Warhammer: Tragedy on Ullanor

Karen · Jun 9, 2020

XXII. The Last Fortress

The Eternal Crusader, and the Retribution Fleet

Captain Sigismund stood at the helm of the warship. It had been years since the Imperial Fists sallied from the light of Terra, and, no doubt felt among all his commanders, they ached for the glory of the crusade, especially those who shared his moniker of Templar. They were not fortress-builders, some of these Imperial Fists, they were warriors, conquerors. Hashin Yonnad was of a similar caliber; Fleet Master, the title ill-suited one who had been so stationary for half a decade. The eternal vigil over Terra promised to never end, yet the betrayal, the fighting on Cthonia… as Sigismund looked at the hundred ships under his command, it awakened a wicked fire within him, a passion for a war that he had dread the arrival one, such an unspeakable conflict that even Guilliman placed censure upon his sons to think of it, yet, in these dark times, Dorn had allowed him and Fafnir to openly write the Codice Templar. The treatise itself had been widely digested and accepted by the VII Legion, and those few of the Death Guard who still fought for the Imperium had been inducted into its teachings as well.

Not by choice, of course. The Endurance and what remained of the Death Guard armada was brought to Somnus, a sacrificial lamb to die should things turn sour. Battlefleet Obscurus, Sigismund learned as he moved through the region, had either deserted or was largely deployed in conflicts far across the galaxy, and very few loyalist fleets still operated in the region, many of them being Battlefleet Solar projecting outwards to secure either abandoned supplies or still-operating industrial worlds. Most notable was the raid on Vasalius, which had erupted into chaos after an apparent Astartes raid against the Word Bearer fleet presence there, with rumours reaching Terra that a renegade force of Legiones Astartes had abruptly appeared, slaughtered the Word Bearer garrison, and disappeared as quickly as they came. While the news had been unfortunate to say the least, it tied into the larger scope of information that had been flowing to Terra since consolidation was partially completed. That there were forces loyal to the Imperium rallying and fighting against the traitors, and some victories had been made.

As far as Terra knew, it, and by extent, the VII Legion were alone; Russ had disappeared or died, Sanguinius was trapped, the Khan was being pursued out of imperial space, and the Warmaster was at the very center of the colossal warpstorm that had devoured a quarter of the Imperium in a single sweep. With Ferrus believed to be dead, Dorn's role as Praetorian became as much an official title as it was ceremonial, charged with the overall command of all military forces in Segmentum Solar by the Regent. Dorn had not been quiet on the matter, reinstating a great deal of old mortal officers into positions of command including the famous and gallant Marshal Ireton MaSade, among other members of the old guard, some of the oldest having fought in the trenches of the Unification Wars. MaSade played the role of an advisor, but his personal command of a cohort of Solar Auxilia had been expected, even if the Council of Terra chafed at being overshadowed by an old man.

Of the Imperial Army, the rest of the military remained steadfastly loyal, invigorated by their responsibility in protecting the throneworld, a place that had grown increasingly sacred in these trying times, with many regiments taking up gaps in the line where the Imperial Fists could not hold. Entire regiments were deployed to Jupiter, Pluto, Mercury and Neptune, while many more stood stationed across Terra, while the more durable and versatile Solar Auxilia took command of asteroid gun platforms and stations on moons in conjunction with the Legiones Astartes. With so much of the VII absent, the Imperial Fists' organisation had to be flexible and quick, resulting in mortal soldiers filling the gaps on stationary fortifications. Dorn's sons had a secondary purpose in terms of morale, for the Legiones Astartes, even in these dark times, inspired mortals to stand line-in-line with the sculpted sons of the Praetorian. Rogal Dorn's own presence was that of a steady hand holding up the command staff.

The Retribution Fleet represented Dorn's extent of justice, for when it reached out, it struck with a thunderous applause. The first system to be struck was Fenris, where Sigismund, after reading out an oath of moment pledging to save the planet's inhabitants from the carnage of whatever foul affliction that it had been subjected to, unleashed cyclonic torpedoes on the planet, committing the world to a unwritten judgement though one that already held a name after the Cthonian rebellion; Exterminatus extremis. While mortals may hesitate to enact such a devastating judgement that ends a world, the Imperial Fists, Sigismund especially, held no doubts, and after a prolonged bombardment, the planet was reduced to wasteland, and, employing the use of powerful deep-terrain seismic charges crafted by the Mechanicum, cracked the very crust of the planet, causing the world to simply shatter and die beneath the guns of the Imperial Fists. So was the judgement passed, the sons of Russ be given no quarter. The Fleet departed not long after, with the Lachrymae, Ophelia and Peresphone departing the wider armada upon receiving reports of a significant rebel fleet gathering in orbit of the Martian colony of Trynnect, the three frigates being sent as a vanguard under Sigismund's command. With Hashin Yonnad holding the rest of the fleet to their intended rally point prior to the wider battle, Sigismund found himself fighting short space battles, often against retreating Sons of Horus or Emperor's Children warships that happened to stumble into the VII Legion ships, with the so-called 'Three Sisters of Spite' claiming the lives of a Sons of Horus capital ship. That was, until Sigismund rejoined the fleet on their journey to the Phall system.

Battle at the Phall system; where the Iron Warriors betrayed the Imperium

The first sign of trouble had been a significant amount of communications interference as they approached Phall's solar disk through the Warp, and the sudden silence of Terra, astropaths being unable to pinpoint the location of the throneworld or gauge the direction of Segmentum Solar, leaving the fleet entirely trapped. Yonnad, seeing the potential risk, ordered the fleet to eject from the Warp early and reconvene at the nearest star system, that being Phall. What happened next could not have been predicted. Screaming, through every audio channel, every visual feed turned to raging static as the entire fleet was gripped by some terrible power that caused every ship to suddenly, and violently be wrenched out of the Warp into the orbit of the relatively isolated and uncolonized world. As if caught in a violent storm, the fleet's abrupt departure caused many ships to be obliterated as they rammed one another, unshielded, or were seriously damaged by the immense turmoil scouring the Warp. The Eternal Crusader took heavy damage as it ruptured from the Empyrean, with thousands of mortals being killed in the process as chunks of the ship were sheared off.

With chaos befallen on the fleet, panic ensued as Sigismund's forces quickly moved to try help in the recovery process and reestablish contact, but, upon arriving to the Crusader, found that Yonnad had been killed when one of the great bulkheads collapsed on him as he held it open to allow several hundred officers escape the unstable bridge, with his second-in-command, Alexis Polux, being given control of the fleet by a dying Hashin until Sigismund returned. Upon the Templar's return, all fleet and military commands went to the First Captain, who made a quick effort of reorganising and putting the heavily wounded armada at high alert as he strained to regain contact with Terra. Yet, they found themselves deaf and blind to the currents of communications.

Not far from the location where the Imperial Fists had been violently wrenched from the Warp, a battlefleet of similar size stood in the shadows, with a large battleship protected closely by all her escorts, ranging from commandeered Imperialis Armada ships, to the forces of the Legiones Astartes, more specifically, the XX Legion. On the bridge of the flagship, Alpharius watched as Regulus struck the deal with daemons, fusing the cant of the Mechanicum with the powers of the Warp to inflict a horrific scrapcode attack on the Imperial Fists. His intent, not that many knew, was to kill Regulus to be able to use the weapon on his own terms, but found himself staring at what was more of a series of pacts and agreements, sacrifices made by the Adept that allowed him to deploy such a power against the Imperial Fists. It would be quite the bargain to strike to remove the Adept and still enlist the power of the Dark Gods without simply submitting to them himself.

Yet, that was only part of his plan, as a portion of the fleet, led by a battle barge, detached from the main force. This portion moved stealthily, slipping through the corona of the star, further masking their approach to the Imperial Fists formation which held its ground as Sigismund continued rallying ships that were still inbound and attempting to discern what had happened. It was clear that sabotage was the answer, but the scale and power meant that it was no simple rebel that inflicted it. Weeks later, when the Iron Warriors battle barge Serene Certainty opened fire on the unshielded Hammer of Terra, striking the bridge with torpedoes, killing the captain and crippling the ship, that was when the Imperial Fists learned who their foe was.

The leadership of the fleet had realised that they were effectively encircled by a warp storm and trapped in the Phall system for the time being, with Captain Tyr and a number of others arguing that they should attempt to make a breakout for Terra, while others, like the careful Polux believing that learning the nature of the enemy and fortifying their position may be just as valid of a strategy. Sigismund, ever the headstrong warrior, chose something of a middle-ground, ordering several ships to try brave the storm, while the rest of the fleet remained at high alert as what repairs could be enacted were and a loose formation settled. The VII Legion fleet rallied far slower than desired, with only the three frigates under Sigismund's command being battle-ready at the time, joined shortly after by the Blade of Perdition and Halcyon, with the rest of the Retribution Fleet forming up slowly, many of them too damaged or still undergoing heavy repairs to make any serious navigational adjustments, the Eternal Crusader itself would take hours to bring back to full operation, living Sigismund a sitting target as the Iron Warriors strike came. Shields flared to life and exploded in the same breath as massive explosions ripped across them, the flickering guns of the IV Legion pounding the exposed Retribution Fleet as it scrambled to defend itself. Several cruisers and frigates did eventually manage to form a serious counter-assault and struck back, though the Legate, Lacedemon, and Ardent Protector were lost in the opening shots.

The initial fight proved advantageous to the Fists, who were quick to grip the Iron Warriors' fleet and hold it in place as Captain Tyr led a boarding action on the Serene Certainty, aiming to eliminate the captain as quickly as possible, something Sigismund no doubt would've approved quickly; cut the head off, kill the beast. That was the easiest way to dispatch Iron Warriors as well, removing their tactical oversight and forcing them to improvise their tactical situation at every possible moment. On the bridge of the Serene, however, Tyr faced off against 'Captain Kharden', an Iron Warrior with a reputation for being on the paranoid side of his Legion, making his full on assault with a smaller force against the Imperial Fists rather uncharacteristic. In that moment, the visual feed of the battle barge flared to life, as the words 'I am Alpharius' began to repeat a hundred times. In that moment, chaos truly struck.

Alpha Legion ships, nearly double the amount of the active Imperial Fists vessels appeared in a staggered formation just at the edge of the battle, led by the Alpha, and by extent, the primarch Alpharius himself. The Imperial Fists were truly outnumbered, but with the Eternal Crusader in operation and Sigismund at the helm, they had no intention of withdrawing, something Alpharius knew very well and exploited ruthlessly as battle was met. The Alpha Legion engaged with their usual tactical acumen, striking in a hundred places and pinning damaged Imperial Fist capital ships with squadrons of destroyers and frigates while their capital ships were unleashed on the flanks of the Imperial Fists, the Alpha itself remaining back as Alpharius coordinated the offensive. Casualties jumped again as the VII Legion force that had gone to fight off the Iron Warriors found itself trapped, picked apart slowly, though not without fighting back, as Tyr had managed to hijack the Serene Certainty and turned it on the Alpha Legion, ramming the Harrower, an XX Legion battleship, and boarding it with the full strength of his company.

Similar attacks and defenses followed all over the Phall system as cornered VII Legion, having no desire to remain stranded on already damaged warships often went for a close-quarters assault, ramming XX Legion ships and boarding them with almost every fighting man they had available to them. Captain Polux, meanwhile, assumed his predecessor's role as Fleet Master and coordinated the wider void battle as Sigismund fought off a boarding party against the Eternal Crusader, ordering the Three Sisters to rally to the side of the flagship. The young captain truly demonstrated his worth here, managing to force the Alpha Legion to hold its ground as the characteristically brutal fighting style of the First Company, and the fury of Sigismund that inspired the rest of the Legion to launch aggressive counter-charges against the surprise attack of the Alpha Legion made the XX hesitant to get close, with the initial assault being pushed back into a more steady fleet battle as the two armadas tore at one another.

Imperial Fists lead a boarding action

From his cruiser, the Tribune, Polux watched as Sigismund once again made a move that no doubt embodied his presence, his skill and his glorious legacy as one of the Imperium's champions. The Eternal Crusader flared to life, shuddering forward and through the battle as it moved for the kill, belching rubble from the already immense wounds across her hull as it charged the one target that could decidedly turn the battle; the Alpha, flagship of Alpharius. While many expected him to conduct a boarding in the traditional form of crippling the Alpha and then launching his assault, Sigismund's ship didn't slow down, only building up speed as the massive warship did not relent. Alpharius realised too late that his forces were not needed to repel any sort of boarding action as the Eternal Crusader plowed into the Alpha, locking into one another like two great bulls fighting for control. The ram had been incredibly effective and significant portions of the Alpha Legion battleship were lost, tens of thousands of mortal crew killed, and hundreds of Legiones Astartes lost just in that action as the force behind Sigismund's attack nearly split the Alpha in two. Not long after, the first attack began in waves as landing craft swarmed hangars, boarding torpedoes rapped across the side of the XX Legion ship, and the golden Stormbird, Sigismund's own personal craft, departed for the Alpha. Needless to say, his choice of assault shocked even the enigmatic Alpha Legion as they quickly mobilized to repel the attackers, finding themselves facing some of the best (and most dangerous) warriors the Imperial Fists had to offer, led by the greatest duelist of the modern age. Making brief communication with Polux, Sigismund ordered the captain to surround the Alpha and prepare to make for Terra.

The fighting on the battleship was intense, as the XX Legion were forced to fight like conventional Astartes, though bolstered by a small force of Skitarii against the masters of siege-craft and this kind of close quarters warfare. It proved decidedly difficult to repel the boarders, let alone stop Sigismund, his sword bringing a terrible justice on the Alpha Legion for their betrayal against the Imperium. Fueled in part by the apparent betrayal of the Iron Warriors, many of those who fought on the Alpha were already experienced in inter-legionary warfare from Cthonia, especially against a Legion that prided itself on being able to bleed an enemy white. The Alpha Legion did not shy away from full on assaults, with Alpharius himself leading a sortie towards the deck that Sigismund had departed on. When Primarch and First Captain met, it was no doubt with the anticipation to decide the battle then and there. While Sigismund was a legendary warrior, there was something unearthly about the way primarchs fought, especially ones as elusive and capable as Alpharius, whose Pale Spear only met Sigismund's sword to block his attacks, while any attempts by the First Captain to parry only found himself being wounded, with Alpharius inflicting several heavy blows on Sigismund early on as the two dueled in the midst of a steadily losing battle for the VII Legion. The primarch's cloak made him more of a shimmering after-image, causing further confusion as only the Templar could really match him in speed and combat lethality, and any who tried to intervene were easily killed. The fight soon turned for the worst as the Imperial Fists were forced to begin falling back, with Sigismund giving the order after nearly losing his hand, the last of the chains wrapping his sword to his wrists being shattered by the primarch.

In the void, the Imperial Fists fleet had rallied, using the chaos and confusion created when the Eternal Crusader rammed the Alpha to quickly move to encircle the Alpha Legion flagship, though it was in the midst of battle by this point as the ships of the two legions tore at one another in close range again. Yet, Polux's command remained unflinching, and after leading his 405th Company to board and capture the enemy battle barge Spirit of Cerebellum, evacuating his navigators and astropaths to the battle barge and rallying the fleet. Imperial Fists slowly evacuated off the old Alpha Legion flagship, with Sigismund and his forces being the last to withdraw as Alpharius seemingly drew back himself, allowing the Imperial Fists to flee. Casualties had been incredibly heavy for both sides, supposedly, with the entire Iron Warriors contingent being wiped out and several XX Legion ships being captured or destroyed by the Imperial Fists as they led a fighting retreat as soon as the warp storms had begun to die down. The battle of Phall ended in a whimper, with the Retribution Fleet being heavily blunted but the sheer audacity of the First Captain weakened the Alpha Legion forces, which were far smaller than anticipated, already. But, Alpharius had accomplished all his goals, not that Sigismund knew of it. The Retribution Fleet didn't travel further than the Phall system, but after the XX disappeared, the Death Guard and what forces he could still move in force would quell a rebellion on the planet of Agripinaa, followed shortly by Sigismund and frigate squadron arriving in orbit of the desolate world of Cadia, answering, allegedly, to a distress beacon. To his surprise, it was not the beacon that he found, but the identification of Konrad Curze and a small force of Night Lords apparently stranded on the planet. How they had gotten there after their rimwards campaign towards the Nosferatu system was a mystery, but, somehow, there he was, the Night Haunter.

Horus Lupercal, Shining Star

That was not the only surprise that Dorn received, as a shocked and confused Imperial Fists officer previously stationed to Cthonia stormed into a war council, begging for the primarch's ear. While Dorn no doubt had to reprimand the young officer for his brash breach of discipline, he found out that the officer was a messenger sent by one of his brothers, thought dead, thought gone forever. Horus had returned, that was what the officer said. Horus Lupercal had come alive, emerging from Cthonia and launched a full-blown assault on Port Harrow, crushing the rebels and defeating them with the full might of the Luna Wolves' First Company. The Vengeful Spirit was an image of terror to the loyalists, a sign of the unfiltered might of the Imperium come alive again as picts of Horus' return swarmed the Council of Terra and every propagandist's work.

Lupercal was alive, and with his most loyal and steadfast warriors, he was leading rebellions and assaults against the entirety of the traitors around Cthonia, crushing uprisings and throwing back enemy forces. To Dorn and the Council of Terra, it must have been Horus, commanding the same charismatic presence and authority that the fallen brother once had, but, the darker aspects of Horus had been more exemplified, withholding the nature of his return and simply focusing on the battle at large. Under the Luna Wolves, many rebellions simply surrendered to the reincarnated primarch, his very image sending shockwaves across the Imperium as the Shining Star had come again to bring hope to the galaxy.

