not sure how well Serras would do against Tartarus
An Extra Primarch
- Thread starter ilbgar123
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Serras Into Canon: Part 4(AU)(+10 to roll of your choice)
Serras into Canon part 4: ...Begins with a single step.
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7 days.
Reality shimmered and then tore apart as the Phalanx emerged from the Warp. Captain Garadon was pleasantly surprised by how well the transition had gone; the ship hadn't shook violently and alarms had blared out indecipherable warnings that required tech-priests to soothe the machine spirit. Actually, it was thanks to said spirit (he still thought Rolly-Polly was too silly and undignified as a name) that they had appeared in perfect position. Fenris sat nearly 1,000,000 kilometers away, which was comfortably far from the lances on the defense platforms, but close enough to get onto the surface in less than an hour given the speed the ship currently had. There weren't that many platforms, given the destruction Fenris had faced recently, but it didn't hurt to keep away from a potential threat, though Garadon doubted the Wolves would fire upon the fortress-monastery of the Fists barring a major diplomatic gaffe.
"Captain Garadon," the hologram of Rolly-Polly suddenly appeared to his left, far enough away as to not frighten him, "there is an incoming communication's request from a ship identified as Allfather's Honor. Should I accept it?"
"Yes."
A large screen suddenly appeared in front of him, showing a scowling Space Wolf with a bushy white-grey beard and a long moustache of the same color and thickness. The Wolf's face was surrounded by golden metal wolf face with its mouth open around his head.
"Identify yourself," the Astartes demanded, his canine teeth literally sharpened and elongated like a predator's.
"I am Captain Tor Garadon of the Imperial Fists' 3rd Company, and master of the Phalanx. Which noble son of Russ do I speak to?"
"Logan Grimnar. Chapter Master of the Space Wolves. What do you want?"
"It is good to hear your voice, Great Wolf. I request to speak to you aboard the Phalanx, for I bring news from Terra that concerns your chapter."
"You want to talk, you do it on my ship, understood?"
"Lord Grimnar, there are many things I wish to show you-"
"My. Ship. Or get lost," the Astartes spat, sneering.
Garadon scowled and glared at Grimnar. "...Very well, Chapter Master. I will speak to you as soon as my transport brings me to your ship."
The communication ended from Grimnar's side, a clear insult. Garadon was tempted to badmouth him to the Empress, but he realized it was petty. Also, he was sure she'd realize what he was trying.
With him were two squads of Terminators. Just in case, of course, Garadon had come to plead on the behalf of Ecclesiarchy.
The Imperial Fist transport was given clearance to land in the hangar he was waiting in. It landed as smooth as such a transport could (with an unceremonious thud). The door opened and a Marine in the Fists appeared, walking down the ramp. He stopped a meter away from Grimnar. The Astartes removed his helmet, revealing black hair and three service studs above his left eye. "Greetings, Great Wolf Grimnar."
"What is it you want, Captain Garadon? I have no time to waste; Fenris still suffers from the aftermath of the accursed Thousand Sons' attack."
"He wanted you to meet me, Chapter Master," said a soft feminine voice that carried throughout the hangar bay.
Grimnar turned his head to see the figure that was descending down the ramp. In that moment, as his mind attempted to comprehend what he was looking at, there was only one response that he could give. "Who the feth are you?"
"She does not appear to by lying, Great Wolf."
Grimnar frowned at this. "Try again," he commanded. He knew there was no way this could be correct.
Rune Priest Svangthir Ashbeard once more turned his vision to the supernatural realm. The powers of Fenris flowed through him, causing his eyes to glow yellow slightly. He looked at the so-called Empress and Primarch (personally, he found the second one more insulting; there were an infinite number of pretenders to the Golden Throne, none who claimed to be his sons), trying to look past the bright silver glow of her spirit. The rest of the room had become impossible to see in the light she gave off, but he persevered even as he felt his metaphorical eyes squinting.
The glow gave way once more to the inner-soul, and Ashbeard frowned as he tried to look for anything of value. Normally, the spirits of Fenris would reveal to him a person's innermost identity, displaying fully any deceitful intentions or corruption. Nothing like that was made clear to him; he was greeted only by a similar silver glow, this one brighter and encompassing his entire vision, no matter where he looked. There was a slight gold tinge this time, which, if this woman was to be believed, was a splinter of the Emperor's soul, vesting her with his authority. Thankfully, that was a headache that wasn't his to deal with. He'd be content with the headache of looking at so pure a soul.
Ashbeard closed his vision to the supernatural, once more feeling the power of the spirits around him leaving him. "I see the same thing as last time, Great Wolf."
"Then do it again! As many times until you see the truth!"
"Logan," Ashbeard said with a tired voice, "she is pure of heart. There is no taint or corruption I can find. This result will not change if I look once more or a thousand times."
"Gah! This makes no sense! A woman who claims to be a Primarch and the new Empress as well?! I am this close to simply having them all killed now, and marching to Terra to see what madness has infected the Fists!" Grimnar mimed swinging his ax as he said this. The leader of the Space Wolves looked at Ashbeard. "Call them in. I want you to tell me what you see when we talk."
Ashbeard nodded, summoning the so-called Empress and her escort, an Imperial Fist. This was his first look at the woman in the flesh, and he ran his eyes over her form. She was as tall as the more accurate records of the Primarchs spoke, topping out between nine and ten feet. Her silver hair was tied in a ponytail, upon which sat a golden crown, shining in the dull lighting and revealing the word written upon it in High Gothic as "Chosen". Short and sweet, just as he liked it. He lamented internally that her armor, which had to be bone by its color, was completely smooth in the chest area. Even the Sororitas he had sometimes met flaunted their assets a bit with their armor, a "subtle" indulgence in a life of privation. Perhaps she had nothing to be proud of? What was more interesting was that the armor didn't appear to have any openings. It covered her body entirely but somehow bent at the joints. Her steps were silent as well, suggesting the armor may have been soft, but he couldn't be sure.
The three superhumans entered Grimnar's office, greeted by a scowling chapter master. "Ashbeard said he could not find any taint in your soul, but that does not mean you are not lying in one way or another. Tell me why you came here," he barked.
"To give you an opportunity like none other, Great Wolf Grimnar," the Empress explained.
Grimnar sneered. "And what, in Russ' name, would that be?"
"Revenge against Magnus the Red," she said simply.
There was silence as the Russ' two sons processed the answer. "How the hell can you offer that?" Ashbeard asked, aware he hadn't been bidden to speak.
"Simple. By dangling a prize he cannot resist," the Empress said cryptically.
"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Grimnar asked condescendingly.
"The destruction of your chapter."
As soon as the words could be comprehended, Grimnar's face donned a furious look and he spoke with quiet but rage-filled words. "You better explain yourself. Now." He hefted his Wolf Claws, letting electricity run across the talons.
"Since Prospero burned, Magnus has hated your chapter. He destroyed the Wulfen cure in M32 and attacked the system once more just recently. How likely do you think he is to let an opportunity to destroy you once and for all slip pass, especially as your chapter has suffered in the aftermath of the siege? No, even with his depleted armies, he will rush here as soon as possible, all to have a chance to kill you."
There was a tense minute before anyone spoke. "...As satisfying as it might be, destroying the Thousand Sons means little if we are destroyed as well," Ashbeard said diplomatically. "Revenge is not a sufficient motivation to pursue the Thousand Sons when we cannot afford to do battle."
"It was not the only thing I was offering. Great Wolf, if you agree to let Fenris be a trap for the Thousand Sons and Magnus the Red, I offer two things. Firstly, a cure for the Wulfen. Secondly, I know where Leman Russ is, and where he will be soon. I will give you both once the battle is won."
"...Pardon me, my Empress, but what purpose would it serve to have the attack here, instead of placing the Wolves elsewhere if they agree to this plan?" he asked.
"Because it kills many heretics with one shot, captain. The Wolves get their revenge, Fenris is rebuilt faster, and I get what I want in the process."
Nathaniel examined his shooting target as it came closer. The hologram, which was currently in the shape of an Astartes without armor, had highlighted sections with indicated where he had a tendency to hit it and how damaged it typically was. At the moment, a solid band of red went down from the target's left shoulder diagonally towards the middle of the torso, with red color splattered around the wounds.
"Not bad, Nathaniel. You picked up the plasma rifle faster than these fools, that much is clear," his sergeant said with a clap on his back, earning Nathaniel some dirty looks. Truth be told, Nathaniel didn't like this gun. It was powerful, no doubt, capable of melting armor in seconds. It was lighter than any gun he'd used before and held a few more shots as well. The recoil was non-existent with his muscles. There was no spray to speak of; every ball of contained plasma went exactly where the gun aimed. He knew that there were others who were training with different weapons as well, his peers and himself split into groups that would rotate which weapons they were learning to use that day.
There was something empowering, however, about the bolters he'd used when he was in training, known as 154-C. The weight of the gun, the powerful recoil, the sound and even the slight smell as each bolt flew where he aimed gave him a sense of being an Astartes. 'Look!' he'd heard a voice say, "Only your kind are able to carry me. I was made for you, much like you were made to serve.'
Complaining about this would be silly, however. He was made to obey his superior's commands. If that meant using weapons that were effective but not his personal choice, he would obey, if for no other reason than the fact that killing enemies more efficiently meant he could kill more of them in the Emperor's (Empress'?) name.
With a suppressed sigh, Nathaniel reloaded his rifle and once more shot at the hologram as it moved from obstruction to obstruction, his every shot either a hit or near-hit. He consoled himself by remembering that the Empress has promised real combat soon, which left him anxious and eager simultaneously.
One thing many people didn't think about was noise pollution, but Magos Barnum-G76 was literally created for the issue. He was aware that the most common implant amongst new tech-priests was a sound-canceling one, which reduced the volume of a sound wave without compromising the brain's to locate the sound's origin. Such implants were universal on Forge-worlds, and for good reason. Their most powerful or efficient machines simply could not be constructed out of materials that were sound-canceling or dampening. You could construct buildings of such material, but that still left the servitors who had to be inside and subject to the damaging decibel levels. A common joke was to wonder if said sound could be directed at their enemies to deafen them.
Here, aboard the Phalanx and inside its massive manufactorum, he found the opposite problem. It was too quiet; there was no need for even cotton earplugs. A steady but low-volume hum could be heard from his surroundings, the floor shook slightly, and...that was it. Honestly, a lone Guardsman patrolling the hallways and walkways would have made more sound. He would honestly have guessed that the fabricators and assembly lines were inactive and derelict for millennia.
More proof, he supposed, that their current knowledge was less than a millionth of their ancestors.
He walked on and watched other tech-priests tending to the machines, but he doubted they were doing anything. The few times he had communicated with the machine spirits which controlled the fabricators, they had immediately asked him for orders on what to fabricate. It was not his pace to command them, but he knew they were unlikely to deviate. The Omnissiah's Chosen would not have restored them into imperfect conditions. Further down, he could see the final products. Weapons, and power armor suits by the hundreds, machine spirits already soothed and cajoled. These were taken by servitors to the armories of the various Astartes onboard. This was the last production order that had been pre-set. Before this, it had been turrets and other surface-to-space weapons, and before that, it was armor plating and void shield
generators.
He spent the rest of his time on duty admiring the beautifully machines being crafted in front of him.
"Do you ever think you could tire of fighting, brother?"
"Hah! Never. Why do you ask?"
"I couldn't say. The question just came to my mind."
"Well, don't let anyone else hear you. They'll thrash you like I did during the trials."
"What, they'll throw snow in my eyes until I can't see? I seem to remember you doing that."
"No such thing as dirty fighting."
"Hmmph. Anyways, have you seen those new Astartes?"
"Arrogant bastards and little bitches at the same time too, probably. They won't even take off their helmets here. Probably can't stand a little cold."
As the two Space Wolves chatted away, they couldn't help but feel a tingle in their bones. Something would happen soon.
0 hours.
One minute, the deep space surrounding the Fenris system was tranquil, its only inhabitant the dust from distant stars.
The next, a massive rainbow-colored gash in reality appeared. It pulsed in a sickening manner, as irregular as a heart undergoing fibrillation. From it, cracks spread outward in no discernable pattern, varying in length and thickness as they snaked their way through space.
Aboard the Phalanx, Captain Garadon was listening to the ship's machine spirit inform him on what it could detect.
"The initial tear is several hundred kilometers in diameter, and the various tendrils range from no smaller than 25 kilometers in length to 300 at the most, though that will increase the longer the main tear remains open."
"Understood. Inform me when the first ships come through."
"Affirmative."
Rolly-Polly's hologram disappeared as Garadon spoke into his vox.
"My Lady, the Warp rift appeared right as you said it would."
"I am aware, captain. I felt it from here. You have 33 seconds before the first ships arrive. Is everything ready?"
"From our end, yes. I cannot speak for the Wolves since they refused to tell us anything of substance."
"Grimnar is suspicious, but he will change his tone once the battle is won. In any case, you know our plans. Inform me if there is any deviation from the projected enemy composition I gave you."
As the link went dead, Garadon couldn't help but be skeptical at the Empress' tone. As if winning the battle would be as trivial as she made it out to be. Then he remembered who she was, and wondered if it might actually be.
30 minutes after rift opened.
"My Master, we have arrived in the Fenris system."
"I can see that, maggot." Those arrogant words came from the mouth of Mordant Hex, Sorcerer-Lord of the Six-Cursed. He turned and left the bridge of the Scientia Insectator, a battleship stolen from the accursed Imperium some three millennia ago. A quick teleport and he was in his quarters. Hex was proud of his technique; no one else had managed such a thing since the Fall of the Eldar, or so the daemons bound to his will claimed. 10,000 years had taught him to not take them at their word, but he enjoyed the praise of his skills.
With a thought, he projected his body into the Warp, appearing suddenly in his father's presence. There were several others, some from the Great Crusade itself. He knelt as was proper, greeting the Primarch of the 15th legion. "My lord, our vessels have arrived in the Fenris system. The pathetic remains of the Wolves' fleet is here." There was no response, but he knew his father would speak only when necessary. As he stood, he realized someone else was also there. He glared behind his helmet. "Ahriman," he spat out.
The creator of the Rubric gave no response, ignoring his presence. Instead, the ancient Astartes turned to their father and said, "Where do you wish me to go?"
"Address him with respect, traitor!" Someone shouted, and Hex found himself agreeing.
"ENOUGH!" their father commanded, projecting enough force to destroy countless daemons that scurried about. "We will not fight with each other, not when there is an opportunity here annihilate not only the Wolves in their entirety but to pay their mangy Primarch back for the destruction of our home." Magnus stood up from his throne, his armor and weapons appearing on his body as he channeled the powers of the Warp. "Hex, you shall lead the naval assault. Secure orbital supremacy and destroy the Wolves' remaining fleet! Ahriman, you shall hold back until it is possible for you to lead the ground assault! And once our Rubricae and daemons destroy their initial resistance, I will come forth myself, leading the final attack!"
They cheered at this, heads held high in anticipation of destroying those who had burned their home during the Heresy. Suddenly, Hex felt someone attempt telepathy directed towards him. He opened his mind after realizing it was one of his serfs attempting to contact him. He frowned as the information entered his mind. "Father, I have just received word that the Phalanx is currently in orbit near Fenris."
There were several murmurs at this.
Their father nodded. "It is as I have foreseen. My sons! We have another chance to hurt the Corpse-Emperor's Imperium! You have all heard of this new Empress of the Imperium, who has the audacity to claim she is a Primarch. Obviously, the Imperium's imminent doom has made the High Lords scramble like ants to protect their power. Whoever they have stuck in such a position is but a pawn to satiate the sheep who worship the Corpse-Emperor. They are here on Fenris at the moment. I have seen this, just as I have seen their skull offered to Tzeentch."
Their father assigned each sorcerer blessed enough to be in his presence to a part of the attack. Most of them were given to Ahriman, but Hex received his fair share of the power of the 15th legion. Countless daemons were being summoned as they spoke and planned, some with favors and others with sacrifices of enslaved Imperial citizens.
As they made to depart for the battle, their father spoke once more. "Russ has found mighty weapons in his exile. The Warp abounds with whispers and rumors. They will not save him from me. When I throw his beaten corpse into Fenris' oceans, then we will have won. The morale of the Wolves will be shattered once and for all, and our grudge will be over. The might of the Fists and Wolves will be powerless against our juggernaut. Glory to Chaos! Glory to Tzeentch!"
"Glory to Chaos! Glory to Tzeentch!"
The Thousand Sons fleet was still assembling, with more ships appearing through the rift every second. Their expendable vessels, frigates and destroyers along with the occasional cruiser, were watching for any attempts to strike before any of the capital ships or battleships could arrive, but their work was boring, since nothing was coming close. The Wolves were holding their fleet in position for now, but it was obvious they were preparing in some way. There was a clear deadline, for once any reinforcements appeared, the situation might become untenable. Still, they had the support of almost all of the legion's sorcerers and psykers, so divining the enemy's movements would not be difficult.
The order came two hours after the initial ships had broken into Fenris' space.
"Attack."
Two hours and 45 minutes after rift opened.
Tor Garadon was an Imperial Fist, dutiful follower of the Codex Astartes. He subscribed to Lord Guilliman's notion of showing courage and honor in all parts of life.
Still, he couldn't help but smile at the potential carnage before him.
As expected, the enemy had approached with their escorts first. Rolly-Polly's cameras were able to make out their fleet with a crisper detail than he had ever seen before. It was possible to even see the names of the foul ships approaching the Phalanx, or swarms of fighters and bombers moving in and out of the fleet. A part of him disliked not being able to use the Phalanx's new abilities and destroy a large mass of the enemy ships in a decisive first strike, but his role here was to prevent any orbital bombardment. That meant letting dropships and pods (tantalizing targets for any naval commander) reach the surface.
