False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC/reboot)

[Ossric]

Enyo-Stygia Pacification

An odd feeling. Not betrayal itself, that simply stung. The odd feeling was when it no longer stung. Malliston lately had found it harder and harder to feel what he knew he should. It had always been an issue. He had been told repeatedly that he was a grim and cold man at times when not being demeaned for his arrogance or pride. Now though the issue was not finding the proper way to express his feelings, it was having them in the first place.

Upon return to Stygia and Enyo, home of not only his Legion, but the center of what had been his own little section of the galaxy Malliston was briefed of the betrayal of Atlas at the far reaches of the Imperium. The idea of his brothers, at least two of them, some of the reports he was getting from his men were conflicting, becoming traitors, and another two dying possibly was enough to shock him. He couldn't believe how quickly the galaxy had seemingly changed. Over the next weeks he had come to accept this new reality, and over time the revelation or perhaps his own nature had slowly deadened his heart toward such a thing. Word of a primarch's betrayal had led to scatterings of discontent within his own domain. This again caused a sting within his heart as several of these rebellious nobles and commanders had once approached him to split from the Emperor's will and strike out on his own. They had vowed their loyalty to him and he had accepted their loyalty greedily but turned down their desire to be free of the Imperium. Malliston had believed it madness to defy his father and siblings, but now, those nobles and commanders rose up against him because he remained loyal. The thought of betraying the Imperium remained madness in his mind. Surely in the end all the traitors would meet the same gruesome demise.

As he retaliated against the suddenly rebellious forces on his own homeworld, Malliston found himself growing ever more grim and apathetic to the conflict. It was all pointless he realized. Should he fail to suppress the rebellion it wouldn't truly matter for them, his siblings would come to offer aid and the rebels would die either way. Their cause for a liberated and independent Stygia proven even further than their betrayal of him as a foolish if not completely naïve and doomed endeavor.

When some of his own legion turned against him to support the rebels, many of them natives of Stygia, some of them even his Old Stones, that had fought beside him before even encountering the Imperium, Malliston hardly registered it. As the once beautiful natural landscape of Stygia, healed after over a century of peace, largely thanks to his own efforts, turned into pockmarked and poisoned fields of corpses, he didn't even bat an eye. Everything he felt he had given his once beautiful form, his freedom, and his health for was turned against him and he could at most grunt in acknowledgment of the reports.

His loyal officers even began to doubt him after so long. The death toll on the population of Stygia and Enyo had grown to horrendous scales. HIs legion suffered rather minor losses all things considered, largely because they had begun to take the easiest route to victory by this point. Entire hab blocks gassed to eliminate a singular cell of traitors. The vast majority of Stone Warden casualties came from squads turning on one another like animals.

By this point, Malliston had lost all control of his own homeworld. The battle had spiraled further and further out of control as his normal tactics failed him. His new go-to strategy of scorched earth seeming to bring the only true victories he possessed and even then they were pyrrhic. The truth was however he could have won this battle before it got out of hand, had he only acted quickly from the onset. Instead he hadn't cared. Even now, while he was annoyed by the notion of having to ask for aid from his siblings, he found he couldn't care enough about the humiliation to stop himself.

Now Malliston, and his sons, in their scarred and crackling armor covered in chemical burns, had to reach out to others unless he share a punishment like his brother Korteaz. Malliston of course could only see one true strategy to destroy his traitorous sons and subjects and return to support his fellow primarchs. He no longer cared at all for the people there. The only things topping him being the destruction of himself and his Legacy for the act of cleansing his planet.

So the message was sent, it's security rating restraining it's access to only his fellow primarchs or the most high ranking of Imperial officers. Another primarch could make the call for the fate of his home. Burn it, save it, as long as the final decision, and possible retaliation from the Emperor fell somewhere besides himself and his sons, it didn't matter.