No one really wondered why the eyes of the primarch didn't match his reflection.

Sidheach · Jun 9, 2020

Triumph No Matter What

"Emperor. Lion. Kaos. Imperium. We shall triumph no matter what, brother, of that you can be certain."

Alpharius' words rang out in Omegon's ears as he stared out across Port Harrow. Such language was not new for the Hydra, a rejection of both the Imperium and anything else that competed against it was had long become common since Ullanor. He had never known much loyalty to the Imperium, never truly felt that it was something to which he belonged, and Alpharius' words had always reflected it. His role in the Great Crusade was never one of the conqueror, for such would imply that he fought for the Imperium, but that of a happy collaborator. He never took worlds but instead left them for those loyal to the Emperor to pick up after he was finished with them, always taking care to ensure that what was left in his wake was as broken as possible, shattered by a thousand competing schemes carried out for no other reason than the fact that they were possible. The notion, then, that he would show no love for the Imperium or the ones fighting to destroy it should come as no surprise to Omegon and yet...

...and yet his words sat uneasy with him.

It is not that Omegon doubted his brother. Even in his darkest moments, he could not find a fibre of his being that could ever come to question Alpharius. They were as one, two halves of the same whole, and even in those rare moments where he could not fathom the motivations of the Hydra, Omegon did not doubt him. No, this was something different to doubt, something that the Primarch had never truly had to struggle with before. Yet if it was not doubt, then what was it? Disgust? Concern? No. If he did not doubt his brother, then such things did not account for the unease that he felt for without doubt, there was no reason to dispute the reason of Alpharius' assertion. There was logic behind his decision, a truth to his words that Omegon could not deny. They had to triumph, no matter the odds, whether it was the Emperor or the Lion. The victor mattered little so long as they were standing there beside them.

So what was it then? What? What could possibly put him so ill at ease?

Ah yes, Horus.

Of all the other Primarchs, there had only ever been one that Alpharius and Omegon had liked, loved even. It was Horus that had kept them fighting for the Imperium, Horus who had infected them with something approaching loyalty. In life, he had been the tether that had kept the Hydra grounded, that had stopped them from simply spiralling off into the inky blackness of space, never to be seen by the Imperium again. In death, he was a void that the Primarchs could not begin to cope with. Alpharius had sought to divest himself of Horus' memory, to carve it out of his mind and leave himself unbound by the pain it carried. If Horus loved the Imperium, Alpharius would see it destroyed. If Horus prized order, Alpharius would sow chaos. In Ullanor's wake, Alpharius had run from Horus' memory without looking back, his mind turned towards only himself, towards only the Alpha Legion, and it's designs.

But Omegon could not do that. Deep within a part of himself that not even Alpharius could touch, Omegon cherished his memories of his fallen brother yet. He could still remember the way Horus spoke of the Imperium, of the adulation that shone through in his words each time his thoughts drifted towards the Emperor. He could remember the way his eyes seemed to shine in the company of others and the ease with which he endeared himself to Primarchs and Humans alike. The moments where Horus seemed to recognise that he spoke to a different twin, seeing through the lies and deception the Hydra wrought, were memories that Omegon cherished especially deeply. That momentary flash of recognition and imperceptible shift in tone whenever Omegon took Alpharius' place.

Perhaps it was that Alpharius' words demanded a final, definite break with Horus that made him uneasy. Perhaps it was because Omegon was not yet ready to part with those memories, to follow his brother down that bitter path, and put himself above the Imperium that Horus loved so dearly.

Perhaps. Perhaps.

Perhaps that is why he was also so quick to yield to Alpharius' demands. Even if Horus would decry what he did as cruel and morbid, even if he would flinch at what he did, Omegon could not pass up the opportunity to bring those memories back to life. To hold them close for just a little while longer, to see them made reality for just another instant, even if it was in service to darker ends, was too much for Omegon to refuse.

Perhaps.

Yet what Omegon felt, whatever secrets he kept within the darkest recesses of himself, were no longer of any concern.

All that mattered now was the plan and that he carried out his end of the bargain.

All that mattered now was that Omegon did his part and ensured that the memory of Horus Lupercal did not die just yet.

---

Horus Omegon

triumph8w · Jun 9, 2020

Emotion was everything to the members of the Prince's Host these days, especially to the Emperors Children.

In the dark days of the Nosferatu Crusade, at its very end, they had learned of the beauty of it. Of the freedom it entailed, to feel everything, to cast away the rigid discipline that stifled them. To be, in a way, human. More than they as blades of the Emperor had ever allowed to have. No more chasing perfection, for they have already found it. No more fighting for a tyrant who would shackle their freedom, and have them be blind and leashed once again.

It has granted them glorious release.

To feel, to be alive, it is a truly beautiful thing.

So when Fulgrim received news about Horus Lupercals return, at the tail end of yet another taunting message to the Khan, he did not react with the control the master of the 3rd used to be known for. His eyes widened, those purple pools showing utter shock. The smirk that seemed ever present on his face since the rebellion started having faded away, slacking into open mouthed disbelief.

His hands, terrifyingly enough, took the evidence presented before him. And he watched in dumbfounded silence as Horus, dear, sweet, precious Horus, battled once more. His mace cast aside the seas as it swung, rending tanks and mortals apart like it was no more difficult than the parting of the sea. The Talon glinted in the sun as Horus laughed alongside some joke, his smile-his smile!- lighting up the room. At his back stood the Luna Wolves, proud once more, and the Phoenixes own breastplate felt like mockery. Not even the fun kind, but cold and curdling, the own wolfs head on his breast felt like a pale imitation of a lost child, trying and failing to copy a brother that never could be replaced.

Massed formations simply gave in when he spoke, as they should for who could not when he spoke, and he-as usual- effortlessly conquered the enemy with but a few words and utterly precise strikes. He was Horus. He was....he was...

Alive.

He was alive.

But...how...

....how?

H-He had hid, while the Imperium fell apart. And there was no other who could grant such an act with no repercussions, who could even convince the Shining Star that he needed to stay hidden, to let his brothers think he was dead, than the Emperor. The Empeor. That two-faced lizard, that utter bastard, the fool who lies and who lies and who lies. All for his damnable ambitions!

Rage of the likes he had never felt before boiled up within the Phoenicians soul. Dark and terrible, it burned through him like a horrid wildfire, something that should be stopped, that he wanted to stop, but could not even hope to. All that he had done, in the thought that Horus was dead, all that had been cast aside, all the mire he had waded threw, all of the freedom he had found now tasted like ash in his mouth.

He had started them right in the eyes, and told them Horus was dead. He started them right in the eyes, as he told them to forget. He had sent so many of them careening down their paths with those simple words. Had caused his reunion with Konrad, and the terrible betrayal that had followed, Ferrus, Lorgar, it-they, this...

All of it was because the Emperor could not stand to treat his sons as anything other than tools.

It was with a surprised daze that Fulgrim looked around the bridge of the Pride of the Emperor, the walls, while usually covered in blood and some clashing paint, was absolutely soaked by it. He noted that he, too, was utterly covered in blood, and the mangled corpses of mortals were everywhere. Stuck in the walls, the ceiling, all over the floor, rendered nothing more than vaguely recognizable pulps. He could see the one that had presented the news, and the evidence, to him. His head was non-existent, simply rendered into nothing by the force of a manic primarch and sent sliding across the room.

There were not causalities within his sons, the only ones that were in the room were his Phoenix Guard. They stood cautiously, and loyally, off the side, not quite knowing what to make off this new development. Yet he could see it distantly in their movements that they, too, were receiving the news. He walked slowly towards the fallen datapad, like a man who was wading through waist-high muck. Boots creating patterns on the slippery, bloody floor.

He daintily picked it up and stared unto the face of Horus Lupercal once more. One of his most treasured brothers, one who he thought dead, had to be dead, didn't he, didn-

Fulgrim of Chemos, the Phoenician, once one of the Imperiums most beloved sons and now one of its most reviled tipped his head back and screamed. It was the scream of a man who had been betrayed once again by a person he thought he no longer cared about, in a way that was wholly and heartrendingly unexpected, with a brother thought dead, hidden away for some damnable, twisted purpose.

The Phoenix bled once more.

Crilltic · Jun 9, 2020

Iron Blood
The Ruinstorm

Perturabo sat alone on the bridge of the Iron Blood.

He was motionless, his arms cross in front of his face, save for a faint vein pulsing on his temple and the occasional twitch of his closed eyes.

For Perturabo had seen many things. He had seen a star die, as the rigid material laws that suffered its existence snapped their own necks in confusion and anguish. He had seen space eat itself, as reality sputtered and died all around him. As the material world broke itself open to let the immaterial hold sway. The cold equations he had followed all his life snapping open as they divided themselves by zero in a maddening stream of endless recursion. The Ruinstorm sweeping all away in its path, he had felt the thoughtless tide of destruction and malevolence as pure and potent as sunshine upon his skin.

Perturabo had seen it all, until now he saw nothing at all, and for the second time Perturabo felt utterly blind. The first had been the choking blindness of self-delusion and ignorance, and that had been painful enough. The comforting lies being stripped away, and replace with the cold truth of reality, as he had beheld what he had wrought.

This was not that blindness. This was the blindness of staring into the sun for too long, of burnt corneas and jagged visions. There was no truth here, only the splitting pain of a sight beyond sight ripped away. For the first time in his life, Perturabo could not see the baleful eye watching him from above staring down on him in malignent judgement. But its absence brought no relief, only the splitting pain of phantom nails scratching across his eyes.

And so Perturabo sat upon the command throne. His iron intellect still calculating, but lashed by pain and emotion. He could still feel the sting of Lorgar's words, taunting him through the aether, the grinding of nails into his psyche from the death of worlds. He could not help but draw out and analyze each of those pains, and he could feel the rage and the hatred lapping at the corners of his mind. It pressed against the iron bars of his will, beneath his emotionless face, he wanted to scream and lash out at something.

But he would not. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. Not again. He would show them. They should not have left him alive. He sucked in a breath and whispered out a mantra. A ward against the pain.

Iron Within. Iron Without.

He would show them the Iron Warriors did not have feet of clay.

Sidheach · Jun 10, 2020

The Luna Wolves
Horus Omegon

---

Above Cthonia, Horus Omegon has resurrected the Luna Wolves after the Galaxy (rightfully) believed the Primarch to be dead after the Tragedy on Ullanor. With 25,000 Alpha Legionnaires at his command - each one handpicked by Horus Omegon and his right-hand, Abaddon Arkos - the task of refashioning the Hydra into a perfect facsimile of the Luna Wolves has been a painful one. Whilst the Alpha Legion was capable of fighting in pitched battle, as Alpharius proved at Phall, it was a far cry from the sheer ferocity displayed by the original Luna Wolves. To that end, new Companies have been fashioned, ranging from 500 Astartes to 900, new formations raised, and the Alpha Legion's ever expanding stockpile of arms and armour stripped from the other Legions put to use in equipping the re-founded Luna Wolves.

Restructuring themselves around the hallow Speartip, the Luna Wolves have repurposed the flexibility of the Alpha Legion in service to the tactical quirks once displayed by Horus Lupercal. Rapid assault has thus became the word of the day for the Luna Wolves, an emphasis on shock and awe and overwhelming power to end battles in an instant and avoid protracted campaigns. Though units that specialise in subterfuge remain, they now answer directly to Horus Omegon and primarily exist to root out threats to the Luna Wolves and ensure that the illusion is maintained for the sake of the Imperium.

As part of his decision to wholly embrace the Primarch he now mirrors, Horus Omegon has also reformed the Mournival. Of the original members who once advised Horus Lupercal, only a copy of Ezekyle Abaddon, Abaddon Arkos, exists in the newly re-founded Luna Wolves to take up a spot on the Mournival. In the stead of such notables as Torik Torgaddon, Horus Omegon has instead elevated three of his most trusted sons - each one chosen for their unswerving loyalty to Omegon over Alpharius - to the hallowed ranks of the Mournival. Vipus Dargaddon, Severan, and Yarik Saridae, whose original names have since been erased from existence, have thus taken up spots beside Horus Omegon and have joined Abaddon Arkos in advising him in his ongoing campaign to strengthen the Imperium and ensure the continuation of the civil war until Alpharius deems it time to draw it to a close.

---

The Mournival of Horus Omegon

Mortis Nuntius · Jun 12, 2020

Night Lord Reorg V.2.2

The VIII is a legion of ghosts. Where once thirty thousand Astartes basked in infamy, now a mere thousand sons of Konrad remain true to him. Now shorn of the ill fitting trappings of the Imperium and consequently at great risk of temptation to the ruinous powers crafting a new identity has never been more vital, they must build bonds of loyalty and self reliance capable of resisting any nefarious power and allowing them to stand proud in this new era of darkness. But with danger comes opportunity; they for the first time can craft a legion from the ground up, an implement to fufil the purpose they have chosen for themselves.

The Night Lords are no longer organised into Houses or companies. Instead the basic unit is a Cabal of ten marines. Each one led by a Juratus, hand picked for their ferocity, intelligence, courage and devotion. Although certain Cabals have specialist roles and familiar uses they can be combined in any necessary fashion and their strength is their individuality, their mobility, their ferocity and how they thrive on chaos and confusion striking like lightning with terrifying precision before disappearing as fast as they had appeared. These are no mere nomads turned jet bike gangers like the White Scars however, their speed is a means to an end. To strike terror into the hearts of their foes and deliver horrifying amounts of violence at close quarters,

These are Overseen by the Haranguer, never again shall treason and deceit turn the legion against itself. These champions of justice are picked for their conviction. Night Lord is loyal to nothing except perhaps nothing itself as a concept. These Astartes are at the forefront of changing that, speaking with passion, supported by rembrancers and adopted mortals, they remember the dead, promise almost divine retribution, spread tales of our victories and pour scorn and hatred for the traitors and criminal alike into the heart of the Night Lords. They offer spiritual guidance similar to a Chaplain but also serve as provcators, commissars and in battle can often be seen chanting the names of fallen brothers and citizens of the Imperium and calling upon their brothers to unleash a black fury upon the foe.

Frumentarii, these 'secret sons' are dotted around the legion have the soul purpose of keeping its Primarch informed on the goings on among his sons and warning him of plots.

These structural changes go hand in hand with less visible but vital spiritual and cultural changes. The Night Lords are servants of justice, a cruel and uncompromising kind of justice but justice none the less. They fight an endless and personal crusade against evil, corruption and criminality beyond mere service to the Imperium which they see as a barely useful bulwark against the Primordial Annihilator and its quest to dominate every soul in the galaxy. Theirs is a thankless, lonely and eternal endeavor to defend mankind against itself as much against the external threats that would bring it low. Their past crimes and failures weigh heavily upon them and so in concert with their Genefather and the Haranguer the Astartes of the Eight wage an internal crusade, relentlessly questioning their own natures, their methods, their ideals. Only through struggle within can they find victory without and their endless mission is to assay the good within themselves like gold in a furnace and emerge stronger for it. This self reflection and judgment is painful, difficult and leaves its marks on the soul. So much so they begin to share a certain aspect in common with the Templars that they fight alongside with, a zealous fury at the universe, they judge themselves harsher than anyone and so they fight their war against injustice with a terrifying passion, so much so even Konrad himself has become perturbed by the implications and so laid down the Laws of the Night Lords.

Every person, however outwardly noble, possesses in their heart a capacity for evil, a capability to fail, the chance to fall. The only defence is eternal vigilance and scrutiny, self reflection, external censure and refusal to hide from painful truths. Every Night Lord must know their own heart and do battle with it.

No one is above the Law, Noble or Serf, all shall be judged. But a serf who steals bread to save their family holds less guilt than a noble whose actions ensure there is no bread for the starving. A hungry man can be fed and led back to justice, they must be punished but not abandoned.

Redemption is possible, desired and an ongoing process. The painful death of a traitor astartes is a victory, a mortal accepting justice and bettering themselves is a triumph. Anyone below the age of twelve is a target of redemption, not retribution. Any soul that truly repents shall be allowed to save themselves...though a saved soul does not mean an unpunished body.

Such tenants are clumsy, half formed, and difficult indeed for a Night Lord to master, but they are the first true effort in centuries to reconcile the contradictions of the Night Lord creed, that a hopeless endless struggle is all the galaxy has to offer, and that justice must be fought for by any means. Their understanding of justice is evolving, but the first tentative steps are being taken to find it.

Karen · Jun 12, 2020

XXIII. Know No Fear

The Everchosen and his Inner Circle

On the command bridge of the Invincible Reason, a council gathered. Numbering in the dozen, it represented or spoke for all the traitors who had abandoned the cause of the Imperium and sided with the Everchosen, who carry the banner of the octed into battle with darkness on their hearts and a foul tongue of eldritch power on their lips. They had declared themselves free of the prison of authority or law, unbound by the will of the Emperor, yet, in their hubris, they had made themselves slaves to darkness. The Lion, Everchosen among them all, stood aloof, clad in his new Kingsmail, the Lion Sword glinting with wicked malice as it sat across his lap. It was no secret that the Everchosen had been far more than willing to embrace the gifts of Chaos, the weary look across his face and the power that seemed to burn from him said as much. Many of his sons had fallen further, shaping their armour with the fel powers of the warp to match as such. While they had not known it then, this was the opening step of the conflict that would be the Long War, that the age of decay and dissolution of the Imperium had begun in earnest upon the decks of the Invincible Reason.