The Phalanx's fighters and bombers would contribute their part as required, but the mighty vessel itself would only react if enemy ships started attacking it. For now, anyway.
"Relay all tactical information to the Wolves."
XXXXXXXX
Three hours and 30 minutes after rift opened.
The Marines aboard the Shark Assault Boat were quiet, save for one. Sorcerer Amahte, servant of Mordant Hex, was commanding his soldiers, telling them what their orders were once they breached the cruiser they were targeting. They could not have spoken even if they wanted to, their souls forever and silently trapped in their armor.
Amahte himself was slightly nervous. He had never commanded Rubricae before, and the experience was not pleasant. He could feel the emotions and barely cognizant thoughts of his cursed troops, straining his mind slightly from needing to be connected to them all. He wouldn't risk his life by letting them act on any previous orders or even autonomously.
The indicator from the pilot flashed, and the boat came to a swift and screeching halt with the shock of the impact capable of knocking them back had their magnetic boots not been on.
"Go!" Amahte said, slightly louder than he wanted, and the Rubricae marched forward, looking for enemies to slaughter.
Sadly, it was not to be. A sentry gun dropped down from the ceiling. It looked exactly like the Tarantula sentry gun did, but shiny and had a haziness around it, it's edges not quite distinct from the environment. It's weapons went active the instant it hit the ground, and the few bolts the Rubricae had shot accurately enough were deflected away, making small craters in the walls around them. Unlike normal Tarantulas, this one wasn't equipped with heavy bolters. Instead, plasma bullets the size of a human head were shot faster than any Imperial plasma gun could have done.
Astartes armor was made to last and endure against all manner of weaponry. The adamantium that trapped the Rubricaes' souls had also been warded against damage, letting them survive damage other Astartes could not hope to.
A stream of plasma bullets, hotter and more damaging than anything the Imperium could produce, was too much. The animated armors withstood for a half-second before quickly melting and freeing the soul inside. The ceramite took longer, but it too burned a moment later.
Four seconds. That was how long it took to melt the Rubricae aboard the boat.
Amahte panicked, but still launched a fireball at the machine, hoping to distract or blind it long enough to fry its systems with lightning. His spell was cut off mid-chant as he too screamed when his flesh burned.
The sentry gun then received new orders and quickly made its way to the next fight, joining its countless brothers in their defense against the boarders.
Eight hours after rift opened.
"Repeat that, serf," Hex growled.
"I'm sorry my lord, but the boarding parties are reporting near-total casualties before they have even cleared their breaching zone. What few remain are being killed as we speak!"
How was that even possible? He knew there would be deaths, but it should have been a difficult grind for whatever pathetic defenders were available.
"Did they send any message about how this failure occurred?" Those survivors would wish they had died if he got his hands on them.
"No, my lord." The serf cringed and reared slightly, clearly afraid he would be killed for bringing bad news. Hex wouldn't (what fool killed a useful body in anger, except a servant of the Blood God?), but it was better to let them think otherwise.
"The transports. How many are left?"
"Uh...63%," the serf said nervously, using a mechanical eye to retrieve the data. "Most are holding back until the enemy fleet will ignore them."
"Send the order. I want all ships to engage the Wolves! The transports to move forward as well."
"Yes, my lord," the serf said with a bow before leaving to give the commands.
Hex wasn't concerned about higher casualties in space. The Wolves must have concentrated their forces in space, that was the only explanation for how the initial boardings had failed. The Fists must have been defending as well.
Nine hours and 22 minutes after rift opened.
"The transports are moving forward," Rolly-Polly informed Garadon.
"No matter. Stay out of the fighting for now. Continue sending any information to the Wolves. What is the status of the Tarantulas aboard their fleet?"
"Twenty-seven have been heavily damaged, but none of the boarding parties have been successful at causing even minor damage."
As the battle continued to rage, Garadon found himself once more impressed at the Empress' ability with divination. Every turn and swing of the fighting had been noted down to the minute, long before the traitors had even arrived.
He grinned at the thought of what she had planned for the traitor Primarch.
13 hours and six minutes after rift opened.
The drop-pod opened as it slammed into the Fenrisian ice, and the Astartes of the Crimson Sons thrallband leapt outwards, their trained eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential ambush.
"Clear. Nothing in sight, not even any wild beasts," one of them said.
"Shame. I had hoped to add another rug to my collection," replied another.
"Shut up, both of you. Get into position," their commander shouted. The ten Astartes formed a circle around the drop-pod. The psyker in their group started chanting, borrowing from their collective souls to power his ritual. The air warped and flowed erratically until the weakened barrier between the Materium and Immaterium split and revealed colors that no being was meant to see.
The first daemons began coming through. Servants of Tzeentch, avian in appearance and bearing far too many eyes to be anything natural.
W̷̩͕͙̹͈̳̋̒͛̾̆̓̌͌̔͆͝ḫ̵̡̥̏́̈́̒͆̀̊͌̾͐̌̓͘͝a̴̢̠̬̰̰̼͎̯̔̈́̽̉̅t̶̜͎̠̙͕̒͠ ̴̧̢̝̝͔̳̱͔̩̣̺̪̣̳̂͛̆̑̅͂̆̒͋̕w̵̛̯̳̭͍̮̞̙͔̰͗͂i̴̛͔̩͇͇̥͕̘̗̖̣̩̯̿̀̂͛̌͂̽̂̏̏̕̕͘͝l̶͕̬̟͙̀̈̃́̑̄̿͜͠l̸̢̺̹̻̹͖̮̾͆͗ ̶̤̭̹̠̲̫̬͓̮̝̞͊͑͂̈͝ỳ̶̨͕̭̱͉̤̆͐̀̉͑̀̑͂̌̍́̕͠͠o̶̡̧̰̰̟̙̝̹̥̺̲͐́ų̷͈͇͖̤̱̬̭͔̰̖̠̮̱̬̋̉͛͗͝͠͝͝ ̶̮̲̤̹̏̓̑͆̈́̾̇̆͂̀̿͝g̵͉̰̦̣͓͉͉̠̦͆͋͋͊́̓̊̈́ͅi̸̡̫͚̣̻̳̫̱̊̍̐̉̈́̏̿̀̓̏̓̓̚v̸̧̙̱̻͈̱̻̺̦̅̏̿͗́̿͗̕͜͝e̵͓͐̾ ̸̢̪̮̥͓̘̦̗͓̱̦̥̭̙̝͂̚͝f̵̤͉̪̜͖̫̭̤̤̼̤̬̪̦́o̴͇̲̗͂͜ŗ̸̡͙̝̝̲̱̺͍̜͎̝͙̜̥͑͝͝ ̶̯̪̪̥̬͈̼̥̋̋̐̎̈́̓̚o̴̧̘̗̳͔͇̻̱̔̋̋̇̐̓̍̓̒̄͜u̴̫̘̫̳̲̻̮͍̦̩̮̟̓̌̈́̈̀̈́͋̇̚͝͠r̷͙̭̟̼̩̠̔̎̾̂͐̏̓̂̚͜͝ ̶̨̭͕͚̙́̆̓s̴̘̫̫͕͙͈̱̰̭̫̼͉͎̯̲͊̚̚ử̶̲̳̺̝̤̩͖̗͔͉͉̔̈̂̿̓͒̒̔p̴̢͎͖̗̯̻̞̲̮̏̓̓͑͆͛͗̈́͘ͅṗ̵̧̨̤͈̤̠̙̈́̈͛̍̉o̶̢̧̗͗̑̇͛̐͝ŗ̴̡̦̗͔̗͉̩͕̗̩͉͈̄̑̾͂͋̆̎̋̂͑̐̎̕͘t̸͖̣̺͍̰̫̏̍̇̌̊̈̚?̶̞̤͇̩̯̪̩́͌̎
"Spare me your lies, daemons. You were compensated with slaves long before this."
The things just laughed.
Ṫ̴͍̳̯̼̺̠̥͕͐̉̿̿́̃̅̃̈ͅh̵̡͕̹̦͕͇̒̂̀̓͆̃́͘̚͝e̸̢̠̩͕̠͔͇͈͗̑͑̓͊͋̒͌̿̂̆́̇̚͝ñ̸͔͍̇̄̎̇̓͋̑̓̆̀̿̓̚ ̵̡̦͎̝̣̙̮̖̩̠͉̊͛̽͗͋͗̏̏̚͜ͅw̸̡̻͍͔͓̿ḧ̸̨̼͈̣̯́̓̾̀͒͐̈͂̾̾̎̕̚͘å̵̛͈̜͓̃̀̾͊̕ͅt̷̛̻͉̤̙͕̺̍̔͆͗̓̅̚ͅ ̶̧̨̧̨̲̭͔̟͔̝̞͔̞̲̋̔͒̾̅͂́̋͊̎̈́̿́͜ì̶̢͚͕͖̺̯̦̥͇͇͙̖̇̓͊̍́͜s̵̥̰̅̌͒͐̉̚͘ ̸̛͚̲̻͍͔̝̖̦͖̪̦̊́͑̅̒̾͗͘͝ÿ̸̢̧̤̯͙̦̯̹͔͍̺̼́̒̉́̍̓͑̂̑́̌̉̓͝͝o̵̡̡͈͇̭̦̗̩̟̘̲̻̬̭̊̂̍̌͠ͅů̵̙̤͉̳̜̤̹͂͌͑̒̇̿̀̀̚͜͜͠r̸̨̧̛̥̹͒̈̓̃͆̔̂͛̄̆͝ ̸̹̝͖͊́̀̀̿̐͒̇͐͂͘d̵̢̫̣̜̯̮̜̣̲̹̠̀̀̾̇͘͜͠e̷̛̛͖̳͎̺̹̤̟̙̰͚̔͋̍͛̋͑͗̾̽͂̎̕͝ṣ̸̼̬̟̻̱̰̓̃̎͋̿̇i̴͇̱͍̠̰͔̙̖̘̼͋̂̐̈́͛̾̕͝ŗ̸̲̻̫̘̜̙̥̾̄̋͋̒͋̾̾̊̊͑̉͘͘e̶̢̱̺͕̝̣̲̭͕̮͙͛̔́͆͐̇̇͘͜?̴̨̢̨͈̻͇̲̄̈̿̿̂̀̿̄̍̏́̾̕
"Once our forces are in position, you will feast on the Corpse-Emperor's servants as they cower in their cities. You will not touch any of our serfs or soldiers, or I will annihilate your being."
The daemons screeched at this, which would have destroyed any normal brain upon being heard, but it was part and parcel of trying to command a daemon.
17 hours after rift opened.
"Great Wolf, the traitors are assaulting all cities on Fenris now," came the voice of one of the chapter's serfs.
Grimnar grunted as acknowledgment into his vox, splitting a helldrake's skull into three pieces with mighty swings of his ax Morkai. The beast quickly fell to the ground, it's infernal blood spreading over the ground as he jumped off its back.
"Reinforcements from the-" said a voice before it was cut off and several screams came from his right. He spun and charged at the beast, a forgefiend of immense size. The thing tried to cut him down with its autocannons, but he hadn't lived this long to be taken down by anything so slow. He braced Morkai against his body as he ran forward, screaming as he ran through the beast, splitting metal and wires along with daemonic flesh as easily as a blade of grass. With a pitiful and confused growl, it collapsed, steam and smoke billowing out of its carcass. "How much longer, Empress?" he growled into his vox.
"13 minutes. Then the situation will be reversed, I assure you."
"It better." His chapter was bleeding once more, and in a war it had not asked for. Splitting the helms of these psychic traitors was fun and righteous, but not when they were so close to ruin altogether.
17 hours and 14 minutes after rift opened.
A secret not known to many was that Fenris was home to a Chaos cult. A temple dedicated to the God of Change had been built hundreds of years before the end of the
41st millennium. Some were reasonably concerned after this had been made known during the recent invasion, others had been terrified and spreading rumors that it had been there since before Russ himself arrived on Fenris. In any case, the temple had been destroyed and cleansed with fire by the Wolf Priests.
Or so they thought.
Karlsen had to thank the Wolves for being as idiotic as they were. Even if he despised them, the Ecclessiarchy's servants would have done a much more thorough job of purifying it. The few irregularly placed totems and runes inscribed with the Wolves' insignias and praise of Russ weren't difficult to remove for a sorcerer, and certainly, not one who had learned much since the Scouring of Prospero.
He had his Rubricae bring the slaves into position. Nine slaves per ring for nine concentric rings, with Karlsen at their center to perform the ritual. Normally, it would not have been so easy. Such a summoning would have taken continuous sacrifices over nine days. The recent summoning had left a mark on Fenris, however, and it was easier to call his master forth.
As he spoke, the Rubricae beheaded the cowering slaves at precise intervals, with each ring being depleted every nine seconds. Once the final ring was sacrificed, all the blood suddenly snaked across the ground, pooling around his feet in the shape of Tzeentch's sacred symbol. It glowed bright blue with the anguish of their tortured souls, their collective deaths threatening to form a lesser daemon of Tzeentch. Karlsen was a master of daemonology, however, and prevented this with but a thought, focusing the psychic energy of their souls into his ritual by painfully unmaking them.
The sacrifices were accepted, and the world-no, reality itself began to shake violently as the air itself began to turn blue and gold. Several hundred more rifts appeared across Fenris itself, disgorging hundreds or even thousands of more daemons, and all servants of the Architect of Fate rejoiced at the beginning of the end for Fenris and the Space Wolves. Morale soared and the invaders reaped a devastating toll with their enhanced powers. Sorcerers threw bolts of lightning powerful enough to harm even titans, and daemons threw curses and hexes at all targets, causing uncontrolled mutation and corruption with their mere presence. The air itself grew intensely uncomfortable, and countless mortal defenders of the Imperium were transformed and shredded the poor souls immediately next to them before they were put down.
The Crimson King stepped into the Materium once more.
Thought it had been less than a century, the resummoned Magnus felt as if he had not set foot on the icy homeworld of his brother for a long time.
Karlsen, his loyal son, kneeled in front of him along with the Rubricae
"Rise, my sons. Let us finish what we began," he spoke.
They rose as one...and vanished into thin air.
…
Magnus was many things. A loyal servant of the Changer of Ways, the Crimson King, and even the Cyclopean Giant.
Right now? He was confused. He had not foreseen this, and neither Karlsen or his presence was not visible to his sight, literal or metaphorical. He attempted to reach out with telepathy but found himself blocked the instant he tried casting his mind farther than the confines of the temple. That should have been impossible against someone
as powerful as him.
The slightest of noise made him spin to face behind him, where he came face to face with the oddest being he had seen.
Her hair was bright silver and covered the right quarter of her face, just barely letting her right eye see unobstructed, though it was slightly more closed than her left. Three claw marks marred the otherwise smooth skin on her right side. Her armor was the color of bone, smooth and unmarked in any way, with no visible seams or joints.
She wasn't even looking at him, instead of flipping an adamantium dagger into the air lazily only to catch it as it fell.
"Who are you?" he growled, drawing the Blade of Magnus in preparation to strike.
She didn't acknowledge his demand for her identity, instead snatching the dagger out of the air before standing up. She was as tall as he preferred to be. "I am the Empress of Mankind." Her voice was quiet but firm as if stating blatantly obvious facts.
He couldn't help but laugh contemptuously. "What nonsense! No matter, I will learn everything I want from your corpse."
The dagger suddenly deconstructed itself into light before disappearing, only to be replaced with a spear. "No, Magnus. This is where a plan 10 millennia in the making is executed." She held the spear in both hands now and stood in a fighting position. "Engarde."
One moment she was fifty meters away, the next she was in perfect striking position. Finely honed instincts brought his blade into perfect position, deflecting the spear thrust towards him. He followed through with a diagonal slash, only for her to block with the shaft. Then, without any warning, the spear bent like a whip and lashed out at his face. He once again blocked with his sword, jumping back to get some distance.
They stood motionless for a moment before Magnus felt something on his cheek. He touched the spot with his left hand and looked at his fingers.
Blood. His blood. Something no one had drawn since Russ himself had burned his home.
"Surrender, Magnus. I will not ask again," she said, that bored expression still on her face.
He roared and rushed towards her.
The space battle was not progressing much further. Somehow, the Wolves had upgraded their ships completely since Lord Magnus had devastated their world. It took three times as much firepower to get through their void shields, and their main lances were coring his escorts with contemptuous ease, while countless point-defense guns were turning fighters and bombers into dust. The addition of his own capital ships had been necessary simply to turn the space battle into one on even terms.
On the ground, report were speaking of the slow grind as the Thousand Sons pushed forward. For all the powerful and seemingly-numberless daemons and war-machines controlled by the Thousand Sons, for all their sorcery, it was just enough to let them marginally advance with every hour. The air around the Fang itself was black with smoke and the ice itself stained with daemon ichor.
Hex was not concerned in the slightest. Any sorcerer of worth (and the Thousand Sons were certainly worthy of the title) would have used divination to determine the optimal strategy. His own had shown that the battle would be won through attrition by ground troops along with countless reinforcements from daemons to use as fodder. For now, he was content to keep the Wolves' fleet engaged in space, preventing them from using bombardment as well. The Phalanx had been left alone, something he found odd but a recurring idea in his divinations. It was too far to strike at them, but he had kept some ships back in case it tried to escape or attack them.
...
He felt it as soon as it happened. His father's presence could not be denied, which meant that Karlsen had been successful in summoning him.
