call them."

"You suggest to travel to Baal and call EVERY successor? Including those that might have went renegade?"

"I thought about it a moment ago, but there should be a alternative to it. Maybe we..." - "No, no, no, no." - interrupted the Primarch - "That is fine. In fact that would make my work easier and I wanted to see how much Baal has changed."

The Lamenter immediately saw the spark in his Primarch's eye as he grinned on the thought of seeing Baal again. The Lamenter followed with a grin.

"Set course for Baal?" - he asked.

"Make it so brother Captain." - Sanguinius replied.

At that moment Makkan contacted the bridge to set course for the Blood Angels' homeworld.

The Fiasco at Kaurava

"Today's a a good day. Don't you think so Commissar?"

"Indeed Governor General. It's a fine day for inspecting the Guardsmen."

Governor General Vance Stubbs and Lord Commissar Doran Farrier chat as they were walking through the streets of Kaurava I's Dussala Precinct under typical business of checking out how the 252nd Conservator Regiment was faring.

It was over twelve years since the battle for the Kaurava system. Many were killed in these battles, yet it was the Conservator Regiment under Stubbs' leadership that achieved total victory over seemingly impossible odds due to the Guardsmen being historically terrible. It was Stubbs' reforms that turned the Regiment into a fighting force to be reckoned with, and it was the determination of the Governor General and the leadership under him that liberated the sector back for the Imperium.

After the conflict, Vance settled down on Kaurav I's city to overlook the sector's and the Regiment's development. He married the young daughter of a notable Imperial Guard General of the Cadian regiment known for his GRIT and had children with her. A son and a daughter.

When the battles for Kaurava ended, for his exceptional leadership and valour, Doran Farrier was promoted to Commissar Lord. Since then he got into a more active duty, training new generation Commissars and applying new methods of combat.

For these twelve years the Kaurava sector progressed economically and militarily, becoming both a industrial center that produced super heavy tanks (thanks to the factoria from the Dawn of the Imperium and the STC that was provided by the Techpriests), and military academy for elite Guard forces. All of this thanks to Stubbs' reforms and ambition.

"I can't wait to see those new Shadowswords in use for our men. Lately we have less and less new super heavy vehicles for ourselves due to how high the demand for these vehicles are."

"No wonder." - replied Farierr - "Since the discovery of the titanic manufactorum at the beginning of the conflict twelve years ago, the Techpriests of Mars were extremely interested in it. After acquiring from them the STC for many other Baneblade variants and many more vehicle STC, the manufactorum spits out so many of the machines that we barely can feed materials to it. And we not only mine the resources from and from around Kaurava, but we must also get them from other sectors. Each year we can produce a hundred of them and almost hundreds of other vehicles thanks to the factorum."

"That's true Commissar. On the other hand the people of Kaurava can be proud that these mighty testaments to the Imperium's might are used by many of the Regiments of the Astra Militarium. Even the Death Korps of Krieg sent their thanks for the Doomhammers and Stormlords we sent them last year. They said their last Campaign became much easier when they distributed them among their forces. Even other Imperial forces started to ask us if Kaurava could produce one or two super heavies for them."

As they walked through the streets, passing by Guardsmen immediately halted, stood still and made the Eagle Sign. The two men slowed their march and replied by also doing the sign. The Dusalla Precinct was never this lively. Back then the Guard here started with only it, and managed to conquer the rest of the sector. To this day Stubbs himself was impressed on how well he did back then.

"By the way Governor General, how's the family doing?"

"My family?" - asked Vance - "Marianne is doing fine. Lately she's even more active than usually. She opened a new Schola Progenium on Kaurava IV's Iseult Peninsula. I was objective on letting her there without me, but she said that she would be fine and that I'm too much of a worrywart."

"You believe that what remained from the Chaos Forces still remains there?" - asked the Commissar.

"When Chaos lands on a planet, even for a moment, then that planet will never be completely free of the taint. That's why I asked the Inquisition to deploy secretly some of their forces to watch over Kaurava IV. I even went so far as to give them a secret base of operations on Lacunae. Good thing they didn't send some crazy Puritan and the Inquisitor himself was a reasonable figure."

"How about your progeny?"

The Governor General smirked when he heard the question - "Alexandra is very similar to her mother, though she looks up to me. Lukas on the other hand sees me as a role model. He once said that when he becomes 16, he'll join the Conservators."

"He wants to? I hope then that he'll be a good officer when that happens." - replied the Lord Commissar.

"He said he wanted to start from the very bottom. That reminded me of my younger days. I too started as a everyman Guardsman, only to get to a position of leadership with quick thinking and instant decisions."

As the two were coming closer to the boot camp, they saw something that would be usual if not for those that took part in it...

"MOVE IT!!, MOVE IT!! YOU LAZY FURBALLS!! YOU CALL YOURSELF MILITARIUM SOLDIERS!!? YOU NEED TO BE FITTER THAN THAT!! GIVE ME ALL YOUR SWEAT HERE!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!!" - shouted the drill sergeant from his Chimera at the soldiers that were running really fast in formation. They all had the same flak armours as the usual Guardsmen, only the recruits themselves were a special kind of abhumans.

"Those must be our Felinid corps being trained. I still wonder how we suddenly got them six years ago." - replied Doran.

"Thank my wife for this." - the Governor said - "Since she was a girl she grew up among abhumans. Like her father, she too saw the potential in them to be soldiers. Not to mention the potential to be a great addition to any Imperial society..." - here he paused - "...I don't know if incorporating them even further into other levels of Kaurava's social system is a good idea. There will always be some insane zealots that will try and ruin everything. Although when I got to see them in action, I decided to give them a shot. Not to mention the children like them as much as the Ogryns and Ratlings we have."

"Now we only need Squats among us..." - added the Commissar.

"I thought they became extinct when the Tyranids came to the Milky Way Galaxy."

"It seemed a error in the Administratum wiped them out from the records. When the Squats were rediscovered, then there was a sort of chaos among the higher ups."

"Maybe one day. But for now we should concentrate on what we have. Now lets see how our soldiers take the training."

When the two Militarium leaders were to enter the boot camp, clouds were suddenly gathering in the main plaza of the district not far away from the boot camp. Vance's optics immediately informed him of strange energy spikes that were appearing with them. Suddenly a green lightning bolt struck the centre of the plaza with a thundering sound...

"WHAT IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME WAS THAT!!?" - shouted the Lord Commissar, still barely hearing anything due to the thunderous crakoooom.

"I HEAR YOU LORD COMMISSAR!!" - replied the Governor, also barely hearing anything - "READY YOUR WEAPONS!! WHEN THERE IS GREEN LIGHTNING, THEN IT ONLY MEANS ONE THING!! THE BEINGS WE LEFT BURRIED UNDER KAURAVA III HAVE RETURNED!!" - Vance shouted back as he removed the safety locks from his guns and Battle Claws. Lord Commissar Doran Farrier immediately knew what the Governor thought as he himself readied for combat. The Necrons came back.

Meanwhile on the plaza:

*Heavy coughing* "Why didn't we ask one of your Crypteks for a easy way of transportation, rather than bet our luck on that untested and utterly unpredictable Tesseract Dimentional Teleporter? Seriously, you are one haphazard Necron." - asked the power armoured figure that was wrapped in black robes, still coughing from the amount of dust it inhaled. It could barely see anything in the green cloud it found itself.

"It was necessary for us to be here as fast as possible." - replied the Necron, and from its look it could be deduced that he was a Overlord - "If we wanted to use a more safer method of travelling, then we would have asked Orikan to teleport us safely through space and time, yet that bastard didn't wanted to help us due to his thousand-times damnable prophecies and the fact that he didn't wanted us to succeed. Good thing we showed him that one of his prophecies was false. Now that we are in the star system the Imperium calls the Kaurava sector, we can go and look for the needed component for the Void enhancer."

"Still it is a miracle we landed in the right sector due to the fact how unpredictable that artifact of yours is. Now lets find that entrance to the tomb and..." - before the robed figure could finish, the cloud disappeared, revealing a circle of thousand of Guardsmen, Stormtroopers, abhuman Militarium members and a awful load of tanks.

In this moment the two figures realized that they were completely surrounded by a large number of Militarium soldiers (and their tanks). Not to mention that they were all armed with some potent weaponry.

"I thought you said that we arrived on Kaurava III." - whispered the robed figure to the Necron Overlord, moving as slowly as possible.

"I didn't say Kaurava III, but the Kaurava SECTOR." - silently replied the Necron - "Seems that in order to make us fail, Orikan must have done something to the machinery. We probably arrived to Kaurava I. And it also seems that we teleported right into the middle of the current military unit there."

The figure started to be irritated by what he heard - "Just what kind of Overlord are you? You go around "acquiring" everything to your collection, while on the other hand you can't keep anyone from messing with anything useful what you have.

"I did revive you and repaired your damaged mind you know." - replied the sentient automata - "At least you would thank me for this."

"I do appreciate it, as long as you will not make us get into unnecessary trouble."

"Ungrateful."

"ATTENTION INTRUDERS!!!" - boomed from the Baneblade with the enormous vox casters - "THIS IS LORD SECTOR GOVERNOR GENERAL OF KAURAVA VANCE STUBBS OF THE KAURAVA CONSERVATOR REGIMENTS!!! EITHER YOU WILL STATE YOUR SUDDEN APPEARANCE AND SURRENDER, OR FEEL THE MIGHT OF A THOUSAND BARRELS!!!

The Governor was dead serious about the thousand barrels. The figure thought that it would be fine to unravel itself.

"I'm going to reveal myself." - whispered the figure to the Overlord.

"Dammit! You want to further complicate things!?"

"It's better than to be reduced to a burning smear or a lump of metal. I may be a Primarch, but I can't take that much as I did in the past, while you will be molten slag before you phase out."

"Very well." - sighted the Overlord - "That is actually a logical argument."

The figure put its hands in the air and made two steps forwards Vance's Baneblade.

"GOVERNOR OF KAURAVA!! - spoke the figure - "WE COME HERE WITH NO HOSTILITIES!!" - it turned its robed head to the Overlord and whispered - "Would you kindly lower that Obliterator of yours?" - it continued as the Necron lowered its staff while it grunted (if what it did could have been called grunting) - "WE WANTED TO DO THIS QUICKLY, YET BECAUSE WE APPEARED HERE OFF COURSE, WE WOULD LIKE YOUR HELP IN RETRIEVING A ARTIFACT ON KAURAVA III BEFORE THERE WILL BE UNFORTUNATE IMPLICATIONS NEAR THE EYE OF TERROR!!!"

"WHY SHOULD WE TRUST SOMEONE WHO IS ACCOMPANIED BY SOME LONG DEAD RUSTBUCKET!!!?" - asked irritatedly the governor through the vox - "GIVE ME AND MY MEN A GOOD REASON NOT TO BLOW YOU UP IN A BARRAGE OF THE EMPEROR'S FURY!!!"

"IF YOU LET ME SHOW MY FACE TO YOU, THEN I WILL GIVE YOU A REASON!!"

"FINE!!! DO SOMETHING SUSPICIOUS AND I WILL ORDER THE GUARDSMEN HERE TO SHOOT!!!"

The figure slowly reached for the clasps of its robe and started to open them. With every opened clasp, parts of the robe started to unravel, showing a green power armour with scaled elements. The Militarium soldiers were starting to lower their weapons as they were becoming more and more stupefied at what they saw. Finally the figure reached to the clasps on its head and removed the robe that concealed its face. The Conservator soldiers were now completely dumstruck to see a Space Marine. However Vance Stubbs realized at who he was looking at, he remembered when he studied the various historical books during his free time and recognized the figure that stood before him.

"NOW GOVERNOR!! NOW DO YOU HAVE A REASON TO TRUST ME!!?"

Meanwhile in the warp near Kaurava:

In the dark, barely lit sanctuary on a enormous Battle Barge, a Word Bearer Chaos Marine walks inside to meet someone that resided there.

"My Lordship." - the Chaos Marine spoke - "We will be arriving to Kaurava in 24 hours."

"Excellent." - sounded the figure in the dark with a deep, cybernetic voice - "For me it was like ten thousand years, but when I finally got used to my current form, then all I wanted is to make the one person pay for the failure that happened to me. Now It's the time to put my plan for vengeance into motion." - as it spoke, the figure moved into the light, revealing itself to be a Chaos Contemptor Dreadnought painted in dark blue and green, bearing the mark of the three-headed Hydra - "Tell the warbands to ready themselves for battle, and after we exit warp space, each warband should attack the planets they chose themselves. But if anyone reports to me where that man is, then nobody should touch him but me. I have unfinished business with him."

"As you wish my Lordship. We'll be awaiting you." - said the Word Bearer as he exited the sanctuary.

The enormous Chaos Contemptor moved to the left from the sanctuary exit towards a gargantuan daemon chain axe that bore the mark of Khorne and said to itself - "I really can't wait to meet you again governor. I will watch as all you hold dear burn away and corrupt in front of you, and you yourself will experience the same pain as I did when I personally put you inside a vacant Hellbrute sarcophagus. It will be a fitting price for putting me inside this METAL BOX."

The Governor's palace:

Vance Stubbs saw many things in his carrier from guardsman to governor general, but he never thought that something like that would ever happen to him. A Primarch!? Travelling the galaxy and being accompanied by a Necron!? One of those things would be more than enough to cause a really big commotion on the planet, but two of those all together? It was a miracle that it all went smoothly and in complete secrecy.

The Governor's palace was a enormous, towering place that was piercing to the clouds themselves, and a wonder of Gothic architecture. In fact it was so immense that after taking control of the sector, the governor general didn't know what to do with all that enormous space, so he gave part of it to its bureaucrats so that he would have a personal eye on them. Vance took his guests to the part that he live in with his family. There he took the Primarch Vulkan and Necron Overlord Tranzyn to his personal office while being accompanied by Lord Commissar Doran Farrier, to discuss some things with them.

"Well gentlemen, now let me do a quick recap of what you told me. You used this Necron inter-dimensional thing to instantaneously teleport from the other side of the galaxy, to Kaurava, in order to retrieve a artifact of enormous power, to power up some Void Shields that are on Cadia and many other planets near the Eye of Terror? And apart from this Lord Primarch, you are telling me that Lord Trazyn revived you, and that if you don't get said artifact, then the Eye will expand and swallow the sectors near it?"

"That is correct." - replied the Salamander Primarch.

"I concur." - added the Necron Overlord.

"This is extremely difficult for me to believe in. Not because it is made up, but it's because of how unbelievable it is. I mean, you even had to beat another Necron and his own personal army, even fought a Monolith, in order to use the machine that brought you here. That is something even a Inquisitor would raise a eyebrow."

"All of this did happen Lord Governor." - said Vulkan.

"Believe us, It was difficult for me myself to bring him back to former condition, not to mention enlisting his help with locating the artifact...hmm, by the way, those claws...could I ha..." - BONK!! - "GAH!! Why would you do this to me who brought you back!!?" - asked irritatedly Trazyn.

"We're here to stop the Eye from expanding, not taking valuable from others, which is itself a act that I dislike. Even if you are taking them for your 'collections'." - replied the Primarch.

"Damnable youngling, thinks he's some who knows what, schnazle, dazle, fuzzle, grazzle..." - murmured the Necron.

"Hmmm, I would like to help you greatly with looking for this artifact, yet I do have my own worries about the situation." - said the governor - "How can I be sure that this won't awaken the Necrons that are now burrowed under the tons of dirt on the Cape of Despair."

"Let me ask you this governor. You blew everything here on the Cape, right? Even the power sources? Then there is nothing to worry about them coming back, unless the main power grid deep down the catacombs is activated. This way we'll simply enter the tomb where the Void Enhancer is, and simply take it. And we cannot go anywhere since the Teleporter needs to power up for seven days." - replied Trazyn.

"I still distrust you machine, but if you are indeed telling the truth, then I don't need to worry that the local Necron Lord will raise back his armies to torment the people of the sector. Very well, tomorrow we will go to Kaurava III and help you in finding the artifact."

"That is good to hear." - replied the Primarch - "I only hope that we will be able to get the artifact in time to strengthen the Void Shields." - he then turned to Tranzyn - "Tranzyn. You are the only one who can access the tomb. Can we count on you if there will be any unexpected occurrences?"

"Why would I?...Oh well, as If I didn't have anything better to do. The teleporter is going to charge itself for several days and my minions won't reach me for quite long, so what else should I do? Very well, I shall do it. But I only do it so that the Void Shields would be active." - replied the grumpy cron.

Suddenly a young administrator barges in, looking at the papers he is holding - "Lord Governor, I beg your pardon for barging in, but Space Marines of the Storm Giants and Black Dragons Chapters appeared in the sector and are asking if they could resupply. Also Lady Marianne called, she is going to be boarding the transport back to Kaurava I tomorrow sin..." - at that moment the administrator raised his head from the papers and saw the governor, the Lord Commissar, and both the Primarch and Necron Overlord were looking at him completely motionless. What actually made him speechless was actually Trazyn being one of the people in the room that stood out too much - "...I ~~~~ think I will come back later..." - with this the administrator exited the room. After a couple of seconds of awkwardly looking at the door, Vance Stubbs finally replied:

"Well, that was unanticipated. Well then gentlemen, you can feel yourselves at home for the time being. I will arrange rooms for the night...that is if Lord Trazyn needs to sleep."