The battleship was still badly mauled, the Conqueror having crippled it with Angron's final defiant charge, forcing the Lion to secure a new flagship, and with Maloghurst pulling some strings, a dark tribute indeed would be given to the primarch of the Dark Angels; the Magna Tyrannis. The Magna not served with the Luna Wolves long, being launched only just before Ullanor, and as a result only saw fighting there, taking minor damage as it was largely held in reserve, serving as a command centre for the second half of the Luna Wolves legion, coordinating assaults from orbit as Horus battled his way through throngs of greenskins. The fact this ship was relatively new by comparison of the rest of the fleet made a huge difference; despite the relative period of stagnation in shipbuilding due to scale, it carried some of the best navigational and weapons systems the Imperium had on offer, making it one of the deadliest, and by extent, maintenance-heavy ships in the traitor armada.

Yet, it served its purpose. Sprawling lower levels allowed for the construction of wide dungeon and ritual sites for the Magna Tyrannis and her escorts to conduct while on the move, along with carrying enough supplies for mortal forces to last a near decade-long campaign across the stars. The Lion, having gathered his Legion, the Firstborn and a number of traitor titan formations along with the bulk of Imperial Army renegades had mustered at Saramanth, assembling a warfleet that intended to strike for Terra. The Dark Angels fleet arrayed well over one hundred capital ships, including vessels captured from the Salamanders, Iron Hands, Ultramarines and Iron Warriors, most notably the battle-barge Samothrace, which served as Guilliman's flagship in the absence of Macragge's Honour. Yet, the Everchosen of Chaos was not done here, not by a wide margin. One more enemy lay in the fringes, one that neither Lorgar nor Angron, nor any other of his erstwhile brothers could eliminate, no, this one, was his.

It was the start of a new cycle in the Pavonis system, the industrial world that was the solar ring's largest and most dominant world had awakened slowly. It was an odd day to be Governor Asten Fonrouth, an odd day indeed. He had been a soldier, once, given Pavonis at the height of his career as a general to govern and establish as a well-adjusted colony to imperial law, and he had done just that. With the aid of the Mechanicum and a small force of V Legion, he exterminated the Greenskin presence in the system entirely and defeated the Pavonian Free Territory, a small single-world polity that held a portion of Pavonis I as the foundation to some attempted stellar regime. In their tribute, the character of five would be present on all soldiers volunteering from the planet, along with an old Star Hunter ship, Deference for Darkness, being brought to the surface to serve as a tomb for the 18th Pioneer Company, under Captain Daumas. It was the last relic of the Legion prior to their conversion to the traditions of Jaghatai Khan and Chogoris, protected by Guilliman's influence to preserve the proud traditions of a force that had been disavowed so long ago, yet had made such a huge impact on the Imperium as a whole.

Fonrouth often found himself in the Deference, looking at the now-centuries old power armour of the Star Hunters, painted in camouflage, or not at all, and wondering if the Legiones Astartes ever regretted simply being tools for war. He was never brave enough to ask, let alone the few times the Legions came to Pavonis it was as a resupply point, with the last time being nearly ten years ago when Vulkan brought his warships to anchor over Pavonis II, spending several days feasting and celebrating with those the Legions call mortals. It shocked him to his core that it would be the Legiones Astartes to strike the banners of rebellion and tear up the Imperium. He kept Pavonis loyal, of course, deploying Arbites to combat sporadic rioting and secure control of the Magna Hive's food and power sources. Every day had been occupied with paperwork and attempting to reestablish communications with Terra, Macragge, or any other major imperial installation in the Segmentum Ultima, all to no avail. Until the Ultramarines arrived.

Identifying themselves as the 85th Expeditionary Fleet, under the command of Chapter Master Marius Gage, a force thousands strong worth of Ultramarines had limped into the sector where the Pavonis system is situated, heavy battle damage telling the story before Gage even could. That had been months ago, and the Ruling Council, Lord Marshal included, were stunned to hear of what had happened, of the madness that gripped the XIII Legion, and Gage's genuine fear that Ultramar was lost. The First Master, as his honorary title went, spoke at lengths of how any of his Legionaries born in the Five Hundred Worlds would wake up in fits of rage and madness, tearing at themselves or attacking other Astartes sporadically. They had been in the middle of a campaign against a Greenskin force already, and with hundreds of his warriors rendered unfit for service he had been forced to begin a costly withdrawal which meant more losses. Those already serving on the front lines would devolve into frothing madmen, charging lines like World Eaters and oftentimes getting slaughtered. Only the Terran-born weren't affected, though no Librarians survived the entire madness.

Following the retreat, Gage recalled the horror of watching entire ship crews turn to that darkness, turning on him, sometimes shooting at them and then retreating, or attempting to ram his flagship. It was a sensation of helplessness as it seemed nothing could be done, not in the Apothecarian, not in the Librarius, to cure whatever ailment had struck his fleet. Fearing that it may be contagious, Gage quarantined the fleet, securing them just on the outskirts of the Vara'kesh Nebula just on the outskirts of the Pavonis system, turning all his sensor and communication systems towards Ultramar. The words 'Guilliman is dead, the Lion burns the Five Hundred' only came to him months after the destruction took hold. Hundreds more attempted to desert, capturing ships and launching mutiny after mutiny to try to make for Ultramar, yet, with the Astronomican dark, it was only with manual navigation and calculation could the fleet move with any semblance. It didn't stop some of his captains from trying. Others outright rebelled, starting with petty assassination attempts to a full blown battle across his ship. By the time it was done, casualties stretched well past the hundreds, with Chapter Master Antoli of the 13th Chapter having led the initial mutiny against Gage in an attempt to coup him.

By the time Ultramar had burned and the Ruinstorm clouded the system, Gage had managed to charter a course which took them through the Pavonis system and towards the colony of Orizus, intending to rally with other loyalist forces in the hopes of stopping the Lion's treachery. Gage never had a chance to even reach Orizus before his fleet was caught in a warp storm, stranding them in the sector and forcing him to turn back. He arrived at Pavonis broken and beaten, but not bent, the First Master had been a massive support to the people of Pavonis, for the presence of the XIII inspired spirited defiance and loyalty to a fault. Overall, the population had become more invigorated under the presumed safety of the Ultramarines.

Marius Gage, First Master

Fonrouth found Gage in the Deference, staring at the grey ceramite of Captain Daumas, painted over still with the black streaks that hid him in the industrial wasteland of the Ork colony in the system. Marius turned to him, his brow creased, his armour polished to a new sheen, yet the marks where bolter rounds struck could not be bent back out, dark pits where once the flawless metal guarded him.

"It is not often that I find myself doubting my brother-legions… yet the pioneers of the Fifth serve as an inspiration for a Legion with no liege." Marius said, the rasp to his voice betraying his age, how worn down the Chapter Master had become in the days since the start of the Crusade.

Asten nodded. "Though I never met them, the story of the Star Hunters is revered for their tenacity to go beyond the boundaries of the Imperium. It is said dozens of such formations simply disappeared into the dark, never to see the Khan, or Terra, again." The governor shrugged. "My wife uses it as a cautionary tale that one's ambition may overthrow reason."

The Astartes turned. "And what about you, governor, what do you think?"

Again, a shrug, huffing slightly as the bones in his back seemed to ache a lot more in recent days. "I went where I was told for most of my life as a soldier. Now, my role is to think of what is best for my people, and is not often my meditation goes beyond that."

Marius' features softened, somewhat. "It is certainly unique to seek the company of the dead for wisdom. I believe our primitive ancestors once did the same, invoking the spirits of their kin for insight."

Fonrouth let out a barking laugh, followed by a fit of coughing as he gathered himself, his feet already hurting. Walking over to a stool he had brought years ago, he sat down, setting his cane aside. "Perhaps you're right, Lord Marius, perhaps I am asking the wrong crowd."

"Perhaps. Or the dead who didn't get a chance to see all of this may be the best source of knowledge after all."

Asten gazed at a pocket watch, before glancing briefly at Marius' pauldron. The symbol of the Ultramarines had been worn off, a great gash where a chainsword had caught his shoulder still having the thin traces of white paint. He recalled an officer's class where his tutor revealed the symbol's meaning to trace all the way to ancient Europa, allegedly labelled as the symbol of virtue and vice by a scholar. His name slipped from his mind.

Marius didn't notice the sidelong glance, instead turning back to the armour of Captain Daumas. "My lord is dead. My legion is in ruins, and Ultramar burns. I am the last commander of my Legion that has not turned to madness. A soldier with no captain, a knight with no king, a priest without a god."

The governor couldn't quite understand it, but motioned to the raptor imperialis stamped on his uniform. "The Emperor protects, Lord Gage, He is a father to us all, a man who transcended his limitations to try become something better. In his wake, we as humans struggled to keep up, and that brought the downfall of the Imperium, the same foundations we built came crashing down. Ironic, isn't it?" Asten chuckled again, the coughing was less intense.

Gage shook his head, but his eyes flickered with acknowledgement. "I am certain the Imperium still stands, that Terra does not burn. If the Lion is here, then the rebellion may still be put down. That a primarch would rebel… that one of my subordinates had sent a sergeant to Macragge for judgement for proposing theoreticals in warfare against other Legiones Astartes. There is a cruel irony, for sure, governor." He turned, his cloak drifting slightly, battered power armour humming with life as he strode towards the doorway and out of the ship.

"Let us hope that is the last cruel joke of today, then." Fonrouth chuckled.

When the Dark Angels fleet arrived in full force in orbit of Pavonis, staring down the wounded Ultramarines fleet, it was no surprise that the people rallied first. While the XIII had been battle-ready for some weeks now, gathering their forces and making what effective repairs they could to launch into an offensive against the traitors, they hadn't expected such an immediate assault and found themselves on the back foot, with Gage and most officers on the planet itself, leaving Shipmaster Ronader to hold the line as he rallied the fleet. The PDF didn't shy away, surprisingly, with what few Pavonian ships that could be spared for war, ranging from small gunboats to a cruiser sallying forward to join the Ultramarines fleet as they battled relentlessly just on the outskirts of the system.

Gage soon joined the fleet, taking command of the frigate Hypheaus in a desperate riposte, launching an assault with what few 1st Chapter veterans remained with the strict command to assassinate the Lion. The rest of the fleet tore its way towards the outskirts of the system, luring the enemy from Pavonis in the hopes of sparing it. It worked, for the most part, and the Dark Angels had completely ignored the planet, with Fonrouth enacting emergency protocol and sending most of his people to the lower levels of the various hives, well aware of the potential devastation unleashed by orbital bombardment. Pavonis was not defenceless, however, being an industrial world that produced weapons for the imperial warfront it was quick to mobilize tanks and several regiments' worth of Imperial Army to serve as a strategic reserve should the XIII Legion need it.

Marius, to his credit, made his death painful for the I Legion. Rallying his forces on the Magna Tyrannis' upper decks where the majority of the cluster of launched boarding torpedoes struck, he hit the various gun decks, turning on the point defense systems and allowing a squadron of bombers to hit the ship's command bridge. At least, before the Lion set upon them. With his retinue in tow, including the enigmatic Cypher, the Lion had stormed the gallery where Gage's headquarters had been set up, the light of the Hypheaus' death to amassed fire illuminating the entire section of the ship in plasma. The battle was brief, because no one could truly stand to the Lion, who simply slaughtered his way through every Ultramarine that threw themselves in between him and Marius, before he cut Gage's hand off with a clean sweep of his sword, before cutting his head off, ending the First Master in a fashion that was considerably less than spectacular.

The remnants of the XIII fleet there quickly dispersed or were captured, with the majority of Astartes wiped out while several hundred were used as sacrifices or hauled onto a prison barque and sent to Fabius Bile's laboratories. Fonrouth surrendered willingly, and was spared, as was his world, but now their guns and manpower fought for the Lion. Similar events happened all the way from Pavonis through every world conquered by the Ultramarines in the region, subjugation and reconquest as the Lion made his way across towards Terra. The Dark Angels made a point of being lenient with worlds that declared support for the Lion preemptively, or worlds that had been in a state of civil war already, allowing them to simply wipe one another out rather than secure the planet, save any with strategic value, such as Auretia, Trabizon and Krieg.

In the wake of the Lion's destruction of imperial rule in the region, many smaller polities carved out a sanctuary of neutrality or hostility against the law of the Imperium of Man. Areas that had once been held by the various pirate-realms of the Andronican arm fell especially quickly back to the debauchery and degeneracy. Many more worlds simply seceded and remained neutral, while others, like Heligo or Schidelgheist, were held by the Iron Warriors. The forge world of Kasterbix which had a staunch Martian culture, surprisingly, refused the Fabricator-General's treason, fortifying themselves against the Lion and being placed under siege under the command of Belath for their troubles. This was not the Lion's target, however.

The war reaches Gryphonne, and the God-Machines go to War

As one of the most wealthy and independent regions in the Imperium. The Gryphonne system holds a vast reserve of military and strategic potential, including the potential hold of a forge world capable of producing the vast engines of the Collegia Titanica, enshrined by the mighty Legio Gryphonnicus. More than a hundred Gryphonnicus engines walked across the stars, battling in the name of the Imperium with zeal and martial pride. One of the successful Martian colonies, Gryphonne was certainly an appealing prize, and the Lion had no intention of allowing it to stay afloat. Legio Gryphonnicus was loyal, and steadfastly so, refusing to bow to the Lion at Nuceria and supported Angron's counter-attack in what limited capacity they could, fighting the I Legion in the void and on the surface of the planet, losing most of their titans as they were simply trapped in their conveyors, blown apart by Dark Angels ships and looted. Some of their machines were gifted to Legio Krytos, the God Breakers, aptly named, for they would serve as the hammer to the anvil of the I Legion.

Launching his invasion in earnest following a massed void battle against forces of the IV Legion and the Legio Gryphonnicus, the Legio Krytos would be deployed with a massed assault of Dark Mechanicum and Dark Angels, followed by billions of mortals being deployed in bulk haulers on top of the primary forge temple of Gryphonne IV. Many of them died, so many that blood rained from the skies for days, but it was enough destruction to allow the Lion to unleash the daemon Ka'Bandha and hordes of Khorne's most powerful daemons on the unsuspecting loyalists. Not long after, the I Legion joined the assault, and the entire Gryphonne system burned in the unlight of a growing warp rift crafted by the greater daemon, intent on swallowing the entire forge world.

On the surface, the god-machines battled, with the Legio Gryphonnicus rallying to defend their homeworld while Legio Krytos and Legio Mortis hounded them, while Dark Mechanicum unleashed corrupted Taghmata in droves to join the grim war. The skies turned black and the stars were simply blocked out in the ashes of war as the first gate towards Terra was struck by the battering ram of the traitor armada.

Karen · Jun 16, 2020

XXIV. A Porous Battlefront

Soldiers of the 32nd Artillery Army, originally part of the 1,408th Expedition Fleet

On the distant worlds of Segmentum Pacificus, not yet properly settled by imperial authorities nor organised into the colonial model that the Administratum had deemed most effective to prepare these worlds for the stresses of the ever-demanding, growing Imperium, the war had been far more mobile for the time being. Malagant was such a world, only recently brought to compliance following the rapid expansion into the region by the Death Guard, and here, the 1,408th Expedition Fleet fought against the assault known as the Gedreggus Offensive, named after Alastair Gedreggus, governor of Antioch and self-appointed Lord-Commander of all traitor forces in the region. Among hundreds of other warlords and renegades who had taken up arms in the name of the Lion, Gedreggus was member of a Terran old guard: Aristocratic officers who despised the civilian council and believed in the purity of the military man. His desire for the 'eternal war' drove him to take the 41st Imperial Shock Army, a formation entirely dedicated to ruthless mass assaults that overwhelmed enemy positions with tanks and air support. Such a devastating formation, equipped with freshly built artillery guns, tanks and aerial supremacy craft provided to them by the Dark Mechanicum made for a potent force that was easily capable of pinning down the few Astartes formations scattered in the region. Malagant, a relatively minor industrial colony intended to be slated for rapid development due to it being rich in resources and having a robust native labour force was a valued prize and one the traitors sought to acquire as the 1,408th Expedition Fleet was surrounded and attacked by Gedreggus' right hand man, Dirian Asteloq, who also happened to command the knightly house of Asteloq. The overall strategy had been a grand, three-way offensive, striking at the homeworlds of two primarchs and the hive world of Necromunda, intent on opening a route to Terra for the bulk of the traitor Army and Legiones Astartes coming from Ultramar.

While Kiavahr fell to internal politicking and the tactical assault of the Dark Mechanicum which provoked a major rebellion that isolated the XIX Legion, preventing them from launching a counter-assault, Barbarus' outer system soon became a nightmarish maze of fortified asteroid bases and moons where the Death Guard, under the command of Siegemaster Vorx and Battle-Captain Nathaniel Garro held their line against the traitor speartip. Mortarion's arrival ejected them out of the system and stalled the advance in the south, preventing the traitors from linking up with the Lion's impending assault on the Gryphonne system. The assault on Necromunda collapsed in a spectacular fashion as well, as the traitor fleet forces stationed in the region could not break through the Solar Fleet, with Captain Fafnir Rann personally leading a counter assault that threw the traitor fleet back at Harvest and Inwit, while additional Imperial Army formations were rapidly pulled from quieter fronts near the Maelstrom towards the region by Imperial High Command. With the initial shock of the war having settled, fighting non-significant battles had fallen to the hands of the Army, with Legiones Astartes being prioritized in areas where a serious breakthrough could be made. In the slow decay of the southern front, such a breakthrough was not possible for the time being as both sides held together in an altogether sparse territory of imperial space.