With an eagerness not normally present, he ordered all remaining ships into the fray, not wanting to disappoint Lord Magnus with a slow victory.
"I should not be surprised by this point, but I still am. 18 hours after the rift has opened, and the entirety of the Thousand Sons fleet has engaged the Wolves. Just as the Empress predicted," Garadon said to himself. "Begin."
With his word, Rolly-Polly activated an entirely system, one that had been created and installed by the Empress herself. The ship shook noticeably, and Garadon worried for a brief moment that it might fail and cause possibly catastrophic damage (that had been his worry ever since he learned what it could do), but it passed and Rolly-Polly's continuous reports showed the system was charging perfectly.
The sheer energy buildup was no doubt detectable, but it wasn't as if the enemy's ships could do anything about it. One lance was sent towards them, but it barely drained the shields as it was destroyed.
"Charging complete. System is live, firing in two seconds...firing," came the ever-calm voice of Rolly-Polly.
The ship's systems powered down as needed, and then it was gone entirely.
Only to reappear directly behind the Thousand Sons at the spaceship equivalent of chainsword range, with the powerful gravity well generator online.
"All systems online, no damage detected. Your orders, captain?"
He grinned despite himself.
"Fire."
"How much longer will they keep us here? Until the fighting is done?" Nathaniel asked sarcastically to nobody in particular.
"At this rate, it appears so. I want to kill some daemons, Emperor dammit! Let me out there!" That was another of his squad, a battle-brother by the name of Geoff. The entirety of the Phalanx's complement of Primaris Marines, exactly 10,000, had been placed within the Fang itself, waiting for the time to come. Rumors had abounded about how Grimnar didn't even want them there, but the Empress had insisted and said they would not interfere with the Wolves during the fight.
"Be silent, both of you," their sergeant commanded, though Nathaniel could see the frustration on his face as well. "We'll fight today, and not a moment before we're told to, understood?"
Before Geoff could retort and get himself disciplined like he had done several dozen times during their time on Mars, there was a cry from the Silver Sentinels.
"That's the signal! Everyone, battlestations, now!" one of them screamed, their voice modulated to be unrecognizable and amplified. Still, the Primaris Marines obeyed and
stood in their pre-assigned circles as one Silver Sentinel approached each squad.
"Remember! Do not move as we teleport, and be ready for anything on the other side. Is everyone on the correct vox-channel? Ave Imperator!"
"Ave Imperator!" everyone shouted.
The Sentinel assigned to his squad (they never got a name) raised his arms up with his palms pointed at the ceiling as all the others did. The blue lines and circles on the Sentinel's armor turned silver-white, and a similarly-colored aura appeared around him, expanding to cover the squad itself.
Then the world turned white, and Nathaniel staggered as he suddenly appeared on Fenris' icy surface, approximately 12 kilometers from the Fang, completely unseeable through the black smoke.
"Everyone here? Go-DOWN!" the sergeant screamed, turning swiftly to blast a daemon that had been diving towards them. It's corpse smashed into Geoff, who was unharmed but needed assistance to lift the heavy carcass off him.
"Get to the Rhino! Run!" the Sentinel shouted, and Nathaniel hurried after him towards the transport he somehow hadn't noticed several meters to his left. His squad was hot on his heels, with the sergeant pulling on the mechanized door to make it slightly faster to no avail. Still, they were safe now from the daemons around them, though they could hear and feel what sounded like several daemons trying to claw their way in.
"Hold on!" the Sentinel yelled before the line and circles on his armor glowed silver-white once more and a pulse of some sort emanated from the armor. It felt comfortably warm to Nathaniel, but the screams and screeches outside halted abruptly.
"Pilot! Get us moving now!" the sergeant yelled into his vox, and the Rhino took off smoothly. Almost suspiciously so, as there was no attempt to stop it that could be felt inside.
"Are they ignoring us? Or is this a trap?" another squadmate named Yurei asked.
"They are trying, but they can't touch the barrier I put around it without suffering true damage. That makes all but the most powerful or foolhardy pause," the Sentinel responded.
The general vox channel was a cacophony of noise, making Nathaniel regret trying to learn more about what was happening. Men were barking orders, but there were also the occasional screams of Marines who were killed. He prayed for the souls of those unfortunate enough to die without a fighting chance, hoping the Emperor would take them safely. He checked his weapon one last time, more for reassurance than anything else.
The Rhino stopped smoothly, and the rear door opened with a heavy thump.
"We're here! Stay with me and move out!"
It galled Magnus to have to admit this, even to himself, but she was a psyker with skills similar to his. It was obvious the spear was a psychic construct, much like his own Blade, with how it bent and reshaped itself as necessary.
He broke his previous pattern, forcing her to defend against his continuous assault, each strike flowing into the other like water around any obstruction. With less than a thought, he would reshape the Blade into having different striking points or sent powerful curses and spells her way, hoping to strike her, but the spear was always between them, negating his sorcery or deflecting his stikes.
He ended the assault by opening his mouth and launching a quick fireball at point-blank rage that swelled quickly. With a sway, she dodged it without any visible distance between her and the ball's edge, even her hair somehow unsinged. The fireball continued past her, striking the rubble of the altar to Tzeentch and burning it to ash. She jumped back, putting several meters between them.
Neither was breathing heavily. They could have continued for eternity at this pace if they wished.
"You are not one of us. What are you?" he asked.
"I told you already. I am the Empress of Mankind and a Primarch."
"Lies. Your soul is similar to his, oppressing those who would seek knowledge, but you are not a Primarch. I know more about our creation than anyone else. Whatever you are, it is not a child of the Corpse-Emperor," he retorted.
She shook her head slightly. "There is no point to this, Magnus. You cannot comprehend the truth, and soon, it will not matter what you comprehend."
"You think you can defeat me? I am one of Lord Tzeentch's most favored servants! My mastery of the Immaterium is unmatched! You have not even been able to wound me!" he sneered.
She readied her spear once more. "Then what are you waiting for?"
He released his control over his aura, causing his form to become more unstable, the Materium sagging under his power and creating another rift through which daemons poured through, giving him the monstrous strength a Primarch enhanced by Chaos could use.
He moved, practically teleporting forward, and their dance began again.
One of the Primaris Marines in her squad was killed as a trio of Horrors blasted him with enough lightning to bypass the inherent protections of armor and body. His friend noticed and spun to blast them apart with a cry of rage, but the ground shook as a Helldrake crashed into the ground, its wings torn off as it screamed in impotent rage, causing everything nearby to stumble. The Horrors got away, blasting fireballs and more lightning towards the squad as they fled. Her instincts kicked in once more and she made the Aquilla on her armor, wishing for a protective barrier. Her mind held against the strain of the launched attacks dissipating against it, but it bought the stumbling Marines enough time to adapt.
"Squad 178-D, link up with squads 72-A and-hrrk!" The voice turned into choking sounds before a sickening crunch was heard, likely the owner's neck breaking.
"We can't break through! That Forgefiend is blocking the entire path!" someone shouted. "Need reinforcements at Gate Epsilon!"
"We're two kilometers away, sergeant!" one of the Primaris Marines shouted into his vox, making Andrea flinch slightly at the volume.
"I know! We will respond to that call. Sentinel, we need you to clear the path!" the man responded as he savagely crushed the skull of a Screamer that he had caught with his bare hands, its screeches dying with the sudden crunch.
"Cover me!" she said, pointing with her palms at a nearby collapsed archway. Several tons of rock and the Forgefiend's body from earlier were blocking it, but she grasped them with her mind, willing them to move up. They refused, her will not strong enough, but she grit her teeth and concentrated harder, putting her mind under more stress, as the first boulders started to move. When she could feel her control as having penetrated through, she closed her hands into fists and jerked them back, as if pulling a door open. The tension instantly snapped in her mind, and she almost threw up as she staggered, trying to put her hands on her head to massage it, forgetting that there was armor in the way.
A rough hand on her left upper-arm dragged her forward, and she vaguely realized it was one of the Primaris Marines moving her along. The sergeant, who had already run ahead and through the cleared path was covering them as they brought up the rear. Andrea could see that her control had slipped at some point; not all of the debris had been moved out of the way, and the Forgfiend was still awkwardly blocking part of the path.
She stood up fully, removing the Marine's hand and shaking her head slightly. "I'm fine. Let's go."
Within three minutes, the temple had been destroyed and they were fighting on the surface of Fenris as hurricane-strength winds blew snow and ice around them. Neither were bothered by this.
Their second bout was much more a battle of the mind. The first had been playful, if anything, given the lack of destruction around them. Magnus threw countless hexes, curses, spells, and used his immense knowledge of the Warp, and she responded in kind, though he noted with satisfaction that hers were weaker in all respects. Permafrost melted in milliseconds from the fire and lightning being thrown around, and ice that had been formed thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago evaporated as spellcraft made it explode. It meant nothing to Magnus, taking nothing of his conscious mind to do this little. Neither had hurt each other yet, dodging or counterattacking perfectly, though their ability to read the future meant they were both moving to a script.
The Crimson Cyclops was focused on the intense divination battle taking place. Both he and this "Empress" were constantly divining the next move, the next event, the next attack, and reacting accordingly. Combined with their superhuman reflexes and minds, even a single step made the threads of the future splinter and coalesce, the outcome of the next second in constant flux.
Then, he saw it. A break in her armor. In exactly 73 seconds, she would make a critical mistake. He continued the fight while trying to keep her from more divination, attempting to hold her still despite her ability to escape like a snake. "Are you so cowardly that you won't even fight me?"
"It isn't as if you could fight any harder even if I did actually try, " she retorted, that damned expression of boredom still on her face as she struck from behind, only for him to parry the blow.
"THEN LET ME SHOW YOU, EMPRESS!" he yelled, absorbing his psychic aura, only to contain it for a brief second before letting it out much harder and faster, causing the ice beneath them to shatter completely and fall, revealing a massive cavern beneath them, easily large enough for a hive city. As he had foreseen, both of them sprouted wings with a thought. The only difference was the color and sharpness, with his being shades of purple with razor-sharp feathers while hers were white and soft. he took off into the air faster than any plane ever could, with her following closely behind him.
Right into a trap.
As he arrived in the correct space at the exact moment he needed, a massive piece of stonework, easily 10 times more massive than he was, fell through the space he had just been occupying. This stonework had been blasted off a destroyed defending frigate, which had exploded 60 seconds ago and spread its rubble across the upper atmosphere, each piece set to fall when it could no longer resist the pull from Fenris. She destroyed it as expected.
He couldn't help the savage grin as her face changed to one of surprise as soon as the second stone, lean enough to hide behind the first, impacted her body. She destroyed it, but her focus was now shifted. He fell towards her, using his own telekinesis and the pull of gravity to close the distance before she could react. With a mental cry of success, he slammed both fists into her, causing her to let go of her spear in pain. He flexed his wings and sped up, catching her before she could try to move. He split his power, all of it, between driving them down faster and a brutal psychic assault on her mind, preventing her from reacting to anything else lest her mind be shattered.
The Fang came up to meet them, the massive smoke plume enveloping them as he drove her down. He saw, as the smoke cleared, the area of intense fighting, an open area with countless bodies of mortals and daemons, with the metal remains of transports and tanks from both sides. The Wolves were making their last stand here, as well as some other Astartes he didn't recognize. Their pasts were concealed from him, but he knew he could learn who they were as soon as he put any fragment of his concentration on them. The Corpse-Emperor's slaves were fighting a two-pronged attack, while his own sons and several Helldrakes and Forgefiends held them at bay with bullets, blades, and sorcery. He minutely adjusted their flight, and aimed for the perfect spot at the center of the fight.
Her body smashed through one of the Helldrakes, causing the beast to give a loud roar as it died, it's daemonic autocannons still firing until the end.
The fighting stopped as soon as he stood up, his stance over her clear to the tens of thousands around them.
Magnus stared at her punctured body. Her arms had been pierced multiple times by sharpened stalagmites, and her legs were bent at odd angles, showing a compound fracture through her armor, which was now chipped and damaged. Her eyes were barely open, and he felt her consciousness slipping.
"Slaves of the Corpse-Emperor!" he said as he turned to look at them, seeing their shocked and panicked expressions as they realized who he was. No one was possessed upon seeing him; anyone whose mind was weak enough had long since died before this moment. He telekinetically grabbed her hair until he could hold her head in his hand, her weak jabs at him not enough to overcome even a mere Astartes. "Look at your supposed hope! The Empress of Mankind," he sneered. He felt as their wills falter, felt the confusion, terror, and sadness in their souls, though the Wolves were less discouraged by seeing the barely conscious woman.
He swung the Blade, effortlessly separating her head from the rest of her body and held it up high. "This is the fate of those who resist the truth of Chaos! This is the fate of the Corpse-Emperor's servant! DEATH TO THE IMPERIUM!"
A million voices, some in the Materium, some not, chanted with him, the feeling of victory infectious as his sons cheered at the death of the Imperium's supposedly new leader. Magnus could feel the excitement around him, and it was made better by the shattering morale of his enemies. He knew the Wolves led by Grimnar would fight on, but whoever these new Astartes were, they were done.
Magnus raised his Blade, pointing it at the remaining defenders, pathetic as they were. "Kill them-"
He grunted as something slammed into his back, knocking him forward onto his stomach. The noise stopped once more, and he felt a boot on his back. He reached out, attempting to use his mighty control of the Warp…
…
…
Nothing. He concentrated once more and received the same answer. He continued trying countless times, but the Immaterium, something he had manipulated since his days as a child on Prospero, would not respond.
Only seconds had passed in real-time, and Magnus heard her voice once more.
"Your hubris has always been your downfall."
He felt her bend down, grabbing his body, but this time, their roles were reversed. He found himself unable to move as she hoisted him above her body, his back facing the ground. How? How had she avoided her Fate? Only Lord Tzeentch could have hidden the truth-
Ah, so that was it. This had been one of his patron's infinite game's and he was finally the pawn sacrificed for some arbitrary cost.
"Let us perform a historical reenactment, brother," she said calmly, and he realized with fleeting horror what she was about to do.
The entirety of the Thousand Sons, powerful sorcerers for millennia and veteran Astartes, were unable to act fast enough as the Empress brought Magnus' body down with a mighty yell, slamming her armored knee straight into his spine.
Then, reality was gone, replaced with a blinding white light. The legacy of what had been done to Magnus, first by Russ, now by the Empress, carried with it a psychic weight when it concerned the Thousand Sons. As Magnus screamed in pain, disaster struck for the Sons. Some had been there when the hated Primarch Leman Russ had destroyed their Primarch's spin, but this pain was worse by a hundred, no, a thousand-fold. Their gene-seed, corrupted beyond saving, still gave them a connection to their father, and it was this connection through which mind-shattering pain spread to their bodies.
Daemons screamed and blasted the Empress with fireballs, daemonic autocannons, and other foul sorcery, but it hit a shield that had not been there before, preventing anything from reaching the Empress. Some of the more astute observers saw the mangled corpse and head disappear into light, but they couldn't share their discovery in this raw hatred for this enemy of their god.
This broke the Wolves, Primaris Marines, and Sentinels from their spell, who began once more hacking and blasting the daemons apart.
Magnus' thoughts were no longer lucid. His inner mind was collapsing against the incoming white light as the Empress suppressed his power with her own. The shattered fragments of his soul, collected from deep within the wastes of Chaos or the individuals they had been attached to, rushed into him, but the power he would have gained from this was useless now. It no longer responded to any part of his mind still sane enough to try and beg for salvation from Tzeentch, from Chaos, from anybody.
Then, the white light reached him, and he reached forward as it beckoned him.
His last thought was satisfaction. Satisfaction at the enormous deception the Empress was playing by convincing the Imperium to follow her into the path of liberation.
29 hours later.
Nathaniel had made a note of the spot as soon as his brother had died. After he had his wounds tended to and reported to the sergeant, he had made his way straight here.
Only, he didn't know what to do, or why he had come. There were strict orders not to remove anything from the battlefield for fear of memetic contamination.
Geoff's body was visible through the places where his armor had broken. It was cold and bruised, with a bone or possibly a metal piece sticking out of his stomach. His bolter wasn't next to him, but the debris and bodies strewn everywhere, both here and throughout the Fang, made finding it unlikely for a single mortal, even as Astartes.
What had Geoff's final thoughts been? The jokes they had told in training? Helping each other choose names? Nathaniel hoped the pain of his death had been fleeting. A slow death in the cold, blood spilling out in drops, was no way to go.
The snow continued falling on his face, heavy winds blowing it in sheets through the air and across bodies, but he still heard the faint footsteps behind him. It was the Sentinel from their group.
The two of them stood in silence for a few moments.
"Were you close?" the Sentinel asked in the modified tone.
He nodded. "We were friends. He and I used to talk after our training how we would kill heretics, xenos, and traitors. Bring glory to our brothers and the Imperium."
The Sentinel didn't respond.
"Geoff loved to boast. Once we began training under the Empress' commands, he would claim each night that he would personally slay enemy leaders and warriors every
day. He would show us all how he was the best within the squad, or even whatever chapter he was assigned to. Now, he's going to boast to the Emperor himself, I suppose." He chuckled at his own dark joke, but it was lost in the wind.
The Sentinel moved next to him. He removed his helmet slowly, and Nathaniel realized something quickly. Namely, that the Sentinel wasn't a man, not with that face, or that unaltered voice. "My sisters are like that."
He found himself easily accepting, somehow, that a legion of superhuman women had been masquerading as men this whole time. He decided to ruminate on his casual acceptance of such a large lie of omission at some later time.