"I do need to recharge my batteries from time to time. Although Necrons are powered by a immensely powerful source of energy, we don't have unlimited energy reserves. We can move on without recharging, but if we don't have a source from which we can directly recharge, then we need to recharge every couple of days for at least ten hours." - said Trazyn, although Vulkan knew well the he was lying in plain sight.

"Very well then. If you want, you can look around the palace. When the time comes I will call you. In the meantime I must take in the Storm Giants and Black Dragons Captains and ask them for the specific things they want. Until then we'll meet at the dining table for supper." - replied the governor as he left the office while Lord Commissar Dorian followed him.

"You know what Trazyn? You really shouldn't have told him this." - said the Primarch to the Overlord.

"Nonsense, I had them completely enchanted. If you had that much experience as me, then you would have entangled them like I did." - said the Overlord, so full of himself.

"The Necron was lying." - said Dorian to the governor as they were heading to meet with the Astartes Captains.

"I know that Commissar Dorian." - replied Vance - "Tell the Vindicares to keep a eye on him. Also tell the men and women in the Dusalla Precinct to strengthen the guards around the Baneblades and other vehicles. If there is something that we don't need at the moment, then it is a aeons-old kleptomaniac robotic xeno."

"I'd really appreciate if you Trazyn wouldn't try to 'acquire' anything from the Governor General. We are his guests in the end, and doing something like that would be unacceptable." - the Primarch lectured the ancient Necron.

"Why would I take anything from him? I would only take that what would be fitting for my collection. That's all." - replied Tranzyn, as the two figures were walking through the hallway of the palace's governmental quarters, into the main hall.

"Whatever that is, stealing is something I disagree with."

"Ow, come on Lord Salamander. I don't steal. I simply think that the things would look better if they are preserved as part of my collection."

"Including the Catachans, Space Marines, and many other humans, as well as aliens? Remember our deal? I help you while you free them after all of this is over."

"*sight* I remembered that part. Just feel grateful that I'm not like that one piece of scrap that has the tantrum of a seven year old br..." - BONK!! - "Who in the name of the Dynasties hits me with...!!?" - Trazyn knelled down to pick up the item that he was hit with - "...a BALL!!?"

The two figures looked around and saw two little children standing behind one of the columns. They were curiously looking at the black skinned giant and the ancient machine-man.

"Trazyn." - said the Primarch - "Let me do the talking." - The giant slowly moved a step towards the children. While doing so, he moved the Necron behind him - "You don't need to be afraid of us. And that skeletal automata is completely harmless."

The little boy was first to move from behind the column.

"You're huge." - said the little boy. The other child, a girl, followed him. Supposedly the two must have been the governor's children.

"Well, they always tell me that. Tell me, why are the two of you so curious about us?" - asked Vulkan.

"Daddy always gets so many guests." - spoke out the girl - "We'd always secretly look at whom daddy is taking in. Last time, it was a man nearly as huge as you, only with red robes and a large I."

Large I? They must have saw one of those Inquisitors that he heard of. The Primarch quickly deduced that if Governor Stubbs was taking in a Inquisitor, then only to make a deal with him. That would actually cause trouble for him and Tranzyn if the Inquisitors would be snooping around them... Finally Tranzyn spoke.

"You know what children? I don't have much to say, but my giant friend here knows many wonderful stories that you would like."

"Trazyn. What are you up..." - "REALLY!?" - interrupted the children in unison - "Tell us, tell us, oh please." - said the boy - "Yes, tell us." - said the little girl.

The Primarch was troubled. He simply didn't know what to do in this case.

"Well...ekhm..." - Vulkan couldn't spit it out as the children grabbed his power armored hand, pulling him towards the hall to the hanging gardens.

"If it goes for me, then I will go sightseeing, while you Vulcan can go and have fun telling stories to the kids." - If he were still made flesh, then Trazyn would smile at the prospect of seeing the Primarch getting dragged off by the children. He knew that he couldn't say 'no' to them, thus leaving the Overlord to do anything without being lectured or opposed without the Primarch being around.

Vulkan on the other hand knew that if he weren't around the Overlord, then things would spiral down from already complicated, to beyond complex.

"Come on, tell us those stories you know." - said the girl.

"The Gardens would be a good place for you to tell those stories. Come on." - added the boy.

"Awww, alright." - said the Salamanders Primarch as he surrendered. He only looked back with a angry look at the Overlord as if he was laughing at him, and turned back with a cheerful expression towards the children. As they finally disappeared in the exit to the gardens, Tranzyn was free to do what he wanted.

"Now let us see those so called Baneblades." - muttered Tranzyn as he opened a Tesseract portal to the Dusalla Precinct.

Meanwhile Stubbs was attending to the meeting with the Captains Barak of the Black Dragons and Varland of the Storm Giants who were nearly as large as Vulcan himself. Both requested the governor if he could give them supplies.

"I don't see any problem with that. State only what do you specifically need. I want to avoid giving you something that you would find useless."

"Everything would be useful from you governor." - said the Storm Giant Captain, his ebony skinned face looking stoically.

"After our joint campaign against the Ork menace a few sectors away, we suffered casualties in equipment. Mostly tanks and weaponry." - added the Black Dragons Captain, his enormous bone crest sprouting from his head like some kind of crown.

"I really don't see any problems with that. Kaurava I's industry will provide you with all the things you listed here. For the time being, both marine strike forces are free to visit any of the planets, since both of you are staying here for three days."

"Very well Governor." - replied Varland - "My men would use a good stretching on a planet."

"During that time I'll make my men train in the local forests of that planet you call Kaurava II." - added Barak - "It will be a good for my men."

"Well, now that we have it settled...gentlemen, excuse me for a moment, for I have another urgent matter to attend to. I leave administrator Selim as a liaison between the two of you and me." - Vance pointed at the administrator that barged a moment ago when the governor discussed matters with Vulcan and Tranzyn. - "Thus we will see each other when you'll need something personally from me. We'll be in contact." - as he said this, Stubbs exited through the door.

"He must be really busy that governor of yours administrator Selim." - spoke Varland.

"Oh he is a very busy man." - replied Selim - "After all, it was thanks to his reforms that the Kaurava system rose from being a backwater sector into a thriving centre on a economic, military and social level. The greatest proof was the entire Campaign to re-take Kaurava. The Governor General turned the remaining Conservator Regiments from historically terrible formations, to a force to be reckoned with."

"Hmmm, seems that he's a governor that actually does something. Usually the governors I met where either corrupt, full of themselves, arrogant, decadent, or all those together." - Barak replied - "The people of this sector must be lucky that someone like him is in charge."

"It is generally accepted that if it wasn't for the Governor General, then the future of the Sector would have been way different. As your liaison, I also am to give you any information needed to you."

"I would be interested in that Kaurava Campaign you mentioned." - replied Varland.

"If that's the case, then I'd also like to take a look at it." - added Barak.

"Then follow me gentlemen." - said Selim while opening the doors to the hall that connected the governor's quarters to the railway train to the main library of Kaurava I.

"And that's how I met my father, the Emperor, met with my sons, the Salamanders, and joined the Great Crusade."

"Wooooow." - both children opened their mouths from the sheer amount of unbelievable things they heard from the Primarch.

"You are as incredible as father. And he too fought the Dark Eldar." - the boy named Lukas, as he presented himself to Vulkan.

"Right!" - added the girl whose name was Alexandra - "Daddy actually beat them very hard, as well as the many other strange warriors."

"Really? Then your father must be a great general if he defeated that many a foe." - Before he got to Kaurava with Tranzyn, Vulkan studied about the sector itself. Vance Stubbs is revered along with his men as heroes of Kaurava, and is considered a incredibly competent governor that puts both his men and the civilians above anything else, even personal glory. That and how he actually turned the sector into what it is now made the Primarch to respect him greatly. Not to mention that he defeated a Traitor Marine Commander powered by one of the Chaos Gods in a one-on-one duel made him look powerful. And if it goes for Tranzyn himself...he did wonder if he wasn't doing anything that would upset the situation they are finding themselves - "By the way, where is your mother? I did meet your father, but I didn't meet Lady Stubbs."

"Mother went to Kaurava IV to participate in the opening ceremony of a new schola progenium and a couple of other places that she invested her own money." - replied Alexandra.

"We already miss her. It was seven days since she left for the planet." - added Lukas.

"Hmmm, I did hear that she was going to come back tomorrow, so you will see her very soon."

"Really!? That's awesome! You heard that Alexandra!?"

"Yaaay!"

The children were happy to hear about their mother's return when the Primarch told them about what he heard from Vance's administrator.

Looking into the horizon and seeing the gleaming white spires and towers that dwarfed over Kaurav City, Vulkan saw the testament of Vance Stubbs his men. He learned from the informations Tranzyn gave him was that every single one of those structures was not only places of work and living, but also monuments dedicated to every battle the Conservators of the 252nd took part in. And from the number of them, there must have been dozens upon dozens of them. The Primarch really started to think highly of the governor...

Meanwhile in the Dussalla Precinct:

It was laughably easy to enter undetected. As he moved using his Veil of Shadows, Trazyn moved through the shaded areas of the precinct's structures. It was late evening, and during that time most Guardsmen were off partying in the local bars. The Necron Overlord used this to sneak past the small number of guards that were looking after the Baneblades. When he reached the enormous garages, he went inside to find himself among the mighty super-heavy vehicles that Kaurava produced yearly.

"Beautiful. Look at the colourful patterns and personalizations. Not only those famed Baneblades, but a lot of other patterns are also there. Splendid. They will look fine in my collection."

As Trazyn was about to put all the super-heavy tanks into his portable pocket dimension, he suddenly felt that something was strange about the place. Why weren't there more Guardsmen guarding the machines? Why were they standing there like that unprotected? As he touched one of them, he knew immediately what was wrong.

"That's not metal." - he said to himself - "It's...WOOD!!? They made a wooden Baneblade!? Don't tell me..." - As he ran around from vehicle to vehicle, he discovered that every single one of them was made out of wood.

"Where are the actual tanks!!?" - he proclaimed. As he irritatedly walked to see if at least one was real, when he heard something beeping from the nearest wooden imitation.

"What's that sou..."

Before he could finish uttering his sentence, the Overlord was caught in the blast. The super-heavy vehicles were not only made out of wood. They were packed heavily with potent explosives. As the the imitation exploded, the chain reaction that was triggered by it caused the other to explode violently. In the end the entire garage exploded with such force that it seemed as if it was made out of cardboard. As the gigantic ball of fire flew into the air, a pair of Felinid Snipers watched from safe distance the entire spectacle.

"Puss 1 to Gatekeeper. Catball has been spat out."

"Gatekeeper to Puss 1. Message acknowledged." - said the Stormtrooper stationing on a ridiculously long watchtower - "Gatekeeper to Curious Crow. Puss 1 says that the Catball has been spat out."

"Message acknowledged." - said the Vindicare that observed the explosion through his Exitus Scope, somewhere on the border between Kaurav City and the Precinct - "Curious Crow to Aviary Keeper. The Catball has been spat out."

"Message received and acknowledged." - said Lord Commissar Doran Farrier sitting in a Valkyrie over Kaurav City - "Aviary Keeper to Happy Bishop. The Catball has been spat out."

"Happy Bishop to Aviary Keeper. Message received and acknowledged." - replied Vance Stubbs while walking through the palace halls.

It was a good thing to distribute the super-heavies all around Kaurava and hide them in underground garages. He wouldn't repeat the same mistake as happened twelve years ago when he send out those other 100 Baneblades to another sector, only for them to suddenly disappear. He also thought that after this the Necron Overlord would learn not to think of him and his soldiers as fools.

"He picked up a Chaos Lord by stabbing him with his claws into his chest and threw him tenths of meters in the air?" - asked quizzically Captain Barak. He saw many who stood against the Forces of Chaos, but someone going one-on-one against a Chaos Lord with strong leanings towards Khorne? Even the video that was taken from one of the Guardsmen that proved this still made him look at it in unbelief.

"That is indeed something that would require a suspension of disbelieve." - added Captain Varland - "Added that he didn't have those visible bionics of his at the time. He got them ironically after the conflict when he pulled one of his men away from a mine-blast when they were sweeping the area around the Iseult Peninsula for remaining traitors."

The two Captains studied the records about the Kaurava conflict. They didn't get the cut down version available to the average citizens, instead they getting the full report on what have happened. Defeating two better equipped Imperial forces, two Eldar factions, a Ork Waaagh!, a Tau expedition, a entire Necron Tomb World, and the aforementioned Chaos Space Marines? The only ones that survived were the two Eldar leaders, the Ork Warboss and the Blood Ravens' Captain despite the serious wounds. The Governor's reforms and leadership of the 252nd must have been truly extreme.

"I must say, I have now gained true respect to the Governor. Not to mention the way he treats both his men and the civilians. He's indeed a minority among other Planetary Governors."

"Well brother Varland. Seems that we both think alike in this case. Even the way he treats abhumans is something worth mentioning."

"Lords Astartes." - spoke Selim while he entered the study room - "Do you need any more information?"

"It won't be necessary administrator." - replied Varland - "We'll be already leaving."

The dining room was a large room painted with a combination black and gold. It was a separate construction outside the palace and its walls had large windows build into them. Imperial Aquila's were present the walls, and in the farthest back of the room, was the symbol of the Conservator Regiments.

Vulkan found out from one of the servants that this room used to be much larger and filled with luxuries when the previous governor resided. After his disappearance and the end of the Kaurava Campaign, the Governor General ordered most of the luxurious elements to be removed and the room shrunk to its current state. It was done so because it reminded too much of the incompetence of the previous ruling caste of the sector.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself Lord Primarch." - Vance Stubbs was sitting at the very end of the table, under the symbol of the Regiments - "Back then Kaurava was a backwater system that could have been much better managed if it wasn't for the previous rulers. They abandoned the system at the beginning of the conflict. Turning Kaurava into what it is now was a gruelling task."

"I can imagine that the nobility wasn't satisfied with the change of order." - replied Vulkan sitting next to him, while Lukas and Alexandra sat on the opposite site of the table, also next to their father.

"Right there. After the Kaurava conflict, some of the more arrogant nobles tried to make a coup. They later paid for this dearly. But let us talk about something different. Tomorrow we will go to Kaurava III to help you with your business. Keeping this secret from the Inquisition and the two Marine strike forces that currently arrived won't be difficult If we do it silently."

At this moment the servants entered with the supper. The dishes were small, yet the number of them would satisfy all four of them.

"Now then, let us feast." - commented Stubbs, and the supper began. A short moment later, the doors opened. It was Tranzyn who entered, all covered in soot and shrapnel. If the Overlord was made flesh, then he would have had a dissatisfied look. He went up to Vulkan and sat next to him. The children were holding back from breaking in laugh as they looked at the damaged Overlord.

"Tranzyn. There is fire on your head." - spoke out the Primarch.

Tranzyn only turned his head to look at him, then turned it back and squished the flame with his metallic fingers.

"I hope Lord Tranzyn that you enjoyed your stay as much as Lord Vulcan did." - asked the governor.

"I do." - Replied the Overlord - "I did stretch myself while sightseeing. I may say the experience nearly...ripped me apart." - as he said this, the Necron's right arm suddenly fell on the floor.

When hearing this, Vulkan and Stubbs exchanged looks with each other. Both the Imperials were smiling internally at what happened to the Necron Overlord.

Meanwhile in the Warp, inside the sanctuary:

"My Lord." - spoke the Word Bearer - "12 hours till we exit the warp."

"I can't wait till this happens." - the cybernetic voice boomed from the Chaos Contemptor - "With the informations we gathered from our spies in the sector, we can strike precisely in places that are most vulnerable to the Militarium forces. Now with these preparations, the fewlz will pay for killing the blossom of Chaos that was once there. I will join the warbands in a moment."

"As you wish." - replied the Word Bearer and left the sanctuary.

"Well governor, I hope you are prepared for what I've planned. It's not going to be like last time..." - and the Chaos Contemptor started to laugh.

Morning on Kaurava I was beautiful. It was summer on the planet, and the sky was cloudless. The sun was rising, illuminating the towers and spires of glistering white that dwarfed over the city of Kaurav. The people rose up from their beds early so to go to work.

"Well men, that's how it looks." - Vance Stubbs addressed his men on the landing pad outside the palace.

"Permission to ask questions Governor General." - asked one of the Sergeants.

"Permission granted." - replied Stubbs.

"We're going to escort one of THE Primarchs and one of those rustbuckets that tried to wipe out Kaurava once. Will it be really that difficult to get to that strange artifact they are looking for?"

"It won't be hard at all Sergeant. Overlord Trazyn knows the location of the artifact. We only have to take them to the coordinates that he gave and guard him until he opens the entrance to the artifact."

"Won't that awaken the Necrons that we defeated twelve years ago?" - asked the Sergeant. The men behind him already started to have shivers, especially the veterans of the Kaurava Conflict. These people knew how deadly the undead machines were, especially when they fought them on their own turf.