Thousand Sons on Zhao-Arkadd

On the homeworld of Legio Xestobiax, the Thousand Sons under Captain Menes Kalliston held firmly against the Dark Mechanicum assault, spearheaded by the traitor titan Legio Argentum, with the 4th Fellowship and Xestobiax being the one thing holding back a traitor breakthrough at first. Fighting on the planet had been difficult, as with only a small portion of the XV Legion's heavy weapons due to expediency, Kalliston relied on ambush and destroyer tactics, launching raids and preventing a cohesive foothold being made by the Dark Mechanicum. It was expected that they wouldn't be able to send a large enough forge to cover any foothold the Mechanicum would gain and as a result, much of the fleet was committed to constant harassment duty, though the battle was starting to run Captain Menes' forces thin, but he intended to bleed the traitors till the end of days.

Ahriman's arrival changed the situation rather drastically as the Legion Master, combined with the bulk of his Legion, the Spireguard, and the Legio Xestobiax forces stationed on his fleet, not on Prospero. The Prosperine relief force arrived suddenly and unexpectedly, rallying the wounded forces already present there and throwing into the void war before it could truly be finished. Ahriman, joining forces with the rest of the Corvidae, ensured that no surprises awaited them as the XV Legion threw itself into the battle, the additional guns brought by the majority of the Legion made short work of the traitor fleet and what forces could make a landfall were destroyed in short order by a series of orbital bombardments. The traitors hadn't been kind to the planet's surface, unleashing Life-Eater bombs that made the jungles borderline uninhabitable. While the traitors couldn't be utterly destroyed in the brief void battle, they were thrown back, forcing a southern retreat towards the Dark Mechanicum stronghold around Nysa Stromlo.

With Mortarion arriving and rallying what remained of his Legion, his counter-assault made the traitors far less successful in their assaults, the destructive power of a primarch allowing him to sweep the smaller battles, especially ones so focused on close-quarters, asteroid-to-asteroid fighting where a brief melee could change the course of the entire battle. Under Mortarion's leadership, supported by Captains Garro and Vorx, the Death Guard held their ground, only held back by the overwhelming numerical advantage the traitors could currently afford while also being forced to stay where he was under the risk of being exposed to the Lion from behind should Gryphonne fall. In truth, Mortarion was altogether far more hesitant to launch an assault with the arrival of the Thousand Sons, still suspicious of the actions of Magnus, and no doubt wondering why Ahriman would commit so many forces to a single front, given his Legion being relatively unscathed.

Horus leads the counter-assault

Gryphonne itself had stagnated in large part thanks to the sheer tenacity of the Legio Gryphonnicus and the Lion's own desire to preserve the world for the most part, believing that the fiercely independent titan legion could be brought to surrender should it be cowed. The void war swayed heavily in favour of the traitors and soon the orbit of Gryphonne IV was entirely held by the Dark Angels, with the Everchosen taking the field personally to deliver a killing blow at the Griffinhold, the primary fortress of the Legio Gryphonnicus on their homeworld. The Griffinhold fell not long after the Lion arrived with his vanguard, the occupation of the planet being set about in a temporary establishment as he set about developing his plan. Cypher, his shadowy right hand, would depart for the embattled worlds in Segmentum Tempestus, taking a company of Dark Angels with him along with several warships, while another, under the command of Luther, now Dark Oracle, would make eastwards, intent on challenging the few loyalist footholds left behind north Ultramar. Reinforcements from the Firstborn had been sent to support Luther's campaign, while traitor Death Guard and Sons of Horus were rumoured to be fighting around the Kiavahr system, or at least, preparing to launch another assault. As the Lion sent out his two most chief lieutenants on campaigns to crush imperial resistance, he prepared his Legion for the next assault. To Dorn, Malcador and most imperials, it appeared he was preparing to launch the final push towards Segmentum Solar, and had sent their last 'free' forces to try stop that. The Vengeful Spirit was upon them before the Dark Angels had a chance to respond.

The Luna Wolves arrived in a glorious echo, a speartip led by the Spirit and her mighty escorts arrayed in the white and black of the Sixteenth Legion, followed shortly after by forces from Battlefleet Tempestus that had remained loyal, along with a small taskforce of Legio Custodes that had been spared by the Emperor in secret, attached to Horus' fleet. While the traitor armada was smaller, it was more than a match for the loyalists, and Horus knew that well enough, intending on forcing a battle on the planet's surface, using separation and interdiction tactics to essentially swarm the traitor fleet with inferior numbers by drawing them apart and launching thousands of drop pods and landing craft to the surface of the world while using the massive guns of the Vengeful Spirit to prevent the Invincible Reason from simply blowing apart his attack as it came. The Lion was still on the surface, and, rallying his forces on a staggered region known as the Lutheran Redoubt, craggy cliffs facing slate-grey beaches where the majority of the Luna Wolves made landfall, the Everchosen no doubt had strongly desired to destroy Horus in equal battle, and held back his numerical advantage, bringing only the I Legion.

Horus Omegon did the same, but more out of necessity as he had no intention of anything save a show of resolve. In reality, Alpha Legion agents seeded across the traitor forces were being hastily evacuated, and any intelligence or vital equipment not bolted down being hastily evacuated by looters disguised as traitor voidsmen, including several God-Machines taken off the Dark Mechanicum.

The battle was brief, but it was a testament as to how jarring the impersonation of Horus was, how much of an impact it had. He was an echo, barely capable of truly replicating the massive intelligence and military skills of Horus, but Omegon could impersonate it just enough to set the Dark Angel commanders on edge as they weren't entirely sure if this was a bluff or not, something quickly swept aside as Horus took the field. Wielding Worldbreaker, his intended staff of office as Warmaster, he looked every bit the war god that he had pretended to be, launching an assault with himself as the tip of the unyielding spear into the line of Dark Angels, followed by fifteen thousand Luna Wolves. The Mournival preformed its various duties in that moment, but in that glorious second, time had stopped.

It appeared the real Horus could not be stopped, not even by death, his talons and maul glistening in the early sunlight as he threw himself against the warp-gifted Dark Angels, shattering two with a single sweep. Others fell by the wayside as the primarch in his terminator armour, surrounded by Justaerin, tore into the ranks of the I Legion, only to be met by the empowered Lion. Sword met hammer, and the two primarchs clashed for the first time, both regarded as master warriors and tacticians with boundless charisma that fought without peer, save one another. Russ, Angron, Dorn, few could match either of them in a fair fight, and this particular battle was far from fair. Horus' armour screamed as he pushed it's mechanisms to their brink, dueling the far faster Lion garbed in his Kingsmail. Worldbreaker couldn't hit the Everchosen, and the Shining Star was struggling even early on to take him. The duel would culminate with Horus managing to tear open the Lion's arm with his talons, a monstrous weapon built by Kelbor-hal intended to be used by the intended Archtraitor, yet looted from the depths of Mars by the Alpha Legion in secret. Not even Alpharius knew that Omegon had taken that particular weapon. The Lion, staggering, broke into rage, a denial that his better had taken first blood, and reached out to Caliban, reached out to that power that each of the Emperor's sons had to an extent, and pulled.

In that moment, Horus Omegon died as every bone in his body was set aflame by psychic fire, the Everchosen's mind further slipping into the decadence of the Immaterium as he dictated the falling corpse of Lupercal with perverse glee. It was only a wonder that he did not see that the primarch he slew so cruelly was a pale imitation of the real thing, perhaps it was denial that he had lost, perhaps it was simply his commitment to the goal of reaching Molech, no one could truly tell, when the Luna Wolves withdrew and took to the void again, it was under the leadership of First Captain Abbadon, Omegon's body and arms having been lost on the surface of the planet, the Shining Star snuffed out yet again. The Luna Wolves, surprisingly, were not lost in grief, turning a significant defeat into a bloody fighting retreat as they withdrew from the system, pulling back as they had accomplished their goal for the most part, that being the recovery of vital imperial assets directly from underneath the Everchosen, and slowing the momentum of the Dark Angels invasion by a significant amount. While neither side had taken many casualties as expected, the second death of Horus only further showed how powerful the Lion's warp gifts had become. It was a significant blow to morale in the wider region while at the same time being a guttural cry for vengeance against the Lion's forces, strengthening the resolve of the people to fight an resist.

Mortis Nuntius · Jun 16, 2020

Sowing the wind.

Konrad's eyes matched the void without the battleship, he stared at the hologram with such intensity it seemed to wilt. He had not spoken for a standard hour, to the Night Lords silences of hours, days, even weeks were not uncommon but to the Imperial Fists in the chamber it must have been disconcerting or perhaps not. Rogal Dorn was hardly the talkative type though his silences rarely sucked in the entire chamber until every breath seemed an offence.

Konrad cared not for the discomfort, not because of his casual malice as might have been the case before but because he devoted all his attention to the shimmering holofeed before him. Every report they had received from across the North of the Imperium was passing before him at a speed that an unenhanced mortal could not hope to comprehend beyond a constant whirlwind of colour and shade.

Vision and Stratagem combined and broke apart a thousand times an instant. The unconstrained mind of Primarch combined with the enlightened vision of a prophet and the flexibility of a mad man slowly but surely spun the thread that would save or doom the Imperium. Konrad had always prefered blood on his claws to coordinating a thousand thousand regiments across a dozen star systems. But the burden fell to him and he would not shirk it.

He smiled at that, Rogal would approve, Ferrus too perhaps...and they would choke on it, that approval would make them gag, sticking in their throats until they could dislodge it with some 'cutting' comment that was as dull as a butter knife in truth. He realised his mistake too late, there had only been one brother whose approval meant anything to him and had never begrudged offering it. Only one.

If his plan succeeded they would be facing one another again soon enough. If it failed most likely because they faced each other sooner than he intended. But that was not what tore at his heart, that was not what made his body visibly tense. Furious he whirled and strode from the planning chamber so quickly his robes cut the air. The various Astartes Officers threw themselves aside and dozens of sets of eyes tracked his path.

He strode through the corridors restlessly, at war within himself, only half observing his sons and their estranged cousins. No longer the case, they did not exactly mingle yet..but they stood close to one another in their separate groups, they each had carved out their own spaces, their own niches and parties moved throughout ship in concert preparing for the battles to come. The sermons of Harangers and Chaplains echoed down the halls along with the thunder of armoured boots. There was a power in the air, a sense of anticpation, of shared purpose and determination but something more, this was something fare beyond battle brothers briefly coming together before a trial...there was something purer, more potent, something he'd never tasted in the air of any force he had led before, or encountered in any other. There was a hunger here, hunger and hatred and the dark promise of utterly terrible retribution. It was as though the pure distilled spirit of the Night Lords had been taken and tempered by the disciplined conviction of the Imperial Fists, this was not the legion his father had forced upon him, nor were their new comrades in arms the same Marines his brother had sent forth from Terra. When Konrad gazed upon them he saw a shining claw reaching out across the stars and tearing at the corruption of the universe. The joy of this terrible reckoning about to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy in the time of its greatest need was enough to banish the greif from his heart and force Fulgrim from his mind for precious hours. The future was as bright as it was terrible and he knew it to be his destiny to see it done.

Hyvelic · Jun 16, 2020

(Source)

It was silent, the room that Lorgar Aurelian had found himself in. It was not his usual living space and meditation room, for they brought back painful memories of what once was. What he was before, what he was now, and what he had lost in the pursuit of the truth of the galaxy. He regrets none of it, not the years serving his biological father, not the years living in ignorance, and most of all, not the trap he had sprung on the galaxy at large.

What he regrets is the cost. His father, the only man he truly respected and loved as much as the Gods themselves. It was not a strange love, but rather… a love that a son has for his father. Kor Phaeron was a priest, he was a man, he was a father. The harsher lessons that had been taught to him by his father over the years stuck with him, the violence did not disillusion Lorgar with his father, all it did was reinforce what was there. His father was a great man, he was not perfect, but he was a great man.

That's why he followed him. Kor Phaeron earned the loyalty shown to him, now more than ever. He who had named Lorgar Bearer of the Word, and in return, he had become Lorgar's arch-deacon and his chief adviser and manager of non-spiritual affairs and the two worked together to overthrow the Covenant of Colchis. Kor Phaeron was a man whose beliefs and hearts were correct. But not any longer. Kor Phaeron was dead, taken before his time. His father was slain, his followers slain, and his memory spat upon by those that survived… all except Lorgar.

Lorgar knew that the longer he waited, the longer he put off returning, the harder it would be to do what must be done, that it would… that it would potentially shatter him and his plans. But it hurt, Lorgar even after all this time, after being converted, had kept a piece of his soul intact, a piece of hope so to speak. With the death of his Father, that piece was no longer allowed. Lorgar grieved, he was pained and suffering under the watchful eyes of those who still cared. He was not important, he truly never was. He was a pawn, he was a servant, a fool, a slave, and lived every day knowing that it was the truth.

All he had wanted was the truth, and once he found the truth it had hurt him. The same truth he found from the words of his father and Erebus, from their gentle insidious whispers. Even during the hunt for the truth, and what came after, there was a piece of him that was unsure of what he was doing, that perhaps there was a chance for him to break free from the chains binding him. It was all for naught, that piece was now hiding, it was broken and dying. In the soul-rending moment, he saw the body of the man he loved as a father. It screamed in pain with the rest of Lorgar. In the aftermath of the rage, of the pain, of the plotting, of the despair Lorgar went into voluntary isolation. To grieve for all that had been lost.

It was here, in these moments before his return that he waited. He waited for a sign for what he should do, of how he should honor his father, of how to get vengeance. Nothing came, nor did anything reveal itself. Not until he steeled his resolve for the last time. Upon leaving the room two things would happen. The first being that Lorgar would take the words of his father to heart, he would praise the gods, he would preach to the masses, he would do as they say and not how they do. The second thing that would happen upon the return of the Word Bearers' Primarch is that Lorgar would give up his name and take upon himself the title "The Keeper of the Faith" in honor of his father.

Thus Lorgar returned from exile, darker than ever before.

Sidheach · Jun 16, 2020

The Luna Wolves
Rise and Rise Again

---

After Gryphonne there was nothing that needed to be said by the Luna Wolves. Though their Primarch had perished, set ablaze by the Lion in the heat of battle, the mandate laid down to them by Alpharius had not changed. Their purpose was the same, the promulgation of the conflict, the slow grinding of the Galaxy into nothingness, was yet their task. The Imperium, Kaos, the Emperor, the Lion, it remained their sole lot in life to ensure their destruction so that the Alpha Legion was all that remained. That their purpose now had a personal edge to it, a slight murmur of feeling, was only an added bonus.

Standing in the middle of the Vengeful Spirit's throne room, before a plain white plinth upon which stood an ornamented goblet, Abaddon Arkos stared out at the gathered Luna Wolves. They were as he was, calm, composed, and unaffected by the madness that seemed to follow in the wake of a Primarch's death. Perhaps it was because Omegon was but one half of the whole, ensuring that so long as Alpharius lived, the Alpha Legion and Luna Wolves would never know the loss that so many Legions had now known. Or perhaps it was simply due to the fact that all knew of their Primarch's plans, of the safeguards he had put in place in the event of his demise, whether on Terra or on Gryphonne.

"Bring forward the supplicants."

Arkos spoke loudly, though his voice betrayed no emotion. At his command, two stepped out into the open, their brothers parting ranks to allow them to come before the First Captain. Both had been stripped of their armour and left to stand there utterly bare, their superhuman physique - even by the standards of Astartes for these two had been chosen for their height and strength which far outripped their peers - in the middle of the Vengeful Spirit. At Arkos' nod, they both knelt, touching their fingers to their foreheads, as he moved to address his brothers.

"We are the Hydra," he declared, his hands grasping round the goblet. "When one head is cut off, two more shall rise to take it's place."

Raising the cup, Arkos waited for the rest of the Mournival to appear, the three Captains coming to either side of him. With slow and measured movements, one took the goblet from him whilst another poured wine into it and the third added a drop of something red and sweet smelling to the Astartes. Passing it back to Arkos, the First Captain stepped round the plinth and offered it to the supplicants, each one taking it in turn and drinking deep from the cup.

"Horus Omegon, your purpose has is yet fulfilled," at his words, the Luna Wolves stamped their feet upon the ground as the supplicants clutched at their throats in pain. "Horus Omegon, your work is not yet done." Again the Luna Wolves stamped their feet as the supplicants screamed out in agony, their bones visibly cracking and shifting beneath the surface as they writhed upon the floor. "Horus Omegon, your time is not yet over."

Arkos and the Mournival backed away as all watched the grisly sight before them. Before their very eyes, the supplicants were changing, their bones snapping and fusing together as their bodies struggled to fulfil the mandate of the blood that now coursed through their veins. Their eyes rolled back and from their mouths spilt words beyond the understanding of the Astartes, curses from forgotten stars and the songs of dead worlds. Only a need to witness the sight, to fulfil some primal need for ritual, kept all present from turning away in shock and revulsion that pierced even the dulled sensibilities of the Astartes. Only when the screams stopped, when the last bone snapped into place, did Arkos, at last, speak once more.

"Rise again, Horus Omegon," he ordered as two pairs of cold, dead eyes stared up at him. "You are needed yet."