"Elizabeth was training to purge heretics her whole life. She jumped when sent to the Empress to join the new legion, believing every day she had been blessed at how many more future heretics she could count as her kills. I found her body surrounded by daemons, that childish smile still stuck on her face, or what remained of it."
"It is odd, is it not?" At her glance, he continued. "Everyone hopes to go out in a blaze of glory after a long and fulfilling life. A life of war in His service is said to be one of the most fulfilling lives in the galaxy. But Geoff lies beneath me here, cold and dead, never to boast to me again, never to jest with me after we finishing training, never to be at my side as the aliens, mutants, and witches charge at us. I want to say that our victory here was worth Geoff's sacrifice, but I cannot do so with full conviction." He thought she would be angered by what anyone else would deem an attempt to betray the Imperium, but she didn't respond that way.
"Perhaps," she said softly, "others would be better in our position, so they could make such decisions where we cannot."
Nathaniel could agree with that.
He didn't really know how long they spent there, but he was content to simply look out into the blinding snow in silence with her.
Grimnar grunted in response. "Fine. You weren't lying. You still owe us two things."
"I have not forgotten, Chapter Master, I assure you," she reassured him. She summoned a dataslate from somewhere in a small white flash, handing it to him. "That dataslate contains all the information you will need to solve the gene-seed problem."
It felt far too light for what it meant, Grimnar thought. "Just like that?"
"You make it sound so trivial. There are over three petabytes of data on that slate, and you will need Tech-Marines and Wolf Priests to look over it."
"Bah. The Wolves have survived this long without it, they can wait a bit longer. Where is the Allfather?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and glaring at her.
"At this moment? He is about to arrive in the Fenris system is approximately 63 days. His ship is currently under attack by Dark Eldar, but the Harlequins will seem him through."
"...So we just sit here on our asses and he'll come to us, is that what you're saying?" Grimnar asked incredulously.
"No, he'll come to you. I will be deep in the Warp at that time, resolving an issue that must be dealt with sooner or later. Now then, do I have your loyalty, or at least, your trust?"
He nodded slowly. "You have my trust, nothing more. You fought by our side like a true wolf, but my loyalty will always be to the Allfather. I suppose I can put in a good word if you need," he grumbled at the end.
"Excellent. I will speak to Russ eventually, mark my words, and I will need your help at that time. I believe that is everything."
"It is."
She stood and inclined her head. "I am thankful for you sacrifice, Great Wolf, and that of your Astartes. It will be difficult for you, I know, to manage with only 250 Astartes where you need a full chapter, but Russ will return soon enough, and your problems will be solved. We will meet again in the future, I know it. Goodbye."
After she left, he sat down and examined the Axe of Morkai. She had taken it after it had been chipped and broken in several places, offering to remove the Khornate sealed inside while making it more potent. He could feel an electric buzz even through his armor, supposedly due to the pristine axe's new ability to permanently hurt or kill daemons and heretics of all sorts, not just psykers.
As he admired the powerful weapon, he wished the Empress of Mankind, his new Empress, the best of luck in sealing the Maelstrom. He didn't doubt she could do it.
The Primarch blazed through the various reports, eyes moving abnormally fast, even with Andrea's new perspective on what was possible for a superhuman body.
"It seems your sisters are doing well after the battle," she said.
"I...suppose so," she weakly replied.
"Do you disagree?"
"No, no! I…" What could she even say? She hadn't been paying them any attention, stewing in her own memories of the dead. If she said no, she'd be contradicting her superiors. If she said yes, she'd be saying something she couldn't comment on.
There was an awkward pause as Andrea realized her primarch had been watching her the whole time she was internally debating herself. "I do not have any opinion on that, my Lady. Forgive me."
"Forgive you for what? Not paying attention to your sisters? That is not a great or even a noticeable offense."
Something must have shown of what Andrea felt at those words because the Empress sighed. Before Andrea could apologize for whatever slight she had given, the Empress stood up and moved towards her bedroom. "Come with me," she commanded.
Andrea hurried through, hearts beating faster and faster as her anxiety grew. Rumors about getting called into the Mother Superior's office to get "disciplined" were passed around jokingly back when she was an orphan…
She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, which contained only a comically undersized bed. It would have fit a guardsman, not an Astartes, let alone a Primarch. She was vaguely surprised the bed didn't collapse when the Empress sat on the edge but chastised herself for mentally insulting the Empress' weight.
"Come here, Andrea. Sit next to me," the Empress said, gesturing beside her. Andrea shuffled over, examining the spot as if looking for something, before gingerly sitting down. Somehow, their combined weight wasn't enough to make it collapse or even bend.
"I'm sorry, mother. I didn't-"
"Hush. I did not call you here to have you apologize. Tell me, Andrea, what has been capturing your attention for so long?" the Empress asked.
Her mind froze at that. The Empress' face revealed nothing of what the expected answer should be, not even if such a thing existed. Was she looking for a sign of possible disloyalty? But Andrea hadn't done anything to even imply it!
She took a deep breath, and simply decided to tell the truth, as awkward as it might be to articulate such an issue. "I...It's just...all of it."
The Empress said nothing, which she took to be a prompt to continue.
"I used to just be another girl who was a bit smarter than my friends. They said I could join the Order of the Holy Word when I was older. I wanted to travel and see the God-Emperor's Imperium and all the planets He possesses. I wanted to pay my respects on Ophelia VII or visit Ultramar to see Lord Guilliman. Or his body, I suppose. Maybe even go to Cadia so I could see what humanity was fighting for. Instead, I am here aboard the Phalanx, being taught how to move and fight faster than any normal human could. I learned to use the strange yet powerful weapons that were thrust into my hands. I learned how to use my new witch powers when I thought I was supposed to fight those who used such evil powers. And just when I thought I could reflect on my lift, I watched my friends die in front of me or found their cold bodies after we had sworn to fight the enemies of man together!"
Andrea slumped over, feeling exhausted.
"Sometimes, I wonder if this is just one long dream. That I might wake up and find out the last year and six months didn't happen, and I am not stuck in a body that my mind tells me is not my own. If that might be true, I don't know whether I want this dream to continue. At the very least, I would not see my friends and sisters butchered!" She realized she was slightly out of breath, but couldn't deny that it felt good to speak to someone about how she felt.
Then she realized exactly who she had spoken to and badly about. "My Empress, I-"
"No. Do not apologize for speaking your mind. I had seen this happening long ago."
Andrea knelt down instantly on the floor, ready to plead for her life. "Please forgive me, mother."
"I told you before, Andrea, you have done nothing to apologize for. Raise your head and come sit here again. I wish to tell you a story."
She slowly obeyed the command, fearful of what might be her sudden death for her disrespect.
"I didn't have as many friends as you do. Only one person, Mehtrya, was my true friend. She was my mentor for advanced sorcery and psychic abilities. She realized how naive I was, how prone to recklessness. She did her best to remove these flaws, but I did not listen as well as I should have. I was more powerful than she ever could be, and that power coupled with a dream that always stayed just barely out of reach blinded me to her advice.
I too had a personal goal in mind like you did, daughter. The Omnissiah whispered to me in my dreams, giving me boundless knowledge, though it was only a fraction of what humanity had known at their peak. I threw myself into rediscovery and invention, creating countless blueprints and relearning the lost scientific principles of our ancestors. With every success, my ego and hubris grew a marginal amount.
Not all was perfect, however, and my foolishness led to an Ork Warboss capturing my latest technology. It was a crisis like none other, for if the Orks learned how to make it, their psychic gestalt would ensure every burgeoning Ork empire would be able to do so, costing countless lives and hundreds of planets. And yet, I still refused to accept the enormity of the situation, believing foolishly that I could engage him on my own terms, at a location and time of my choosing. Again, I ignored Mehtrya's advice.
Father eventually commanded I deal with the Orks, even if I could not understand why he cared in the slightest. With great annoyance, I took my armies and assaulted the planet the Orks were based over."
Her mother smirked, her eyes seeing something long in the past.
"The technology I possessed and my presence on the battlefield allowed for nothing less than annihilation. But I had no plan, no strategy, other than to simply kill the Orks wherever I could find them. It was a pyrrhic victory at best, and a disaster at worse. So many men and women died because the Orks, of all alien races, had better tactics than I did. All those loyal souls…
But I found the Warboss as he tore his way through an armored vehicle column. I taunted him, getting him angry enough to fight me in a duel. I underestimated him completely. He was faster than any Ork I had seen before, and a lucky blow allowed him to knock me backward. Before I knew it, he was above me, ready to eviscerate me with his power klaw. I was frozen; I had never been so vulnerable before. My mind was blank, and I couldn't think.
But along came my foolish friend. Foolish for getting so close to me, for it was her demise. Mehtrya leapt to my defense. She tried valiantly to kill the Warboss, but she was no fighter, and with every second she grew more desperate. I still see her face as the power klaw nears it in my dreams, her knowing smile towards me, as she attempts to say something.
So I know, Andrea, just what it means to lose a friend who you hold dear to your heart. The guilt gnaws at your soul. You ask yourself why you deserve to live when you have done nothing to earn it, why others choose to perish and save you. You see them in every aspect of your life, even those they had no part in, simply because you cannot bear to let them go. Eventually, you are forced to confront their ghosts. Some cannot take the pressure; they become ghosts themselves, leaving this mortal life. Others bury their trauma in alcohol, drugs, or sex. But I hope you avail yourself of the last option."
Her mother slowly wrapped her arms around her, pulling Andrea closer until she was leaning against her.
"Tell me about your friends, Andrea. The dead or living. Let the pain flow out with your words."
As she spoke with occasional sniffles and wet eyes, Andrea did not see the tears flowing only from the Empress' left eye.
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Holy crap, this feels like my worst chapter yet. I can't show emotions well or write epic fights. Goddamnit. Anyways, this will be my last post for a while, because I'm training for a job. As always, leave a like and comment.
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7 days.
Reality shimmered and then tore apart as the Phalanx emerged from the Warp. Captain Garadon was pleasantly surprised by how well the transition had gone; the ship hadn't shook violently and alarms had blared out indecipherable warnings that required tech-priests to soothe the machine spirit. Actually, it was thanks to said spirit (he still thought Rolly-Polly was too silly and undignified as a name) that they had appeared in perfect position. Fenris sat nearly 1,000,000 kilometers away, which was comfortably far from the lances on the defense platforms, but close enough to get onto the surface in less than an hour given the speed the ship currently had. There weren't that many platforms, given the destruction Fenris had faced recently, but it didn't hurt to keep away from a potential threat, though Garadon doubted the Wolves would fire upon the fortress-monastery of the Fists barring a major diplomatic gaffe.
"Captain Garadon," the hologram of Rolly-Polly suddenly appeared to his left, far enough away as to not frighten him, "there is an incoming communication's request from a ship identified as Allfather's Honor. Should I accept it?"
"Yes."
A large screen suddenly appeared in front of him, showing a scowling Space Wolf with a bushy white-grey beard and a long moustache of the same color and thickness. The Wolf's face was surrounded by golden metal wolf face with its mouth open around his head.
"Identify yourself," the Astartes demanded, his canine teeth literally sharpened and elongated like a predator's.
"I am Captain Tor Garadon of the Imperial Fists' 3rd Company, and master of the Phalanx. Which noble son of Russ do I speak to?"
"Logan Grimnar. Chapter Master of the Space Wolves. What do you want?"
"It is good to hear your voice, Great Wolf. I request to speak to you aboard the Phalanx, for I bring news from Terra that concerns your chapter."
"You want to talk, you do it on my ship, understood?"
"Lord Grimnar, there are many things I wish to show you-"
"My. Ship. Or get lost," the Astartes spat, sneering.
Garadon scowled and glared at Grimnar. "...Very well, Chapter Master. I will speak to you as soon as my transport brings me to your ship."
The communication ended from Grimnar's side, a clear insult. Garadon was tempted to badmouth him to the Empress, but he realized it was petty. Also, he was sure she'd realize what he was trying.
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Logan Grimnar stood with his arms crossed as he waited for the Imperial Fist captain to arrive. He wondered why this Garadon was even here, and why they would bring their fortress-monastery so far from Terra. Perhaps it had to do with the millions of rumors spreading from the Throne-world,, including some nonsense about the Emperor being reborn. Grimnar "believed" that such a thing was destined to happen, but he assigned the probability of such a thing to be nil in his own life, unlike those fools who thought it would happen any day, just as they had believed for the last 10 millennia.
With him were two squads of Terminators. Just in case, of course, Garadon had come to plead on the behalf of Ecclesiarchy.
The Imperial Fist transport was given clearance to land in the hangar he was waiting in. It landed as smooth as such a transport could (with an unceremonious thud). The door opened and a Marine in the Fists appeared, walking down the ramp. He stopped a meter away from Grimnar. The Astartes removed his helmet, revealing black hair and three service studs above his left eye. "Greetings, Great Wolf Grimnar."
"What is it you want, Captain Garadon? I have no time to waste; Fenris still suffers from the aftermath of the accursed Thousand Sons' attack."
"He wanted you to meet me, Chapter Master," said a soft feminine voice that carried throughout the hangar bay.
Grimnar turned his head to see the figure that was descending down the ramp. In that moment, as his mind attempted to comprehend what he was looking at, there was only one response that he could give. "Who the feth are you?"
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"She does not appear to by lying, Great Wolf."
Grimnar frowned at this. "Try again," he commanded. He knew there was no way this could be correct.
Rune Priest Svangthir Ashbeard once more turned his vision to the supernatural realm. The powers of Fenris flowed through him, causing his eyes to glow yellow slightly. He looked at the so-called Empress and Primarch (personally, he found the second one more insulting; there were an infinite number of pretenders to the Golden Throne, none who claimed to be his sons), trying to look past the bright silver glow of her spirit. The rest of the room had become impossible to see in the light she gave off, but he persevered even as he felt his metaphorical eyes squinting.
The glow gave way once more to the inner-soul, and Ashbeard frowned as he tried to look for anything of value. Normally, the spirits of Fenris would reveal to him a person's innermost identity, displaying fully any deceitful intentions or corruption. Nothing like that was made clear to him; he was greeted only by a similar silver glow, this one brighter and encompassing his entire vision, no matter where he looked. There was a slight gold tinge this time, which, if this woman was to be believed, was a splinter of the Emperor's soul, vesting her with his authority. Thankfully, that was a headache that wasn't his to deal with. He'd be content with the headache of looking at so pure a soul.
Ashbeard closed his vision to the supernatural, once more feeling the power of the spirits around him leaving him. "I see the same thing as last time, Great Wolf."
"Then do it again! As many times until you see the truth!"
"Logan," Ashbeard said with a tired voice, "she is pure of heart. There is no taint or corruption I can find. This result will not change if I look once more or a thousand times."
"Gah! This makes no sense! A woman who claims to be a Primarch and the new Empress as well?! I am this close to simply having them all killed now, and marching to Terra to see what madness has infected the Fists!" Grimnar mimed swinging his ax as he said this. The leader of the Space Wolves looked at Ashbeard. "Call them in. I want you to tell me what you see when we talk."
Ashbeard nodded, summoning the so-called Empress and her escort, an Imperial Fist. This was his first look at the woman in the flesh, and he ran his eyes over her form. She was as tall as the more accurate records of the Primarchs spoke, topping out between nine and ten feet. Her silver hair was tied in a ponytail, upon which sat a golden crown, shining in the dull lighting and revealing the word written upon it in High Gothic as "Chosen". Short and sweet, just as he liked it. He lamented internally that her armor, which had to be bone by its color, was completely smooth in the chest area. Even the Sororitas he had sometimes met flaunted their assets a bit with their armor, a "subtle" indulgence in a life of privation. Perhaps she had nothing to be proud of? What was more interesting was that the armor didn't appear to have any openings. It covered her body entirely but somehow bent at the joints. Her steps were silent as well, suggesting the armor may have been soft, but he couldn't be sure.
The three superhumans entered Grimnar's office, greeted by a scowling chapter master. "Ashbeard said he could not find any taint in your soul, but that does not mean you are not lying in one way or another. Tell me why you came here," he barked.
"To give you an opportunity like none other, Great Wolf Grimnar," the Empress explained.
Grimnar sneered. "And what, in Russ' name, would that be?"
"Revenge against Magnus the Red," she said simply.
There was silence as the Russ' two sons processed the answer. "How the hell can you offer that?" Ashbeard asked, aware he hadn't been bidden to speak.
"Simple. By dangling a prize he cannot resist," the Empress said cryptically.
"And what, pray tell, would that be?" Grimnar asked condescendingly.
"The destruction of your chapter."
As soon as the words could be comprehended, Grimnar's face donned a furious look and he spoke with quiet but rage-filled words. "You better explain yourself. Now." He hefted his Wolf Claws, letting electricity run across the talons.
"Since Prospero burned, Magnus has hated your chapter. He destroyed the Wulfen cure in M32 and attacked the system once more just recently. How likely do you think he is to let an opportunity to destroy you once and for all slip pass, especially as your chapter has suffered in the aftermath of the siege? No, even with his depleted armies, he will rush here as soon as possible, all to have a chance to kill you."
There was a tense minute before anyone spoke. "...As satisfying as it might be, destroying the Thousand Sons means little if we are destroyed as well," Ashbeard said diplomatically. "Revenge is not a sufficient motivation to pursue the Thousand Sons when we cannot afford to do battle."
"It was not the only thing I was offering. Great Wolf, if you agree to let Fenris be a trap for the Thousand Sons and Magnus the Red, I offer two things. Firstly, a cure for the Wulfen. Secondly, I know where Leman Russ is, and where he will be soon. I will give you both once the battle is won."