[Lunas Legion]

Uriel Febua
Anvillus System
Ultima Segmentum
763.001.M3

The Warp had been turbulent on the short journey to Anvillus, more so than it had been on the journey to Incaldion, and that was saying nothing of the hail of Astropathic messages that the fleet had been assailed with coming from the Galactic East. Cries for aid, for reinforcement from his Brazen Beasts against the armies arrayed against them. Someone else might have actually listened to the calls, but not him. Even when Incaldion itself, the world that had so eagerly handed over half of its titan legion, the Legio Fureans, to his cause had sent a call for his aid, he did not bring the fleet back around.

Another Primarch or another legion, more suited to static defence than his own legion, might have done so. Anvillus would remain besieged, and they would draw up a line of defences in system and in the surrounding systems. The Brazen Beasts were most certainly not suited to a war of defence, let alone one from static fortified positions, and so they would not. Let whatever force was coming their way burn itself white cutting its way towards the Galactic core. Once Anvilius had fallen, then they would meet them on the field of battle.

Uriel's fleet emerged from the Warp over the course of a few hours, ships transitioning from the Warp in clusters of two or three, not waiting at the Mandeville point for long and instead making full speed to join the throng of Brazen Beasts ships already within the system, holding it under blockade. The Rex Bestia broke from the warp in a blast of red and purple, the battle-scarred ship swiftly moving to join the main fleet as Uriel turned to walk deeper into the ship.

Like any major engagement, there would be a Bul held beforehand, to divide up tasks and drop zones between the leaders of the warbands in the fleet, and in this case, to hear from those leaders already present in system the situation.

---

The hall was crowded as he entered, Brazen Beasts roaring their approval, weapons raised above their heads as he made his way to the centre of the room, his sons parting before him. He was not alone in the empty space at the centre of the room, however, for the bulky, Terminator-armoured form of Brother Izzaw stood there, arm resting on his Thunder Hammer.

"My brothers!" Izzaw called out, bringing the room to silence. "After too long a wait, our Primarch has finally come to us to break this thrice-damned stalemate!" The Brazen Beasts roared their approval, boots smashing against the floor of the room like a thunderclap.

"With the aid of loyalists to Mars over those who kowtow to the False Emperor, we took Anvillus Nine in but a week and smashed their pathetic fleets in orbit." Izzaw roared out. "Yet there began our struggle, for those loyal on Anvillus itself were overcome before we could come to their aid, and so we face the forge-world in the fullness of its might, armed and ready. Fully half of the Legio Ultima stands against us, backed by the majority of Anvillus's Taghmata. Some of you will have invaded Forge-Worlds during the Crusade; you know how tough, even for Astartes, even for us, a Forge-World is to break."

"And so for the past month, we have been restricted to raiding." Izzaw continued. "Near-suicidal drop pod strikes against isolated positions, orbital bombardments of defence guns that would threaten our drop zones. But even so, we dared not land en masse, for the Legio Ultima remained unbowed within its deep and shielded fanes. But now, with our Brother-Primarch and the might of the Legio Fureans and Legio Xestobiax behind us, we can finally put this world to the torch for its insolence!"

He was met by roars of approval and the whining of chain weapons, the thunder of armoured boots against the deck as Uriel raised his hands, bringing his sons to silence.

"This will not be an easy fight, my sons." Uriel said, his voice low but carrying across the room. "But you are my sons, and we were not made for easy fights, were we? We have fought the length and breadth of the Galaxy together, and there were none who could stand before us, no matter if they were xeno or human or machine. You do not need a long-winded speech like some of my siblings would give. Anvillus is the first step on the road to Terra, to casting down the False Emperor. Victory here puts us closer to triumph over those who cannot see the truth of our nature. But as Izzaw has said, this will not be an easy fight. A Forge-World is among the strongest and most fortified planets in the Galaxy. It is defended by half a titan legion and countless Taghmata."

"But we have conquered thousands of worlds. We know the Mechanicum. We have titans of our own. Brother Izzaw's warbands have mapped the world, have already marked out our drop zones. And once we have made planetfall, has there ever been a force in the Galaxy that could hold back the tide of steel?" Uriel grinned viciously. "Carve up your drop zones, brothers, and make ready, for we attack tomorrow!"