"I can assure you that the tomb we are heading for is beyond Necron activity. Added that we deactivated their subterranean power-sources back then, so no Necron will raise...unless we re-activate the source manually, which will not happen."

The soldiers were relieved to hear that there will be no Necron menace coming back.

"Are we ready to go Governor?" - Vulkan approached from the landing pad exit, accompanied by Tranzyn. The Guardsmen were astonished by the sheer size of the Primarch. While others looked with intense suspicion on the Necron Overlord that was by his side.

"We are ready to roll out any moment. We were waiting for you."

"Good. Then there is no time to be lost. As we are speaking right now, the Void Shield arrays around the Eye of Terror are slowly weakening with every moment. We have to reach the tomb as fast as possible if we wa..." - BONK!! Something fell from the sky - "WHAT THE...!!? WHO THREW THI...!!? Oh no." - What happened later was something that was not supposed to happen, yet it did. The object that fell from above, probably from one of the palace rooms, was something that even Tranzyn himself was horrified at. A EMP Grenade fell down on the Overlord's head, and bounced off it right next to him on the ground. Normal Necrons would have had their circuitry fried in a instant when affected by a strong electromagnetic shockwave. Necrons with more advanced bodies could take more punishment, and Overlords were capable of outperforming the lesser Necrons. Yet even a powerful EMP shock would be sufficient to disable such entities point blank. If a Necron was in such a state, then he'd be immediately phased out for restoration. Tranzyn wasn't that lucky. The grenade detonated and enveloped the Necron in a electormagnetic pulse. The shockwave was so powerful that it made the Overlord go haywire.

"I COME IN PEACE." - ZAAAP!! - "MY TOAST IS...TOAST,TOAST." - ZAAAP!! - "I WATCHED C-BEAMS GLITTER IN THE DARK NEAR THE TANNHAUSER GATE." - ZAAAP!! - "IN THE END, THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE." - ZAAAP!! - "WHAT IS A MAN? A MISERABLE PILE OF SECRETS!" - ZAAAP!!

After uttering the last word, the Overlord collapsed to the ground, his emerald green eyes turning topaz yellow.

Everyone around wondered what just happened.

"What the...who threw this grenade!?" - asked the Governor as he used his targeting optics to zoom in on where the grenade came from. He immediately spots who threw the grenade, as there are two very familiar faces with shocked expressions. The governor immediately activated the vox system on the Valkyrie - "LUKAS AND ALEXANDRA STUBBS!!! DOWN!!! IMMEDIATELY!!!" - called the angered Stubbs his progeny.

Meanwhile Vulkan quickly approached the zapped Tranzyn to see what could he do. The Sergeant quickly asked the Primarch on the situation - "Why is he not responding to anything? I'm no Tech-Priest, but shouldn't he phase out back to his tomb or whatever?"

"Normally he would." - replied Vukan - "But since there is no Tomb Ship of his own in the system, and his forces are on the other side of the Ultima Segmentum, he's locked in this state until internal auto repairs restore him in a week. If it wasn't for that, then he would have already phased out for immediate repairs. And without him, we cannot open the tomb on Kaurava III, as only he knows how to open it."

"Soooo...things became even more complex?" - asked the Sergeant.

"Horribly."

In the Warp:

"My Lord. Thirty minutes till the fleet exits warp space." - replied the Word Bearer to the Chaos Contemptor - "The warbands are ready to make immediate planetfalls after exiting.

"These thirty minutes are stretching out too much. But I will wait this long. For long have I planned this vengeance of mine. Chaos shall not be denied." - boomed the cybernetic voice - "Prepare for battle."

"As you wish."

While the Primarch and the Guardsmen tried to do something about Tranzyn's unfortunate state, Governor General Vance Stubbs was at the moment giving his children a lengthy lecture on taking out their father's weaponry without his permission.

"THIS IS NOT BLOODY CADIA WHERE THEY GIVE CHILDREN AT THE AGE OF TWELVE LASGUNS!! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!? WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU!? WHAT IF IT PRE-MATURELY DETONATED!? WHAT IF IT WAS A FRAG GRENADE!? YOU THINK IT WAS FUN TO THROW SOMETHING LIKE THAT!? THAT THE PIN FELL OUT WHEN YOU THREW IT, AND THE VERY THROW WAS ALSO ACCIDENTAL!? MAYBE YOU ARE TELLING THE TRUTH, BUT IT DOESN'T CHANGE THE FACT THAT YOU TOOK SOMETHING FROM MY PRIVATE ARMOURY!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY TO JUSTIFY YOUR BEHAVIOUR?" - asked the furious father.

"We're sorry." - Lukas and Alexandra replied in unison.

"SORRY WON'T REPAIR THE DAMAGE YOU TWO DONE! WAIT TILL YOUR MOTHER FINDS OUT WHAT YOU DID AND...!" - "LORD GOVERNOR!! LORD GOVERNOR!!!" - boomed a terrified voice through Stubbs' personal comm-link.

"Excuse me, but I'm in the middle of scolding my children at the moment, so would you kindly call back in a moment administrator Selim?"

"IT CANNOT BE DONE!!! IT'S URGENT!!! THE GREAT ENEMY CAME BACK TO KAURAVA!!! BLACK DRAGON AND STORM GIANTS SPACE MARINES ALREADY ENGAGED CHAOS FORCES ON KAURAVA II AND III!!!"

After hearing the words 'Great Enemy' and 'Chaos Forces' in the same sentence, Governor General Vance Stubbs turned pale. He thought that the madness and corruption was ridden away from Kaurava, only to come back in greater numbers. The sector was turned into a battlefield again.

"Children." - he finally spoke out - "I'll call in a squad to take you to the nearest bunker along with the civilian population. Forget about any punishment....your father must go and do what he has to do...so keep safe. Until we meet again...hold fast."

Lukas and Alexandra at first didn't know what made their father suddenly look like white marble, but they knew that if they were ordered to go to the nearest bunker, then only when there were invaders attacking Kaurava. When the squad arrived, the Guardsmen took the children with them. Vance ran up to Vulkan and his men.

"Lord Primarch, I think that the situation has complicated even further."

"What happened?"

"Chaos happened. Kaurava system is besieged by Chaos Forces...again. Listen, if you want that artifact of yours, then we need to hurry."

After hearing the word Chaos, the men looked at each other in shock. Vulkan was calm and collected. Indeed, the Great Enemy complicated things further.

"Lord Primarch, is there a way to even remotely revive Tranzyn?" - asked Stubbs.

"There is, but you won't like it." - replied Vulkan.

"The situation is already beyond critical when Chaos is involved, so no matter what you'll suggest I'm all ears."

"In order to revive Tranzyn instantly and get the artifact, we're going to need access to Necron energies that will supercharge his auto-repair system."

"Sweet Emperor..., Lord Vulkan, please don't tell me that..." - "YES." - interrupted the Primarch - "We'll have to reactivate the subterranean power-source...risking to re-awake the Kauravan Necrons."

At this moment Stubbs felt as his bionic jaw dropped and crushed the concrete under it. He spent a lot of time fighting those accursed automatons and now he'll have to awaken them back. As if his having his home system overrun by Chaos wasn't already bad enough.

"Lord Primarch, we'll need things to get straight. If we do this, we'll have either two enemies barging into us, or we'd have them at their throats. This is insane, but...we'll have to take the risk." - said the governor sternly - "I however would like you to lead the defence of Kaurava along with me. A mighty leader such as you would boost greatly the morale of my men."

"What about Tranzyn and the artifact?"

"I didn't wanted to do this, but I'm going to need to contact these two..." - as he said it, Stubbs called Lord Commissar Doran Farrier - "Lord Commissar, I'll be needing these two."

On the other side of the line, Lord Commissar Doran was already engaged along with his men in combat in the Shakun Coast - "NO. YOU WOULDN'T GOVERNOR GENERAL." - said Dorian in utter shock as he rammed his Powerfist into a Cultist's face.

"Yes." - Stubbs replied with pain - "Patch me through Stormtrooper Sergeants Duke and Stone."

Meanwhile on Kaurava IV, between the Iseult and Morholt borders :

"CHAAAAAAAARGE!!!..." - BOOOOOOOM!!! - "AH MAH SPLEEEEN!!" - cried out the cultists as they were obliterated.

"Fight on soldiers of the Imperium!!" - cried out Marianne Stubbs as she aimed with her hellpistol for the nearest cultist - "Get those civilians to the Chimeras and drive to the Webway Gate!!"

"But Lady Marianne," - said one of the Stormtroopers - "our orders were to get YOU to the Webway Gate along WITH the civilians, not the civilians themselves!"

"I'm no stranger to war trooper. My father taught me well how to fight since I was twelve, and I'm not going to abandon my husband's people!"

"Cadian upbringing..." - silently grunted the Stormtrooper. No wonder, since the Lady herself was the daughter of a Imperial General known for his GRIT. And said general was his own Governor General's father in law.

"Aim for the heavy weapon's teams!! Chaos Marines to the left!! FIRE CONTROL!! INITIATE STRAFING RUN ON THE COORDINATES I GAVE!!!" - after crying out the last two sentences, Marauder Bombers flew from left and right deploying their payload. The Chaos Forces were instantly wiped out.

"Now men, let's show those heretics what happens when they mess with the wrong Guardsmen!" - and later she added silently - "And a angry housewife for keeping her away from her family."

Jalaganda Lowlands:

"The situation is peaceful for now." - said Sergeant Duke as he shot a cultist with his golden bolt pistol.

"Well that's what you get when faced with three hundred cultists. Incredible that they appeared out of nowhere behind us." - replied Sergeant Stone while he was slitting another cultist's throat with his knife.

Among the Stormtroopers in the Conservator Regiments there were few troublemakers that caused problems. Among them were for example Sergeants Duke and Stone. Both were known to go against orders and apply their own horribly unorthodox methods of fighting. Among the Militarium Tempestus members, these soldiers were considered as something of a anomaly that required disciplinary actions if it wasn't for one redeeming element that outweighed the amount of downsides...they were this good. In fact they were too good at what they did.

"Sergeants Duke and Stone!" - a Stormtrooper came - "Message from the Governor General."

"What does our GLORIOUS LEADER want?" - asked sarcastically Duke.

"Whoa, whoa, lets be serious here Duke." - replied Stone - "OK, spill it out."

"The Governor General wants you to make a quick delivery. He chose you two because you are the only ones who can pull that off. You are to go to Kaurav City and meet the Governor for further informations."

"As if we weren't busy already...let us go Stone, we have work to do." - and with this, Duke and Stone went to their Valkyrie.

Cerulea on Kaurava II:

The situation was extremely dire as the Chaos Forces stuck the place. Civilians that didn't catch up to the shelters were forced to run to the Rokclaw Mountains that were turned into a heavily fortified bastion by the Conservators. Entire caravans were moving there while the combined forces of both Militarium personnel and the Space Marines kept them safe from Chaos raids...still they couldn't be everywhere despite their best efforts.

"FRESH VICTIMS!!! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!" - called out a boisterous Khornate Champion as he charged with his squad, spearheading the attack on the armed caravan while a large force of cultists and two Hellbrutes followed. The Guardsmen tried to hold them off, yet they fell under the Chain Axes and massed stubber fire. Even when the Guardsmen fought the Khornate tide valiantly, they were loosing ground. Yet they wouldn't let the traitors and heretics get to the civilians inside the Chimeras.

"STRIKE FROM THE SKIES!!!" - roared Captain Barak as he deep struck at the line of cultists with his Dragon Claws, literally throwing them into disarray by the sheer shockwave. A few seconds after this, two drop pods landed. One of which crushed a Hellbrute that was unfortunate to be caught by it.

"OPEN FIRE!!!" - cried out Captain Varland as he and a other Storm Giants fired their Melta Guns at the remaining Hellbrute, while the bolter wielding ones fired on the cultists.

"Damn loyalists appearing out of nowhere. All squads, target the Space Ma...GUAH!!" - the Champion was cut suddenly as Barak rammed his adamantine claw up his chest. Later the Black Dragon proceeded to decapitate the Berserker as did the rest of the Dragon Claws did to the other Khornate Marines.

The Chaos Forces were quickly obliterated with the teamwork of both Space Marine squads.

"That one was closest." - said Barak as he cleaned his blooded claws - "Already twenty raids and they are not giving up on the civilians."

"Damn right." - replied Varland - "If we didn't reinforce the Militarium troops then the planet would've turned into a bloodbath. These attacks are not random. They are deliberately targeting the civilians. GUARDSAMN!!" - turning towards the surviving Guardsmen - "How is the situation?"

"Terrible Lord Astartes. The Chaos Forces have overrun the outpost on Cerulea and slaughtered the forces there. They used foul sorcery and opened portals from multiple directions, overwhelming the soldiers that guarded the outpost. We were escorting these civilians to the Rockclaw bastion. I heard they already rolled out the super-heavies to battle the threat."

"That's some good news." - replied Varland - "Listen we'll help you escort the civilians. Brothers!" - he turned to his fellow Storm Giants - "Get the wounded on the Chimeras! We're taking them to Rockclaw Bastion!"

"We'll go and act as the Vanguard." - added Barak - "Better for us to scout out the area rather than get into another ambush."

"Alright. Just don't get too f..." - Varland paused as he heard something. Something big was coming here - "You listening?"

"AND HOW!" - replied Barak.

The two Space Marines and their squads turned to from where the Chaos Marines and cultists came out. The Marines and surviving Militarium forces braced themselves to face a new, more severe threat...

"What in the..." - Barak couldn't finish when a deafening roar came out. The source appeared a few seconds later, towering over the Imperials.

"A SOUL GRINDER!!" - shouted Varland.

"YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS!!?"

"I MET ONE TWENTY YEARS AGO!! THESE THINGS ARE A FORCE THAT IS NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH!!"

The enormous daemon engine roared again while dispatching two Storm Giants and three Dragon Claws that tried to stop it.

"OPEN FIRE!!" - shouted Varland as his marines started to shoot, yet only the meltas were effective, but didn't do any visible damage to it. The marines were in big trouble. The daemon engine looked as if it was amused by their struggle. As it readied itself to strike, a Valkyrie flew over it. A strange figure in black robes dropped from the aircraft behind the Grinder, wielding something that looked like a enormous Melta Cannon. Before the Chaos machine turned to face the new adversary, the figure fired its Melta Cannon right into the lower part of it. The Soul Grinder screamed in pain as its half melted away, only to fall to the ground. Before it could react, the figure fired another salvo right into its face, killing it for good.

The Marines, Guardsmen and terrified civilians were stupefied by how fast the monstrosity died by the stranger's Melta Cannon. These things were built into Devil Dog variants of the Hellhound. That proved the robed figure had immense physical strength to carry something like that. The Marines themselves started to feel something inside of them. Something like a mild scratching to the part of their body where their progenoids were located.

"H-how did...w-who...w-what..." - Varland was completely speechless.

"Here too." - added Barak with a stoic-like face, trying to hold his jaw in place from falling to the ground.

"The Governor General send me to help you and the Guardsmen to get the civilians to the Rockclaw Bastion." - replied the robed figure - "The place is literally crawling with Chaos Forces, so we need to get there as fast as possible."

"Wait a moment. Who are you that you suddenly make a grand entrance?" - replied the already irritated Barak.

"Younglings like you...I'll show you with whom you are dealing." - after uttering this, the figure put away its cannon and started to remove the clasps form the head part of the robe. The marines didn't knew who was the figure after it revealed its face, but Varland immediately recognized the person standing in front of them.

"It-it cannot be!!" - uttered Varland in unbelief - "IT CANNOT BE!! YOU DISAPPEARED!!"

"What!? What is it Varland!?" - asked Barak.

"That figure...IT'S VULKAN!!!"

At that moment all the marines turn their helmeted faces towards the Salamanders Primarch.

"Seems somebody saw my sketch in the history books..."

Kaurav City:

The situation turned complex. Chaos Forces appeared out of nowhere, laying siege to the Jalaganda Lowlands, Kaurav City, and the Sama District. Fortunately for that last one, the Ecclesiarchy was here along with its small convent of Argent Shroud Sisters of Battle. After the Kaurava Conflict twelve years ago, General Vance Stubbs returned the planets of Kaurava to the Imperium. If there was one thing he regretted was, then it were his decision of attacking the Battle Sisters of the Sacred Rose. He knew well that no matter how much he and his men would repent, he'd be put to the torch (as well any other the Sisters deemed corrupt). For that, he ordered to attack the Sama District and defeated the Sisters under the command of Canoness Selena Agna. Even after justifying his actions, Vance Stubbs felt void that he was forced to do this, so he made the Sama District a place of pilgrimage for Sister Convents with the blessing of the Ecclesiarchy. Additional firepower was always welcomed...

"GIVE ME THE STATUS ON THOSE MANTICORE MISSILES!!" - roared Vance Stubbs through the vox.

"Manticore Missile Launchers from 10 to 31 ready to fire." - replied fire control.

"TARGET ON THE COORDINATES GIVEN!!! FIRE!!!!"