Mannerheim · Jun 22, 2020

+++

++DESIGNATION: TERRA++
++ENCRYPTION: ALPHA EXTREMIS++
++SENDER: LION OF CALIBAN++

++HORUS IS DEAD++
++I SEE HOW EASILY YOU REPLACE THOSE MOST DEAREST TO US++
++WE WERE NEVER YOUR SONS++
++ONLY YOUR FALLEN ANGELS++
++BUT NOW I SPREAD MY WINGS++
++AND TERRA SHALL BURN++

+++

Lion El'Johnson passed a flickering data-slate offered out by creeping, darkening hands of one of his attendants. He pressed on, banning the responsibility of forfeiting that soul to the primordial truth of the universe and the severity of the report, entering the command station of his battle-barge in full-armour. He towered over his attendants, his sons and warriors, who cowled themselves from the light of the nearby star. The organs of space-travel whistled and sang while the battlefleet burned forward around them, entering another world desperate for release into his budding empire.

"Empire?", the Lion asked himself in full sight of his sons, who turned with preying eyes - they were beasts in men's hides, donning armour fit for hunters of man with claws protruding where hands should be. He, himself, was clean and untainted - as untainted as the master of the hunt could be from the blood offered to him like some defanged zoo-pet. He gave the command to the nearby attendants, still waiting with those darkening eyes, and voiced his horror.

"Take me to Terra."

Karen · Jun 24, 2020

IV. AGE OF DARKNESS

Standoff at Gantz

The Crusade of Shadow & Iron (Lorgar, Perturabo)

On one side of Ultramar's corpse, you had the loyalists under the joint leadership of Perturabo and Ferrus Manus. Two under-strength Astartes legions with a wounded fleet along with the bones of two Titan legio, that of Lysanda and Oberon. Beyond the voidsmen that man the ships of the fleet, very few mortals joined the service in the name of the Imperium, with only a scarce few professional Imperial Army soldiers being drawn from broken regiments and what remains of Guilliman's auxiliary forces, many of them being pressed to serve non-combat roles by the Warmaster in order to pull his entire Legion into fighting roles. This 'activation' did bolster the number of loyalist Legionnaires capable of serving frontline combat roles, but it weakened the backbone of the entire loyalist force, softening the core of the offensive in order to make the thrust just that more devastating. Perturabo did not shy away from getting involved as well, turning to his sons and not hesitating to show his pride towards the IV Legion for their resolve to hold out against the madness of the Ruinstorm. Casualties had been heavy and any other formation would've broken and fled, but not the Fourth and Tenth, and in a way it had been a metaphorical rebirth for the Legion. While Ferrus had not held his office for long, the weight of the mantle was present all around him and the rank and file of the IV were uplifted by his presence as much as they were by Perturabo's own involvement. The Lord of Iron had been blatant in his desire to protect his sons, and their recognition by the Emperor's chosen representative no doubt helped the Iron Warriors feel valued by the wider Imperium. More highly thought of between the two legions were the exiles, the former Luna Wolves who remained steadfastly loyal, taking immensely heavy casualties in the betrayal at Magniat, including the decimation of many of the Terran-born Luna Wolves. Perturabo's own look into the mind of his fallen brother's legion revealed one crucial defect, a lapse in power that Horus no doubt did not allow intentionally; the warrior lodges.

The lodges were an inter-legionary concept, and existed in the Luna Wolves and a number of other Legiones Astartes. Most notably, testimony from survivors of the Magniat attack spoke of that both captains Targhost and Maloghurst were heavily involved in the lodges and had recruited nearly every Astartes under their direct command, with Targhost being the de facto lodge master over the entire legion. The revelation no doubt shocked and outraged many officers from the war council, with some believing that Loken's warriors were still compromised, though others believed the fact they were nearly wiped out was proof that their loyalty was genuine enough.

On the other end, like predators hanging over Macragge, stood the fleet of the traitor legions, wielded by Lorgar, the grand assembly of all of the Word Bearers. Three legions, including that of the Firstborn, stood in stark contrast to the loyalist forces. Ships covered in the markings and iconography of the dark gods held a frozen position in orbit of Macragge, nearly two hundred warships amassed in a single area of space, one of the largest fleets, only dwarfed by the forces the Lion brings for Terra. It was the second half of the death the Lion promises for the Imperium, and at its heart sits the cruel weapon of which Lorgar intends to use; the battleship Furious Abyss. While the Abyss had been initially ordered to make for the Lion's fleet, Lorgar was quick to use his substantial sway over the Mechanicum and the fact the ship's commander happened to be one of his officers to instead bring it to Ultramar, a lynchpin in the fallen realm's destruction, a massive vessel capable of decimating planets with unparalleled amounts of firepower. This ark of damnation presided over the Word Bearer fleet, and under her shadow the grand army of the traitors rallied in preparation for the attack.

Traitor titans from legio Fureans, among others, walked across the surface of the planet in a show of immense strength as the dark echo of the Imperium was raised here. Unlike the loyalists, Lorgar had no hesitation to press mortals into frontline duty, with tens of thousands of traitor army being pulled from garrisons to serve as the lost and the damned of any offensive. Many of these died to Angron and the World Eaters, those that were fortunate enough to make it slipped quickly into the degeneracy and insanity of the whole war. Lorgar wove his web to draw Ferrus and Perturabo in towards Macragge, believing they intended to strike at the homeworld of Roboute Guilliman and forbade his fallen brothers from leaving the system, gathering as many of his forces as he could while the loyalists were blind and trapped in the Ruinstorm. He had hoped to break both horns of the iron bull in the charge, only to find himself having stirred a nest of hornets unlike any other.

Loyalist and traitor army battle it out in an unnamed bunker on Calth

Perturabo and Ferrus would lead the counter-offensive in a most uncharacteristic manner; a thousand cuts to bring down the leviathan as the fleet forces of the loyalists would be split up into wolf packs, taking off across the Ruinstorm. While some would understandably be lost in the unstable and unsteady warp, others would reach their destination and fulfil the mission set upon them by the Lord of Iron. The 'Iron Cage' tactic as it came to be known, with dozens of squadrons of destroyers, frigates and cruisers wrapping around the traitor strongholds and squeezing. The overconfident had left their flanks exposed, and the supply ships meant to sustain the intended pitched battle Lorgar had desired to place the loyalists in were picked apart by the two ironclad legions, lightning raids on traitor worlds saw entire systems either flip into total civil unrest or become increasingly unstable against the traitors as loyalty to the Imperium was seeded among the oppressed population. Ferrus Manus lived, as did his brother, and the two primarchs promised to destroy the traitors with the force of a hammerblow. While neither primarch's capital ships made an appearance, they were far from inactive.

The Iron Blood went under an intensive refitting, with armour plating scavenged from destroyed capital ships bolted on and her gun arrays expanded to make the already monstrously empowered ship just that bit extra devastating. In fact, the Iron Warriors as a whole had changed drastically as the once inflexible stratagems of the IV Legion melted away. Perturabo tasked his officers in the Dodekathon to create new tactics and doctrine to fit this kind of rapid-assault warfare where the majority of fighting was to be held in tight corridors and rapid strikes on enemy ships, oftentimes mirroring that of the works of the V and XVI Legions. Horus' lost sons made themselves useful, with Loken leading his company in a successful raid on Nuceria, destroying the Invincible Reason and Conqueror as both ships were undergoing repairs in orbit of the captured world. Losses for the traitors only mounted as the Raven Guard, Salamanders and even loyalist Ultramarine forces made themselves apparent, a resistance cell on Calth, a terror-bombing on Macragge, and the crippling of several vital factorums on Konor made it apparent the loyalists were far from beaten, and the more scholarly Word Bearers were finding themselves at odds with the more tactically inclined legions.

The initial shock of the betrayal had begun to wear away, and now that the Shattered Legions knew who their targets were, they took no prisoners and harboured no doubts towards taking the lives of other Astartes. A Word Bearers cruiser would be blown up with an entire company being wiped out just on the outskirts of the Macragge system, only bolstering the growing paranoia of Lorgar's officers and infuriating Angron. The Red Angel decided enough was enough, or at least, that was assumed, and the World Eaters fleet left to go hunt after the loyalists, with the major battle being on Saramanth. Here, in Lydis Civitas, a Raven Guard-Iron Warriors task force under the command of Kydomor Forrix was unlucky enough to be caught in the middle of their withdrawal by the screaming mass that was the World Eaters fleet. A warp-rift was torn open in the centre of the city and a stream of frenzied berserkers led by their fel primarch stormed the breach, attacking Forrix's forces as they were making for their dropships. Forrix himself would survive, his legs being crushed, but a great deal of his warriors would die in the withdrawal. In a cruel irony, it was the disobedience of the Red Angel that gave the traitors their first sincere victory in the latter stage of the Crusade, and it was proving to be too late.

In the quiet moments when Perturabo was not dictating another skirmish against traitor forces, he had been busy deciphering and creating counters to the more occult aspects of the heretical Word Bearers. Indeed, with the death of the theological faction within the legion, Erebus' fanatics and god-makers were given free rein to summon hundreds of daemons and bring many under the possession of the Warp into the ranks of the Legion. Astartes who never received their implantation but were fused into suits of power armour instead joined the ranks of the Gal Vorbak and oftentimes served as shock troopers against the mortal infantry of the loyalists. Other, more darker powers like the violent Kor'agar'and were brought to the Ruinstorm to do battle against the loyalists, though these entities would oftentimes find themselves battling the Red Angel as much as the loyalists. Indeed, combined with this, Perturabo made this war into a perfect field for his and Ferrus' minds, for every loyalist life lost had cost the traitors potential hundreds if not thousands of soldiers for the attack on Terra.

Despite the best efforts of the traitors to pull the loyalists to their trap, Perturabo instead had caged Lorgar in his own fortress, using the monstrous Furious Abyss as the pin which kept the entire prison together. With that respite given, and with the discordant energies of Angron pulled away from Macragge, Perturabo's research granted him ad-hoc knowledge of protection charms, some inherited from Ahriman's parting gift, others created from his own interpretation, the vast library of knowledge carried within the primarch made for an easy source of inspiration for his own charms. From the architects of Babel to the scribes of old Anglia, Perturabo's own mind created what was a series of ritual-charms drawing on the esoteric superstitions of the past to protect the Iron Blood and his sons from the taint of the Warp, and, to his surprise, they worked. A force of 'marked' Iron Warriors sent to destroy an asteroid mining facility overrun by daemons found that the warp-things quite literally melted away in their presence.

As another raid was being wrapped up with Ferrus Manus capturing the asteroid belt near the Cancri system, Perturabo's gifts revealed that the initial inescapable turmoil of the Ruinstorm was starting to settle, or rather, the traitors had made the vital mistake of leaving a trail of breadcrumbs out of Ultramar and into the wider Imperium. At Saramanth, a trail seemed to begin in the mind of the Lord of Iron, a clear and distinct mark on the Warp seemingly created by the sheer psychic echo of the Lion that bent and broke Chaos as Lorgar shaped it, and created a space of pure prehistoric energy. The one weakness that he saw was that it went straight into Macragge, meaning any breakout would be forced to tackle Macragge, be it directly or otherwise, or risk being exposed from the rear and caught in an entirely unfavourable battle.

Lorgar, the Apostate

In the wake of Kor Phaeron's death, the schism in the Word Bearers on a theological level had deepened. The First Captain once led the faction of conservative worshippers, who believed in the separation of mortals and gods, that the Immaterium was as much a realm destined for beings ascendant rather than one that should be brought into the real world. It was an incredibly sanctioned approach to the matter of faith, and had been the dominant faction in the legion for decades since Lorgar's own fall. Yet, Kor Phaeron's ally in conspiracy, yet rival in belief, Erebus, was still alive, and under his chaplaincy so-called puritans had sprouted from the rank and file. It was the espoused belief that humans were as capable of becoming gods in the Warp as the Gods themselves, of an ascension that can only be brought about with the excessive aspects of the Four being pulled to the forefront, that worship can only be done through action. In that light, Erebus' fanatics advocated for excess use of summonings and possessions as methods of reward for worship, with captains under his sway being the first to submit elements of their forces to conversion to Gal Vorbak and other forms of possession. Ascension, as Erebus called it, was a similarly made promise, and with Kor Phaeron dead, Erebus became the clear and dominant voice in the Legion, made moreso by the apparent conversion of the Urizen to his method of worship. True enlightenment came from becoming one with the Gods, to become gods yourselves, not by shying away to simple prayer.

That kind of philosophy is what drove Erebus when he emerged from the Ruinstorm with the mission set to him by his primarch to carve out the true Imperium. With support from both a small attaché of Firstborn under Captain Targhost and the recently-arrived Cypher and a company of Dark Angels, Erebus set about doing that. Worlds that were left vulnerable were struck first, with the charismatic Dark Apostle instead infecting these worlds with the powers-that-be rather than military occupation. Those worlds held by the Shattered Legions were largely avoided as Erebus consolidated his power in the galactic rim, though at the cost of a good portion of former traitor space simply breaking off and forming their own warring states. Indeed, with the Lion going ever closer to Terra, some of the more ambitious warlords simply abandoned the cause, or defected back the Imperium as the Shattered Legions made a real name for themselves out in the reaches. The war had begun to stagnate when the surprise had settled, and now it was moving again, not necessarily in the favour of the traitor legions.

Burning of Baal (Fulgrim, Jaghatai, Alpharius, Leman)

Baal is brought to further ruin, the last stand of the Interex, the Archangel is trapped

Sanguinius would not allow his sons to die unremembered, and had gathered his strength at Arandra to make for a final effort against the VIII Legion as it tore itself apart in orbit of the planet. Skraivok's coup against the War-Sage had been short-lived and already infighting tore apart the Night Lords as they squabbled amongst one another. In the absence of cohesion, the Archangel struck, and tore apart the blockade with his flagship at the head. A savage fury from the normally apathetic Sanguinius, and a legion baptized in the blood of their fallen that tore into the Night Lords ranks. Entire ships were lost to the IX Legion, and, seeing defeat on the horizon, Captain Gendor ordered a retreat, pulling his Legion off of Arandra and abandoning the world with a heart weighed down by lead. His desire to return to Baal to protect it from the oncoming tide was testament to the sheer humanity that Sanguinius displayed, and the value of sacrifice. He had seen the visions, and he knew that it would be pointless to die here. It was a terrible thing to see that Baal had already fallen.

When the IX Legion returned to their homeworld, they found it beset on every side, held only back by Jaghatai Khan of all his brothers, and his regent. The Rout had resumed the hunt once the Khan had slipped out of Fulgrim's trap, with the Wolf-King following him all the way across the stars unexplored and decimating worlds as he went. Ragnarok became a haven of unlife, a shadow of Terra, a mocking image crafted by Russ and his sycophantic legion to mock and torment the Emperor's loyal subjects, and it worked. The horrible shadow of what happened to the Emperor's executioner stalked him all the way to Baal, with many worlds simply bowing before his indomitable will out of fear. Russ himself looked to the Grandfather for further gifts, receiving only the knowledge to attain them in the Eye of Terror, for Nurgle spoke of the serpent that could devour worlds, and of Russ' destiny to kill it. These prophetic dreams were only matched by what Fulgrim saw in his darkest moments, the Silver Sword tasting the blood of his most beloved brother. Yet, Fulgrim was here, he was at Baal with Russ, the Pride of the Emperor stalking not far behind as it turned its guns on the suddenly-arrived Blood Angels fleet.

The two loyalist legions found themselves cornered over the homeworld of the IX Legion, with the bulk of three legions hounding them, though unlike the White Scars who found themselves amongst wolves, the Blood Angels were more than capable of handling the disorganized and cathartic Emperor's Children. The fury of the Angel was unleashed in a way that was not yet unseen, as it seemed the entire IX descended into a feverish rage that seemed to break the normally stoic nature of the Legion and turned them into frenzied monsters. This was the Red Thirst, the horrible secret hidden by Sanguinius from the Emperor and the wider Imperium, and Fulgrim had unleashed it on himself by pure accident, be it from ignorance or overconfidence. The subsequent massacre of the III Legion and their ships was something of a bitter vengeance, as hundreds of Blood Angels died, costing the Prince's Host just as many, with the Pride of the Emperor itself being boarded nearly a hundred times over the course of the battle while Fulgrim battled across the asteroid fortifications around Baal to meet his brother in combat. It was no surprise that when they met, the Angel swatted Fulgrim aside as if he were a gnat, his rage so horrific that it terrified even the perverse III Legion into a full retreat, dragging their screaming and kicking, humiliated primarch with them. The darkness of the IX Legion turned an ambush into a trap for the attackers, and it was only with the timely intervention of the Alpha Legion, led by Alpharius personally, that stopped the IX Legion from destroying itself and the III Legion with it. Traitor forces would throw back Sanguinius' attack, forcing him to retreat to Baal Secundus while the wider armada gathered over Baal Primus, more specifically, the fortress-monastery of the Blood Angels and the Interex colony established not far from the protection of the IX Legion. It is said Sanguinius tore a chunk of Fulgrim's throat out with his teeth in whatever primal rage consumed him.

But it was all for naught, as while Leman hounded Jaghatai's fleet and forced him to abandon the system or be destroyed, the XX and III Legions rounded on Baal Primus. The first shots came from the Alpha, with Life-Eater weaponry being deployed without hesitation on the planet, followed by cyclonic torpedoes, along with a rare, Mechanicum weapon known as the 'Planet-Cracker', the bomb being launched by Regulus on board a captured Imperial Fists dropship. Baal Primus lasted several hours as it was glassed, before the Planet-Cracker pierced the core and detonated the world, a new star burning in the void for several days. Of the Blood Angels stranded on the surface, none would survive, and those who were bold enough to attempt to stop the bombardment were destroyed with the planet as it cracked, and the dark bargain that the XX Legion had struck was fulfilled. In the eyes of Sanguinius, there was no redemption for the Alpha Legion, and his brother, once loved by Horus, was as good as dead to him.