Uriel could hear nothing but the deafening roars of his warriors as they filled the room, and he grinned.

This, this would be a fight like which he had not fought in decades.

[Bentus]

Cowrite between Audunia and Bentus

Nehushtan and Janessa
En Route to Nuzi

---

Janessa greedily gulped down the water from her canteen, draining the container with a satisfied sigh. Wiping a few stray drops from her mouth, she was still breathing heavily from her run around the hangar bay’s upper platforms. Leaning on the railings on one of the walkways, she could look down into the expansive chamber and watch as crew and soldiers alike meandered about on ground level like a nest of ants. They weaved their way in and around the heavy equipment and machinery of war that was stored within the hangar, while the sounds of chatter and mechanical work echoed up towards the ceiling.

There weren’t many places on a voidship that allowed for a good run. Janessa found that the repetitive, largely mental exercise helped her to clear her head. But trying to find somewhere on a starship with enough uncluttered space for a decent route was always tough, and anywhere with enough space was usually too crowded with traffic to be worth the effort. The gangways and walkways that criss-crossed their way above the main hangar was one of the few places that Janessa found to fit her needs. Few people had a need to go up there, apart from the occasional techpriest or foreman, and the hangar’s high ceiling gave the closest representation to an open space that could be expected on a voidship.

Taking another sip from her canteen as she felt the beads of sweat drying on her forehead, Janessa frowned as she scanned the work that was going on beneath her. Welding torches and the pounding of hammers filled the air as the ship’s crew continued to repair damage from the incursion they’d faced within the warp. Even from her perch on the walkway’s railing, Janessa could make out the brutal claw marks that had sheared through the steel and iron plating that made up the bay’s walls. Scorch marks from blasters still dotted some spots on the floor, aesthetic imperfections that lay at the bottom of the list of the enginseer and techpriests’ priorities. Unprompted, Janessa recalled racing through the tight confines of the ship. She’d heard the inhuman roars mingling with the agonising screams of the dying, while the cracks of bolters mixed with the chilling sound of ceramite being ripped apart like paper.

Heavy footfalls pulled the princeps from her reverie, and she glanced over her shoulders to see a towering figure approaching her. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she flashed the Primarch a smile.

“Lord Nehushtan, I wouldn’t have expected to see you up here.” She said, turning to face the man with a sign of the aquila. “Wanted a bird’s eye view of the work?”

Nehustan’s face remained firm when Janessa spoke, his mind was on matters that concerned him more than simple ship repair. “There was a debriefing” he said, eyes going from scanning the expansive hanger to looking at her “Your absence was noted but unexplained, quite unlike you”

Meeting the Primarch’s gaze, the princeps frowned slightly as she responded. “I wasn’t aware that my presence was required. My understanding was that Clarke would’ve been able to answer any questions that you had.”

Studying Nehushtan’s stern features, Janessa felt a gnawing sense of concern. Ever since the warp incursion, the superhuman had seemed more withdrawn. Even during their sparring sessions, he appeared distracted by his own thoughts. Directing her full attention towards the man, she offered him a friendly smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Besides, I didn’t feel like being cooped up in a room with a bunch of officers bickering amongst themselves. I’ll leave that duty to my superiors, thanks.”

Nehushta nodded “Under normal circumstances, that would be a good enough excuse. But these are not normal circumstances.” he weakly returned the smile as he turned his attention back to the damage inflicted on the hanger. His body turned as his hands rested on the metal railings, the metal holding steady despite the weight. Though his face hid it, his mind was deep in thought. Even now, mid Warp, he was deeply concerned that the Gellar Field would flicker again and, this time, would stay off. He’d heard stories of what they mortals had faced, the concept of being lost in the Warp had become a much more nightmarish possibility.

More importantly, he had pressed more people, even Imperial Army soldiers, into ship repair. It was vital that the ship was returned to normal with no signs of damage, minds were wiped to ensure the experience would remain a secret. He couldn’t afford to let such a story reach out into the world, the panic it would cause, even the possibility of censure. No, he and the Sar Mat Exemplars had agreed it would remain a secret held by only the highest of commands.