Moments later, the area beyond Kaurav City was blown to kingdom come as hordes of ravaging Cultists and Daemons tried to breach in.

"Sir! Sama District is being attacked by Chaos Armored Columns. The Argent Shroud Sosoritas and our men need backup!" - a voice in the vox spoke.

"Initiate protocol 15-49-36! I'm authorizing use of the super-heavies stationed under the main Cathedral!"

Vance Stubbs was in the heat of battle. It was years since he exercised the same skills he did durnig the Kaurava conflict. This time however he didn't have a army that had to be reformed in a instant, yet a elite force armed to the teeth.

"Sir." - a voice came from behind Stubbs - "We came." - it was both Sergeant Duke and Sergeant Stone.

"Ah, gentlemen." - said Vance after he turned to face them - "Glad you came. I hope you didn't have any difficulties."

"Nah Governor." - replied Stone - "Only a 'few' were pestering us."

"Well, let us go. I have a very special mission for the two of you..."

"Wait, wait, what?" - asked Duke - "Governor, I kinda lost it after presenting us with that pile'o'junk here." - point on the haywired Tranzyn.

"Right Governor. It's kinda hard to believe that a Primarch and this rustbucket appeared in the sector for some strange business about some artifact." - added Stone.

"I know soldiers that the situation is bizarre to you, but even so, you should trust me." - replied Stubbs - "This Necron knows the location of a artifact that will make it difficult for the 13th Black Crusade to advance further into the Imperium. Yet in order to gain it, Overlord Tranzyn must be revived by having him gain contact with the subterranean power sources the Necrons erected on Kaurava III. Which means that they'll be back."

"You know GLORIOUS LEADER that you and us will be court-martialed on the spot if anyone will hear about this. But...I am a equal opportunity ass kicker. If that will help the Imperium, then you can count me in."

"Count me in too Governor. Give a man a bullet and he'll want a gun. Give a man a gun and he'll be giving away the bullets. It's not like we don't get the opportunity to save the Imperium."

"Glad to hear it. Before you go I'll let you select a squad to accompany you."

"Don't need to governor. If the two of us think well, then these three may join us when we arrive at Kaurava III." - replied Duke to the Governor. Vance Stubbs knew well what people Duke meant...

Near Rockclaw mountains:

"We're near. Keep moving." - said Varland. It was already hours since the last Chaos attack. If it wasn't for the Primarch blasting that Soul Grinder to kingdom come, then they wouldn't reach that far. The only thing was the strange scratching, something of a resonance, in the place where the progenoid glands were situated. Not only he, but the other marines, including Barak's Black Dragons, felt the same.

"This day keeps getting more interesting. " - said Barak - "First a sudden Chaos incursion out of nowhere, now a Primarch pops out to save us. I'd call that the Emperor smiled upon us."

"Believe me Astartes, I myself didn't thought that the Great Enemy would appear in the sector. Something must have lead the Chaos Marines back here, given that a Alpha Legion warband once besieged the system." - Vulkan knew well that there must've been someone that wanted to see the sector burn and conquered. Given the past conflict, it may be given that the forces of Chaos wanted revenge for Stubbs defeating them. But who would be so desperate to go to such great lengths?

"Well, thank you for saving the people and us." - replied Barak.

"My pleasure. You marines do care for the Kauravans? My sons would see in you kindred spirits."

"I don't like to be flattered. Just doing my duty."

"Me too. I and my brothers do what is right." - added Varland.

"Still the Salamanders would consider you that."

The two commanders didn't want to admit that they really cared for the civilians and Guardsmen, especially the Black Dragons, but that was already in their nature. As the convoy got closer to Rockclaw Bastion, night was slowly engulfing the side of Kaurava III on which they were...

The Emperor Awakens

The Emperor opened his eyes.
The world was rendered through a lens smeared with oil, all he could make out were vague shapes and colours. There were seven shapes standing before him: one gold with two white shapes stretching behind it, another was a boxy bright yellow shape that stood close to a dull grey shape of similar shape. Two smaller shapes stood to the Emperor's right, one fluctuated in shape as though shifting its weight, the other stood absolutely still. On the Emperor's left was a wide greenish-black smear with a thin gap of light in the middle. Everything behind them was bright light that stung the Emperor's eyes. Something was holding him in a sitting position, and he weakly turned his head to see what, muscles in his neck creaking as he did so. Through his fuzzy vision, the Emperor glimpsed a massive red shape moving from past his side, and obscuring his view of the other silhouettes. He thought he heard it say "It is finished.", but any attempt at further discerning was ruined by the red shape slumping forwards, to be narrowly caught by the others. The Emperor blinked. Dry lids scratched across the surface of his eyeballs like sandpaper. His arms tingled, as though filled with pins and needles, and he caught a glimpse of the wide, golden device he was strapped to.
The Emperor inhaled. Dusty air that smelled of ozone and old leather whistled between cracked lips, and past a dry tongue. The Emperor swallowed, the dry inside of his mouth producing an audible rasping sound. A flex of the tongue produced a faint moisture within his mouth. His eyes too, were moistening, and each blink brought the world more into focus, like a telescope being gradually focussed. He swallowed again and coughed at the taste of the air. There was an audible intake of breath from the shapes before him, shapes that were gradually rendering into figures, like statues being sculpted from chunks of marble.
As he looked again at the figures, two still propping up the crimson giant, his mind began to assign them names. They were not the only thing he remembered. His limbs ached for a moment as he felt his arm being torn off and his ribs collapsing under an iron claw. For a second, his vision cleared, and he saw a planet on fire, and billions crying out for their saviour. He saw a man close his eyes as he was flayed into nothing. He remembered everything.
The Emperor spoke.
"Horus".
The figures (primarchs, his subconscious whispered), moved forward, almost colliding with each other, then they moved back, as though none wanted to have to speak first. He blinked again, and saw past the figures, a hall stretching into infinity, lined with banners and tapestries and murals that defied description. Breathing in again, he smelled, just for a moment, a meadow under the bright sun. He blinked again, the figures snapped into sharp relief and he could remember what to call them now. "Magnus" he said, voice quiet and croaking, but loud enough for the figures to hear. Dorn glanced at the pale-faced cyclops he was holding up, as though asking for permission. Magus nodded and, taking a deep breath, took his weight from his brother. The giant stepped towards the throne, as a prisoner steps towards the gallows. For a second, the emperor's eyes fluttered and he saw Magnus with his warpsight. The primarch's essence flickered, like a lantern in a gale. The Emperor could only imagine how Magnus could remain on his feet in such an exhausted state. Lifting his right arm gently off its rest, the Emperor beckoned the Sorcerer closer. Awkwardly, Magnus knelt besides the throne, his head at the level of the right hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Emperor placed a finger to his forehead, between the many-hued eye and the whorl of scar tissue.
"You seek forgiveness."
"Yes" Magnus' voice was a papery whisper.

"For a crime which I deliberated, Magnus. You are forgiven. Now and forever." Before the Magnus could speak, the Emperor drew on the power that had been with him since birth, a power bound into every cell in his body. He held it for a moment, let it build, then released it into the primarch. The others were amazed as a path of glittering lines spread from where the Emperor's finger touched Magnus' forehead. The light spread out, travelling down every blood vessel, every nerve cell, every hair of Magnus' being. For a moment, he was made of golden light. Then it faded, and the Emperor's hand drew back. Magnus turned to the others, rising from the kneeling position he was in, as though he was in perfect health. The others saw his face, saw where every psychosomatic bruise, every scar, every burst blood vessel had healed. That was not what drew their eyes. From where there had been just a knotted scar, a bright eye twinkled back at them, glittering with colours. As the giant stepped forwards, behind him, the Emperor placed his hands flat on the golden sides of his chair and pushed. Life-support monitors fell away, nutrient pipes disengaged and dust fell in a rain as the Emperor Stood.
"My sons." he said.
"I am so glad to see you. We have much work to do."
(Author's note, I started writing this at 11:30 on the 19th of March. When I finished, it was the 20th, the first day of Spring. It seems appropriate)

Erebus' Demise

First came the dust storms, covering the sky with darkness. Then came the ships, swarms of starfighters aided by their daemonic allies clashing with planetary defense vessels, each side ferociously struggling to gain air superiority, air filled with projectiles and lasfire of anti-air batteries' fire. Outside of the powerful curtain walls erected around four mightiest crater-forges, Ascraeus Mons, Pavonis Mons, Arsia Mons and Olympus Mons – where the planetary headquarter was set up, countless warriors dug trenches, set up bunkers and prepared for the onslaught. All was ready, when out of the cloud of darkness rising ahead of them like a red tsunami they heard a monstrous, inhuman yell which echoed among the flatlands.

- They're here – Horus whispered.

Clang! Stomp!

Ground trembled as the enemy marched with seemingly no rythm, a frenzied tied rising to flood the faithful, though the first enemy units were yet to be seen. Instead the shroud that covered them moved ever closer, and was now within a few hundred metres before the first lines. Commanders yelled their orders along the ranks, ordering their men to hold their ground.

Clang! Stomp!

Some guardsmen were shot by the comissars as they turned to flee, panicking before their foe would even show himself.

Clang! Stomp!

And when it seemed like the Imperial defenses would be swallowed whole by the gigantic wall of dust, the Archenemy sprung out of the darkness. Endless hordes ran charging out, their screams terrifying, their eyes hollow with madness, their skin covered with symbols that would twist a weak mind just by gazing upon them. Cultists and fanatics, human shields sprung forth like a tidal wave, and the inferno began. The first lines were set up close the the curtain walls, as only around them the surface was habitable. Artillery that the Mechanicum installed upon them began their barrage, their opening salvo so loud that many of the troops that were close to them went deaf from the very sound. Titans, set up deeper within the defense lines began to set up a wall of plasma and melta fire ahead of their troops, their concentrated efforts causing the ground to melt. On the frontlines it was as if all hell broke loose. Guardsmen from the 3rd Death Korps Siege Regiment were entrenched in defensive positions upon the edge of a cliff, below them a valley that spanned kilometres. They could hear the penal regiments' ranks ahead of them break as the expendable units have met with enemy onslaught. Lieutenant Damakis watched through binoculars the slopes ahead, as the Chaos infantry – a mix of unarmed crazed fanatics and twisted guardsmen overwhelmed their allies.

- Sareth, Paul, open up on that slope, suppresive fire! - he voxed to his heavy bolter squad leaders.

- Sir, there's friendlies still there!

Damakis looked again at what was left of their front line.

- Not anymore there isn't. Do it!

Heavy bolters opened fire, and as soon as they did the Lieutenant saw that he made the right call – shots cut down more than twenty enemy soldiers that sprung out from cover no more than a hundred metres ahead of them, their bodies disappearing in red mist as they got torn apart.

Then he heard a high-pitched voice, a screeching sound he knew all to well.

- Incoming! - he roared and threw himself on the ground, seconds before the blast exploded in the trench next to them, his and his soldiers' lives saved only by the zig-zagging frame of the defense line.

He ran to where the shell hit, and only because of his experience did he not throw up when confronted by the bloody gore that covered the place. He heard steps above him, and only managed to grab a lasgun with a bayonet fastened onto it from the ground as a fanatic ran up to the edge of the trench and jumped down upon him.

He stuck the bayonet up, and held it high, impaling the wretched soul instantly.

- Captain Keeler, Damakis reporting, we're getting swarmed, requesting suppresive artillery fire on quadrant Five-Five-Hotel, I repeat we need artillery support now! - as he voxed he stood up to see if any more enemies were incoming. Indeed, no less than fourty enemy infantry managed to get past the heavy guns' arc of fire and were now creeping towards their lines. Damakis turned to his right and yelled to one of his soldiers.

- Sam, frag them! - he pointed to the enemy positions, and the guardsman nodded, stood up and threw as hard as he could. One, two, three... Damakis counted in his mind and when he reached 'five' he heard a loud bang, followed by screams. - Well done.

So far, so good, Damakis thought as he stood up to assess the situation. There were no enemies in sight, though the damn clouds were too thick to get any decent visual.

- Allright men, check your ammo, check your squadmates. They'll be coming any second now.

And yet there were no enemies, the attacks stopped as suddenly as they began. Something is not right – Damakis uttered to himself, and soon he knew why that was.

First they thought it was a friendly Earthshaker hitting its mark, artillery finally giving them a helping hand. After three tremors, they were fairly sure that it was something else. After five, they've finally seen what horrors awaited them. Damakis went pale as he felt his palms begin to sweat. He grabbed his vox set and said with a voice so calm that even he was surprised – This is 3rd Death Korps, Lieutenant Damakis. We've made contact with daemon engines in quadrant Five-Five-Hotel. I repeat, deamon engines sighted. - as he finished, he turned to his soldiers, as frightened as him, cowering in their trench, and simply said:

"Terranis Holds"

- May the Emperor help us all.

- There, Five-Five-Hotel, is that information confirmed? – Horus turned to one of the comms officers, pointing to the display above strategum table in his temporary headquarters just a few metres from Void Gate, the main entrance to Olympus Mons hive-forge.

- Sir, we've failed to confirm, we lost contact with that unit a minute ago. It seems they've been overrun, my Lord.

Horus tapped his finger on the table, his demeanor calm, eyes fixed upon the green line now vanishing from the display. After a few seconds his mind was made up. He turned his aides, the four members of his Mournival.

- Ready our men, have the 1st, 3rd and 10th make their oaths. The rest shall stay here under command of Aximand as reserves. We'll reinforce Five-Five-Hotel and fight back those machines.

- My Lord, this report is sketchy to say the least. It might've been some panicked officer begging for help for his unit, exaggerating their reports. - the First Captain spoke, his helmet by his side.

- You question my judgement, son? - the Primarch said those words very slowly, in a manner that made the other Captains' skin crawl.

- Never. - Abaddon apologised and bowed humbly. Since their reunion, the relations between Horus and his officers were tense to say the least, just as between the officers themselves. Loken made no remarks, and found himself pitying Abaddon. Everyone were on their toes now, afraid to step out of line. They've seen what happened to those that did in the past, and the image was not pleasant to say the least. That being said, there was Emperor's work to be done, and Garviel walked out of the tent, following Horus, with brother Kibre of the Justaerin and the elderly Qruze following in his steps.

They quickly went about giving out orders, as Horus oversaw the men embarking their transports row after row in perfect order, with the 3rd and 10th entering Thunderhawks, while the lumbersome Terminators of the Justaerin slowly walking into the crammed compartments of Land Raiders. Their departure was watched by many guardsmen and civilians around with awe, and many of them cheered and sang hymns to their God-Emperor, as if not noticing the endless artillery barrage that echoed like a thunderstorm inside the curtain walls.

Horus entered the first Land Raider as soon as the last Astartes was ready, and soon his armoured column was heading at full speed through the red plains, with dozens of Thunderhawks accompanying them in the skies, some twenty metres above them. He couldn't help but feel glad. At last, it was time.

Horus watched a tactical display inside his transport, modified to accomodate staff personnel. There was an opening in Imperial ranks in the very spot that the report from 3rd Death Korps came, and enemy forces were now pouring into the breach. On their side of the cliff where the infantry was stationed the ground was mostly flat, with a few hills on their left flank – and on those hills their defenses were much more successful in organising a second-line defense. The right flank was a wreck however, and was crumbling by the seconds.

- This is Horus to all squads, we'll be moving in force into the flank of their advance in quadrant Five-Six-Hotel, Thunderhawks await for a landing zone as the ground troops make way. Follow up on the armoured assault and proceed with your attack towards the cliff. - he voxed through the Raiders vox, and immediately afterwards called up his second in command – Void Gate HQ, this is Horus, where's that artillery support?

- This is Void Gate HQ, my Lord, we're beginning as we speak – and indeed, there was a loud roar as rear batteries began to lay waste to the ground ahead, the wall of fire moving forward as the column made at full speed towards the frontline.

The Raiders that were moving in a column so far now changed their formation, forming a long wedge, with Thunderhawks awaiting for clearance to land and keeping on low altitude behind them. Ahead of them the battlefield had turned to a wasteland, with small groups of surrounded guardsmen still fighting back against their enemies in a bitter close combat in what was left of their trenches. The Raiders did not stop as they went over the Chaos infantry foolish enough not to run away, with their guns opening up on whatever targets they could find.

The rumored siege machines of their foe were nowhere to be seen, though arguably the dust cloud was now encompassing the field of battle, rendering it nearly impossible to get a grasp of the situation.

The Land Raiders opened their rear hatches and the Justaerin disembarked, their slow, seemingly clumsy steps making friend and foe alike turn their heads and see in awe as they were all obliterated by relentless fire from their twin-linked bolters that ravaged their positions. As soon as the immediate vicinity of their location was moderately secure, the Thunderhawks swooped in one by one, dropping of their cargo and taking off in an endless effort, and despite the efforts of the ground forces they were constantly under fire, though erratic and ineffective.

As Loken jumped off the Thunderhawk, as it was faster for them not to land on the ground but hover just a few metres above and depart, he made a head count, and as soon as he was done he led his company to the trenches ahead, their might armours stampeding over enemy troops that lay hidden in what they perceived as a hiding place against the Emperor's finest.