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As they were escorted back to their transport after a long planning session, something occurred to Garadon.
"...Pardon me, my Empress, but what purpose would it serve to have the attack here, instead of placing the Wolves elsewhere if they agree to this plan?" he asked.
"Because it kills many heretics with one shot, captain. The Wolves get their revenge, Fenris is rebuilt faster, and I get what I want in the process."
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5 days.Nathaniel examined his shooting target as it came closer. The hologram, which was currently in the shape of an Astartes without armor, had highlighted sections with indicated where he had a tendency to hit it and how damaged it typically was. At the moment, a solid band of red went down from the target's left shoulder diagonally towards the middle of the torso, with red color splattered around the wounds.
"Not bad, Nathaniel. You picked up the plasma rifle faster than these fools, that much is clear," his sergeant said with a clap on his back, earning Nathaniel some dirty looks. Truth be told, Nathaniel didn't like this gun. It was powerful, no doubt, capable of melting armor in seconds. It was lighter than any gun he'd used before and held a few more shots as well. The recoil was non-existent with his muscles. There was no spray to speak of; every ball of contained plasma went exactly where the gun aimed. He knew that there were others who were training with different weapons as well, his peers and himself split into groups that would rotate which weapons they were learning to use that day.
There was something empowering, however, about the bolters he'd used when he was in training, known as 154-C. The weight of the gun, the powerful recoil, the sound and even the slight smell as each bolt flew where he aimed gave him a sense of being an Astartes. 'Look!' he'd heard a voice say, "Only your kind are able to carry me. I was made for you, much like you were made to serve.'
Complaining about this would be silly, however. He was made to obey his superior's commands. If that meant using weapons that were effective but not his personal choice, he would obey, if for no other reason than the fact that killing enemies more efficiently meant he could kill more of them in the Emperor's (Empress'?) name.
With a suppressed sigh, Nathaniel reloaded his rifle and once more shot at the hologram as it moved from obstruction to obstruction, his every shot either a hit or near-hit. He consoled himself by remembering that the Empress has promised real combat soon, which left him anxious and eager simultaneously.
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2 days.
One thing many people didn't think about was noise pollution, but Magos Barnum-G76 was literally created for the issue. He was aware that the most common implant amongst new tech-priests was a sound-canceling one, which reduced the volume of a sound wave without compromising the brain's to locate the sound's origin. Such implants were universal on Forge-worlds, and for good reason. Their most powerful or efficient machines simply could not be constructed out of materials that were sound-canceling or dampening. You could construct buildings of such material, but that still left the servitors who had to be inside and subject to the damaging decibel levels. A common joke was to wonder if said sound could be directed at their enemies to deafen them.
Here, aboard the Phalanx and inside its massive manufactorum, he found the opposite problem. It was too quiet; there was no need for even cotton earplugs. A steady but low-volume hum could be heard from his surroundings, the floor shook slightly, and...that was it. Honestly, a lone Guardsman patrolling the hallways and walkways would have made more sound. He would honestly have guessed that the fabricators and assembly lines were inactive and derelict for millennia.
More proof, he supposed, that their current knowledge was less than a millionth of their ancestors.
He walked on and watched other tech-priests tending to the machines, but he doubted they were doing anything. The few times he had communicated with the machine spirits which controlled the fabricators, they had immediately asked him for orders on what to fabricate. It was not his pace to command them, but he knew they were unlikely to deviate. The Omnissiah's Chosen would not have restored them into imperfect conditions. Further down, he could see the final products. Weapons, and power armor suits by the hundreds, machine spirits already soothed and cajoled. These were taken by servitors to the armories of the various Astartes onboard. This was the last production order that had been pre-set. Before this, it had been turrets and other surface-to-space weapons, and before that, it was armor plating and void shield
generators.
He spent the rest of his time on duty admiring the beautifully machines being crafted in front of him.
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17 hours.
"Do you ever think you could tire of fighting, brother?"
"Hah! Never. Why do you ask?"
"I couldn't say. The question just came to my mind."
"Well, don't let anyone else hear you. They'll thrash you like I did during the trials."
"What, they'll throw snow in my eyes until I can't see? I seem to remember you doing that."
"No such thing as dirty fighting."
"Hmmph. Anyways, have you seen those new Astartes?"
"Arrogant bastards and little bitches at the same time too, probably. They won't even take off their helmets here. Probably can't stand a little cold."
As the two Space Wolves chatted away, they couldn't help but feel a tingle in their bones. Something would happen soon.
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0 hours.
One minute, the deep space surrounding the Fenris system was tranquil, its only inhabitant the dust from distant stars.
The next, a massive rainbow-colored gash in reality appeared. It pulsed in a sickening manner, as irregular as a heart undergoing fibrillation. From it, cracks spread outward in no discernable pattern, varying in length and thickness as they snaked their way through space.
Aboard the Phalanx, Captain Garadon was listening to the ship's machine spirit inform him on what it could detect.
"The initial tear is several hundred kilometers in diameter, and the various tendrils range from no smaller than 25 kilometers in length to 300 at the most, though that will increase the longer the main tear remains open."
"Understood. Inform me when the first ships come through."
"Affirmative."
Rolly-Polly's hologram disappeared as Garadon spoke into his vox.
"My Lady, the Warp rift appeared right as you said it would."
"I am aware, captain. I felt it from here. You have 33 seconds before the first ships arrive. Is everything ready?"
"From our end, yes. I cannot speak for the Wolves since they refused to tell us anything of substance."
"Grimnar is suspicious, but he will change his tone once the battle is won. In any case, you know our plans. Inform me if there is any deviation from the projected enemy composition I gave you."
As the link went dead, Garadon couldn't help but be skeptical at the Empress' tone. As if winning the battle would be as trivial as she made it out to be. Then he remembered who she was, and wondered if it might actually be.
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30 minutes after rift opened.
"My Master, we have arrived in the Fenris system."
"I can see that, maggot." Those arrogant words came from the mouth of Mordant Hex, Sorcerer-Lord of the Six-Cursed. He turned and left the bridge of the Scientia Insectator, a battleship stolen from the accursed Imperium some three millennia ago. A quick teleport and he was in his quarters. Hex was proud of his technique; no one else had managed such a thing since the Fall of the Eldar, or so the daemons bound to his will claimed. 10,000 years had taught him to not take them at their word, but he enjoyed the praise of his skills.
With a thought, he projected his body into the Warp, appearing suddenly in his father's presence. There were several others, some from the Great Crusade itself. He knelt as was proper, greeting the Primarch of the 15th legion. "My lord, our vessels have arrived in the Fenris system. The pathetic remains of the Wolves' fleet is here." There was no response, but he knew his father would speak only when necessary. As he stood, he realized someone else was also there. He glared behind his helmet. "Ahriman," he spat out.
The creator of the Rubric gave no response, ignoring his presence. Instead, the ancient Astartes turned to their father and said, "Where do you wish me to go?"
"Address him with respect, traitor!" Someone shouted, and Hex found himself agreeing.
"ENOUGH!" their father commanded, projecting enough force to destroy countless daemons that scurried about. "We will not fight with each other, not when there is an opportunity here annihilate not only the Wolves in their entirety but to pay their mangy Primarch back for the destruction of our home." Magnus stood up from his throne, his armor and weapons appearing on his body as he channeled the powers of the Warp. "Hex, you shall lead the naval assault. Secure orbital supremacy and destroy the Wolves' remaining fleet! Ahriman, you shall hold back until it is possible for you to lead the ground assault! And once our Rubricae and daemons destroy their initial resistance, I will come forth myself, leading the final attack!"
They cheered at this, heads held high in anticipation of destroying those who had burned their home during the Heresy. Suddenly, Hex felt someone attempt telepathy directed towards him. He opened his mind after realizing it was one of his serfs attempting to contact him. He frowned as the information entered his mind. "Father, I have just received word that the Phalanx is currently in orbit near Fenris."
There were several murmurs at this.
Their father nodded. "It is as I have foreseen. My sons! We have another chance to hurt the Corpse-Emperor's Imperium! You have all heard of this new Empress of the Imperium, who has the audacity to claim she is a Primarch. Obviously, the Imperium's imminent doom has made the High Lords scramble like ants to protect their power. Whoever they have stuck in such a position is but a pawn to satiate the sheep who worship the Corpse-Emperor. They are here on Fenris at the moment. I have seen this, just as I have seen their skull offered to Tzeentch."
Their father assigned each sorcerer blessed enough to be in his presence to a part of the attack. Most of them were given to Ahriman, but Hex received his fair share of the power of the 15th legion. Countless daemons were being summoned as they spoke and planned, some with favors and others with sacrifices of enslaved Imperial citizens.
As they made to depart for the battle, their father spoke once more. "Russ has found mighty weapons in his exile. The Warp abounds with whispers and rumors. They will not save him from me. When I throw his beaten corpse into Fenris' oceans, then we will have won. The morale of the Wolves will be shattered once and for all, and our grudge will be over. The might of the Fists and Wolves will be powerless against our juggernaut. Glory to Chaos! Glory to Tzeentch!"
"Glory to Chaos! Glory to Tzeentch!"
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The Thousand Sons fleet was still assembling, with more ships appearing through the rift every second. Their expendable vessels, frigates and destroyers along with the occasional cruiser, were watching for any attempts to strike before any of the capital ships or battleships could arrive, but their work was boring, since nothing was coming close. The Wolves were holding their fleet in position for now, but it was obvious they were preparing in some way. There was a clear deadline, for once any reinforcements appeared, the situation might become untenable. Still, they had the support of almost all of the legion's sorcerers and psykers, so divining the enemy's movements would not be difficult.
The order came two hours after the initial ships had broken into Fenris' space.
"Attack."
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Two hours and 45 minutes after rift opened.
Tor Garadon was an Imperial Fist, dutiful follower of the Codex Astartes. He subscribed to Lord Guilliman's notion of showing courage and honor in all parts of life.
Still, he couldn't help but smile at the potential carnage before him.
As expected, the enemy had approached with their escorts first. Rolly-Polly's cameras were able to make out their fleet with a crisper detail than he had ever seen before. It was possible to even see the names of the foul ships approaching the Phalanx, or swarms of fighters and bombers moving in and out of the fleet. A part of him disliked not being able to use the Phalanx's new abilities and destroy a large mass of the enemy ships in a decisive first strike, but his role here was to prevent any orbital bombardment. That meant letting dropships and pods (tantalizing targets for any naval commander) reach the surface.
The Phalanx's fighters and bombers would contribute their part as required, but the mighty vessel itself would only react if enemy ships started attacking it. For now, anyway.
"Relay all tactical information to the Wolves."
XXXXXXXX
Three hours and 30 minutes after rift opened.
The Marines aboard the Shark Assault Boat were quiet, save for one. Sorcerer Amahte, servant of Mordant Hex, was commanding his soldiers, telling them what their orders were once they breached the cruiser they were targeting. They could not have spoken even if they wanted to, their souls forever and silently trapped in their armor.
Amahte himself was slightly nervous. He had never commanded Rubricae before, and the experience was not pleasant. He could feel the emotions and barely cognizant thoughts of his cursed troops, straining his mind slightly from needing to be connected to them all. He wouldn't risk his life by letting them act on any previous orders or even autonomously.
The indicator from the pilot flashed, and the boat came to a swift and screeching halt with the shock of the impact capable of knocking them back had their magnetic boots not been on.
"Go!" Amahte said, slightly louder than he wanted, and the Rubricae marched forward, looking for enemies to slaughter.
Sadly, it was not to be. A sentry gun dropped down from the ceiling. It looked exactly like the Tarantula sentry gun did, but shiny and had a haziness around it, it's edges not quite distinct from the environment. It's weapons went active the instant it hit the ground, and the few bolts the Rubricae had shot accurately enough were deflected away, making small craters in the walls around them. Unlike normal Tarantulas, this one wasn't equipped with heavy bolters. Instead, plasma bullets the size of a human head were shot faster than any Imperial plasma gun could have done.
Astartes armor was made to last and endure against all manner of weaponry. The adamantium that trapped the Rubricaes' souls had also been warded against damage, letting them survive damage other Astartes could not hope to.
A stream of plasma bullets, hotter and more damaging than anything the Imperium could produce, was too much. The animated armors withstood for a half-second before quickly melting and freeing the soul inside. The ceramite took longer, but it too burned a moment later.
Four seconds. That was how long it took to melt the Rubricae aboard the boat.
Amahte panicked, but still launched a fireball at the machine, hoping to distract or blind it long enough to fry its systems with lightning. His spell was cut off mid-chant as he too screamed when his flesh burned.
The sentry gun then received new orders and quickly made its way to the next fight, joining its countless brothers in their defense against the boarders.
XXXXXXXX
Eight hours after rift opened.
"Repeat that, serf," Hex growled.
"I'm sorry my lord, but the boarding parties are reporting near-total casualties before they have even cleared their breaching zone. What few remain are being killed as we speak!"
How was that even possible? He knew there would be deaths, but it should have been a difficult grind for whatever pathetic defenders were available.
"Did they send any message about how this failure occurred?" Those survivors would wish they had died if he got his hands on them.
"No, my lord." The serf cringed and reared slightly, clearly afraid he would be killed for bringing bad news. Hex wouldn't (what fool killed a useful body in anger, except a servant of the Blood God?), but it was better to let them think otherwise.
"The transports. How many are left?"
"Uh...63%," the serf said nervously, using a mechanical eye to retrieve the data. "Most are holding back until the enemy fleet will ignore them."
"Send the order. I want all ships to engage the Wolves! The transports to move forward as well."
"Yes, my lord," the serf said with a bow before leaving to give the commands.
Hex wasn't concerned about higher casualties in space. The Wolves must have concentrated their forces in space, that was the only explanation for how the initial boardings had failed. The Fists must have been defending as well.
XXXXXXXX
Nine hours and 22 minutes after rift opened.
"The transports are moving forward," Rolly-Polly informed Garadon.
"No matter. Stay out of the fighting for now. Continue sending any information to the Wolves. What is the status of the Tarantulas aboard their fleet?"
"Twenty-seven have been heavily damaged, but none of the boarding parties have been successful at causing even minor damage."
As the battle continued to rage, Garadon found himself once more impressed at the Empress' ability with divination. Every turn and swing of the fighting had been noted down to the minute, long before the traitors had even arrived.
He grinned at the thought of what she had planned for the traitor Primarch.
XXXXXXXX
13 hours and six minutes after rift opened.
The drop-pod opened as it slammed into the Fenrisian ice, and the Astartes of the Crimson Sons thrallband leapt outwards, their trained eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential ambush.
"Clear. Nothing in sight, not even any wild beasts," one of them said.
"Shame. I had hoped to add another rug to my collection," replied another.
"Shut up, both of you. Get into position," their commander shouted. The ten Astartes formed a circle around the drop-pod. The psyker in their group started chanting, borrowing from their collective souls to power his ritual. The air warped and flowed erratically until the weakened barrier between the Materium and Immaterium split and revealed colors that no being was meant to see.
The first daemons began coming through. Servants of Tzeentch, avian in appearance and bearing far too many eyes to be anything natural.
W̷̩͕͙̹͈̳̋̒͛̾̆̓̌͌̔͆͝ḫ̵̡̥̏́̈́̒͆̀̊͌̾͐̌̓͘͝a̴̢̠̬̰̰̼͎̯̔̈́̽̉̅t̶̜͎̠̙͕̒͠ ̴̧̢̝̝͔̳̱͔̩̣̺̪̣̳̂͛̆̑̅͂̆̒͋̕w̵̛̯̳̭͍̮̞̙͔̰͗͂i̴̛͔̩͇͇̥͕̘̗̖̣̩̯̿̀̂͛̌͂̽̂̏̏̕̕͘͝l̶͕̬̟͙̀̈̃́̑̄̿͜͠l̸̢̺̹̻̹͖̮̾͆͗ ̶̤̭̹̠̲̫̬͓̮̝̞͊͑͂̈͝ỳ̶̨͕̭̱͉̤̆͐̀̉͑̀̑͂̌̍́̕͠͠o̶̡̧̰̰̟̙̝̹̥̺̲͐́ų̷͈͇͖̤̱̬̭͔̰̖̠̮̱̬̋̉͛͗͝͠͝͝ ̶̮̲̤̹̏̓̑͆̈́̾̇̆͂̀̿͝g̵͉̰̦̣͓͉͉̠̦͆͋͋͊́̓̊̈́ͅi̸̡̫͚̣̻̳̫̱̊̍̐̉̈́̏̿̀̓̏̓̓̚v̸̧̙̱̻͈̱̻̺̦̅̏̿͗́̿͗̕͜͝e̵͓͐̾ ̸̢̪̮̥͓̘̦̗͓̱̦̥̭̙̝͂̚͝f̵̤͉̪̜͖̫̭̤̤̼̤̬̪̦́o̴͇̲̗͂͜ŗ̸̡͙̝̝̲̱̺͍̜͎̝͙̜̥͑͝͝ ̶̯̪̪̥̬͈̼̥̋̋̐̎̈́̓̚o̴̧̘̗̳͔͇̻̱̔̋̋̇̐̓̍̓̒̄͜u̴̫̘̫̳̲̻̮͍̦̩̮̟̓̌̈́̈̀̈́͋̇̚͝͠r̷͙̭̟̼̩̠̔̎̾̂͐̏̓̂̚͜͝ ̶̨̭͕͚̙́̆̓s̴̘̫̫͕͙͈̱̰̭̫̼͉͎̯̲͊̚̚ử̶̲̳̺̝̤̩͖̗͔͉͉̔̈̂̿̓͒̒̔p̴̢͎͖̗̯̻̞̲̮̏̓̓͑͆͛͗̈́͘ͅṗ̵̧̨̤͈̤̠̙̈́̈͛̍̉o̶̢̧̗͗̑̇͛̐͝ŗ̴̡̦̗͔̗͉̩͕̗̩͉͈̄̑̾͂͋̆̎̋̂͑̐̎̕͘t̸͖̣̺͍̰̫̏̍̇̌̊̈̚?̶̞̤͇̩̯̪̩́͌̎
"Spare me your lies, daemons. You were compensated with slaves long before this."