Of Alpharius' own machinations, his Legion was quick to apply their usual ruthlessness to the dark works of the Immaterium. Ritual summonings to capture and inspect daemons, attempts to replicate the work of the Mechanicum on their own devices, and more invasive Alpha Legionnaires actually attempting possession on their own comrades with mixed results. Above all, Alpharius strove to remain the enigmatic figure, avoiding shaking the devil's proverbial hand and sealing his fate forever, yet, allowing his Legion to expose themselves to this psychic awakening, a layer of espionage as of yet unseen had decidedly opened an entirely new can of worms. The Alpha Legion, much like an addict suffering withdrawal, suckled on the knowledge of the Warp's more obscure aspects greedily and plentifully, though their primarch's restraint prevented an immediate downfall then and there. He had accomplished his main task however and several hours before Baal was obliterated a strike-team of Alpha Legionnaires would recover several samples of Interex technology including his much desired teleporters.

The Dusk before the Night (Konrad, Rogal)

Night Lords battle traitor Astartes

As Fulgrim withdrew and rallied his fleet at Lucius, departing the region not long after to focus on the destruction of Baal, Konrad Curze finished laying down layers upon layers of fortifications, boobey-traps, and complex networks of rat-lines intended to allow loyalist forces to strike all across a traitor assault from the north. Yet, the attack never came. Every dark weapon created from the mind of Curze, every design of Dorn was put to use turning a series of worlds into the perfect fortifications stretching across northern Segmentum Solar, yet, the final push for Terra never came, and frustration set in. Supported by the Retribution Fleet as it turned northwards once again once the fleet was largely operational, the loyalists would launch a grand offensive intent on crippling if not outright hammering a possible traitor vanguard, yet, they found no vanguard. Some mildly fortified worlds, held only by traitor Army and in some rare cases the Sons of Horus dotted their approach northwards, all the way to the Kal'shebbol system where Konrad found that the largest force he faced was a warband of traitor Astartes supported by a maniple of titans. In fact, the overexertion of resources into this push had been so extreme that by this point the fleet was unable to properly push ahead without overburdening supply lines even more, as the traitors pursued a policy of scorched earth on agri-worlds and hive worlds not in total rebellion were oftentimes on the brink of famine themselves. Victory was assured, but it was a quiet one, and in that quiet, the extent of the destruction became more apparent. Caliban was unassailable, as whatever powers the Lion had cavorted quite literally consumed the planet into the massive warp storms seemingly covering half the galaxy, rendering it no longer navigable to the loyalists. The Astronomican remained ablaze, but its light was faint, and the impending threat of the Lion was more immediate.

With Terra's north secure, the Retribution Fleet made its way back to Sol, intent on reinforcing the throneworld alongside the rest of the VII Legion as Rogal Dorn made final preparations to the outer defences of the system, rallying every asset and resource not bogged down in some conflict or another in order to make the most of it. Terra itself would be mobilized, with irregular militias created in every hive by order of the Praetorian, though these formations would be untrained and unarmed for the time being as production remained the utmost priority. The continued blockade of Mars only further exerted supply issues, and squabbling rogue traders and merchant fleets often gridlocked the entire Terran trade network with their pointless bickering. Yet, things were most definitely moving, as the first Custodes seen in years would appear briefly to leave a clipped report that the Emperor was starting an offensive against the threat to his project, and that nominal repairs had been accomplished by this point.

With Zagreus Kane and Arkhan Land safely brought to Terra, the next question became rather clear; who, and how would the Mechanicum be led from here on. Kelbor-hal was still technically the legitimate Fabricator-General and by all convention of the Crimson Brotherhood that title remained his until he personally resigned from it, leaving the Mechanicum an institution controlled by a traitor thanks to the very dogma of the Martian priests. Despite this, Kane was effectively Fabricator-General to the Council of Terra, with even Malcador opting to acknowledge his position and invite him to council meetings, while Magos Land would be granted tentative access to commence archeological digs in the old Gyptus region, supposedly under recommendation of the Praetorian himself. This did still leave the question of succession in mind, with the Mechanicum being split in two by the treachery yet remaining a whole political entity, with two Fabricator-Generals claiming the other is the imposter.

Dorn didn't care much for the machinations of the Mechanicum, and exemplified it without hesitation in the launching of the Stygies Offensive. A force under the legendary Lord Marshal MaSade, including his personal Solar Auxilia cohort, loyalist Titans, and the reactivated VII Legion Destroyers would be sent to put this world, home to a radical sect of the Mechanicum, back into line. In truth, Stygies had not fallen, but rather the Legio Vulcanum which had taken the Vulcanis system as its fiefdom had, and with the support of Sons of Horus, had conquered Stygies VIII in the name of the Everchosen. When MaSade arrived, he found himself facing a world under occupation, held at gunpoint by the guns of the traitor Astartes, already on the verge of infighting as the highly isolationist Vulcanum resisted such a threat to their homeworld. The opening battle resembled much of the void war that was occurring across the Imperium; brutal, close-quarters boarding actions led by Astartes and followed up by the mortal elements, while Titans would be deployed to the surface of the planet to act as a walking foothold on enemy territory supported by their Skitarii. Ultimately, MaSade would be successful in driving the Legio Vulcanum and Sons of Horus off, taking back the world after a fierce, month-long campaign. Not even hours after the first message of his victory arrived rumours would spark that he had enlisted the aid of xenos to help him capture the planet.

The Praetorian had secured the western flank, and now turned to Segmentum Solar and the road to Terra. The Garmon system would be fortified, and reinforced by the Retribution Fleet as it returned, as would Necromunda, and Ulani. These three worlds served as the gateways for Terra, with Dorn creating naval bases and fortifications all across these systems and tightening the corridor from which the Everchosen could advance on Terra through. It was the gilded wall of the Imperium, and the Imperial Palace would reflect it with a major leap in construction efforts seeing a majority of the outer walls and shell built, leaving only the internal structure of the Palace, including the thousands of individual chambers planned out by Dorn. That would all have to wait, however, as the Lion approached Terra, and despite the best efforts of the defenders at Galaspar, they'd be broken, and rolled over.

A Grand Riposte (Lion)

The Lion leads the assault on Molech

As the Lion's fleet reached the Tetek system, it had become something of a common sight for their supply ships to be set upon by the Luna Wolves, with Horus leading every attack, every assault. Every attack that Horus found himself facing the Everchosen, he died, yet, ten more of him would come and take their place. Horus became an image of resistance among the last stand defenders of doomed worlds, and a rallying cry for those who still resisted. To those same people, their hearts turned to ash as it seemed nothing could stop the Lion's journey to Terra, the primarch himself seemingly becoming withdrawn and hidden for the most part, only emerging to kill Horus before departing to supposedly prepare his attack on the throneworld. Most tacticians believed the strategy to be suicide, as even the massive fleet under the Lion's command was not enough to break through Dorn's defenses. Yet, at Tetek, the Lion stopped his onslaught, and to the surprise of scouts, would be seen splitting command of his fleet between himself and Luther, and Azrael, an unremarkable captain turned Keeper of the Truth. It is believed that Azrael was a taken name, rather than the true name of the commander chosen for this task. Azrael, commanding a small force of warships and a portion of the I Legion would plunge into the Maelstrom, launching an assault intended to snuff out the loyalist pocket around the region, catching himself in a war against the Wardens.

The Lion, meanwhile, did not go to Terra, nor did he touch the defensive lines Dorn had built, or the traps Konrad set, instead turning his attention to the small pocket of resistance centred around Mezoa. His legion would arrive several months later, with the Mezoan resistance still holding as the Mechanicum here remained staunchly loyal, and with the support of scattered Blood Angel and White Scars forces, the Mezoan pocket held against the traitor assault, at least, until the Lion arrived. Their fleet destroyed, their planet was humbled, but that was not his prize.
Molech was an unexceptional world. A backwards colony with the many characteristics of a feudal world including housing several dozen knightly houses all dominated by the House Devine. Despite all this, it proved to be an exceptionally difficult nut to crack, what with the Lion's desire to preserve the planet as one of many shrines to his own person, and so the war became a campaign stretching several months as the Lion spent most of it searching for answers, scrying the secrets of Molech to find what he was looking for, and it all culminated in the discovery of why Molech was so important. Under the city of Lupercalia, named for the primarch, past the Dawn Citadel, lay a gateway, an ancient construct leading into the Realm of Chaos itself. A force of Blood Angels would arrive to stop the Lion's advance on Lupercalia, but, the shocking betrayal of House Devine and a number of other of Molech's defenders would doom the planet to a fall, with the world being essentially plunged into a new dark age as Luther ordered indiscriminate bombardments on areas of the planet not deemed important to the great work.

As the Dark Angels stormed and slaughtered their way through the city, they found themselves facing no significant military resistance as what remained of Molech's defenders, ignorant of the Lion's purpose, more so than he was, for the Gods had only told him to come to this world to claim his destiny, and only here did he learn of the truth behind the Emperor and the primarchs. Though a powerful psyker and a perpetual one at that, the Emperor was not nearly powerful enough to craft the Primarchs to be such immense beings of charisma, nor did he truly have the knowledge to create the Webway anew as he desired, and had in fact gone to the very primordial forces of the universe to bargain with them. Yet, as expected of a being as cunning as him, he tricked the Gods, taking their powers for his own as a conqueror and leaving the gate under the stewardship of one of his closest companions from the days before the Unification Wars.

This gate was the ultimate prize of the Lion, for, as Cypher and Luther had whispered, he would go through the gate, claim the powers of the Gods, and become as powerful as the Emperor Himself. He would kill Him with the very same powers that had been stolen. A single human awaited for him in the chamber that contained the gate, only to be killed with a sweep of the Lion Sword and thrown aside. After sparing a few words for Astelan, who had led the vanguard into Lupercalia, the Lion would step through the gate.

Thunder in the South (Corvus, Calas, Ahzek)

Corvus Corax brings his vengeance on the Kiavahran traitors

Kiavahar had won. They had thrown the foolish semantics of the Ravenlord and brought Lyseaus back to heel. In fact, it was only a matter of time before their delegation returned from the moon and the factories would be brought back into full operation in the name of the Everchosen. The success of the rebellion ensured that they would be a vital world to the war effort of the traitors against loyalist forces. Or at least, that was what they had thought several hours prior to everything falling apart. The nuclear arsenal deployed by the Dark Mechanicum suddenly launched, only to come crashing back down onto the surface of the planet, obliterating the massive silos dug out by the traitor forces. Disorganized and struck by confusion, the tech-lords quickly scrambled to figure out why such an error occurred before they realised the severity of their mistake. The XIX Legion and their primarch came back with a bloody vengeance as Corax led a massive insurgency numbering several thousand Raven Guard strong across the planet, disabling key rebel footholds and destroying the tech-guilds as they reeled in terror at the sudden and violent destruction of their superior position. The fleet in orbit simply abandoned the planet, with the Dark Mechanicum deeming their allies lost to the loyalist forces.

Corax had been entirely successful in his plans. The Selenar, after terse negotiations, relented, granting him the means to create the first wave of the Emperor's prototype Astartes, enough to implant ten thousand new Raven Guard. Upon the successful overthrow of the tech-guilds once again and the procurement of the industrial might of the planet, the Ravenlord would begin to take a large amount of the population, subjecting them to the experimental geneseed. As to be expected of a largely unknown genetic design, it was prone to immediate failure the older the candidate was, and the same applied to the reverse, with prepubescent candidates oftentimes dying in a horrific mess of swollen organs and flesh. The successful transformations proved incredibly promising; these new Astartes were stronger, faster, and more adaptable, capable of learning quickly under pressure. Though only slightly larger than their more standardized counterparts, their genetics seemingly grew as they developed mentally, though training methods still demanded that these new Astartes would be trained by veteran Raven Guard to avoid all that new power being put to waste. Corax's efforts had been costly though and as he secured Kiavahr and began rebuilding his Legion, tripling the amount of aspirants in the span of several weeks, the Lion broke through Galaspar and was on his way to Terra. In the south, things seldom improved.

Mortarion still held Barbarus, managing to drive traitor forces back with a ruthless air that cost both sides heavy casualties. It would be the Thousand Sons who would launch their assault, striking at the Forge Fane of Nysa Stromlo with their characteristic finesse. Though the art of divination was clouded and unpredictable in these times, the Corvidae would hoist enough control to secure the system as the Thousand Sons fleet rallied in-system, preparing for an invasion of the planet below. Orbital bombardment dictated like an orchestra obliterated vital strategic fortifications while the rest of the Thousand Sons enacted their plan to the fullest extent. While Ahriman had hoped to create 'doors' across the surface of Nysa Stromlo and unleash the Legion on the whole world in a devastating psychic strike, it proved to be too much for the cults who found themselves assailed all of a sudden by copious amounts of dark, sickening energy, with odd fungus appearing across their ships as they began the invasion.

As the assault began, the Spireguard and Legio Xestobiax led the assault as the fear-stricken defenders fortified themselves, while the Thousand Sons marched in a pincer formation, a massed assault on the forge temple of the planet seeing a swift victory for the sons of Magnus. That was when the Plaguefleet arrived. The Terminus Est had led her fleet across the outskirts of the Imperium, slipping past the Imperial Fists through the Eye of Terror and making for the galactic south with the intent to join up with the Dark Mechanicum forces and assault Barbarus, and one could imagine the sense of irony Typhon felt when the first loyalists he'd encounter would be the psychic sons of the primarch Mortarion sought to squash and break beneath his prejudice.

The Thousand Sons were in the middle of withdrawing from the planet, leaving behind a Fellowship and a small force of Spireguard and Xestobiax titans to ensure the planet remains compliant as they planned on advancing north. It was no small wonder that the Death Guard did not hesitate to attack, with the combined mass of Typhon's infested warriors throwing themselves on the Thousand Sons convoy as destroyers and interdiction ships caught the trapped fleet in orbit of the planet, with the Terminus Est itself, a monstrous warship of an antiquated era made on the Photep, catching Ahriman off guard.

The battle was brief, but brutal, leading to heavy casualties for the Thousand Sons as they withdrew, no doubt keenly aware that they were outnumbered and Ahriman having no interest in being ensnared in whatever darkness had consumed the traitor Death Guard. Yet, when he attempted to squash them with the Prosperine Cults and his stragems, he found himself blind, deaf and dumb to the Death Guard, who had become anathema to the very concept of the sorcerer. Needless to say, Nysa Stromlo soon fell back to traitor hands, and the Thousand Sons were sent back to Zhao-Arkadd, licking their wounds as they pulled back.

With his first obstacle wrenched aside, Typhon launched his assault on the Barbaus system, catching Garro's fleet on the outskirts in a brief engagement before the Battle-Captain pulled back towards the planet itself, while Mortarion led a counter-assault. The two shattered halves of the Death Guard met in battle, with Mortarion, fuelled by a cold rage, promising to destroy Typhon before this war was done. Needless to say, it was unlikely either side would escape the crucible of Barbarus unscathed, and the Thousand Sons saw it as much.

triumph8w · Jun 26, 2020

"Ah, my lord, you wake."

Those were the first words Fulgrim heard when his eyes fluttered open. Fabius' cultured basso, with the usual hints of snide sarcasm, had oft been a welcome sound for the Phoenix. Biles own experiments having proven utterly fascinating over the years since the rebellion had begun, especially with the Custode samples oh so kindly provided by Guillimen.

Yet here and now, feeling as if he'd been stepped on by an Emperor-class titan, Fulgrim did not quite appreciate it.

He hadn't felt this way since...well, forever. Emotionally? Perhaps, yes. But not physically, his status as one of the emperors sons, and indeed one of the best fighters among them led to this feeling being utterly foreign. Yet still, he felt it. Bruised and beaten, utterly thrashed, his every muscle aching with physical pain of all things. Pain! Another unique and odd sensation, where had it even come from? He couldn't quite remember-

"Fulgrim!"

A grin stretches across his lips, hidden by his helmet. Sanguinies' enraged cry, hiding hints of such scathing hurt and betrayal that the Phoenix was positively swooning from the pain he had caused his beloved brother. He turned to meet him, hand setling on his hip as he opened his mouth, mocking, twisting words slithering forth.

" Ah my dear Angel! Quite the late welcoming you've given us! I must apologize for the state of your home, but I just couldn't resist-"

Suddenly he was flying, everything turning disturbingly indescribable. A...blur, he believed it would be called by the mortals. He had a brief moment to question how, exactly, he came to be in this state when he slamed through the adimatium walls. The impact rattling through him, so deep he could feel his bones shake.

"Tch." His face curdled into an ugly sneer as he remembered a fragment of that utterly humiliating fight. He had never been so disgraced in his life! Utter public humiliation to a degree he was utterly unused to, how the hell did he even lose? He was one of the best duelists among his brothers! He had thought he could even fight the Angel himself, was rather confident of it infact, yet...

Yet Sanguinius had...turned into something else. He had looked more like one of those maddened beasts raving about their bloody god and his idiotic skull throne. He had moved like a blur, even to Fulgrims eyes, sword cleaving through all in his path. His usually peaceful, if solem, features twisted into such a rage that it was like he was a whole other person.