- Palladius, Talonus, on me! Rest of you brothers, spread out, search the trenches and secure the perimeter! - he voxed his orders.

Horus watched as wave after wave the Thunderhawks dropped off his land forces, and saw them secure their position and slowly advance towards the breach. He tried to assess the situation, which seemed peculiar. There was no real resistance here, and these worthless troops could not possibly have overrun the seasoned troops of Krieg, especially in excellent defensive positions like these. The enemy machines were nowhere to be seen. Something was amiss. Then a vox message came through.

- My Lord, we've found strange tunnels in the trenches. It's possible that it was through them that the enemy infiltrated the frontlines. I'm sending squads to investigate them as we speak – he heard a report by the 3rd Captain.

- Act with caution, Captain. - Horus replied briefly and was about to go back to his command Raider as on of the Astartes inside speak – My Lord, the dust strom is interfering with our scanners, but I'm receiving a strange signal. Come see this – he pointed to his console, which indicated subterranean contact no more than fifty metres behind the armoured battalion. Horus immediately grabbed the vox.

- This is Horus to Thunderhawk wing, stop your approach! I repeat, stop your – he did manage to finish as he felt the ground tremble.

Yet another of the dropships was now hovering above ground at the makeshift landing zone, with Astartes preparing to jump off it as the sands below it seemed to erupt and swallow the machine whole. Horus watched as a machine tore through the soil and grabbed the Thunderhawk with its maw, crunching on flesh and metal. It was a beast about fifteen metres tall, with four short, mechanical legs and a long torso, which ended with something that resembled a head, the engines' mouth engulfed with flames, its eyes blazing red.

Nearby more enemy units were emerging from the ground, catching the Astartes by complete surprise. Horus did not wait for the foe to make their move, and began to run towards the first unit. His power claw began to charge, his left arm armed with a bolter pounding at the creature's head. It already crawled out of its tunnel, the debris from the destroyed dropship falling around in a rain of scrap metal and gore. Horus jumped, his right arm held high as he came down on the foes neck, the claws tearing through steel. The daemon engine tried to shake him off, one of its legs reaching to grab him. Horus was however much more agile than the lumbersome beast, and as soon as he landed on the ground he began to run below the monster's belly, punching out huge holes with his weapons.

His foe, unable to grab the Warmaster, desparately tried to trample him, its four massive legs stomping on the sands, never quite reaching their mark as the Primarch emerged from below the creature. He did not stop in his assault, and – as he dogded the beasts tail left and right – made for its rear left leg, throwing himself into a spin to gain momentum and hitting his target as hard as he could, tearing the limb off. The enemy bellowed and roared, as it crumbled and fell down on the ground. Horus jumped onto it, and ran through its spine. He stopped atop its head and plunged his claws right into its skull. His enemies eyes opened wide, and the whole machine shook as if in spasms. After a few seconds it stopped, its body laying on the ground.

He took a few quick breaths as he looked around to get a grasp of the situation. His Astartes were still fighting a few of the beasts, and saw one of them get destroyed as a Thunderhawk made a low run, firing off its lasers and missiles, each consecutive hit inflating the chassis from within, until a violent explosion sent it back to hell whence it came . His vox was patching through reports, albeit interference from the storm was severe.

„We have * static * in the tunnels! * static * just a dist- * static * -just a distraction!”

Before the Warmaster could make sense of the words, he saw the dust cloud ahead of his units dispel, revealing the ground ahead of them. Under the cover of darkness, they could not be noticed – yet now they stood there, rank after rank, their banners and unholy icons held high, their lines marching through the wasteland towards them.

There was no mistaking, as every Astartes knew those red-and-silver colours well.

The Word Bearers.

The Dark Apostles.

He heard the Raiders open up a barrage of bolter and lasfire, but for every one of the enemy marines that had fallen, a new one took his place, their crawl relentless. Then they began to chant, a wicked, twisted litany rang out across the battlefield.

He looked round, and saw squad of battle brothers, some ten men, setting up their positions. He raised his claw high and yelled.

- My sons! Finally the enemy have revealed themselves! Follow me, for Terra, for the Emperor, for glory!

The men rose up, their bolters in one hand, chainswords in the other, and roared.

- Lupercal! Lupercal! Lupercal!

And then they charged, and as they passed the trenches more Luna Wolves emerged, joining the attack. It was as if a flood of grey steel struck upon a red shore, the first Astartes using their speed to strike with fury at the first enemy lines.

- For Terra!

The two sides clashed and went into vicious close combat, trenches ringing with the sound of chainswords and chainaxes plowing through metal armour and flesh. Horus in the middle of the assault, his figure towering among regular marines. His chestplate no longer grey, now drenched in blood, he moved through the enemy formation like a hurricane, his powerful claws tearing through the enemy left and right, with seemingly nobody to stop him in his fury and anger, his loyal sons following in his wake.

As he decapitated the enemy marine in front of him, a twisted parody of a human being, he looked up and to his surprise, saw that the enemy were now ignoring him, moving past towards his Luna Wolves, and there was nobody near him save for one man, a few paces away, his bald head inscribed with runes and prayers that would break a mind simply by gazing upon them. In his right hand a powerful crozius, in his left – an open book that reeked of warp taint. Upon his chestplate a human head, constantly spouting out Chaotic gospel, constantly moving, twisting in a manner unnatural and sorcerous.

Upon his face – a content smile.

Erebus.

- Welcome, son of the Emperor. - the Dark Apostle spoke in a calm, soothing voice – You've come back to finish what we've begun?

They began to walk in a circle, paying no heed to the battle surrounding them. Between them an empty space, the air heavy with tension, their eyes fixed upon each other.

- I've come back to finish what my father began, and to defeat any who dare raise their hand upon his work. - Horus replied angrily.

- So yet again the mighty Warmaster accepts the role of a servant? The great Primarch, first among his kin, once more reduced to a lapdog? - Erebus seemed amused by the conversation, a smug grin still on his lips. - You'll return to obeying the tyrant, you – who would lead the Imperium to greatness? I'm unimpressed, my Lord, milennias pass and men keep repeating the mistakes of ages past.

- I make no mistake when I stay true to my father, to my brothers, Erebus. - the Primarch answered.

- And yet you were the first to acknowledge the error in your ways once. Surely, in your wisdom, you will follow that same righteous path once again and lead your kin to freedom from their despotic Emperor. Look at them, praying to the false god, holding his icons as if they were some holy artifacts, their minds unable to accept the truth! - the Apostle waved his hand towards the hive-forge, his voice raised – Is it not what your father had planned all along? His tyranny is foul and wretched, Horus, for he not only rules their bodies, but also their hearts!

Horus felt his blood rush through his veins in rage.

- Silence! I won't listen to your words any longer, Apostle. So high and mighty, so righteous, so full of yourself! Look at you, your gospel and preaching! Whatever madness and sorrow now plagues the Imperium it is my doing and mine alone. And I will atone for what I've done by sending you back to those Warp Gods you so cherish! - Horus roared and they both ran towards each other, their weapons meeting with a loud clang. Both of them struggled to throw their foe back, and their faces were inches away now, separated by screeching steel.

The twisted preacher laughed.

- Accept the truth, Warmaster! Your father used you like a smith uses his hammer, and built an empire of lies while you were busy running his war for him – and now you're back, yet again an errand boy! Horus clenched his teeth as he heard the Apostle's words. For a moment there, he felt something akin to fear. Astartes were incapable of fright, and it was not as if he was afraid for his life – he was born for battle, born for this. Then why, why did he feel this strange sensation? Was it because there could be truth in Erebus' words? As he felt his blood boil with fury, he suddenly realised – what he was afraid of was in fact that he would once again fail the ones he held dear. That he would once again turn his back on his own.

The two men fought to gain the upper hand, pressing hard on their weapons. Their powerful armours clanging as steel met steel, Marine met Marine. Demigod met demigod.

The preacher's crozius suddenly slipped, and ran down towards his pauldron, barely leaving Horus time to jump back to avoid being torn in two. He was late, however, to completely evade the attack and the unholy mace crushed the side of his armour. As it went down, the Primarch saw it tear off the parchment that held his oath, the words he spoke onboard the Ragnarok.

The seal flew through the air like a leaf on the wind, Horus' eyes fixed upon it like in a trance, the whole world slowing down around him.

Do you, Horus, son of the Emperor, accept your role in this?

Do you swear to stand true to his words and not succumb to the treachery of the taint?

Do you swear not to waver in your resolution?

Terra, how stupid I've been.

Erebus didn't have time to recover, as the sheer force of his attack sent the Crozius swinging into the dust. Horus did not pay attention to the pain he felt in his arm and chest, and with renewed strength simply ran himself into the Apostle, throwing him on the ground. Erebus' smile was now gone, now replaced with a face twisted in shock.

- I am no lapdog, traitor. And I am no errand boy. I am Horus, son of the Emperor! - his words echoed, as the marine below him desperately tried to reach for his weapon – I have judged you, and you have been found wanting. Accept your sentence and go back to your beloved Warp – and tell your 'Gods' that we're coming for them! - He raised his arm, bolter in his hand, pointed it in his foe's face, and pulled the trigger.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Once he was done, he looked around. With their leader gone, the Word Bearers were in full retreat, Luna Wolves mercilessly slaughtering the straggling heretics. They formed up around him, and from the crowd emerged Qruze, the elderly Astartes stopping in front of his Warmaster. He stared at what was left of Erebus, and his Primarch, drenched in blood and breathing heavily. He turned to the other Luna Wolves, and raised his chainsword high.

With a low howl he roared.

LUPERCAL!

And his brothers replied.

Transcendent

How they Got Here

Ever since Trazyn revived Vulkan the two have become good friends. An alliance is even being talked about between the Imperium and the few Necron dynasties that don't dislike Trazyn. However, both the Imperium and the Necrons will always wish to benefit from any alliance formed and both have decided to extend a show of good faith to each other.

The Necrons have dispatched Crypteks to the Cadia. They are to repair the damaged parts on the Pylon network in order to better strengthen the Imperium's ability to defend against the Black Crusades.

The Imperium however must make a more warlike show. The Tomb World of Vrasksia and it's ruling dynasty, the Novokh Dynasty, has been divided into two. Due to reckless use of C'tan shards to destroy encroaching Tyranids, half the dynasty has been taken over by a Transendent C'tan. The other half is now fighting a stalemate against the controlled force. The Imperium must end this stalemate.

As much as Vulkan himself would've preferred to lead the force, he is not the closest Imperial army. The closest Imperial military presence is two Imperial Guard regiments, a 13th great company of the Space Wolves and 300 marines of the Thousand Sons.

Vulkan initially didn't think it was wise to have the Thousand Sons and Space Wolves fight alongside each other given their history but Leman Russ and Magnus have assured him that they have reconciled and that they will insure that the members of their legions will leave behind their history when entering the field of battle. Vulkan was still slightly skeptical, but trusted their judgement, reasoning that fighting alongside each other will help erase the feuds of their history.

As they approached the planet. Trazyn has ensured that the Novokh dynasty was informed of the arriving reinforcements. The non-controlled Necrons have disabled the Pylon networks on the section of the planet under their control so that they won't weaken the psykers of the arriving aid.

The opposing Necrons will never show such a courtesy, leaving most of the Thousand Sons to be on the defensive since they can't enter enemy territory without the weakening of their powers.

Unless the enemy pylon network is taken out, the Imperium will not be able to make the full use of its abilities to defeat the Transcendent C'tan.

The Thousand Sons and Imperial Guard have spread out across the Novokh controlled regions of the planet to bolster it's defenses against attacks.

Imperial Guard and Space Marine officers and Necron Lords meet periodically to discuss how best to make use of their alliance.

Imperial Guard squads find themselves hiding behind a horde of Necron Warriors, their Lasguns sometimes being just the little extra firepower needed to turn a firefight against the C'tan's necrons.

Deathmarks have intercepted ambushes from Triarch Praetorians attempting to destroy Imperial heavy vehicles.

Unfortunately, the C'tans forces have been bolstered by the flayed one packs. Before the Imperium arrived they were useless to both sides as machines produced neither blood nor gore to draw them. Now, with warm bodies present; they ambush human troops at every opportunity, bursting from beneath the snow and ice to tear into the nearest meat.

Several Wolf Scouts and Legion Recon Squads have been deployed. Delving into the catacombs with a Cryptek or two as their guides. They must destroy the Pylon network of the C'tan so that the might of the Psykers and Terminators may be used. Several dozen marines are lost in the process but it is successful. With the Pylons disabled, the C'tan no longer has any effective counters towards enemy psykers, nor the means to prevent Terminators from arriving wherever they please. The war turns against the C'tan as Terminators open gaps in the C'tans defenses while psykers shred every foe they encounter.

The Necrons are capable of enduring many attacks, and with them standing between the C'tan's forces and the great offensive power of the Imperium, the planet is steadily retaken bit by bit.

At last the transcendent C'tan enters the field of battle on it's own. Having identified the near religious awe that the new opponents have towards Leman Russ and Magnus, it intends to kill them both, it that doesn't cause the Imperium to despair, then it'll at least mean it's taken two of the most dangerous opponents it's ever fought with it.

Subjugation

Russ ducked under the sweep of another massive arm, swinging his frost blade at it and seeing the blade glance off, yet again. Magnus, to his left was faring little better, trickles of blood running from the corners of his eyes as every thunderbolt and fireball he hurled at the enemy glanced off. Russ looked up into the sneering silver face and roared a fenrisian curse at it. The great silver fist descended again, too quickly to dodge. Magnus set his feet, and Pushed. The enemy's fist hovered just feet above the sorcerer's outstretched hands, trembling as the foul creature pushed for all it was worth. Seeing the foe's attention fixed on Magus, Russ charged the monster's body proper, batting away silver tendrils that reached for him, before swinging with all his might at the enemy's torso. The shock vibrated up the Great Wolf's arms, but the enraged scream that tore at his ears, told him that he had hurt it. His train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as the eldritch winds that tore at his hair and pelts increased a thousandfold. Russ planted his sword in the ground and clung to the grip, feeling the wind ripping the skins from his armour as it tried to pick him up. Even as metal snowflakes tore at his skin like claws, the Great wolf smiled, this was nothing to a fenrisian blizzard. The wind halted abruptly, and Russ barely had time to open his eyes before a metal fist slapped him into the air. Russ tumbled head-over-heels, struggling to maintain his sense of direction as he flew. A force stopped him, and lowered him gently to the ground. He caught Magnus' eye and nodded. The sorcerer nodded back, just before a thunderbolt exploded in the metal snow before him, hurling him off his feet. The ground quaked as the enemy strode towards them. Russ tightened his grip on his sword and glared defiantly into the metal face. It wasn't smiling anymore. The terrible figure towered over Russ like a mountain, and raised its fist for a killing blow.

Russ spared a moment's glance for Magnus, lying stunned in a snowbank. The Sorcerer closed his eyes for a moment... then a thunderbolt leapt from his hand, straight at Russ. The bolt went past the Primarch and hit his sword with a mighty flash. The sword glowed and trembled in Russ' grip, as though trying to get free. The massive fist descended. Russ dived out of the way, and brought the crackling frostblade down on the monster's wrist. The monster screamed in genuine pain as its hand fell away, white light streaming from the stump. Russ looked into the creature's eyes and realised he wouldn't get a better chance. He pivoted on his left leg, and hurled the blade straight at the enemy's face. The ancient frostblade planted itself to the hilt in the creature's forehead. Russ would never forget the frozen look of horror. The creature trembled for a second, light spilling out of every orifice. Then it exploded with a sound like worlds colliding.

After what could have been a thousand years, Russ dragged himself out of the metal snowdrift he had faceplanted into. As the adrenaline wore off, the pain of his injuries began to make themselves known. He limped over to the giant lying on his back in a snowdrift, and collapsed next to him.
"Did we win?" rasped Magnus. Russ rolled onto his side:
"Most certainly. I doubt there's enough left to make a mug with."
A hand weakly slapped his pauldron.
"Well done. Now, if you don't mind, I'll just have a rest here. These snowbanks are strangely comfortable."
Russ pushed himself back to his feet:
"You have fun."
He turned and began to limp towards the crater. Magnus spoke up:
"Where are you going?"
"Get my sword back."

With the Transcendent C'tan shattered into pieces, most of the Necrons on the planet fall back under the control of the Novokh dynasty while the various leaders such as the Lords regain their free will. The shards of the C'tan - now temporarily comatose - are re-imprisoned in Tessarect Arks. Hopefully, the Novokh dynasties leaders have learned from their mistakes.

Clash of Pirates

>Korianis Sector, Subsector Daranis

The Rogue Trader Sebastus Arrelia was accompanied by a small fleet of vessels. While some of them were merely escorts and one Explorator Vessel who was paying him handsomely for a chance to work on the Archaeotech Drive in his flagship, there were also three ships of Astartes. However, their heraldry appeared to be something he never noticed before.
For one, it was made of dark, smoky gray with a skull as an emblem. However, they were more than capable allies, and their commander, a Captain "Calico" Jacques, was actually a very sociable person who seems to dispel every myth about the Adeptus Astartes just by his very existence.