The things just laughed.
Ṫ̴͍̳̯̼̺̠̥͕͐̉̿̿́̃̅̃̈ͅh̵̡͕̹̦͕͇̒̂̀̓͆̃́͘̚͝e̸̢̠̩͕̠͔͇͈͗̑͑̓͊͋̒͌̿̂̆́̇̚͝ñ̸͔͍̇̄̎̇̓͋̑̓̆̀̿̓̚ ̵̡̦͎̝̣̙̮̖̩̠͉̊͛̽͗͋͗̏̏̚͜ͅw̸̡̻͍͔͓̿ḧ̸̨̼͈̣̯́̓̾̀͒͐̈͂̾̾̎̕̚͘å̵̛͈̜͓̃̀̾͊̕ͅt̷̛̻͉̤̙͕̺̍̔͆͗̓̅̚ͅ ̶̧̨̧̨̲̭͔̟͔̝̞͔̞̲̋̔͒̾̅͂́̋͊̎̈́̿́͜ì̶̢͚͕͖̺̯̦̥͇͇͙̖̇̓͊̍́͜s̵̥̰̅̌͒͐̉̚͘ ̸̛͚̲̻͍͔̝̖̦͖̪̦̊́͑̅̒̾͗͘͝ÿ̸̢̧̤̯͙̦̯̹͔͍̺̼́̒̉́̍̓͑̂̑́̌̉̓͝͝o̵̡̡͈͇̭̦̗̩̟̘̲̻̬̭̊̂̍̌͠ͅů̵̙̤͉̳̜̤̹͂͌͑̒̇̿̀̀̚͜͜͠r̸̨̧̛̥̹͒̈̓̃͆̔̂͛̄̆͝ ̸̹̝͖͊́̀̀̿̐͒̇͐͂͘d̵̢̫̣̜̯̮̜̣̲̹̠̀̀̾̇͘͜͠e̷̛̛͖̳͎̺̹̤̟̙̰͚̔͋̍͛̋͑͗̾̽͂̎̕͝ṣ̸̼̬̟̻̱̰̓̃̎͋̿̇i̴͇̱͍̠̰͔̙̖̘̼͋̂̐̈́͛̾̕͝ŗ̸̲̻̫̘̜̙̥̾̄̋͋̒͋̾̾̊̊͑̉͘͘e̶̢̱̺͕̝̣̲̭͕̮͙͛̔́͆͐̇̇͘͜?̴̨̢̨͈̻͇̲̄̈̿̿̂̀̿̄̍̏́̾̕
"Once our forces are in position, you will feast on the Corpse-Emperor's servants as they cower in their cities. You will not touch any of our serfs or soldiers, or I will annihilate your being."
The daemons screeched at this, which would have destroyed any normal brain upon being heard, but it was part and parcel of trying to command a daemon.
XXXXXXXX
17 hours after rift opened.
"Great Wolf, the traitors are assaulting all cities on Fenris now," came the voice of one of the chapter's serfs.
Grimnar grunted as acknowledgment into his vox, splitting a helldrake's skull into three pieces with mighty swings of his ax Morkai. The beast quickly fell to the ground, it's infernal blood spreading over the ground as he jumped off its back.
"Reinforcements from the-" said a voice before it was cut off and several screams came from his right. He spun and charged at the beast, a forgefiend of immense size. The thing tried to cut him down with its autocannons, but he hadn't lived this long to be taken down by anything so slow. He braced Morkai against his body as he ran forward, screaming as he ran through the beast, splitting metal and wires along with daemonic flesh as easily as a blade of grass. With a pitiful and confused growl, it collapsed, steam and smoke billowing out of its carcass. "How much longer, Empress?" he growled into his vox.
"13 minutes. Then the situation will be reversed, I assure you."
"It better." His chapter was bleeding once more, and in a war it had not asked for. Splitting the helms of these psychic traitors was fun and righteous, but not when they were so close to ruin altogether.
XXXXXXXX
17 hours and 14 minutes after rift opened.
A secret not known to many was that Fenris was home to a Chaos cult. A temple dedicated to the God of Change had been built hundreds of years before the end of the
41st millennium. Some were reasonably concerned after this had been made known during the recent invasion, others had been terrified and spreading rumors that it had been there since before Russ himself arrived on Fenris. In any case, the temple had been destroyed and cleansed with fire by the Wolf Priests.
Or so they thought.
Karlsen had to thank the Wolves for being as idiotic as they were. Even if he despised them, the Ecclessiarchy's servants would have done a much more thorough job of purifying it. The few irregularly placed totems and runes inscribed with the Wolves' insignias and praise of Russ weren't difficult to remove for a sorcerer, and certainly, not one who had learned much since the Scouring of Prospero.
He had his Rubricae bring the slaves into position. Nine slaves per ring for nine concentric rings, with Karlsen at their center to perform the ritual. Normally, it would not have been so easy. Such a summoning would have taken continuous sacrifices over nine days. The recent summoning had left a mark on Fenris, however, and it was easier to call his master forth.
As he spoke, the Rubricae beheaded the cowering slaves at precise intervals, with each ring being depleted every nine seconds. Once the final ring was sacrificed, all the blood suddenly snaked across the ground, pooling around his feet in the shape of Tzeentch's sacred symbol. It glowed bright blue with the anguish of their tortured souls, their collective deaths threatening to form a lesser daemon of Tzeentch. Karlsen was a master of daemonology, however, and prevented this with but a thought, focusing the psychic energy of their souls into his ritual by painfully unmaking them.
The sacrifices were accepted, and the world-no, reality itself began to shake violently as the air itself began to turn blue and gold. Several hundred more rifts appeared across Fenris itself, disgorging hundreds or even thousands of more daemons, and all servants of the Architect of Fate rejoiced at the beginning of the end for Fenris and the Space Wolves. Morale soared and the invaders reaped a devastating toll with their enhanced powers. Sorcerers threw bolts of lightning powerful enough to harm even titans, and daemons threw curses and hexes at all targets, causing uncontrolled mutation and corruption with their mere presence. The air itself grew intensely uncomfortable, and countless mortal defenders of the Imperium were transformed and shredded the poor souls immediately next to them before they were put down.
The Crimson King stepped into the Materium once more.
XXXXXXXX
Time had no meaning in the Warp. A year in the Materium could feel like a few seconds or several millennia, something no one, not even the Gods of Chaos had control over. Truth be told, this was of no concern to those who worshipped or resided in the domains of the Gods. The Warp would bring them to their fates, and fighting that was pointless.
Thought it had been less than a century, the resummoned Magnus felt as if he had not set foot on the icy homeworld of his brother for a long time.
Karlsen, his loyal son, kneeled in front of him along with the Rubricae
"Rise, my sons. Let us finish what we began," he spoke.
They rose as one...and vanished into thin air.
…
Magnus was many things. A loyal servant of the Changer of Ways, the Crimson King, and even the Cyclopean Giant.
Right now? He was confused. He had not foreseen this, and neither Karlsen or his presence was not visible to his sight, literal or metaphorical. He attempted to reach out with telepathy but found himself blocked the instant he tried casting his mind farther than the confines of the temple. That should have been impossible against someone
as powerful as him.
The slightest of noise made him spin to face behind him, where he came face to face with the oddest being he had seen.
Her hair was bright silver and covered the right quarter of her face, just barely letting her right eye see unobstructed, though it was slightly more closed than her left. Three claw marks marred the otherwise smooth skin on her right side. Her armor was the color of bone, smooth and unmarked in any way, with no visible seams or joints.
She wasn't even looking at him, instead of flipping an adamantium dagger into the air lazily only to catch it as it fell.
"Who are you?" he growled, drawing the Blade of Magnus in preparation to strike.
She didn't acknowledge his demand for her identity, instead snatching the dagger out of the air before standing up. She was as tall as he preferred to be. "I am the Empress of Mankind." Her voice was quiet but firm as if stating blatantly obvious facts.
He couldn't help but laugh contemptuously. "What nonsense! No matter, I will learn everything I want from your corpse."
The dagger suddenly deconstructed itself into light before disappearing, only to be replaced with a spear. "No, Magnus. This is where a plan 10 millennia in the making is executed." She held the spear in both hands now and stood in a fighting position. "Engarde."
One moment she was fifty meters away, the next she was in perfect striking position. Finely honed instincts brought his blade into perfect position, deflecting the spear thrust towards him. He followed through with a diagonal slash, only for her to block with the shaft. Then, without any warning, the spear bent like a whip and lashed out at his face. He once again blocked with his sword, jumping back to get some distance.
They stood motionless for a moment before Magnus felt something on his cheek. He touched the spot with his left hand and looked at his fingers.
Blood. His blood. Something no one had drawn since Russ himself had burned his home.
"Surrender, Magnus. I will not ask again," she said, that bored expression still on her face.
He roared and rushed towards her.
XXXXXXXX
The Fang was surrounded on all sides by legions of daemons, fiendish machines, thrallbands of the Thousand Sons, and countless Rubricae. It's guns, cannons, and other weapons were firing non-stop at any target. There was no threat of orbital bombardment, as the Thousand Sons fleet still hadn't secured orbit over the Fang itself.
The space battle was not progressing much further. Somehow, the Wolves had upgraded their ships completely since Lord Magnus had devastated their world. It took three times as much firepower to get through their void shields, and their main lances were coring his escorts with contemptuous ease, while countless point-defense guns were turning fighters and bombers into dust. The addition of his own capital ships had been necessary simply to turn the space battle into one on even terms.
On the ground, report were speaking of the slow grind as the Thousand Sons pushed forward. For all the powerful and seemingly-numberless daemons and war-machines controlled by the Thousand Sons, for all their sorcery, it was just enough to let them marginally advance with every hour. The air around the Fang itself was black with smoke and the ice itself stained with daemon ichor.
Hex was not concerned in the slightest. Any sorcerer of worth (and the Thousand Sons were certainly worthy of the title) would have used divination to determine the optimal strategy. His own had shown that the battle would be won through attrition by ground troops along with countless reinforcements from daemons to use as fodder. For now, he was content to keep the Wolves' fleet engaged in space, preventing them from using bombardment as well. The Phalanx had been left alone, something he found odd but a recurring idea in his divinations. It was too far to strike at them, but he had kept some ships back in case it tried to escape or attack them.
...
He felt it as soon as it happened. His father's presence could not be denied, which meant that Karlsen had been successful in summoning him.
With an eagerness not normally present, he ordered all remaining ships into the fray, not wanting to disappoint Lord Magnus with a slow victory.
XXXXXXXX
"I should not be surprised by this point, but I still am. 18 hours after the rift has opened, and the entirety of the Thousand Sons fleet has engaged the Wolves. Just as the Empress predicted," Garadon said to himself. "Begin."
With his word, Rolly-Polly activated an entirely system, one that had been created and installed by the Empress herself. The ship shook noticeably, and Garadon worried for a brief moment that it might fail and cause possibly catastrophic damage (that had been his worry ever since he learned what it could do), but it passed and Rolly-Polly's continuous reports showed the system was charging perfectly.
The sheer energy buildup was no doubt detectable, but it wasn't as if the enemy's ships could do anything about it. One lance was sent towards them, but it barely drained the shields as it was destroyed.
"Charging complete. System is live, firing in two seconds...firing," came the ever-calm voice of Rolly-Polly.
The ship's systems powered down as needed, and then it was gone entirely.
Only to reappear directly behind the Thousand Sons at the spaceship equivalent of chainsword range, with the powerful gravity well generator online.
"All systems online, no damage detected. Your orders, captain?"
He grinned despite himself.
"Fire."
XXXXXXXX
"How much longer will they keep us here? Until the fighting is done?" Nathaniel asked sarcastically to nobody in particular.
"At this rate, it appears so. I want to kill some daemons, Emperor dammit! Let me out there!" That was another of his squad, a battle-brother by the name of Geoff. The entirety of the Phalanx's complement of Primaris Marines, exactly 10,000, had been placed within the Fang itself, waiting for the time to come. Rumors had abounded about how Grimnar didn't even want them there, but the Empress had insisted and said they would not interfere with the Wolves during the fight.
"Be silent, both of you," their sergeant commanded, though Nathaniel could see the frustration on his face as well. "We'll fight today, and not a moment before we're told to, understood?"
Before Geoff could retort and get himself disciplined like he had done several dozen times during their time on Mars, there was a cry from the Silver Sentinels.
"That's the signal! Everyone, battlestations, now!" one of them screamed, their voice modulated to be unrecognizable and amplified. Still, the Primaris Marines obeyed and
stood in their pre-assigned circles as one Silver Sentinel approached each squad.
"Remember! Do not move as we teleport, and be ready for anything on the other side. Is everyone on the correct vox-channel? Ave Imperator!"
"Ave Imperator!" everyone shouted.
The Sentinel assigned to his squad (they never got a name) raised his arms up with his palms pointed at the ceiling as all the others did. The blue lines and circles on the Sentinel's armor turned silver-white, and a similarly-colored aura appeared around him, expanding to cover the squad itself.
Then the world turned white, and Nathaniel staggered as he suddenly appeared on Fenris' icy surface, approximately 12 kilometers from the Fang, completely unseeable through the black smoke.
"Everyone here? Go-DOWN!" the sergeant screamed, turning swiftly to blast a daemon that had been diving towards them. It's corpse smashed into Geoff, who was unharmed but needed assistance to lift the heavy carcass off him.
"Get to the Rhino! Run!" the Sentinel shouted, and Nathaniel hurried after him towards the transport he somehow hadn't noticed several meters to his left. His squad was hot on his heels, with the sergeant pulling on the mechanized door to make it slightly faster to no avail. Still, they were safe now from the daemons around them, though they could hear and feel what sounded like several daemons trying to claw their way in.
"Hold on!" the Sentinel yelled before the line and circles on his armor glowed silver-white once more and a pulse of some sort emanated from the armor. It felt comfortably warm to Nathaniel, but the screams and screeches outside halted abruptly.
"Pilot! Get us moving now!" the sergeant yelled into his vox, and the Rhino took off smoothly. Almost suspiciously so, as there was no attempt to stop it that could be felt inside.
"Are they ignoring us? Or is this a trap?" another squadmate named Yurei asked.
"They are trying, but they can't touch the barrier I put around it without suffering true damage. That makes all but the most powerful or foolhardy pause," the Sentinel responded.
The general vox channel was a cacophony of noise, making Nathaniel regret trying to learn more about what was happening. Men were barking orders, but there were also the occasional screams of Marines who were killed. He prayed for the souls of those unfortunate enough to die without a fighting chance, hoping the Emperor would take them safely. He checked his weapon one last time, more for reassurance than anything else.
The Rhino stopped smoothly, and the rear door opened with a heavy thump.
"We're here! Stay with me and move out!"
XXXXXXXX
This "Empress" was skilled, he could admit. She fought like an Eldar; the grace and dexterity of her movements were entirely supernatural, especially for someone of their size. Unlike an Eldar, she also possessed great strength. Not as much as he (and it wasn't even his most notable trait) might have, but enough to make him feel the impact every time his Blade clashed with her spear.
It galled Magnus to have to admit this, even to himself, but she was a psyker with skills similar to his. It was obvious the spear was a psychic construct, much like his own Blade, with how it bent and reshaped itself as necessary.
He broke his previous pattern, forcing her to defend against his continuous assault, each strike flowing into the other like water around any obstruction. With less than a thought, he would reshape the Blade into having different striking points or sent powerful curses and spells her way, hoping to strike her, but the spear was always between them, negating his sorcery or deflecting his stikes.
He ended the assault by opening his mouth and launching a quick fireball at point-blank rage that swelled quickly. With a sway, she dodged it without any visible distance between her and the ball's edge, even her hair somehow unsinged. The fireball continued past her, striking the rubble of the altar to Tzeentch and burning it to ash. She jumped back, putting several meters between them.
Neither was breathing heavily. They could have continued for eternity at this pace if they wished.
"You are not one of us. What are you?" he asked.
"I told you already. I am the Empress of Mankind and a Primarch."
"Lies. Your soul is similar to his, oppressing those who would seek knowledge, but you are not a Primarch. I know more about our creation than anyone else. Whatever you are, it is not a child of the Corpse-Emperor," he retorted.
She shook her head slightly. "There is no point to this, Magnus. You cannot comprehend the truth, and soon, it will not matter what you comprehend."
"You think you can defeat me? I am one of Lord Tzeentch's most favored servants! My mastery of the Immaterium is unmatched! You have not even been able to wound me!" he sneered.
She readied her spear once more. "Then what are you waiting for?"
He released his control over his aura, causing his form to become more unstable, the Materium sagging under his power and creating another rift through which daemons poured through, giving him the monstrous strength a Primarch enhanced by Chaos could use.
He moved, practically teleporting forward, and their dance began again.
XXXXXXXX
Andrea's new instincts let her react faster to the feeling of danger than she could have before. Without a glance, she spun and evaporated the flesh of a floating disc engraved with the symbol of Tzeentch, the trail of infinite mouths that marked its path turning to dust. It had tried to sneak up on her and got within meters of doing so, but received a face..er, eye full of plasma.