"You'll be fine in a day or so, my lord. Our...hm, 'soldiers' managed to retrieve you-at great cost- from the Angels wrath." Fulgrims eyes slid over to the only other person in the room, who mattered anyways. Fabius Bile. A son he had become quite proud of in the years since the rebellion started. Fabius had produced wonder after wonder, his research yielding fascinating results and possibilities. Though his wit has prove to be...somewhat grating at times, at least it appeared so now.

"Good." Fulgrim said curtly, throwing aside the sheet that covered him and moving to a siting position, something that Fabius made no move to stop. Only raising a slight eyebrow at his primarch. Fulgrim pressed the brigde of his nose, feeling a welling annoyance curling alongside his gutted pride. The pain would usually be something he would delight in, something beautiful and unique, but this...this was not something he was pleased with.

He was better than this, yet we was swatted aside like a fly!

"Tell me-" he said, his annoyance darkening his voice, "-how did it end?" Fabius considered him for a moment, before shifting to look at him fully. "Lord Russ drove off the Khan yet again, and the XX saved the III from complete annihilation. And, coincedentily, the Blood Angels as well. They then took the bulk of the loot, including most of the Interexs strange technologies-" at that, Bile sounded perhaps a little annoyed, perhaps a little bitter, though his tone was too bland to tell. "-and then they shattered the planet. There is nothing left but drifting chunks."

Fulgrim gave a small, satisfied smile at that, though it faded quickly. The utter ruination of Baal and the humiliation of the Angel was supposed to be his prize, yet the enigmatic Alpharius had taken that from him. His resentment was furthered by the knowledge, pieced together by Fulgrim over the year after watching repeated recordings, that 'Horus' was nothing but a fake. Something that wouldn't be beyond the Hydra, though it may still be his 'father' at work.

Not what you thought it would be, was it?

He hissed, and the monitor started to beep at an utterly annoying pace. Bile looked at him, curiosity and a slight concern sparking in his eye. He was waved off by Fulgrim, and soon left after the primarch hissed at him to leave through clenched teeth. He closed his eyes, the world around him beginning to fade into darkness. When he opened them again he was standing in a dark void, nothing but inky darkness around him. Shortly after that, a spotlight appeared, shining its light at a man who looked very much like him.

His Double walked forward, the light glinting off his masterwork gold-purple armor. The aquilla stood proudly on his chest, polished and not a speck on it. Clearly well cared for, unlike the faded thing on Fulgrims own chestplate. Fireblade sat at his Doubles side, the magnificent masterwork forged by the Ferrus Manus himself. Created with silent love and fierce pride, like the warhammer he had forged the same for him. His Double simply looked sad, no longer was he screaming and begging, no threats spewed from his lips, just a simple melancholy.

It disgusted him.

"Well? What do you want, fool? To mock us some more?" His lips were curled back into an ulgy sneer as he gazed upon the portions of himself that could not handle the Truth. He had locked it away, deep inside himself, until it simply drifted apart and was made into something else, something separate yet connected.

The doubles cries had grown weaker and weaker since the beginning of the war, with each act of betrayal, each brothers pain savored, each world burned. With each and every act of debauchery, the Double grey quieter. More silent, just as he liked him. He couldn't get in the way then, and all the glorious beauty of this grand play could be properly savored.

The Double shook his head, heaving a small sigh as he looked away from his new, beautiful form. You thought you could simply waltz into the homeworld of a primarch, especially Snaguinius, and simply face no opposition? That the Angel would not oppose you with everything he had, simply for the sake of his people? The Double, if possible, managed to look even more melancholic.

What a fool, you've become. We've become.

Fulgrim roared, his arm cut a path through the air as he threw it to the right. A physical expression of his humiliated rage, the only part he could possibly manage in that moment, so overcome as he was by it. A fool? Him? The mighty Fulgrim? No! Not in the least, he had considered the risks, and thought them worth it, it all was, he was no fool, he was the grandest strategist there was among his brothers! Why, if he took this seriously the loyalists would've been shattered by now! Fathers head would be in his hands! Konrad would be by his side again-

He cried out, this time in pain, as he fell to his knees. The spotlight shuddering as the master of the realm was overcome by the memories of his betrayal of Konrad. The confused, hurt look on his brothers face, the way he sloppily blocked Fulgrims playfully lethal strikes, not due to lack of skill, but the simple shock of being betrayed by a trusted brother for the second time, by the same brother-

Suddenly, it all ceased shaking. The Double looking on, his face having smoothed into an expression of neutrality, though their was a spark of anger in his eyes, alongside a quite satisfaction and a ever present pain. Fulgrim glared up at his Double, spittle dripping from his lips in a most undignified manner-yet another humiliation- his enraged gaze finding his Doubles composed one. Slowly, he stood, becoming more sure as he did so.

He chuckled cruelly, a smirk sliding onto his tense face as he stared down his Double. "Is that all?" He said with a faux caring tone "Why, I thought you could do better than that. Indeed, you used to, but your weaker now, aren't you? Why, to think you'd use Konrad against me again, thinking I regretted what I did, what we did, perhaps you should try Ferrus again. Its been a while, but well, he is probably dead anyways..."

His Double stared at him, and Fulgrim felt a vicious surging satisfaction at the hints of the beginning of tears in his Doubles eyes. Though that was soon replaced by annoyance as he was ignored, his Double having turned to stare at two floating memories. Konrads face, shadowed by the flowing waterfall on that dead moon where they reunited, the signs of happiness, brief fleeting joy for a brother who deserved whatever happiness he could find, and the laughter the bother of them shared. The next was of his last meeting with Ferrus, the two brothers pushing their fists against the others as a sign of their renewed bond, and desire to hold up their shared dream against the coming night.

Then, his Double gave him a brief glance, and turned, starting to walk towards the shadows. A tear slid down his cheek as Fulgrim started to chase him, rage engulfing his heart at what that miserable peice of nothing dared to do, dared to defy him, dared to feeling any amount of sorrow at the beautifully painful turning points, the damning defiance of him, yet his Double returned to the shadow once more, and his eyes snapped open.

The empty room greeted him, and he snarled out a mix of Chemos-Cithonian curses as he got off his bed.

One day, he'd be fully rid of that weakling. But first, he had a visit to pay towards his beloved brothers.

Dovahsith · Jun 28, 2020

Security Extermis....
Priority Maximum....
Command Override received, Kill Order deactivated.

The Hammer of the Emperor

Darkness falls as the Light begins to fade.
Where the Sons of the Emperor are found wanting
The Iron in Mankind's Soul is tested like never before

Lord Marshall Ireton MaSade

Born to scavenger tribes in Old Albia on Terra, as a young man he joined the Great Crusade in its early days. Initially just a common soldier, over the decades he rose through the ranks and became known for his courage, natural talent, and intelligence, his lifespan aided by bionics and rejuvenation treatments. His rise and deeds were overshadowed only by those of the Legio Astartes. His loyalty and competence proven beyond doubt, MaSade was awarded the right to rule one of the newly compliant worlds of the Imperium, the hive world of Agathon, a duty he took to with his typical skill and diligence, retiring to his private estates only when his successor had been adequately trained for the position. All this changed when the civil war began. With the death of his granddaughter, a Captain in the Imperial Navy, at the hands of the traitors, MaSade returned from retirement, executing those of his planets nobility who were considering joining the rebellion and raising his cadre of Solar Auxilia to do battle for the Emperor once more. Currently on assignment clearing out traitor enclaves within Segmentum Solar with ruthless efficiency.

Rear Admiral Kaminska

The elderly commander of the Imperial Army warship Wrathful and its escorts, Rear Admiral Kaminska is a officer of the Saturnine Fleet, one of the few "allied" attachments not yet absorbed into the Imperium's forces. Though Kaminska decried the impending end of the Fleet's unique identity and traditions as it was absorbed entirely into the Imperial Army, she has grown to grudgingly respect the honour and loyalty of those she fights beside against the oncoming darkness.

High Primary Solar General Saul Niborran

Saul Niborran is a Saturn-born High Primary Solar General in the Imperial Army, during the Great Crusade, who was raised in the disciplines of the Saturnine Ordos.

By the time the Heresy began, Niborran was a veteran of war having served the Imperium for a 150 years. Due to the venerable General's skills, he was chosen by the Primarch Dorn to serve in the Solar Command Staff as the Imperium prepared to defend Terra from the traitors. He is known to have Dorn's complete confidence and during the Solar Command's meetings, Niborran would be chosen to speak the words, the Primarch could not.

Admiral Niora Su-Kassen

A gifted strategist and commander from the Jovian Void-Clans, Su-Kassen was chosen by the Primarch Rogal Dorn to serve in his Solar Command Staff, as he prepared to defend Terra from the traitor's advance into Segmentum Solar. As Niora aided the Primarch though, she is left to wonder about the fate of her daughter, Khalia Su-Kassen Hon II, who was Captain of the Imperial Army warship, Thunder Break, attached to the fleet of the Warmaster, Ferrus Manus.

Magos Kazzim-Aleph-1

Kazzim-Aleph-1 was a Mechanicum Magos, Kazzim-Aleph-1 was chosen by Fabricator General Zagreus Kane to serve as an emissary to the Primarch Rogal Dorn's Solar Command Staff, a move it finds preferable to the internal politics of the Mechanicum-in-Exile

Karen · Jul 3, 2020

XXV. Vulkan Lives

Battle on Latone

The war in the Ruinstorm was far from over. With the loyalists rapidly regaining their footing on the back of a grand offensive launched by Perturabo and Ferrus Manus, worlds previously dominated by traitor forces were seemingly abandoned as the shattered elements of three legions rallied to fight against the traitors. The heretics had proven themselves to be far too unsteady of a united front, with Lorgar's Word Bearers having taken such heavy casualties in their prolonged attempt to hold out against the far more coordinated Iron Warriors had taken its toll. Blind fanaticism and the element of surprise could only work for so long as the loyalists regained their sense of control, and when one applied two legions born on the crucible of war with a bloody history in conflict, a terrible thunder fell upon the loyalists. Perturabo had made a point of delivering a death of a thousand cuts on Lorgar's host which had been rallying around Macragge in the hopes of forcing a pitched battle, but events on the planet of Latone would drastically turn events around. Angron, believing to have gotten annoyed at the supposedly pointless attempt by Aurelian to rally his forces, simply abandoned Macragge, disappearing into the Warp in preparation to attack, and, as Ferrus arrived with a small force of Iron Hands and Salamanders, he did so. The World Eaters set upon the Warmaster with the Blood God's malice and rage coursing through them. The skies of the planet turned red, blood fell like rain, and the water boiled as the daemon Red Angel emerged from a massive rift with the sole purpose of killing Ferrus Manus.

Latone itself had been devastated in the war, the once vibrant world had supported billions of souls and been a key planet in the development of Ultramar's industrial might, hosting both a force from the Ultramar Auxilia and Battlefleet Ultramar, along with an entire chapter of the XIII Legion, led by the enigmatic Chapter Master Orar. In the years leading up to the fall of Guilliman the planet had been exposed to mass amounts of civil unrest and general disorder as mutineering soldiers seized one of the many factorum dotting the planet, while Orar himself mysteriously disappeared with his entire force, reportedly entering the T'au system in an attempt to ward off a growing xenos threat, though none could say for sure. With the XIII Legion divided in the increasingly demanding front, planets like Latone were the first to be exposed to the malevolent touch of the Chaos Gods. The first rumours of cult growth had been largely ignored by the planetary governor, who seemed more keen on counting coins rather than building up any sort of preparedness for the potential threat looming on the horizon, and as a result the planet was completely vulnerable when the ships designated to it turned on the governor's rule at the outset and obliterated the capital from orbit. Despite that, the ruins provided to be an excellent rallying ground for loyalist forces and the Army managed to resist wave after wave of rebel assault during the wider war in Ultramar, resulting in a growing stalemate as the loyalist regime rapidly regained support and territorial gain across the planet. A massive offensive from the capital northwards secured the rebels' industrial holdouts on the planet and they'd ultimately be forced back into the rural areas, only to retaliate with atomic weaponry that further crippled the planet's ecosystem. The remaining loyalist forces capitulated not long after.

With the planet theirs, the rebels had set about it making one of the many designated 'convert worlds' from where, given the fall of the Imperium, true worship of Chaos could be propagated. They would be the perfect worshippers, entire systems dedicated to the grand calling of the Gods. With the planet in ruins and most of the population reduced to living in over-stuffed refugee camps that could hardly sustain the war-stricken population, famine, disease, and further discord swept through the rebel ranks as they turned on one another, with the entire planet descending into the control of feuding warlords as the fleet departed for Macragge. Since then, Latone had been largely left alone, allowed to stew in its own misery as each warlord vied for the control of the planet's few industrial basins and dominating the infrastructure, with hostile cliques sprouting from that kind of desire. After years of this disunited rule, a small force of army officers would manage to secure a dominant foothold and begin to consolidate their power. One of the first major actions saw the construction of great basalt pillars using the naturally exposed volcanic rock on the planetary poles dedicated as places of worship. These massive spires, also, when Ferrus came, served as ideal rally-points in the turbulent warp-infested void, a convenience only possible with the over-eagerness of Chaos' mortal worshippers.

The arrival of the Iron Hands came twofold, first, a wave of drop pods lead by the Warmaster himself, followed by another assault combining the Salamanders under First Captain Numeon, whose Salamanders had only become far more ruthless and daring in the months leading up to the raid on Latone. Though the raid soon escalated into a full-blown war as the Iron Hands did not withdraw when the World Eaters arrived. Angron himself, still enthralled by the will and power of the Blood God, would be trapped in the void where the Ruinstorm was strongest, at least, until the mass destruction of rebel forces would allow for the bloody demigod to manifest on the surface. The Salamanders were the first to be struck out by Angron, who, alone, led a relentless assault against the loyalist forces with his swarm of berserkers struggling to match the sheer pace of the Red Angel. On the field, however, he would be met by the Warmaster, wielding Forgebreaker in one hand and a melta gun in the other, he met the Red Angel on the field which had been largely reduced to an ash-covered wasteland.

With his Morlocks holding the line, Ferrus struck first, managing to land a glancing blow on the massive daemon primarch, though was quickly battered by a ferocious onslaught as the Black Blade simply shattered through the Warmaster's armour. Only his famous gilded hands could catch the weapon, the metal singing as it simply bounced the blade off it, causing Angron to cry in outrage as he barrelled down on Ferrus. The two battled in the low shoals in a ferocious duel, Ferrus having lost both his weapons in the attack and the daemon barely able to glance him now that Manus regained his footing. Counter-attacking, Ferrus caught Angron by his throat, managing to stumble and cause the daemon to kneel, only to be impaled and to the dirt. Bleeding out, Ferrus' soul had been wounded by the strike, yet around them the battle had remained firmly in the hands of the loyalists as the Salamanders rallied to support the Iron Tenth. Angron, set to kill his brother and claim the Warmaster's soul as his prize, would be denied another glorious kill as Dawnbringer struck him across the head.

Vulkan's sudden appearance was unexplained, needless to say, though he was armed and armoured was to be expected given the talent of the primarch's craftsmanship, wielding his famous hammer that he had intended as a gift for Ferrus, it is believed that it housed a teleporter that allowed him to jump quickly from the Salamanders ships to the surface and intervene. Reinvigorated, powerful, regal, even, Vulkan laughed in the face of Angron's rage as he attacked, the strongest primarch clashing with the daemon-thing and throwing him back three times, though each time was starting to get more faint. It was only with the blood starting to dry and the war around them turning firmly towards the loyalists securing the world that the duel would end, with Angron being flung back into the void as his blood-soaked soul was unable to maintain its presence on a planet far from the roaring bowels of the Warp. The reunion between the two primarchs was brief, Ferrus being gravely wounded and Vulkan seemed not entirely there, opting simply to allow Shadrak Meduson to evacuate the Iron Hands and quickly make for their hidden stronghold to ensure that Ferrus would live, while Vulkan himself rallied his forces and pulled back, disappearing from traitor ire as his ships fled.

This victory had a profound effect on the morale of the heretics, many of the mortals showing clear signs of wear as the apparent complete failure to kill Vulkan only rallied the loyalists on the eve of the battle of Macragge, with many Salamanders rejoining Perturabo's host, while the true fanatics, Angron himself included were quick to point out Ferrus was dying, and his role (supposedly) as the true mastermind of the entire war against them would mean that any cohesion would fall apart. They had overestimated the Lord of Iron, and would pay the iron price.

Crilltic · Jul 4, 2020

Iron Blood
Unknown System

Perturabo stood on the bridge of the Iron Blood and in stark contrast to the silence of the immediate aftermath of the Ruinstorm it was a scene of carefully controlled chaos. Astartes and mortal voidsman bustled back and forth across the nerve center of the titanic vessel, the panoply of half a dozen different legions evident in the different liaisons from the various loyalist forces in the Ruinstorm. Surrounded by the pale green glow of holographic displays and the panoply of view-screens that the Iron Blood had in place of view-screens, the center piece of the command room, a tactical simulator of unparalleled fidelity designed by Perturabo's own hands.

Now it showed the Macragge system, just as it had for the past two weeks, and the holographic display and the powerful cogitators that informed it tracked thousands of different simulated ships across the simulated system. The Lord of Iron watched it with impassive eyes as it cycled through yet another assault on the system. His own analytical mind clicking through and analyzing the cogitators estimates in real-time.