The Trader had just made his way from a re-supply station, having taken a few rotations in the crew, and made some nice profit from what he sold. While he was calculating this profit, he had found a message his Astropath intercepted.

"ARRIGHT YA FILTHY GITZ, YOOZ BEST HAND OVAH ALL YER LOOT, OR YOUZE GONNA GET RUN OVER FLAT BY THE GREAT KAPTIN BLUDDFLAGG!!!"

It took a moment before everything settled in.
"I say," Sebastus commented, "Did that message just say that we were about to be robbed by...Orks?"
"Indeed, sire," the Astropath replied.
"That's...rather dreadful," he shooed the psyker off. "I'll summon the Arch-Militant. Best figure what would be the wisest move."

The Arch-Militant, a dreadfully morose bastard son of a Cardinal, was informed of the case.
"We have no chance of combating these Orks," he answered.
"Now, tell me, why is that?"
"These Orks," he told Sebastus, "they're the crew of Kaptin Bluddflagg. He's tried to raid Subsector Aurelia before, only to get pushed off by those Blood Ravens."
"We have Astartes of our own, don't we?" Sebastus asked.
"Would you really consider now to be a proper time to test their reliability?"
The trader leaner forward in his seat. "We have no better chance to see an Astartes' reliability than in the field of battle."

Soon enough, a Kill-Krooza of incredible size apparated from the warp, and again the message played, much to the Astropath's discomfort.

Just before they entered range, there was one last message left by the Orks:
"WELL? YOUZE GONNA GIVE US DA KIT OR IZ I SUPPOS'TA SMASH YA TA GEDDIT?"

The Arch-Militant insisted, "You can't be seriously thinking of-"
"Torpedoes away." Sebastus cut them off. The crew began loading torpedoes. "If they want this ship, they'll have to get it from my cold, dead hands."

The escorts started forward, expecting to open fire together against the Orky monstrosity when a small pack of ships, all larger and more heavily armed than the escorts, emerged behind the Krooza.

As the Attack Craft began dogfighting, the lead Astartes Vessel began boarding the Rogue Trader's ship.
Here, the Captain and a few of his troops began dispersing among the walls of the ship, anticipating the inevitable boarding.
Meanwhile, another ship came to the defense of the Explorators, who were left exposed with the escorts slowly getting taken over by the Ork vessels.

It was in the Trader Vessel that Jacques began another tactic.
With access to communication, he found a way to get to the Orks.

"OI! OO'Z DIS DAMN GROT DATZ TRYIN' TO GET FROO TO US?!"
"You best learn my name soon, you flea-suckin' dirtbags," he replied, "cause you're going up against the vessels of the great Calico Jacques!"
"PFFFFAHAHAHAHAHA, DIS HUMIE'Z FUNNY. I WANT HIS SKULL!"

As the Orks broke off, Sebastus began asking, "Umm... is that Ork now trying to raid my ship?"
"You act like that's not gonna happen anyway."
Sebastus did not take that as well. "Y-you maniac! This vessel is priceless! PRICELESS!! I can't possibly afford to repair all this!"
Jacques turned back to his forces, "Ah, you worry too much about this! I've got brothers here who can definitely take them on!"

Jacques went to the engine deck, which was where he assumed the Orks would come to at some point or another. To mirror the need to defend this point, he also stationed a good number of his troops on this deck to keep guard.

"Alright," he opened up, "Who wants to lead the wartime shanty?"
The battle-brothers eagerly joined in, nominating via a competition amongst themselves. It was whittled to a Sergeant Corril, who led a company of Assault Marines armed with blast shields and an anchor in place of jump packs.

>Once was a storm unlike any other
>The men all shook up and the ship, she would quiver
>Goblins came out and they tore through the crew
>STAND FIRM, YOUNG MEN! FIGHT WHEN YOU'RE TOLD TO!
>They had fear in their eyes,
>And the cap's lash on their hinds
>STAND FIRM, YOUNG MEN! FIGHT WHEN YOU'RE TOLD TO!

The Shanty motivated the men to stand and fight the Orks, who soon came to attack on the starboard side of the Engine deck. As the Orks began to board, the moralized Astartes charged towards the boarding party, Sergant Corril at the front with his Anchor. The massive instrument proved to be an able weapon, as his swings immediately pulped the Orks in front of him. Meanwhile, his squad had their shields raised to deflect incoming fire. Further behind were the Devastators, who were making use of both their heavy bolters as well as some autoguns they found stashed by the crew. The autoguns in particular kept the Orks' attention, the dakka from those guns being just the thing they wanted.
However, that was just the thing they wanted, as the Orks blindly walked into the Assault team's chainswords. Those greenskins foolish enough were eviscerated.

As soon as the wave of green ended, the Captain took charge. He was going to take the boarding vessel and claim it as his own.
Their entry was greeted by more waves of Orks, but it was clear that these ones were not nearly as strong as the boarders, perhaps not being as experienced in combat.
Half of the crew grabbed what they could from the Orky ship and then used it to repair the hole in the ship alongside any enginseers that were brave enough to stand alongside these Space Marines.

"Behold!" Jacque declared in communications. "We have taken over one of these Orks' ships! We've go the edge on them!"
Using the Astropath to communicate back, Sebastus responded, "I say, that does sound rather good, but my Escorts are practically half-gone. Unless you can repeat that miracle of combat again, I fail to see the good in that."
"HA! Just watch! And open what you can on the biggest one, I'm probably gonna take that down last!"

True to his word, Calico Jacques collided the looted craft onto another, boarded it, and repeated the sequence. Meanwhile, his ships, aware of his plan, began throwing their weight into the battle, helping turn the battle against the Orks.
Soon enough, the only ship left was Bluddflagg's Kill-Krooza.

"Well, boys," Jacques commanded them, "It's just old, big, and ugly left. Let's say we do this? WHO AMONG YE ARE TOUGH ENOUGH VOID REAVERS TO TAKE THAT DAMN ORK DOWN?!"
"AYE!!!!" The crew simultaneously cheered on. They took on the vessel's aresnal, the looted vessels they could use thrown in the way of the gunfire to buy the main vessels enough time to get closer to the hulk. As soon as they began boarding the Ork's flagship, it was only the Astartes Vessels left, the others having either went down with their looted vessels or rejoined their brothers on the main craft.

Jacques' crew were the first to take on the Nobs on the deck, as they held their shields against the lumbering massive choppas. Corril joined the Captain in that and, with his anchor, took down the leader of these Nobs. Most of the Astartes took to raiding the Krooza, leaving only the crew and a token handful of battle-brothers to keep watch of the ship.

The boarding Astartes were beset on all sides by the greenskin horde, but that was just what they wanted. In a way, the two forces were equal in that regard, both of them hungering for only battle. Orks of many different sizes surged forth to take on the boarding Space Marines, but the Marines were just as fierce defending themselves and pushed forward to destroy the ship.

Among this group, Jacques and a small squad broke off from the group in order to find the Kaptin himself. The route he took was infested with more brutal Orks, many of whom were fighting among themselves for whatever reason, but that was enough to grant the crew enough time to destroy the horde uninterrupted. More fortuitous to this was the fact that among these was a rather huge Big Mek by the name of Grozznozzle, whose entire head and spinal column was mechanical. This made removing it from the rest of the Ork much easier, as well as much more satisfying.

Meanwhile, Corril led his gang to the Engine Deck, in order to sabotage the patchwork machinery there. They were beset by Lootaz led by heavily armored Mek by the name of Nailbrain, all armed with any variety of guns firing lasers, bullets, and anything in between. Some were even firing rockets. Though the hail took the lives of half the brothers on this mission, Corril still managed to prevail by lobbing his anchor straight into the Mek. The Ork died upon impact, and his minions began advancing towards the fallen Mek to steal his stuff. Without any opposition, the Sergeant commanded a small group of Marines armed with flamers to incinerate those Orks that had fled while the rest continued the mission, placing Melta charges on the ship's drive and engines.

"Alright, Cap!" Corril voxed to Jacques. "We got the ship ready to blow up nice and easy-like!"
Calico Jacques and his crew were just about to lead to the command bridge, "Well done, lads! Head back to the ships, I'll be taking a certain Warboss' head!"

Rather predictably, the moment they opened the gate to the bridge, more Orks came flooding in, all armed with anything they could find, some trying to hack apart the Marines with pieces of the ship itself. However, their hastily-made arms would be their failure, as the trained Astartes were able to tear through them with bolter and chainsword, even stealing the weapons they saw use for among the Orks to use against those that remained.

Meanwhile, Calico Jacques strode forth to stand in front of the Ork Kaptin, whose jaw was as much iron as the rest of his armor and a crudely-built cutlass in his massive fist.
"I say," he opened conversation, "I like your hat."
"YOU WANT DIS HAT?" Bluddflagg spat out, "YOUZE GONNA HAFTA KRUMP ME BEFORE YOUZE CAN TAKE IT!!"
Jacque scoffed, "I was gonna kill you anyways. This way, I'll get a trophy out of the deal as well."
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!" The Ork erupted from his seat and swung the giant sword towards the Captain, who backed off before cutting with his power sword. "First blood's already mine, greenskin," he bragged. "How much more you think you'll lose before I'm done?"
"I'M GUNNA KILL YOU FOR DAT!!!" The Kaptin sent his other massive fist forwards, connecting with the Captain's chest, sending him flying back. "WHOEVER THE ZOG YE ARE, I'LL BE TAKIN' ALL YER KIT AS WELL AS THAT POSH GITZ!"
The Ork lumbered forward, but the Astartes did not stand to face the charge. Instead, he slid under the Ork. As Bluddflagg began checking his boots to see if he had any Marine stuck on them, Jacque began commenting, "Kaptin Bluddflagg, scourge of Subsector Aurelia. I must say, this sorta prey would definitely be a good trophy for my deck!"
Bluddflagg grinned, "THINK OI'M AN IDJIT, DO YE?" He punched through the deck floor. "THINK I GOT ROKKS FER BRAINZ, EH?" He felt something in the grip of his fingers. "HOEW ABOUT YA TRY DIS ON FER SIZE?!"
The Ork grabbed a huge hammer, bits of metal sticking out.
He swung this massive sledgehammer around with reckless abandon, batting aside Ork crew members with as much frequency as he did Space Marines. One parry led to Calico Jacques' power sword being sent flying from his hands. However, he was able to grab a rokkit hammer from a dead Ork. He turned to the front and found the control deck.

He had a plan.
Of course, he still had to distract Bluddflagg. That would prove easy, though, as the Ork accidentally embedded his hammer into a wall. Jacques ran towards the controls and shot the pilot with his pistol. He then took one swing.

KABOOM

The control deck was in ruins. So was Jacques' hands, once he finally got up.
"WHATCHA GONNA DO WITHOUT YER POSH KIT, EH SPEHSS MUHREEN?!"
Though his hands were broken, Calico Jacques could still fight, as he hefted a shield from one of the dead Astartes, In his other hand, he took a dead Ork's choppa. "Who says I needed that Power Sword to waste you?"
"HEHEHEHEH, I LOIK YOU. GONNA KILL YOU SLOW FER DAT!" He took one more swing overhead. Excellent. Jacques used the shield as a board to slide past the Warboss, who embedded it where the controls were, totaling all control. He heard more explosions from whence he came.
"And with that out of the way," he started jogging, "I feel that an escape would be the best to my interests!"
"YOUZE THINK YOU'LL BE GETTIN' AWAY DAT EAZY?!" Bluddflagg abandoned the hammer to find his cutlass again. ""FINK AGAIN!!!" He swung the Cutlass at the Space Marine, but his shield stopped it.
"BOSS!!" On of the surviving Orks shouted, "DA ENJINZ, DEYZ NOT WORKIN'?"
"WOT?" He growled. His distraction was enough for the Captain to try another attack with the choppa, but the Captain swatted him aside. "YOU SNEEKY SON OF A GROT...!"
Jacques got up, "Well, this bastard son got you beat, so I can't be all that bad, eh?"
"I'M GUNNA KILL YOU FER DAT!"
"Right now, not so sure," he finally left the door, "But later? Well..."

Calico Jacques went to the the entry point he took, but found nothing.
"Damn idiots," he grumbled, "Try to mutiny and kick ME off, will they? I don't think so!" He took a leap into the great expanse...

And he floated. He had kept track and found that it was only 6 minutes and 41 seconds before he could find a ship to pick him up, and it was one of the surviving escorts. He jumped in and found it to be piloted by Sergeant Corril. "The hell was that for?"
"Wasn't me, Cap," he commented as he steered around. "We couldn't keep the place Ork-free so we had to back off after placing the explosives." They started on their way back. "He, where's-"
"Look at my hands, sergeant. Can't grab crap right now, much less an Ork's head." He collapsed on the side of the wall. "But he's not going to be troubling anyone anytime soon."
Corril asked, "Shall I turn this ship around to the Grand Voyager?"
Jacques cracked a smile. "Get me to the nearest Apothecary. Gonna need to see if I'll be needing new hands."
"And that Trader?"
"Ahh, one thing at a time. He'll be fine. He'll be needing new ships, though."

The Case of the Tau Empire

Prelude to Something Bigger

CHARON-CLASS ORDO XENOS LISTENING POST IN THE DAMOCLES GULF

Adept Cestus rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and glanced at the chronometer on the wall. Only twenty minutes left on his shift! A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought of the pretty blonde who served at the small station's cramped refectory. Maybe he would ask her to supper when her shift ended... A squawk of xenos gibberish through his earpiece made him wince, snapping him back to reality. He groaned as the Tau language rattled around his head, the xenos communications had been growing more and more strange lately, the usual clipped tones becoming more and more guttural. "Send 300 hundred units to Sa'cea. The warriors there will need the sacrifices to the Blood God." Cestus froze. His hand hovered over the panic button on his console, and then he pressed the "record" rune. The Tau voice continued speaking. "These sacrifices will swell the warhost. Tomorrow, the Ethereals will lead the sacrifices of the Factionalists. Praise the Ethereals, and Praise the Dark Gods!" Cestus tore off his headset and punched the panic button.

Inquisitor Trajan of the Ordo Xenos ducked under a somewhat ostentatious idol to the machine god and stepped into the cramped strategum. The man studying the holo-tank's projection saw him and waved him over: "Ah, Inquisitor, I'm glad to see-" "You may dispense with the pleasantries Captain. What do you want?" The Inquisitor's respirator hissed meaningfully as he glared at the station's captain. The captain swallowed, and gestured at the display in front of him. "Our adepts have been intercepting Tau service announcements and communicates. What they have discovered is worrying to say the least. He pressed a key, and the message recorded by Adept Cestus a day earlier echoed out of the holo-tank's speakers. As the message played, the captain glanced at the Inquisitor's face. It may have just been the dim light cast by the projection, but the inquisitor looked like he was turning white. When it finished, Trajan moved past the captain and began to press keys on the holo-tank. "Are these messages coming from all the Tau worlds?" The Captain nodded and reached past the Inquisitor to press a rune. "Yes my lord, except from the so-called Farsight Enclaves, only two Tau worlds are broadcasting communications similar to the old ones. He pointed at the display, "Of these two, one has been almost completely overrun by the corrupted Tau, and the other is under siege. It appears to be trying to evacuate its population to the Farsight Enclaves." "You said the Enclaves were still broadcasting normally." The Captain made a face, "Not exactly, my lord. Not a single communication, corrupt or otherwise has come from the Enclaves for months." The Inquisitor's respirator wheezed. "I need to take this to the Ordo." He turned to the captain. "I must depart as quickly as possible, tell me, what was the last ship that you detected heading for the Enclaves?" "An Imperial ship, sir. It was tagged with the Inquisitorial seal, so we didn't repor-" "How long ago was this?"

"This morning milord. We assumed that it was one of your ships." The Inquisitor turned away and made for the door. "Tell your men to keep their ears open. I will need my ship ready to fly as soon as possible."

The Fate of O'Kais

The bones in Kais' hand creaked as O'Shaserra squeezed it. He grit his teeth and glanced at the lifesign monitor affixed to the plaster wall. Both the vital signs of his wife and soon-to-be-born son were strong, but a miscarriage wasn't what frightened Kais. Shadowsun roared as another contraction hit her, and a loud rumble from above seemed to answer. Kais leaned forwards over his wife and the surgeons attending to her, feeling dust and grit cascade onto his back as the ceiling shook. He wiped some of the sweat from his wife's face, her eyes blazed at him, as though this was his fault. I suppose- he thought distantly- it was. In a way. The sound of pulse fire from the doorway distracted him, and he looked around. The Shas'nel guarding the doorway was sending pulse rifle shots down the corridor. Kais heard unearthly screeches echo back, in between shots. He glanced at the pulse pistol lying on a steel tray, next to cobalt stained surgical tools. Another growl from Shadowsun brought his attention back to her. As far as he could tell, the labour was close to completion. As if on cue, one of the surgeons spoke up, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the battle outside.

"Commander Shadowsun! You need to push NOW!"