One of the Primaris Marines in her squad was killed as a trio of Horrors blasted him with enough lightning to bypass the inherent protections of armor and body. His friend noticed and spun to blast them apart with a cry of rage, but the ground shook as a Helldrake crashed into the ground, its wings torn off as it screamed in impotent rage, causing everything nearby to stumble. The Horrors got away, blasting fireballs and more lightning towards the squad as they fled. Her instincts kicked in once more and she made the Aquilla on her armor, wishing for a protective barrier. Her mind held against the strain of the launched attacks dissipating against it, but it bought the stumbling Marines enough time to adapt.
"Squad 178-D, link up with squads 72-A and-hrrk!" The voice turned into choking sounds before a sickening crunch was heard, likely the owner's neck breaking.
"We can't break through! That Forgefiend is blocking the entire path!" someone shouted. "Need reinforcements at Gate Epsilon!"
"We're two kilometers away, sergeant!" one of the Primaris Marines shouted into his vox, making Andrea flinch slightly at the volume.
"I know! We will respond to that call. Sentinel, we need you to clear the path!" the man responded as he savagely crushed the skull of a Screamer that he had caught with his bare hands, its screeches dying with the sudden crunch.
"Cover me!" she said, pointing with her palms at a nearby collapsed archway. Several tons of rock and the Forgefiend's body from earlier were blocking it, but she grasped them with her mind, willing them to move up. They refused, her will not strong enough, but she grit her teeth and concentrated harder, putting her mind under more stress, as the first boulders started to move. When she could feel her control as having penetrated through, she closed her hands into fists and jerked them back, as if pulling a door open. The tension instantly snapped in her mind, and she almost threw up as she staggered, trying to put her hands on her head to massage it, forgetting that there was armor in the way.
A rough hand on her left upper-arm dragged her forward, and she vaguely realized it was one of the Primaris Marines moving her along. The sergeant, who had already run ahead and through the cleared path was covering them as they brought up the rear. Andrea could see that her control had slipped at some point; not all of the debris had been moved out of the way, and the Forgfiend was still awkwardly blocking part of the path.
She stood up fully, removing the Marine's hand and shaking her head slightly. "I'm fine. Let's go."
XXXXXXXX
Within three minutes, the temple had been destroyed and they were fighting on the surface of Fenris as hurricane-strength winds blew snow and ice around them. Neither were bothered by this.
Their second bout was much more a battle of the mind. The first had been playful, if anything, given the lack of destruction around them. Magnus threw countless hexes, curses, spells, and used his immense knowledge of the Warp, and she responded in kind, though he noted with satisfaction that hers were weaker in all respects. Permafrost melted in milliseconds from the fire and lightning being thrown around, and ice that had been formed thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago evaporated as spellcraft made it explode. It meant nothing to Magnus, taking nothing of his conscious mind to do this little. Neither had hurt each other yet, dodging or counterattacking perfectly, though their ability to read the future meant they were both moving to a script.
The Crimson Cyclops was focused on the intense divination battle taking place. Both he and this "Empress" were constantly divining the next move, the next event, the next attack, and reacting accordingly. Combined with their superhuman reflexes and minds, even a single step made the threads of the future splinter and coalesce, the outcome of the next second in constant flux.
Then, he saw it. A break in her armor. In exactly 73 seconds, she would make a critical mistake. He continued the fight while trying to keep her from more divination, attempting to hold her still despite her ability to escape like a snake. "Are you so cowardly that you won't even fight me?"
"It isn't as if you could fight any harder even if I did actually try, " she retorted, that damned expression of boredom still on her face as she struck from behind, only for him to parry the blow.
"THEN LET ME SHOW YOU, EMPRESS!" he yelled, absorbing his psychic aura, only to contain it for a brief second before letting it out much harder and faster, causing the ice beneath them to shatter completely and fall, revealing a massive cavern beneath them, easily large enough for a hive city. As he had foreseen, both of them sprouted wings with a thought. The only difference was the color and sharpness, with his being shades of purple with razor-sharp feathers while hers were white and soft. he took off into the air faster than any plane ever could, with her following closely behind him.
Right into a trap.
As he arrived in the correct space at the exact moment he needed, a massive piece of stonework, easily 10 times more massive than he was, fell through the space he had just been occupying. This stonework had been blasted off a destroyed defending frigate, which had exploded 60 seconds ago and spread its rubble across the upper atmosphere, each piece set to fall when it could no longer resist the pull from Fenris. She destroyed it as expected.
He couldn't help the savage grin as her face changed to one of surprise as soon as the second stone, lean enough to hide behind the first, impacted her body. She destroyed it, but her focus was now shifted. He fell towards her, using his own telekinesis and the pull of gravity to close the distance before she could react. With a mental cry of success, he slammed both fists into her, causing her to let go of her spear in pain. He flexed his wings and sped up, catching her before she could try to move. He split his power, all of it, between driving them down faster and a brutal psychic assault on her mind, preventing her from reacting to anything else lest her mind be shattered.
The Fang came up to meet them, the massive smoke plume enveloping them as he drove her down. He saw, as the smoke cleared, the area of intense fighting, an open area with countless bodies of mortals and daemons, with the metal remains of transports and tanks from both sides. The Wolves were making their last stand here, as well as some other Astartes he didn't recognize. Their pasts were concealed from him, but he knew he could learn who they were as soon as he put any fragment of his concentration on them. The Corpse-Emperor's slaves were fighting a two-pronged attack, while his own sons and several Helldrakes and Forgefiends held them at bay with bullets, blades, and sorcery. He minutely adjusted their flight, and aimed for the perfect spot at the center of the fight.
Her body smashed through one of the Helldrakes, causing the beast to give a loud roar as it died, it's daemonic autocannons still firing until the end.
The fighting stopped as soon as he stood up, his stance over her clear to the tens of thousands around them.
Magnus stared at her punctured body. Her arms had been pierced multiple times by sharpened stalagmites, and her legs were bent at odd angles, showing a compound fracture through her armor, which was now chipped and damaged. Her eyes were barely open, and he felt her consciousness slipping.
"Slaves of the Corpse-Emperor!" he said as he turned to look at them, seeing their shocked and panicked expressions as they realized who he was. No one was possessed upon seeing him; anyone whose mind was weak enough had long since died before this moment. He telekinetically grabbed her hair until he could hold her head in his hand, her weak jabs at him not enough to overcome even a mere Astartes. "Look at your supposed hope! The Empress of Mankind," he sneered. He felt as their wills falter, felt the confusion, terror, and sadness in their souls, though the Wolves were less discouraged by seeing the barely conscious woman.
He swung the Blade, effortlessly separating her head from the rest of her body and held it up high. "This is the fate of those who resist the truth of Chaos! This is the fate of the Corpse-Emperor's servant! DEATH TO THE IMPERIUM!"
A million voices, some in the Materium, some not, chanted with him, the feeling of victory infectious as his sons cheered at the death of the Imperium's supposedly new leader. Magnus could feel the excitement around him, and it was made better by the shattering morale of his enemies. He knew the Wolves led by Grimnar would fight on, but whoever these new Astartes were, they were done.
Magnus raised his Blade, pointing it at the remaining defenders, pathetic as they were. "Kill them-"
He grunted as something slammed into his back, knocking him forward onto his stomach. The noise stopped once more, and he felt a boot on his back. He reached out, attempting to use his mighty control of the Warp…
…
…
Nothing. He concentrated once more and received the same answer. He continued trying countless times, but the Immaterium, something he had manipulated since his days as a child on Prospero, would not respond.
Only seconds had passed in real-time, and Magnus heard her voice once more.
"Your hubris has always been your downfall."
He felt her bend down, grabbing his body, but this time, their roles were reversed. He found himself unable to move as she hoisted him above her body, his back facing the ground. How? How had she avoided her Fate? Only Lord Tzeentch could have hidden the truth-
Ah, so that was it. This had been one of his patron's infinite game's and he was finally the pawn sacrificed for some arbitrary cost.
"Let us perform a historical reenactment, brother," she said calmly, and he realized with fleeting horror what she was about to do.
The entirety of the Thousand Sons, powerful sorcerers for millennia and veteran Astartes, were unable to act fast enough as the Empress brought Magnus' body down with a mighty yell, slamming her armored knee straight into his spine.
Then, reality was gone, replaced with a blinding white light. The legacy of what had been done to Magnus, first by Russ, now by the Empress, carried with it a psychic weight when it concerned the Thousand Sons. As Magnus screamed in pain, disaster struck for the Sons. Some had been there when the hated Primarch Leman Russ had destroyed their Primarch's spin, but this pain was worse by a hundred, no, a thousand-fold. Their gene-seed, corrupted beyond saving, still gave them a connection to their father, and it was this connection through which mind-shattering pain spread to their bodies.
Daemons screamed and blasted the Empress with fireballs, daemonic autocannons, and other foul sorcery, but it hit a shield that had not been there before, preventing anything from reaching the Empress. Some of the more astute observers saw the mangled corpse and head disappear into light, but they couldn't share their discovery in this raw hatred for this enemy of their god.
This broke the Wolves, Primaris Marines, and Sentinels from their spell, who began once more hacking and blasting the daemons apart.
Magnus' thoughts were no longer lucid. His inner mind was collapsing against the incoming white light as the Empress suppressed his power with her own. The shattered fragments of his soul, collected from deep within the wastes of Chaos or the individuals they had been attached to, rushed into him, but the power he would have gained from this was useless now. It no longer responded to any part of his mind still sane enough to try and beg for salvation from Tzeentch, from Chaos, from anybody.
Then, the white light reached him, and he reached forward as it beckoned him.
His last thought was satisfaction. Satisfaction at the enormous deception the Empress was playing by convincing the Imperium to follow her into the path of liberation.
XXXXXXXX
29 hours later.
Nathaniel had made a note of the spot as soon as his brother had died. After he had his wounds tended to and reported to the sergeant, he had made his way straight here.
Only, he didn't know what to do, or why he had come. There were strict orders not to remove anything from the battlefield for fear of memetic contamination.
Geoff's body was visible through the places where his armor had broken. It was cold and bruised, with a bone or possibly a metal piece sticking out of his stomach. His bolter wasn't next to him, but the debris and bodies strewn everywhere, both here and throughout the Fang, made finding it unlikely for a single mortal, even as Astartes.
What had Geoff's final thoughts been? The jokes they had told in training? Helping each other choose names? Nathaniel hoped the pain of his death had been fleeting. A slow death in the cold, blood spilling out in drops, was no way to go.
The snow continued falling on his face, heavy winds blowing it in sheets through the air and across bodies, but he still heard the faint footsteps behind him. It was the Sentinel from their group.
The two of them stood in silence for a few moments.
"Were you close?" the Sentinel asked in the modified tone.
He nodded. "We were friends. He and I used to talk after our training how we would kill heretics, xenos, and traitors. Bring glory to our brothers and the Imperium."
The Sentinel didn't respond.
"Geoff loved to boast. Once we began training under the Empress' commands, he would claim each night that he would personally slay enemy leaders and warriors every
day. He would show us all how he was the best within the squad, or even whatever chapter he was assigned to. Now, he's going to boast to the Emperor himself, I suppose." He chuckled at his own dark joke, but it was lost in the wind.
The Sentinel moved next to him. He removed his helmet slowly, and Nathaniel realized something quickly. Namely, that the Sentinel wasn't a man, not with that face, or that unaltered voice. "My sisters are like that."
He found himself easily accepting, somehow, that a legion of superhuman women had been masquerading as men this whole time. He decided to ruminate on his casual acceptance of such a large lie of omission at some later time.
"Elizabeth was training to purge heretics her whole life. She jumped when sent to the Empress to join the new legion, believing every day she had been blessed at how many more future heretics she could count as her kills. I found her body surrounded by daemons, that childish smile still stuck on her face, or what remained of it."
"It is odd, is it not?" At her glance, he continued. "Everyone hopes to go out in a blaze of glory after a long and fulfilling life. A life of war in His service is said to be one of the most fulfilling lives in the galaxy. But Geoff lies beneath me here, cold and dead, never to boast to me again, never to jest with me after we finishing training, never to be at my side as the aliens, mutants, and witches charge at us. I want to say that our victory here was worth Geoff's sacrifice, but I cannot do so with full conviction." He thought she would be angered by what anyone else would deem an attempt to betray the Imperium, but she didn't respond that way.
"Perhaps," she said softly, "others would be better in our position, so they could make such decisions where we cannot."
Nathaniel could agree with that.
He didn't really know how long they spent there, but he was content to simply look out into the blinding snow in silence with her.
XXXXXXXX
"I told you I was not lying, did I not?" the Empress said. "You got your revenge against the Thousand Sons. Magnus will never again threaten the Imperium. I hear you even took the head of Ahriman himself, Chapter Master."
Grimnar grunted in response. "Fine. You weren't lying. You still owe us two things."
"I have not forgotten, Chapter Master, I assure you," she reassured him. She summoned a dataslate from somewhere in a small white flash, handing it to him. "That dataslate contains all the information you will need to solve the gene-seed problem."
It felt far too light for what it meant, Grimnar thought. "Just like that?"
"You make it sound so trivial. There are over three petabytes of data on that slate, and you will need Tech-Marines and Wolf Priests to look over it."
"Bah. The Wolves have survived this long without it, they can wait a bit longer. Where is the Allfather?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and glaring at her.
"At this moment? He is about to arrive in the Fenris system is approximately 63 days. His ship is currently under attack by Dark Eldar, but the Harlequins will seem him through."
"...So we just sit here on our asses and he'll come to us, is that what you're saying?" Grimnar asked incredulously.
"No, he'll come to you. I will be deep in the Warp at that time, resolving an issue that must be dealt with sooner or later. Now then, do I have your loyalty, or at least, your trust?"
He nodded slowly. "You have my trust, nothing more. You fought by our side like a true wolf, but my loyalty will always be to the Allfather. I suppose I can put in a good word if you need," he grumbled at the end.
"Excellent. I will speak to Russ eventually, mark my words, and I will need your help at that time. I believe that is everything."
"It is."
She stood and inclined her head. "I am thankful for you sacrifice, Great Wolf, and that of your Astartes. It will be difficult for you, I know, to manage with only 250 Astartes where you need a full chapter, but Russ will return soon enough, and your problems will be solved. We will meet again in the future, I know it. Goodbye."
After she left, he sat down and examined the Axe of Morkai. She had taken it after it had been chipped and broken in several places, offering to remove the Khornate sealed inside while making it more potent. He could feel an electric buzz even through his armor, supposedly due to the pristine axe's new ability to permanently hurt or kill daemons and heretics of all sorts, not just psykers.
As he admired the powerful weapon, he wished the Empress of Mankind, his new Empress, the best of luck in sealing the Maelstrom. He didn't doubt she could do it.
XXXXXXXX
"The reports from the captains, my Lady." Andrea handed the dataslate over to her gene-mother, having learned that the Empress could read faster than the files could even be transferred. She was standing behind the Primarch's desk, located in her personal quarters.
The Primarch blazed through the various reports, eyes moving abnormally fast, even with Andrea's new perspective on what was possible for a superhuman body.
"It seems your sisters are doing well after the battle," she said.
"I...suppose so," she weakly replied.
"Do you disagree?"
"No, no! I…" What could she even say? She hadn't been paying them any attention, stewing in her own memories of the dead. If she said no, she'd be contradicting her superiors. If she said yes, she'd be saying something she couldn't comment on.
There was an awkward pause as Andrea realized her primarch had been watching her the whole time she was internally debating herself. "I do not have any opinion on that, my Lady. Forgive me."
"Forgive you for what? Not paying attention to your sisters? That is not a great or even a noticeable offense."
Something must have shown of what Andrea felt at those words because the Empress sighed. Before Andrea could apologize for whatever slight she had given, the Empress stood up and moved towards her bedroom. "Come with me," she commanded.
Andrea hurried through, hearts beating faster and faster as her anxiety grew. Rumors about getting called into the Mother Superior's office to get "disciplined" were passed around jokingly back when she was an orphan…
She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, which contained only a comically undersized bed. It would have fit a guardsman, not an Astartes, let alone a Primarch. She was vaguely surprised the bed didn't collapse when the Empress sat on the edge but chastised herself for mentally insulting the Empress' weight.
"Come here, Andrea. Sit next to me," the Empress said, gesturing beside her. Andrea shuffled over, examining the spot as if looking for something, before gingerly sitting down. Somehow, their combined weight wasn't enough to make it collapse or even bend.
"I'm sorry, mother. I didn't-"
"Hush. I did not call you here to have you apologize. Tell me, Andrea, what has been capturing your attention for so long?" the Empress asked.
Her mind froze at that. The Empress' face revealed nothing of what the expected answer should be, not even if such a thing existed. Was she looking for a sign of possible disloyalty? But Andrea hadn't done anything to even imply it!
She took a deep breath, and simply decided to tell the truth, as awkward as it might be to articulate such an issue. "I...It's just...all of it."
The Empress said nothing, which she took to be a prompt to continue.
"I used to just be another girl who was a bit smarter than my friends. They said I could join the Order of the Holy Word when I was older. I wanted to travel and see the God-Emperor's Imperium and all the planets He possesses. I wanted to pay my respects on Ophelia VII or visit Ultramar to see Lord Guilliman. Or his body, I suppose. Maybe even go to Cadia so I could see what humanity was fighting for. Instead, I am here aboard the Phalanx, being taught how to move and fight faster than any normal human could. I learned to use the strange yet powerful weapons that were thrust into my hands. I learned how to use my new witch powers when I thought I was supposed to fight those who used such evil powers. And just when I thought I could reflect on my lift, I watched my friends die in front of me or found their cold bodies after we had sworn to fight the enemies of man together!"