As it cycled down, and the certainty of the outcome evolved, he spared a glance down at the hammer by his side. It had become one of his main projects in his scant spare time, the weapon recovered from the fallen battle automata that had given its life on those ashen fields of Espandor. It had died protecting his sons, tearing apart a pair of traitor dreadnoughts in its final moments, and the Iron Warriors had repaid its sacrifice with a desperate push to salvage the graviton maul that formed the core of its armament to prevent its fall into traitorous hands. Perturabo had taken the weapon as his own, both out of respect for his fallen creation and the fact his nascent studies into the nature of the Immaterium indicated that such sacrifices held meaning in and of themselves.

The systems of the advanced weaponry had been difficult to link with the systems of the Logos, even for an engineer of Perturabo's unmatched skill, but he had managed. On was a single word, carved into the Adamantium head of the weapon, in an old Olympian dialect. Sidiros. Iron. A pair of ritual charms hung from the handle of the weapon, a mixture of corded fabric and metal beads inscribed with philosophical koans modelled after of the traditions of ascetic monks from the Praeda System. Old superstition and rituals that had found new life in the Lord of Iron's search for weapons that would work in the esoteric realm of the Immaterium.

Similar charms, and others pulled from others traditions in humanities infinite history ritualized superstition, adorned the bridge of the Iron Blood and the armor of the various Iron Warriors and mortal auxilia that. For the Lord of Iron was nothing if not pragmatic, and a proven record of success was a powerful thing indeed. Even if it meant turning a blind eye to the occasional faint outline of a poorly hidden double-headed aquila.

Now, Perturabo looked back the simulator table, this time moving to key in new parameters, ones taking advantage of a similar vein of research he had been working on.

Karen · May 6, 2021

OOC THREAD

Seona Outpost - 0013.M31

Sitting quietly at his post and staring into the otherwise blank sonar map. Short-range auspex, per usual, turned up blank, an empty nothingness save for the ping of the irregular convoy ship sallying into the system as the well ran dry. With the enemy firmly surrounding Sol under the banner of several thousand warships, it was no small wonder that stations like this one, a nameless hunk of rocrete attached to a dormant asteroid in orbit of distant Seona, were even deployed, and he, Aric Nitsch, a former miner from Hy Brasil, was stationed on it. Save for the ghoulish servitor that seemed to listlessly rotate through mundane tasks one after the other and the occasional sensory ping of an incoming ship, Aric had seen nothing on his side of the world beneath him, nothing of note, anyway. Odd cosmological events were not something he was drilled for, and with warp storms effectively blinding posts like his, he wasn't exactly trained to deal with them, not that it mattered, the Astartes planetside didn't care much for his well-being. The 645th Company were a welcome sight for most, their golden armour offering some relief during briefings that took Aric from the listening post and down to the barren world. He hadn't seen his family in months, though it felt like years.

He'd volunteered, of course, the so-called 'first wavers' all had. They stood before the Primarch and made their oaths en masse, millions of hopeful souls seeking to do their part for the Imperium. Many were shuffled off to the Army or to work as gunnery crews in the massive fleet gathering at Pluto, but Aric was lucky to get a nice, quiet posting that put him, ironically, in the front of danger. A message repeated in his mind, words from General Niborran; 'If they strike, they will strike here, and you, first.'

Taking another lazy sip of his amasec, Aric snorted, tuning the auspex sweep again, changing the frequency higher and higher to pick up the densely-packed starships of the Imperium, their prows glistening in the dim light of Sol. Predictably, he snorted and fell back into his seat as nothing came up except fruitless void. Straightening his uniform, the... officer? Technician? He didn't even know, rose from his seat and stretched his legs, never a voidsman, he relished the quiet and used it to continue working on his manuscript. A tasteful thing, one dedicated to his wife, Aric hoped to have her read it one day as a dedication of his service to the Imperium.

He hoped, a more morbid part of his mind reached him as he looked through a porthole to the yawning abyss of stars, to make it back to Terra first.

Carol · May 6, 2021

A Question of Time

Bhab Bastion, The Imperial Palace, Terra

Terra lived as the heart of the Imperium of Mankind, providing the blood that substantiated the enormous and unparalleled enterprise of humanity, the very light of civilization. And it was the first of Primus for the home planet. The start of the new year: a day marked for growth and renewal. None of that could be found in the alarm-stricken streets, empty of their usual personalities.

To those who could observe the night sky, unimpeded by the myriad hab-blocks, new stars seemed to have appeared out of nothing. A string of lights blinked up every minute. But this halo was not one to be celebrated. The average Imperial mind was rational enough to cower. For they knew that treachery had arrived at their doorsteps.

'The Lion is coming,' they whispered.

The whispers transformed into a whirring noise of stamping scribes, scratching parchment spools and ringing holo-projections at the Grand Borealis Strategium in the Bhab Bastion within the Imperial Palace. This was the centre of defensive matters for the system. The place where Admiral Su-Kassen watched and waited for the first blow, knowing how thin her shield truly was.

A servitor clicked a button at his instrumental panel. The mindless drone of flesh and metal followed whatever command the Admiral wished of it, as efficiently as its cybernetic programming would allow. On the holo-project in front of Su-Kassen new data crawled into view.

Green runes lit up around the Sol System. They were the primary fleet concentrations—every part possessing more than a hundred ships spaced between Pluto, Uranus, Jupiter, Mars and Terra. Five different layers before the traitors entered Terra. A likely outcome by the size of their armadas alone.

She closed her eyes upon seeing the approaching red runes. An ocean's worth of them spilling into Sol. Brutes and trained heretics, veterans of a thousand campaigns; they had the Emperor's twisted sons leading them. Lion El'Jonson, Fulgrim, Alpharius and Leman Russ were legends. The dark Astartes knew how the Imperium fought. A cold, calculating approach of fire and brimstones: merciless, precise and ever victorious.

Steady yourself, Niora, the Admiral thought, once again opening her eyes. Every battle had to be examined fully. Numbers alone could not amount to assured victory. The holo-project expanded the data to encompass all loyalist forces approaching Sol. Perturabo and Vulkan on one hand and Jubal Khan, Barabas Dantioch and Sanguinius on the other. They were Terra's salvation, carrying before them legions of men each. All they needed was time.

Could she and the trapped loyalist hosts do it? The question haunted Su-Kessen. Out of the decades of meritorious service she put to the Imperium, this would be her hardest test. Her keen mind had already picked out where the traitors were most likely to hit. The Twin Gates, ancient navigation buoys for any astropath coming to Sol, had to be tempting targets.

'Update display— warp-reality translation via the Khthonic Path,' she ordered. The opening part of mankind's destiny was at hand. And the Lion would decide when to start.

Thiccroy · May 6, 2021

WHAT AM I?

Leman of the Russ.

Adopted son of a mighty King of the land of Russ, Leman was only a boy when he bested beasts no other man could, mastered the tongue of his people and became a warrior unlike any other on Fenris. He would become King. Known to all as Wolf-King- raised by the dreaded wolves of the ice wastes. His packmates, Freki and Geri, would be his long time companions. Together with his warriors, he would unite Fenris both through conquest and peace. Then came He. He, who sought to fool the Wolf King. But the Wolf was no fool. He smelt his own blood in the Emperor. Having passed the trials, he accepted his fate. Leman Russ would tutor under this man who called himself his Father. Hesitantly, they would create a bond alike that which Leman had made with his father, the King of the Russ.

He would be Leman Russ, then. Primarch of the Space Wolves.

His children, though he never truly considered them as such- more as brothers- were his stalwart shield, he their sword. Together, under the guidance of their benevolent Emperor, would make great gains in the Great Crusade. But all change after Horus' fall. Though Leman did not know Horus too well, he was a brother. He was loved. He would take his mission in the northern part of the Galaxy- fighting Orcs and, finally, fighting a false Emperor. He would lose some of his friends there. Thus began Leman's downfall. He asked, who was he? Just a puppet, so far away from the Emperor on his gilded throne to do his errands? It had been so long since he had been to Fenris. He loved his Father.

And he hated Mortarion.

For his insolence, he paid dearly. In the orbit of Fenris, his beloved home, he would create destruction. Leman was always wild. And, in part, he thought himself... regretful of his decisions. But it had brought him to now. To here. What was he now? Did he exchange a father for a Grandfather- from one puppetmaster for another? Men called him Plaguelord, and he felt number by the day. He watched as his homeworld desintegrated, and watched as he, willingly, cast an iron hand down onto 'Terra'. He rebranded it Ragnarok. What a fool he is. Do you not see what you have become? You have become a thug. Pushing the weak down because you're strong. You're pathetic. You're no longer the man you used to be. You could have died- resigned to your fate like a true warrior! A true son!

And what do you do? You cower away from death. You sought life, and this is what you get! Festering gout in your limbs, your skeleton a mere hollow shell, your skin a palish green and your eyes- your eyes, Leman! They are gone, you fool! You are nothing but a meatsack that has named itself one of the greatest men to ever walk this Galaxy! You are a disgrace. You disappoint me.

You are dead, Leman. You failed.

I am dead. Leman Russ is no more. What is there left? What is left of the memory of Fenris? What is left of the Wolf King? What is left of the Space Wolves? What is left of 'Terra'? And what will be left of this sad excuse of an Empire? As Leman looked out through the dirty window of his corrupted flagship, the Hrafnkel, he did not weep fro his beloved Freki and Geri, dead from the Life-eater virus. He did not think great thoughts or strategies He thought... What is left of Leman Russ? He is dead.

I am The Rout. I am the Plaguelord that scourged Ragnarok. I am the hunter of the Khan. I am the burner of Baal. I am the Rout...

... and none shall escape me.

Mortis Nuntius · May 6, 2021

Justice exited the warp bearing new scars, proudly won and worn, and hailing the home fleet triumphantly. The dwindling band of Night Lords that called it home were far from the ragged survivors charging to their doom just a year before. They like their Primarch were filled with a dark and righteous drive, as they took the fight to the traitors again and again and again they danced upon the threads of destiny and laughed in the face of fate.

Konrad Curze stood upon the bridge, accompanied as ever by his shadow. "How many of them do you think are just about restraining themselves from opening fire every time we enter their precious grandiose chairworld my dear Jago?" He asked in amusement.

"That depends father." Jago answered straight faced.

"On what?"

"On whether Sigismund is present. He would want to stab us."

A dry chuckle escaped Konrad's lips. "Drole Jago, very drole."

"I miss him. The murderous brute."

"Do not castigate yourself my son. I sometimes manage to miss Rogal Dorn."

"..."

"Yes yes, I know too much has been done and said. He shall never forgive me, but allow me this little doomed fantasy. A little hope goes a long way."

"I would never rob you of it father. Never. But I do think that everyone is right when they call you completely insane. The Praetorian manages to have less personality than the walls he builds."

"He does enjoy building walls...I'm somewhat surprised he has not built one right across this solar system."

"Give him another week."

The pair laughed in unison. Yes, the Justice was a very different ship than the Nightfall, it was dim, not dark and the Astartes and mortal crewment took ownership of it, instead of skirting furtively through its horror filled halls. It was clean, orderly and warm and laughter of the non manical kind was not an an utterly alien sound. But the most crucial difference was its occupants, they may have shared faces with the revenants that had preyed on mankind's rotting excess just short years before, but the similarity ended there, regardless if anyone outside the dark brotherhood cared to acknowledge the difference.

Dadarian · May 6, 2021

Translated to High Gothic

Holding his cranium in his claws, Kane could barely listen to the droning, panicked ramblings of those around him. A War Council? This isn't even a data mining event, it's a mockery of the Mechanicum. If the Skitarii saw this monstrosity of a meeting, they'd desert en masse. Using a subprogram to allocate a deliciously illicit amount of pure ethol into his bloodstream, Kane sat up. If he had those tread augmentations, he would've been half-pressed to run over the council and start anew. Slamming his upper left grasper onto the table, breaking off a chunk, the befuddled bemoaning died in an instant.

"Now, you ignorant savages. We may have lost Mars. We may have lost the bulk of our library. We may have lost the bulk of our leadership. We may even be deprived of our greatest factorums and schematics. But we have the Machine God, we have Terra, and we have open avenues to bring forth new creations to secure victory. Now, we need to look into something ancient. Something unknown. To many, one could say, something alien."

The whispers began, good. The weak, human elements of the Mechanicum needed a goal, a task to dedicate themselves to. Something specific, and not some vague idea. The Mechanicum was a binary beast, not hemmed in by the greater failings of humanities many, endless imperfections. An impossible task, that is exactly what the Machine God demanded. For what, if not the impossible, does the Machine God ever demand in the knowledge that it is the pursuit that gives purpose, not the nihilistic escapism of traitors, who embrace all the weaknesses of man and machine, but none of its strengths.

Dovahsith · May 6, 2021

I will die on this world

The realisation that would chill a mortal to the soul, sapping at their determination and strength was processed, analysed for veracity and accepted by the Praetorian's transhuman mind as he continued to process the newest dispatches of fleet numbers, both the newest scattered bands of loyalists to arrive in system, their hulls scarred and pitted from years of constant battle and those detailing estimations of the traitor fleet.

It was coming. It was inevitable. To leave Terra unconquered was to permit the Emperor time to rebuild, the Imperium to recover from the surprise of the betrayal. Even those blind to the warp's current's could feel the sheer immensitiy of the traitor fleet moving upon the warp's tides towards them, like primatives sensing the tread of an apex predator.

He had prepared with the time and resources availible to him, but both had grown desperately lacking as of late. The cost of the coming battle was beyond even his ability to estimate. Yet he knew it would be dear. Millions would die in the coming days, if not billions by most conservative estimations.

A host that was perhaps even greater than that assembled at Ullanor came to the throneworld. If only Horus had lived to see this day. Perhaps this treachery might have been avoided or perhaps at least, the destruction of all they had worked towards would not be so inevitable. Perhaps it was for the best that his brother need not see what had become of their kin. Lupercal would have weeped to witness such base dishonoring of their oaths to the Emperor.

And yet he would not be found wanting in his duties. Fleets had been readied, defences prepared. Great armies had been raised to stand in the defense of mankind's cradle. If Rogal Dorn was to die in the defence of the Imperium to whom he had sworn his oaths of loyalty, never once wavering in his honor, then so be it.

He would drag his traitor kin screaming to the hells they had so easily sold their souls to and carve a warning in their hides to all whom were so lacking in their conviction to the Great Dream of mankind's future that they would betray it so heiniously.

Revan4221X · May 6, 2021

"So Revelation, are you prepared to end this when the time is right?

.......

"I understand. The parts the Weapons have to play will be an arduous one."

.......

"Don't I always? You should know better Revelation. This Earth has seen many a battle, but none as important as what to come."

.......

"As you say. Things are going Just As Planned."

SteelWriter77 · May 6, 2021

The Calm Before the Storm

Jaghatai Khan

It is said that moments that define an age often have a calm before them, Ullanor could have been considered the moment a new age began, but that was the calm before a thunderous storm. The betrayal of his Brothers and the war that comes, that was the end of Ullanor's effects, but now comes the calm of a new storm. One that shall shake the Galaxy.

Jaghatai knows that many will die, more then the those that have fallen, those who had tried to keep the dream alive, but fell. His Brothers, Ferus, Magnus, Vulkan and....Horus, and the billions of souls who followed them because of Jaghatai's absence. Did he blame himself, was he at fault for not finishing the Orks sooner, was he not fast enough.

He shakes his head, this is no time to think of what ifs, he is needed now and in the present, his sons and living Brothers need him and they must be the ones on his mind now.

He though of Targutai Yesugei, one of his oldest friends and the man who stopped the Red Haze before it consumed him, whose wise words continued to aid him in these coming days

He thought of Tsolmon Khan, who fights with such conviction and honor, Jaghatai knows he will be remembered as a hero, no matter who is left to remember.

He thought of Sengur Khan, whose body has been broken and torn by the many enemies they have faced on their path to Terra, but whose resolve has never wavered and one who is truly worthy of praise.

He thought of Torghun Khan, The one who fights to preserve his fallen brother Horus's memory and the memory of the true Luna Wolves, not the monsters they have become.

He thought of His Brothers who yet lived. Konrad, who fights so hard to redeem his past and seeks justice for the innocent.

Rogal Dorn, Whose works no stand the test that none ever wanted, The man who is the first and last defender of Terra.

Sangunius, the one he so desperately tried to aid, but was unable to save his world, the one who may have to rebuild much if they were to fail.

Mortarion, the one he distastes and is one he will never trust, but will have to fight by his side one day.

Perterabo, who is fighting alone in the broken realms of the Ultramarines and one he knows will not die without a fight.

Corvus, the one who now hides in shadows fighting monsters that pale in comparison to the ones who nearly ended his Legion.

Jaghatai sighs and wonders how will he be remembered, a Warrior who fought till the end, a fool who could save no one. It is impossible to know his end but the path is clear, he will fight his traitor kin and not allow anymore of his Brothers to die on his watch.

He knows all Eyes are turned towards Terra and the fate of Mankind rests in the coming months. He looks out at the glistening stars of the void and sees the telltale signs of the Warp shifting massively, the Storm comes and it will find that the White Scars are more then willing to face it's wrath, with Jaghatai Khan leading the charge.

Warhammer: Tragedy on Ullanor

信奉者

Theon Killjoy

信奉者

信奉者

Theon Killjoy

Slightly Insane Tactical Genius

信奉者

Lost on the road of life

信奉者

信奉者

Sanguine Sanguinary

the Ever-Unhinged

Theon Killjoy

The King of Queen's

Lost on the road of life