O'Shaserra let out a scream that nearly drowned out the sound of an Orca crashing outside. Kais screamed as well, feeling the bones in his hand come to the very edge of snapping as O'Shaserra crushed it with all her strength. Abruptly, the scream cut off, and O'Shaserra gasped, releasing Kais' mangled hand. Kais heard the shot that felled the doorway guard, and snatched up the pulse pistol just in time to put a shot through the helmet of the Fire Warrior at the door. As the blood-smeared warrior fell back, he threw off his comrade's shot, giving Kais enough time to lunge across the room and tackle him.

Pinning the warrior down with his legs, Kais ripped the warrior's helmet off and gripped him around the throat. The warrior leered up at Kais, several of the hideous scars on his face still wet with blood. The corrupted warrior bucked his hips, nearly throwing Kais off. Kais punched him in the face, hard enough that it slammed the warrior's head into the rockerete floor with a CRACK. Kais refastened his hands around the warrior's throat and squeezed with all his might. The warrior gurgled, blue blood oozing out of his mouth. Kais bared his teeth, the roar filling his head, calling for him to spill blood, to take skulls, blood for the blood go-

CRUNCH

The warrior's windpipe collapsed under the weight of Kais rage. The Tau convulsed and vomited a cobalt gout into Kais face. The silence that followed was broken by the sound of an infant crying. The red mist lifted from Kais' mind and he stood up stiffly, blinking cobalt out his eyes. He turned to see the surgeons helping O'Shaserra into a mobility mech. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he saw another of the surgeons holding a squalling bundle in their arms. A shout from one of them snapped him out of his trance:

"SHAS'O! THE TRANSPORT WILL NOT WAIT FOR US!"

Kais waved an arm at the group, "GO!" He glanced at the shape crouched in the corner of the room. "I'll get you time."

Kais wiped some of the blood off his face as the group hustled out of the door. At the threshold, O'Shaserra looked back. Kais smiled gently, and nodded to her. Another explosion, louder this time, rattled Kais' teeth as he watched his wife and son pass through the door. Part of him realised that he wouldn't see them again. He turned, and strode to the dust-covered shape in the corner of the bunker. He could still make out the kill markings he had carved into the iridium armour on Kronus, all those years ago.

He touched a key on his wrist computer. Blue lights flickered across the form, and the battlesuit stood up, dust cascading off it's armour. It's chest cavity popped open, bathing Kais in blue light. He turned and stepped in, standing up inside the armour. His head fit into the helmet of the battlesuit, and eyes were flooded with telemetry data. He felt the chest close up, sealing him inside. He worked his hands into the gloves, flexing the armoured fingers. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the missile pods clack into position. Another green light flickered up on his HUD, and he heard the two drones disengage from their charging socket across the room. The gun drone floated high at his right shoulder sensors trained on the door, whilst a faint flicker around him heralded the shield drone hovering low at his left shoulder. Kais reached down and picked up the heavy flamer in his left hand, feeling it lock to the elbow of the armour. He did the same with his fusion blaster, the weapon thrumming faintly at his touch. He looked towards the door, turning up the sensitivity of his visor. There was a squad of pathfinders stacking up outside. Kais outline wavered for a second, then he and his adjutant drones vanished from sight.

CLOAK ENGAGED

The door blew open in a shower of sparks, and the pathfinders streamed inside. They snarled in their bastardised version of Kais' language. "Kais and his whore must have already gone." Several of them dashed to the other door, the one that O'Shaserra had gone through. One of the others took notice of the bloody operating table, and, (Kais noted with a muted sense of revulsion) the bucket containing what had been left from the delivery. The Pathfinder peered into the bucket and turned to his comrades. He called something that Kais didn't understand, and the others laughed. He completely failed to notice Kais stepping behind him. Kais tightened his grip on his weapons, and then kicked the Pathfinder as hard as he could.

The corrupted Pathfinder flew across the room and smashed into the wall, leaving a stain as though a blueberry had been smashed against it. The other wheeled around, just in time to expose themselves to the enormous jet of flame from Kais' flamer. They clawed at themselves, flailing in all directions as they burned. Kais brushed past them, ducking under the doorway as he stepped out the way they had come, into the open air. The sky was choked with ash, and fire. What little of the loyalist forces that remained were now in full retreat, breaking beneath the onslaught of their corrupted brethren. The few Barracudas that could still fly were desperately trying to keep the enemy fighters off the various dropships and cargo freighters that were evacuating the last of the population. A warning tone from his shield drone brought Kais attention to a sniper drone attempting to line up a shot. A squeeze of the fusion blaster's trigger smashed it into pieces. His visor highlighted a pair of crisis suits flying towards him, before assigning each a targeting reticule. A double thump from the rocket pods heralded the launch of a pair of missiles that curled through the air and smacked the Battlesuits out of the sky. One exploded before it hit the ground, the other corkscrewed towards Kais and crashed into the dirt. It weakly tried to raise a weapon-limb, before a shot from the fusion lance carved through the pilot. A barrage of shots hit Kais in the back, enough making it through the shield to stagger him. He swiveled on one foot, and, seeing the squad of Fire Warriors that had shot him, turned the Shas'ui into pulp with a shot from the fusion blaster. A jetpack enhanced leap brought him close enough to the squad that his flamer turned half of them into walking pyres in an instant. The rest charged him, and Kais boosted up into the air as they closed in. He cut the thrust and landed on one with a satisfying CRUNCH.

The others crowded in, beating on Kais with the butts of their rifles. The roar echoed through Kais' mind, as though it had never left. He smashed the fusion blaster down on one of the Shas'la, blue blood splashing his armour.

BLOOD

He dropped the flamer and grabbed a helmetless warrior by the head. Servos in his gauntlet squealed for a second, then the Fire warrior's head imploded under Kais' grip.

SKULLS

The last Shas'la turned to run, but was cut down by a burst of pulse fire from the gun drone. Behind him, he heard the sound of a dropship taking off. He turned to see the Orca he knew was carrying his wife and son. Images stormed through his mind, of blasting the ship out of the sky, of bathing in the blood of a thousand innocents. Kais thought of his wife's eyes as he had watched her leave. He thought of the tiny face he had glimpsed peering at him out of a bundle of rags. The roar receded, for now. As he watched the Orca climb into the sky, he saw something fall past it, and land about a hundred metres away from him. A huge plume of ash covered what it was, but there was no mistaking the missile that burst from the cloud and beelined for the Orca. Kais watched the missile's flight, and raised his fusion blaster. Only enough time for one shot... A blue lance smote the missile from the air. Kais lowered the blaster, feeling his heart palpitate as he watched the Orca lift through the ash clouds, and out of sight. He turned to see the dust cloud settle, revealing a massive Riptide battlesuit, its hull adorned with carvings and sigils that Kais almost recognised from a long time ago. The roar howled in his mind, demanding blood and skulls. The corrupted battlesuit towered over Kais, casting him in shadow.

Kais calmly reached down and picked up his flamer, before snapping off a shot, blowing the Riptide's shield drone into pieces. The Riptide's answer blasted Kais off his feet, and sent both his drones spinning away, damaged beyond use. Kais picked himself up, studying the Riptide's weapons. An ion accelerator, a pair of plasma rifles, and the smart missile system. Kais blasted off again, punching the battlesuit's shields with his fusion blaster as he soared into the air. What he saw disheartened him, it would take a massive barrage to break through the shield, one bigger than what his stealthsuit could mount. He landed behind the Riptide, and sent a jet of flame at its back. The shield dappled and wobbled, but retained cohesion. The Riptide swiveled at the waist, and Kais dived for cover as a blast from the Plasma rifles leapt out at him. He landed on his feet and let loose a trio of missiles that exploded harmlessly on the Riptide's shields. The roar's impotent fury made Kais ears ring, and he pounded the shield with his fusion blaster. The shots that hit where the missiles had struck caused the shield to light up, brighter than before. Kais realised what he had to do. Once again, the roar had shown him the path. He disengaged the safety protocols on his battlesuit's weapons. Immediately, the fusion reactor began to bleep warnings at him, blue symbols demonstrating an imminent meltdown. Kais set his feet, digging his heels into the ash and lining up every single of his targeters on the same spot of the Riptide. He noticed the barrel of the the Ion accelerator pointing straight at him. The roar threatened to burst his head

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

"Yes"

He fired.

When the light and sound had faded, Kais saw the Riptide reeling back, sparks jetting from its mangled shield generator. Kais leapt forwards, the world slowing to a crawl, every iota of his being focussed on his enemy. One shot left in his Fusion Blaster. His visor saw the fantastic amount of heat coming from the Riptide's Nova Reactor. He lined up his last shot. For a moment, he remembered O'Shaserra's face when he had asked her to be his wife. He focussed on that, shutting out the battle, shutting out the roar. His wife gave him the strength to pull the trigger.

Kais gasped. His lungs were on fire. His whole body was on fire. He looked into a sky choked with ash. He coughed up blood. His skin was charred and blistered. At some point, his helmet had come off. There was no sound except the wind and the melted rock cooling around him. The roar went on, echoing through his head, as though it were trying to burst out of him. Kais heard a footstep in the ash. A strange voice tutted.

"Oh dear. What a mess you've made of everything."

A horrifying bird's head loomed into Kais' fading vision. "You pitiful, dull, little, creature."

Kais spat blood into it's face. "G-go to hell... Monster."

The creature snarled, then spoke again. "You have disrupted my plans too many times for it to still be funny, puppet of the blood god."

Kais gasped the roar inside his head answered. "For this, and for the blood god's annoying persistence, you shall suffer the consequences." Then it spoke in a voice like a razor blade sliding down Kais' eyeball. "Your mind will fade. Your body will become dust. But you will Never. Ever. Die." Then it touched Kais' chest. And all of him became nothing at all.

Upon a desolate battlefield lay a white battlesuit. It's surface bore no blemishes, and it's weapons lay besides it in the ash. After a long, long, time, Kais rolled to his feet. He wasn't breathing. He couldn't feel his heart beating. He couldn't feel himself against the inside of the armour. Gripped by sudden panic, he seized on of his gauntlets in one hand and tried to pull it off. It didn't move an inch. He pulled with all his might. Nothing. He was trapped inside his armour, unable to move, unable to breathe. He tried to hyperventilate, he couldn't feel his lungs drawing in air. He didn't feel a need to breathe. He took a step. The leg moved, but he did not feel his leg pressing against the inside of the armour. He thought of moving his leg, and his leg moved.

"Am I cursed?" His voice came through the suit's external speakers, and he heard it as though it was coming through the suit. His vision was overlaid with the view from his visor, but he felt no need to blink. He could just stare, taking in the ruined landscape as no other living creature could. So he did. He stared at the desolation that surrounded him, wondering what he was going to do next.

Kais struggled across the ashen wastes. Every two or three stumbling steps, he would fall, and have to coax his arms into pushing him back up. Unable to feel if his feet were touching the ground, Kais' vision was fixed on his armour's boots, trying to maintain his balance. His Plasma Rifle and Heavy Flamer were strapped to his back, the added weight not doing his balance any favours, but he was not leaving his weapons behind, not when he was in such a vulnerable state. He crested a ridge, pieces of obsidian crunching beneath his feet. Beyond him, sat a seemingly functional Manta dropship, much of it's hull covered by the ash that still fell from the skies. The rear hatch was closed, but thanks to Kais' still functioning command codes, it was trivial to enter. One of the aerials on Kais' helmet scraped against the roof, making him jump as the grinding sound echoed inside his helmet. The flat deckplate made walking somewhat easier, but even then, Kais nearly tripped at least twice. He squeezed his armoured bulk into the cockpit, from what he could tell, the dropship had been abandoned in a hurry, half the systems were still running. Luckily for Kais, the armoured fingers of his XV25 were dextrous enough that he could grasp the controls with ease. He hovered his hand over the controls for the engines, then carefully pressed the touch screen. The light touch left a smear of black ash on the console, but the microphones in his helmet picked up the sound of the engines lighting. Carefully as possible, Kais eased the craft out from under it's blanket of ash, and into the sky.

As the manta left the planet's ruined atmosphere, Kais glanced out of the viewport. Burned out ships, and fragments of ships glittered in the sunlight. Judging by the amount of debris, it would be a long time before any orbital installations could be set up. That was not Kais's concern. What drew his attention was the Explorer Class that was orbiting at the edge of the debris field, protected by its deflector shields. Its hangar bays were open, and Kais guided the Manta in. As soon as the instruments registered a hard contact with the docking cradle, Kais left the cockpit. The Explorer classes were so old, most of their systems were AI controlled. Hopefully, he might be able to leave the system with it.

Kais strode the empty halls of the ship, senses alert for the slightest sound. He had not found any traces of another living being, not so much as a bloodstain. He passed a mess hall, and glanced through the doorway. There were several half-eaten meals sitting on a table, the infrared vision mode of his visor showed that a bowl of soup was still reasonably warm. Kais carefully reached back and unhooked his heavy flamer, igniting the pilot lights with a flick of a switch. He turned the sensitivity of his visor up as far as it would go, and was struck by a feeling of vertigo as the deckplate beneath him was rendered transparent. He looked around, vision penetrating through dozens of decks. Nothing. Not even shipboard pests. For a second, Kais seriously considered returning to the Manta and seeking out another functioning ship. He shook the thought away, even if he found another ship, the chances of it still functioning were slim at best. Returning his vision to its normal settings, Kais continued, heading for the bridge. Rounding a corner, he spotted a turbolift. He jabbed the call button and was rewarded by a crunching sound as the button cracked. The doors opened before him, and he awkwardly worked himself into the interior. The extra height from his armour meant that he was forced to stoop to prevent the aerials on his helmet from scraping the roof. He pressed the key for the bridge, more carefully this time, and was rewarded by the lift shuddering beneath him. After a thankfully short time, the lift came to a halt and the doors slid open. Kais had expected some kind of reveal here, perhaps the bridge would be a blood-soaked abattoir, or a shrieking monster would leap for him. The bridge was empty, just like the rest of the ship. Somehow, that was worse. Kais worked his way around the bridge stations, stowing his flamer and searching for the helm controls.

Kais carefully tapped commands into the control panel, shifting uncomfortably in the tiny seat. All the systems seemed to be working correctly, including the weapons and shields. Hopefully, he would never have to use them, but considering how his luck had been going, he decided to keep an eye on them anyway. He pulled up the map screen, and punched in the coordinates for the Enclave world of Salas'hei, the world that they had been evacuating for. Hopefully, Shadowsun should be there. Kais pressed the key that would engage the FTL drive. He was committed now. Nothing would stop him reaching his wife and son.

Farsight

A thunderous sound clapped over the battlefield. 6 golliaths with single glowing eyes had descended from the sky, kicking up ash and dust from the ground, it shocked many of the corrupt followers of the Greater Good.

"Fusion Blades on-line."

"Onager Gauntlet on-line."

"Airbursting Fragmentation Launcher on-line"

"Flamers, ready to burn!"

"Retro-thrusters, on-line."

"...Dawn Blade...always on-line."

And with a slash of a massive blade, the Six titans were revealed, Five Crisis suit, flanking a sixth, blade in hand...O'Shovah and his bodyguard had arrived on the battlefield. "Assist the evacuation, keep sharp."

"For the Enclave O'Shovah."

"No." The larger battlesuit turned to O'Shovah, O'Arra'Kon was confused. "For the Greater Good."

Chaos forces kept coming, the five body guards held their line, fire reigned supreme as torchstar had opened up on their once brethren, torching the mad Tau, getting them out of their hiding spots, in the meanwhile, Farsight had been listening to the communications, they were trying to evacuate someone important...

"Bzzt Comma- BZZZT -owSun ca- ZZZZT -ove her, sh- BZZZZZZZZZT -born child, she's BZZZT healing centre Ar, need rein- BZZZT!" Tracking the signal was no easy feat for the suits systems, but he found it, not too far from his position.

"I shall be back Arra'kon, maintain position, keep the ships face." The Tau Commander blasted off before Arra'kon could protest, he sailed through the sky, ash passing over his optics, he did notice something however, the large blue ball of devastation as a Riptide exploded, was it their own? he hadn't a clue, he noticed a white suit, damaged, he ignored it for now, whatever happened, it would've indeed been a could battle. He turned his attention to his objective could see the healing centre. he began his descent, he saw the evac team holed up not far from it, taking heavy fire from the corrupt forces. A devilfish was over turned with a lot of wounded, some soldiers, some civilians.

Shadowsun was not having a good day.

She was lying behind an overturned devilfish, just haven given birth of all things, bleeding, in pain, the remnants of drugs in her system hardly able contain the pain she felt from her virtue. But she still had him, her child, her beloved child, she held him close he wailed and wailed, but she cooed to the child, what a way to come into the world, born into war.

The fire team around her fired towards the healing centre the corrupted took cover in, sometimes sending a wave of mad kroot towards them. But she held onto him, her precious little one. "Be quiet little one, we will be away from this soon, be quiet." That's when HE arrived, very noisily, as always! The crimson red suit crashed on the opposite side of the devilfish, plasma rifle blazing. Soldiers were in awe, all didn't seem to be lost, but some were confused.

"Is that O'Shovah?!"