Andrea slumped over, feeling exhausted.
"Sometimes, I wonder if this is just one long dream. That I might wake up and find out the last year and six months didn't happen, and I am not stuck in a body that my mind tells me is not my own. If that might be true, I don't know whether I want this dream to continue. At the very least, I would not see my friends and sisters butchered!" She realized she was slightly out of breath, but couldn't deny that it felt good to speak to someone about how she felt.
Then she realized exactly who she had spoken to and badly about. "My Empress, I-"
"No. Do not apologize for speaking your mind. I had seen this happening long ago."
Andrea knelt down instantly on the floor, ready to plead for her life. "Please forgive me, mother."
"I told you before, Andrea, you have done nothing to apologize for. Raise your head and come sit here again. I wish to tell you a story."
She slowly obeyed the command, fearful of what might be her sudden death for her disrespect.
"I didn't have as many friends as you do. Only one person, Mehtrya, was my true friend. She was my mentor for advanced sorcery and psychic abilities. She realized how naive I was, how prone to recklessness. She did her best to remove these flaws, but I did not listen as well as I should have. I was more powerful than she ever could be, and that power coupled with a dream that always stayed just barely out of reach blinded me to her advice.
I too had a personal goal in mind like you did, daughter. The Omnissiah whispered to me in my dreams, giving me boundless knowledge, though it was only a fraction of what humanity had known at their peak. I threw myself into rediscovery and invention, creating countless blueprints and relearning the lost scientific principles of our ancestors. With every success, my ego and hubris grew a marginal amount.
Not all was perfect, however, and my foolishness led to an Ork Warboss capturing my latest technology. It was a crisis like none other, for if the Orks learned how to make it, their psychic gestalt would ensure every burgeoning Ork empire would be able to do so, costing countless lives and hundreds of planets. And yet, I still refused to accept the enormity of the situation, believing foolishly that I could engage him on my own terms, at a location and time of my choosing. Again, I ignored Mehtrya's advice.
Father eventually commanded I deal with the Orks, even if I could not understand why he cared in the slightest. With great annoyance, I took my armies and assaulted the planet the Orks were based over."
Her mother smirked, her eyes seeing something long in the past.
"The technology I possessed and my presence on the battlefield allowed for nothing less than annihilation. But I had no plan, no strategy, other than to simply kill the Orks wherever I could find them. It was a pyrrhic victory at best, and a disaster at worse. So many men and women died because the Orks, of all alien races, had better tactics than I did. All those loyal souls…
But I found the Warboss as he tore his way through an armored vehicle column. I taunted him, getting him angry enough to fight me in a duel. I underestimated him completely. He was faster than any Ork I had seen before, and a lucky blow allowed him to knock me backward. Before I knew it, he was above me, ready to eviscerate me with his power klaw. I was frozen; I had never been so vulnerable before. My mind was blank, and I couldn't think.
But along came my foolish friend. Foolish for getting so close to me, for it was her demise. Mehtrya leapt to my defense. She tried valiantly to kill the Warboss, but she was no fighter, and with every second she grew more desperate. I still see her face as the power klaw nears it in my dreams, her knowing smile towards me, as she attempts to say something.
So I know, Andrea, just what it means to lose a friend who you hold dear to your heart. The guilt gnaws at your soul. You ask yourself why you deserve to live when you have done nothing to earn it, why others choose to perish and save you. You see them in every aspect of your life, even those they had no part in, simply because you cannot bear to let them go. Eventually, you are forced to confront their ghosts. Some cannot take the pressure; they become ghosts themselves, leaving this mortal life. Others bury their trauma in alcohol, drugs, or sex. But I hope you avail yourself of the last option."
Her mother slowly wrapped her arms around her, pulling Andrea closer until she was leaning against her.
"Tell me about your friends, Andrea. The dead or living. Let the pain flow out with your words."
As she spoke with occasional sniffles and wet eyes, Andrea did not see the tears flowing only from the Empress' left eye.
--------
Holy crap, this feels like my worst chapter yet. I can't show emotions well or write epic fights. Goddamnit. Anyways, this will be my last post for a while, because I'm training for a job. As always, leave a like and comment.
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- Location
- ' New Eden
Holy fucking crap, that was all I ever wanted and more. You really know how to do those fight scenes. Also, the show of emotion was also really good. It shows that they are actually still kids or at least only in their second or third decade of life.
- Location
- New Zealand
So is this still the case because Wind-Up Citrus's Event Checks post has this after you switched systems but it says otherwise on the character sheet?
Also are perk increases still retroactive?
Will we get an updated perks list after this turn finishes?
You have calculated our perk amount wrong because when we level up on the inventions you added 4 points instead of 5 or 12.
By my calculations which could be wrong we have spent 135 points and if the perk points are retroactive we would have (425 -135)290 or (1020 -135)885 points left.
- Location
- ' New Eden
He already said that we will get it at the end of the turn. I'm just hoping we'll be able to make Alpha's.
Huh, you know, the part about where we are technologically superior but suck at tactics worries me a bit, especially if such an event will happen in canon as well.
Might need to update our tactics around the new technologies we have, such as subspace travel if it can be used as a form of tactical retreat to reduce casualties.
Also might wanna recruit the other Primarchs for the battle, you know, just to be on the safe side, since apparently our Combat might need to be at Divine or something to take the Kork Warboss head on, in which case it's best to just work together with the others to deal with the issue.
Might need to update our tactics around the new technologies we have, such as subspace travel if it can be used as a form of tactical retreat to reduce casualties.
Also might wanna recruit the other Primarchs for the battle, you know, just to be on the safe side, since apparently our Combat might need to be at Divine or something to take the Kork Warboss head on, in which case it's best to just work together with the others to deal with the issue.
- Location
- ' New Eden
That was just an Omake, chill. Of course, we'll get as many Primarchs as we safely can, but then we'll have to launch us at them. Because otherwise it's going to be a real fucking problem.
Lone Courier 6
Devilish Fool
- Location
- United States of Quests
I dunno, this sounds exactly like what we've been, doing...Ignoring them in a combative n
until the last second when we HAVE to exterminate them?
In our case, we're preparing to strike by getting better tech as quickly as possible. We're not ignorant of the threat or arrogant enough to think it doesn't really matter. I wrote that in there for my own plot reasons.
Hm, out of curiosity, do Empress!Seras's stats get updated to the latest canon quest chapter, if not, then does she improve them offscreen, or have the Emperor's memories to compensate for that, such as all her stats getting buffed to Divine upon merging with the remnant of His Soul that sat upon the Throne?
Empress Serras isn't as strong as the Emperor, but she's a specialist in which she's unmatched barring Tzeentch at full concentration. She's much stronger than quest's Serras. You won't see any improvement in power/skill, but she's reached a point where it would take a long time (think millennia) to see any noticeable improvement.
- Location
- Germany
Err... apparently that's an alternate version of Serras. We have several rivalling plans. Just take the one I posted months ago as an example:
It's based on the fact that Rogal gives a massive bonus to any defensive strategy he leads.
We also wouldn't take any of our Eldar allies from Quenya, much less a scholar like Mehtrya, to that battle.
Last time we fought a Waagh in the defense of Therog, it was explicitly mentioned that she stayed back. This won't suddenly change.
Oh, and even if an Ork cut her down, her soulstone would just mean that she'd have to switch to a new body.
- Location
- Grandview
Sadly we have to go in the offensive with the replicator problem.
- Location
- Germany
That's why that plan includes
Ilbgar said long ago that whittling them down wouldn't work since they'd eventually send their two battle moons to wreck us in revenge. I'm simply taking advantage of ork psychology and bait them into attacking a defensive fleet formation led by Rogal and the Phalanx.
Raiseth
I Find Your Lack of Memes Disturbing
- Location
- Russia
Mmm
I dunno if it was discussed, probably yes, but has anyone considered specializing our forces according to their preferred environment?
I mean yes, power armor for everyone and their little dog is going to resolve any environmental hazards short of ludicrously improbable, but the expertise of someone who was born and raised on an ice world is still going to lean towards fighting in cold temperatures.
It would just require to create a sorting algorithm for logistics and deployment corps, consisting of several variables: planet of origin, classification, specialty ( for example, an armor and a recon divisions could be both technically from Valhalla, but while one can take it and dish it out in equal proportion, the other is more suited for, you know, finding where the enemy is and not dying ) and recommended environment.
Then you check the most suited ones versus the nearest ones, costs and benefits of getting a better suited one there first versus getting the nearest one to hold the line while you throw more forces in to follow up.
Emps and Serras can do it with their eyes closed, as do most of Primarchs, but I'm pretty sure they will be otherwise preoccupied to micromanage the whole galactic frontage.
So delegate.
I mean, I know that administrative incompetence is a handwave for why Catachan jungle fighters can feasibly fight with Tyranids on an agricultural world, while Betalis regiments get to stick it to the Orks in the middle of a desert, but we don't need to promote a wargame here, sooooo.
I dunno if it was discussed, probably yes, but has anyone considered specializing our forces according to their preferred environment?
I mean yes, power armor for everyone and their little dog is going to resolve any environmental hazards short of ludicrously improbable, but the expertise of someone who was born and raised on an ice world is still going to lean towards fighting in cold temperatures.
It would just require to create a sorting algorithm for logistics and deployment corps, consisting of several variables: planet of origin, classification, specialty ( for example, an armor and a recon divisions could be both technically from Valhalla, but while one can take it and dish it out in equal proportion, the other is more suited for, you know, finding where the enemy is and not dying ) and recommended environment.
Then you check the most suited ones versus the nearest ones, costs and benefits of getting a better suited one there first versus getting the nearest one to hold the line while you throw more forces in to follow up.
Emps and Serras can do it with their eyes closed, as do most of Primarchs, but I'm pretty sure they will be otherwise preoccupied to micromanage the whole galactic frontage.
So delegate.
I mean, I know that administrative incompetence is a handwave for why Catachan jungle fighters can feasibly fight with Tyranids on an agricultural world, while Betalis regiments get to stick it to the Orks in the middle of a desert, but we don't need to promote a wargame here, sooooo.
- Location
- Germany
Now I'm imagining Remnant battle corgis in power armor...
Honestly that was a pretty grand omake Acerak. Like the battle between Magnus and Serras was definitely felt big, at the very least serviceable.
Thanks. It's hard to show the speed, scale, and level two Primarchs, both powerful psykers to boot, fight at. I had to rework the fight three times because it didn't convince me that they were really showcasing what they could do.
- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
Okay, redid the Magnus Nonsense calculations properly(Lore and Math Informational). The theoretical maximum is a few novemdecillion. I was just doing it wrong. So, Magnus' efforts would be notable! Probably practically tame the Warp under human control.
- Location
- ' New Eden
How much power would Emps gain with a T12 or T13 Rune of Self and Amplification Rune? That should be enormous and it should also give feedback to Hydalein and power her up too, maybe at least. Maybe that is also what Emps thinis, which is why he avoids doing that. I bet he would be powerful enough to win in a punch-out with one Chaos God or at least a mutual kill.
- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
He would, and he does, and he could, which is why Chaos is wary of him. They could win if they all ganged up on him, but he'd probably kill/shatter one of them in return. He is, indeed, fighting Chaos on the Golden Throne. Chaos is too selfish for the kind of self-sacrifice.
- Location
- Germany
Unfortunately, we can't. Emps set Serras a soft limit of 50 new crystal types until turn 22
Further details are in the Crystals informational threadmark.
We decided to spend that quota all at once to get the benefits immediately:
He doesn't care about us upgrading existing crystals, but developing new ones would raise his ire.
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- Location
- Peterborough, NH, USA
A lot of it is that the more concepts she's tied to, the harder killing Hydaelyn would be if she went rogue, and the more difficult it would be to keep her from regenerating. Malice, having bits and pieces of Chaos from each of the Chaos Gods casting bits of themselves off to prevent overmuch self-destructive action(and their followers still blow themselves up to the point the fascist Empyreal Tyrant's main advantage would be a general increase in efficiency, because his nature would supercharge the effectiveness of willing sacrifices to the point sufficient 'heroic' deaths could start spawning Angyls) has similar 'issues' in being contained, since he draws from the same pool as they do, in extremely general terms, and has access to all of their pools, which means he'll pull himself back together like the damned Brethren Moons.
Speaking of Chaos, I have a theory. While Slaanesh crippled the Eldar, it also, paradoxically, strengthened them Asuryan's gift pushed their average up a couple grades, but so did Slaanesh, possibly 3 apiece. See, psychic power is derived from/supplies narrative weight, and making a Chaos God is very important to the universe. Of course, this power-up being linked to Slaanesh doesn't help with their population growth or soul-eating issues.
Something similar would happen with the Empyreal Tyrant, though the end result would still be crippling of their psychic power, between 'natural selection' of the unstable Psykers getting soul-ganked and the narrative weight increase, they'd likely jump 5 grades. Would be 4, but a bunch of Psykers getting soul-ganked would have consequences is canceled out by the general decrease in the Veil's strength. So, if it happened in 30K, the average human would jump to Lambda. 1 in 1 trillion for an Apex, 1 in 100 billion for an Alpha Plus, 1 in 10 billion for an Alpha, one in 1 billion for a Beta, 1 in 100 million for a Gamma, 1 in 10 million for Delta, 1 in 1 million for Epsilon, 1 in 100000 for Zeta, 1 in 10000 for Eta, 1 in 1000 for Theta, 1 in 100 for Iota, 1 in 10 for Kappa. Lambda marks the new average, with people below that mark following the same pattern of a magnitude rarer per rank, down to Pi being psychically neutral. Blanks would have a similar magnitude drop, though they would still be 3 ranks less common at comparative ranks. Astartes of non-psychic Legions get the ranks cut by 10 on the base level, so they'd all be Alphas, as a rule, with the top of the 100K Legion being Apex+++. A psychic Legion would average Alpha Pluses and top out at Apex++++. Magnus' Legion would average Apex and top out at Apex+++++. Of course, any Apex would be under constant Daemonic assault, since 10 quadrillion souls is enough catapult even the weakest Daemon to the level of Skarbrand and the like, and their poor control would likely see them explode or kill themselves in short order.
Of course, in 40K all these magnitudes of rarity would drop one, and a second in 50K. If it happened back when Emps was a barbarian, the average human would only net gain a single magnitude of psychic power (30K-> 12K BC.) to make the average Omicron. Astartes would average Epsilon, Delta, and Beta, respectively, with caps of Alpha Plus, Apex, and Apex Plus, respectively.
Remember that current grades go: 1 in 10 quadrillion (a significant fraction of the current human population) for an Alpha Plus, 1 in 1 quadrillion for an Alpha, one in 100 trillion for a Beta, 1 in 10 trillion for a Gamma, 1 in 1 trillion for Delta, 1 in 100 billion for Epsilon, 1 in 10 billion for Zeta, 1 in 1 billion for Eta, 1 in 100 million for Theta, 1 in 10 million for Iota, 1 in 1 million for Kappa, 1 in 100K for Lambda, 1 in 10K for Mu, 1 in 1K for Nu, 1 in 100 for Xi, 1 in 10 for Omicron, Pi is psychically neutral and marks everyone else. Reduce these magnitudes by 10 for your average Asartes, due to narrative weight 'inflicted' by their connection to Heroes and to their Primarch, and the increased likelihood of minor psykers making it through the process from subconscious biomancy/fate manipulation. Reduce the magnitudes by 11 for Corvus, Curze, Gulliman, Vulkan, Lorgar, Sanguinis, Horus, Serras, Khan, and 12 for Magnus. So, everybody in a Legion will be at least a Zeta, assuming no Blanks of any degree, though Astartes-ness would not agree with them as a general rule. Everybody in a psychic Legion would be at least a Gamma, except Magnus' where they would be at least a Delta(minimum, 1 in 10 would be Beta, etc.). 100K Astartes in a full Legion means that the average max in a normal Legion will be a Alpha. In a psychic Legion, it's a Alpha Plus. In Magnus' it'd be an Apex(though he'd probably explode into Daemons in short order). This is in the current 30K. Drop the magnitudes of rarity by 1 for every 10K years, although Blanks will also increase in number and potency, though they're about 3 magnitudes less common compared to their equivalent in Psyker. Additionally, the 'worth' of a soul to Daemons and in terms of worship/psychic strength corresponds to current soul rarity values.
For perspective, Emps has 'eaten' enough souls to be Apex+++,+++,+++,+++(quadrillions every century for 20K+ years). An Alpha Plus can mind control a system. An Apex can do so to a Sub-Sector. Double the distance in all directions per plus. So, 134,217,728 cubic Sectors could be placed under his direct control, if he did absolutely nothing else. Shut down his Biomancy and didn't have to fight Chaos. Worship and the like providing a significant power boost in 40-50K, as the ET would also have it's Domains to draw on, letting it eat all of Segmentum Solar. Keeping the Astronomicon lit and guiding each individual ship, plus keeping Terra from getting turned inside out by Daemons, plus Chaos directly screwing around with Horus and making the Webway Gate worse, dropped his effective strength by more than 99%. Like, simply Astronomicon-ing the whole galaxy from Terra might not be the strain controlling at all would be, but even 1% of that strain would add up immensely over an ever greater distance.
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Why tho. The chaos gods are comparatively pathetic compared to their orignal purpose. Soilders in and winners the war in heaven. The were the only ones left standing. So that should have had amuch bigger impact. Like slannesh isn't all that big a deal compared to say breaking the krorks.