Her eyes shot open, away from her little one, O'Shovah?! She grabbed the dirt with her free hand, with her legs useless, she gritted her teeth, dragging her useless legs and her little one, she pulled herself from behind the cover of the Devilfish to witness this...it was true, it was O'Shovah...her face flashed to anger, how DARE HE! How dare he show his face here! as if it wasn't enough, he had DARED to steal glory from the Tau Empire and he DARED! prance about in that suit he stole! For all she cared he could swing that sword of his in his naked bare hands! She glared at the suit, knowing it was the only thing between them and getting off this planet. All seemed to quiet after he barked orders of concentrated fire, then cut through swaths of kroot, shooting down vespid. He turned to the forces he was leading, then his optics turned and focused...on her. A chill settled in her gut as he stomped over to her...which was replaced by the feeling of fire and rage. He dared.

O'Shovah observed his ally, turned enemy, another student of Puretide, here, dragging herself along the ground and...was that, a child? Lights went up in his head.

She had given birth.

Farsight pitied the fool un-wise enough to make Shadowsun with child. He opened his suit, looking down at Shadowsun sternly. "Hello O'Shaserra."

Shadowsun spat in his direction. "Die O'Shovah, you rat."

Farsight smirked some at that comment. "You seem to be in a bad way."

"No worse then when I shall rip your head from your shoulders."

He chuckled at her threats, he had missed this banter. "But you see O'Shaseera, I am up here...and you are down there, with child, who was the unlucky one?"

"Die, I have nothing more to say to you." Her eyes looked up in defiance to him. He shrugged off the comment as fire lit up his shield, the troops returning fire, he merely gestured his plasma rifle toward the windows, opening up more fire, as the windows soon turned into holes, his comms crackled to life. "O'Shovah this is O'Arra'kon, the ships are leaving, we need to go."

Farsight eyes widened, he looked around, there were no evac team in sight to assist him in moving the troops, nor the debilitated Shadowsun, there wasn't enough room in the suit for her either... a tough decision had to be made, fast, then his eyes looked down to the small bundle she held onto for her dear life. "...O'Shaserra, give me the child."

Her eyes widened. Give him what? Her eyes widened in surprise, in anger and most of all, in fear. Be separated from her child? HER child? No, she couldn't she wouldn't even if it were anyone else she would have doubts, second thoughts, with him...the traitor of the Tau Empire, a betrayer to the greater good and all its ideals! He thought she couldn't protect her child?

"The ships are leaving O'Shaserra and I can't get you to safety." Synapses fired off in her head, the pain seemed to fade as she went cold. No, never, not she couldn't think it. But... If he could get her little one to safety. No, she would rather die...but, should he? Where was O'Kais? where was he?!

"I can see if we can get a second wave, but right now we need to get as many as we can to safety, children included." Her tactile side of her mind told her to do it, the cold, thinking part of her brain, said to her that at least her child would live on. Her emotional side of her brain was crying out to never, ever think about it, that she could never trust anyone with the child, that she could never trust HIM with the child.

"O'Shaserra...please...I promise you with my life that no harm will come to the child, not a scratch...I know that I'm a "traitor", but I would not be here if I did not care about the Empire, that includes you and that child!"

She could feel his voice shake her to her core, even from distance away it had force. ...she held out her child. "Take him, take him and get him to safety." Her voice, almost a whisper, so soft, so quiet like she didn't want it to escape her throat. Her whole being shook, telling her it was wrong, her heart had sank so deep, but her mind, her genius mind told her, she had to. She felt something slide down her face...tears? was she, crying? She didn't want to be seen crying in front of him, not just because he was an enemy, he was a rival, someone she had to be as strong as, she had to scrape up what little resolve she had. "Take him, that is an Order, O'Shovah!"

He nooded Solemnly, his battle suit knelt as to let him out, quickly his boots hit the ground. He strode over to his former ally, taking the small bundle infront of him from her, the boy had immediately started wailing. "Do you have him?"

Her strong eyes looked up and locked with his, he could feel the intensity of her gaze. "Yes."

"Say the words." Her voice was demanding and strong, even now, crawling in the dirt, in pain, she commanded some authority that made him get the chills.

"I have him."

He responded reassuringly, she let go of the boy, he hold the little one firmly in his grasp. "Now run, run far, far away! It is what you are good at." There was a moment, despite all the history between them, despite eachother being enemies, despite this being a warzone, they shared a moment, a smile, as small as it is, almost a jeering among peers...yes, that was exactly what it was.

"I'll be back for you." He felt fire light up, deep inside of his belly, a willingness, a drive.

"Not before you get him out first, now go! I can hold these bastards off." Very shakily, the Tau Commander rose to her feet, how she could lift herself, he couldn't fathom, he could only hope that he could muster the strength she could in that situation...she looked at her child, stroking it's blue head "Good bye, little one."

She stumbled to the men, barking orders in a firm tone, even though they told her she should NOT be standing, never mind fighting, she smacked the Shas'ui and told him to get her a stimulant and a rifle. Farsight climbed into his suit.

"O'Shovah, O'Shovah, are you there!?" "I am en-route, do not worry." He adjusted himself in the suit and made sure the boy was secure, he closed the hatch...as it closed he looked toward his rival, her at him. "I'll be back."

He declared in a strong voice... "No...you won't" She whispered to the wind before she returned to her troops. He took off away, heading towards the evacuation ships, the boy wailing the whole way.

The Corruption of T'au

T'AU

Aun'ra, Supreme Ethereal and Master of the Tau pushed past his honour guard and sighted the one he had come here to see. Kor Phaeron, Keeper of the Faith and Emissary to the Mon'Tau. The Tau bowed to the towering Word Bearer, and felt the Emissary touch him on the shoulder. "Rise, Ethereal. We are all equal upon the eightfold path."

Aun'ra nodded and motioned for the Word Bearer to follow him. "We have been following the Instructions in the Book of Lorgar, and we believe that we are ready for the final invocation."

Kor Phaeron smiled, "It sounds as though you don't need me, then."

The Ethereal looked back nervously, "We, ah, thought it would be best for you to make the final invocation. Afterall, you have more experience with this kind of thing than any of us."

The Word Bearer agreed, and they stepped into a wide chamber, what had been the throne room of the Empire. At the centre was the focus of the final invocation. Aun'va. The former Supreme Ethereal and master of the Undying Spirit was wrapped in barbed chains that sprouted from the ground and held him in place in the centre of the room. His eyes locked on Aun'ra and the Emissary. Aun'ra sneered: "Weak fool, the Gods have shown us power that you could never have imagined."

Despite the chain holding his jaw shut, Aun'va spoke: "This is not power. This is madness. You have doomed the Tau."

Kor Phaeron laughed, the cruel sound echoing through the chamber. Aun'va's glare fixed on the Dark Cardinal. "And you. You are a slave to powers you think you control, and your time is coming."

Phaeron's smile faded. He reached down to his belt, and drew a blade. It was so small it seemed almost comical in the Word Bearer's massive gauntlet, but all present knew that the Athame was so much more than just that. Aun'va glanced at it then looked back at the Word Bearer. "Silencing me won't change anything. You are dead men walking. All of you."

Kor Phaeron sank the blade into Aun'va's torso. The Final Invocation had begun.

THE FARSIGHT ENCLAVES

Like a cauldron brought to the boil, the warp around the Enclaves began to froth and churn. Psykers across the galaxy felt it. The space around the enclaves began to stretch and distort as reality was brought to the breaking point. Then it broke.

O'Kais jumped as his ship began an emergency return to realspace, alarms screaming. In the Imperial Palace, Magnus the Red clutched his head, feeling as though nails were being shot into it. The Emperor stiffened as blood began to run out of his nose and ears, feeling reality itself being torn asunder. For a moment, a single warpstorm, bigger than anything the Tau had ever seen engulfed the Farsight Enclaves.

Then it was gone. So were the Enclaves.

Kais stared at his consoles, unable to believe what he was seeing. The Emperor staggered, barely able to think, whilst Magnus collapsed with a crash. On T'au, Kor Phaeron smiled. If everything were this easy, he would have the Emperor's soul in no time at all.

Aboard his ship, Kais was frantically searching the communication channels for anything that would tell him what was going on. At last, he tuned in to a wideband transmission that was being bounced off every relay beacon from here to the Zone of Silence.

"REJOICE BRETHREN, FOR THE GODS HAVE SMOTEN THE UNBELIEVERS! THE EMISSARY'S WORDS WERE TRUE, CHAOS IS THE TRUE PATH! THE EMISSARY WILL BE REMAINING ON T'AU, SO THAT ALL MAY HEAR THE WORD OF CHA-"

Kais cut the frequency, and reached over to the navigation console again. With but a gesture, he changed the ship's destination to T'au. As the ship began to turn, and line itself up with the capital, Kais began to form a plan in his mind. He was going to find this Emissary. And he was going to make him return the Enclaves, or he would find himself meeting his gods a lot sooner than he intended.

T'AU SPHERE OF INFLUENCE

The space-traffic control teams that kept watch over T'au were stretched to breaking point by the massive influx of Tau that were making pilgrimage to the Homeworld, in order to hear the Emissary speak. They were, however, surprised to see an Explorer class battleship revert to realspace at the edge of the planet's sphere of influence. The battleship increased velocity, heading for the planet. Many of the controllers shrugged it off, assuming that the crew were on leave and wanted to hear the Emissary, like many other elements of the Kor'vattra that had arrived at Tau in the past few days. Few among them noticed the ship did not transmit any messages to the orbitals, and instead continued to accelerate towards the planet. At last, one of the weary members of the air caste keyed his microphone:

"Explorer, you are exceeding the speed limit for disembarking craft, reduce speed, or suffer the consequences, how copy, over?"

Silence. The controller frowned, "If you do not reduce speed, you will be fired upon."

Still nothing. The controller keyed up one of the Lar'shi classes that was guarding the orbitals. "Send a warning shot across the bow of that explorer." He watched the blue streak shoot from the nose of the Lar'shi and cross the void to narrowly miss the hull of the Explorer. He wasn't expecting what happened next: three railgun shots burst from the nose of the explorer and struck the Lar'shi amidships. There was an eye-searing flash as the ship's reactor went supercritical.

As the controllers frantically scrambled to contact the other battleships guarding the planet, the Explorer accelerated even further, shooting past the furthest orbital. The defence orbitals and battleships began to fire, railgun and ion cannon shots splashing off the Explorer's shields as it bore onwards. The Explorer was firing back, swatting the defence ships out of its way with barrages of railgun fire. A Lar'shi was too slow at getting out of the way, and smashed off the battleship's flank, exploding in pieces. The explorer's shields failed, exposing its hull to the fire of the defence forces. Railgun shots tore gaping chunks out of it, but still it forged onwards, ramming ships out of its way with an increasingly mangled prow. The defence forces were hitting each other in their struggle to halt the battleship, which was, by now, little more than a mangled lump of metal shooting towards T'au at incredible speeds. Already, flames were licking at its edges as it hit the atmosphere. A long plume of disintegrating material trailed behind it as it screamed through the planet's atmosphere. Its sole occupant clung to the controls as the ship disintegrated around him, G-forces that would liquefy normal men proving harmless to a being with no body. The ship trembled as it the atmosphere tore it to pieces, but Kais gaze was fixed on his target: the Chamber of the Ethereals. He could see the massive crowd that had gathered to hear the Emissary speak. The roar in his head gloried at the thought of so much blood being spilt, but Kais hauled on the controls, dragging the nose up. A particularly large tremor rocked the ship as it plowed through a building, the ground racing up towards it. Kais unstrapped himself from his seat and stood up, the deck shaking and trembling beneath him. There was a massive lurch as the ship struck the ground, ploughing through the road and crowd alike, smashing buildings and defences aside.

Kais leaned back, bringing his plasma rifle up. A single pulse smashed open the viewscreen, opening the bridge to the air and letting in the sound of screams and grinding metal. He saw, standing at a podium a tall figure in crimson armour. Kor Phaeron stared at the tide of glowing metal that was screaming towards him, unable to quite believe what he was seeing. The ground shook, and he struggled for balance, catching sight of a figure standing on the very tip of the metal shape. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the figure's thoughts.

Space Marines are said to know no fear. Kor Phaeron was no space marine.

He turned and ran up the steps, into the building, terrified by what he could sense. He raced into the central chamber, taking in the figure of Aun'va, held at the very edge of death by the foul magiks of the Word Bearer. He was the nexus of the spell keeping the Enclaves submerged in the warp. Kor Phaeron couldn't even begin to imagine how the Tau piloting the battleship had learned this. There was a tremendous BOOM as the battleship plowed through the front of the building, shattering mosaics and statues that had been there for generations. The Dark Cardinal put himself between the advancing battleship and the nexus of the spell. At long last, the battleship ground to a halt, dust cascading from the roof of the building, its construction at the very edge of collapse. Kor Phaeron's grip tightened on his staff, the spiked head crackling with Eldritch power. The dust was whipped into a miniature tornado as the Tau descended from above, his jetpack slowing his descent. The green lenses of the Tau's helmet regarded the cardinal emotionlessly. The Word Bearer spoke first: "You've come a long way to die, Tau."

"You are not the first to tell me that, Warp-spawn." replied the Tau, evenly He tilted his head slightly, looking around the Master of the faith, and at Aun'va. "Is that what is keeping the Enclaves hidden?"

Kor Phaeron stared at the Tau for a moment, then burst out laughing: "You mean, you didn't know!? You came all this way, and you didn't know!?"

O'Kais was unmoved by the word bearer's mirth. "Now I know, and the purpose of this exchange is over."

Kor Phaeron heard a whisper in the warp, and only just managed to block the plasma rifle shot with his staff. Kais set his feet, and fired a trio of rockets at the cardinal. One missed, exploding in a shower of marble chips at the Word Bearer's feet. The second was swatted out of the air by the spiked end of Kor Phaeron's staff. The third hit the man in the chest, and the explosion hurled him backwards, past the figure of Aun'va. Phaeron landed heavily, but sprang back to his feet, and extended a hand, doombolts springing towards the Tau. To the cardinal's shock, the bolts missed the Tau completely, almost as if they were magnetically repelled from it.

Kais flinched as the glowing purple bolts shot past him, detonating with flat bangs behind him. His grip tightened on the handle of his plasma gun, and he fired it again. The blast struck Kor Phaeron in the left pauldron, blowing it off, but failing to injure the Word Bearer. The Dark Cardinal grinned, and a bolt of lightning shot from his outstretched hand, striking Kais' knee joint and knocking the Tau over. Kais rolled onto his back, rage thrumming through him at the underhanded tricks of the sorcerer. He took hold of his rage, holding it until his limbs quaked with fury. His plasma rifle trembled as he brought it up, purplish light crackling around the muzzle. Kor Phaeron stared in astonishment, he could feel the power of the warp radiating from this creature, but surely such a thing was impossib- his thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt as the Tau fired.

A crimson beam lanced from the Tau's weapon and struck the Word Bearer in the chest shattering his chestplate, and sending him head-over heels. His head struck the ground, and for a moment, he thought he was seeing Gulliman ripping out his heart again. Kais regained his feet, paying no heed to the world bearer, lying in an expanding pool of black blood. He focussed on Aun'va, seeing the obsidian dagger sticking out of the Ethereal's chest. Aun'va looked into Kais' helmet, and mouthed the only words he could think of: "End it."

Kais nodded, and brought up his plasma rifle. Behind him, Kor Phaeron, struggling to breathe through punctured lungs, saw what the Tau was about to do. He tried to shout, tried to cast a spell... but the ensorceled plasma bolt had severed his spine, and no amount of chaotic power could transcend that.

Kais fired at Aun'va. The plasma round hit the atheme first, shattering it into pieces. Then it continued to the Ethereal. For a moment, Aun'va lit up, glowing, as the chaotic energies flowing through him backed up. Then he burst into a cloud of dust, and was gone.

On the other side of the empire, the massive warp storm re-appeared, then faded again. But this time, the stars of the Farsight Enclaves were there, as though they had never left.

Kor Phaeron felt this, and hissed faintly, before black blood flooded his mouth. Kais turned, and looked at the Word Bearer, weakly coughing up blood. He walked over to the Cardinal and looked down, into the scarred face. He stamped on it, black blood coating his white armour. He stamped again, rage filling him as he stamped again and again, cracking the paving stones with his fury. After a while, Kais realised that he was just pounding shards of bone into the floor, so he stopped. A final breath bubbled out of the word bearer's ruined trachea as the Tau strode away, leaving black footprints on the white marble floor.

Now, he was going to find his wife. And the dark gods help whomsoever tried to stop him.

Links

Archive of first thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30718552/

Archive of the second thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30789099/ - http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/30789099/

Archive of the third thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30851860/ - https://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/30851860/

Archive of the fourth thread: http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/30894565/

Archive of the fifth thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/30958863/ - http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/30958863/

6th: https://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/31018873/

7th: http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/31087598/

8th: https://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/31140309/

9th: http://archive.foolz.us/tg/thread/31158123/

WIP Rules for the Returning Legions for Deathwatch: http://www.mediafire.com/view/6xjjdxjutr2us7x/Primarchs_Return_DeathWatch.docx