Turning back to lean on the railing, Janessa sighed at the Primarch’s muted tone. Feeling the heavy presence of the man beside her, she followed his gaze out to the damaged hangar beneath them.

“No, I suppose they’re not.” She admitted. Even while the crew were still reeling from the near-disaster they’d faced within, whispered words of new horrors had begun to trickle through the ranks. Whispers of treason and betrayal of unfathomable scale, and of coming battles unlike anything that they’d fought in the past. Janessa’s rank was high enough to know that there was truth behind these whispers, and while she didn’t yet know the details, she could only imagine how the Primarch was handling the news.

“My Lord, you were raised on Nuzi, weren’t you?” Her question broke the silence that had descended on the walkway. She’d come to notice when the Primarch was becoming too lost within his own thoughts, and she decided to try and pull his mind towards a happier topic. “It must be good to travel back to your homeworld, after so long away.”

Janessa’s question tore him out of his thoughts, which he was thankful for. They’d become darker and far more negative ever since his encounter with the beast in the Warp. He looked at her and offered a genuine smile. “I did,” he answered, relief in his voice to be talking about something he enjoyed “And it is. I haven’t been to Nuzi in fifty solar years, at least. It is a shame I haven’t, Nuzi is far more my home than anywhere else in the galaxy. Have you ever been?”

Janessa chuckled at the Primarch’s response. Sometimes it was too easy for her to forget that the man had lived many lifetimes already. “I haven’t had the good fortune to visit, my Lord.” She answered. “We princeps are sent where we are needed, and for as long as the Crusade has raged, there’s always been somewhere for us to walk.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Do you think much may have changed since you last visited?” She cracked a smile. “We mortals can get a fair bit done in fifty years.”

“I don’t doubt it” he replied, nodding “But Nuzi is a strange world, innovation is both loved so long as it adheres to cultural values. For instance, you would never catch a Nuzian driving when burden beasts exist, but they will certainly make use of solar generators and moisture captures.” he smiled at the thought “They would take lessons in building, but would never use anything other than sandstone, though I don’t fault them on this. The Palace of Illyrum is a beautiful sight, gardens dangle from its walls and towers, though it does have far too many arches”

He let out a soft chuckle “Mortals are capable of a great many things in fifty years, but do you think they could do as I did and conquer Nuzi in twenty years?”

“Adherence to cultural values can be...admirable.” Janessa replied, her mouth twitching ever so slightly downward as thoughts of her own origins resurfaced. The memories were quickly squashed however as she quipped back to the Primarch’s follow-on comments.

“That’s hardly a fair comparison.” Janessa offered the Primarch a smirk. “Who knows, I might’ve been able to do it in less if I’d had the Red Queen by my side.”

All jokes aside, there was no denying the inhuman achievements that the Primarchs had each accomplished. Neshushtan himself had managed to conquer a whole planet with little more than his own strength and will, gathering both an army and an empire within the space of a scarce few decades. It was a feat that Janessa doubted any single mortal could have even hoped to accomplish, but no mortal wielded the same strength as a Primarch either.

“And you speak of the Nuzians as if you weren’t one of them.” Janessa added, curiosity evident in her tone. “Surely you have as much a claim to that planet’s culture as any mortal raised there, my Lord? After all, you played no small part in building it up to where it is today.”

“”You are correct” Nehushtan conceded “I am Nuzian, but it is a problem all of us Primarchs face when talking, that we unintentionally differentiate between ourselves and mortals. A byproduct of our existence” he added, lifting his hand and looking over it. It dwarved even the largest human’s hand, and he towered over almost every being. His strength was beyond measure, mental capacity beyond comprehension. All these features had him marvelled as a god prior to meeting the Emperor.

“I am tied to Nuzi strongly, it is the one planet I allowed myself to build rather than destroy, I carry its sand with me so that I am always close to it. I love it for that, time permitting we can make planetfall. It has been too long since I last saw the Gardens of Saargdan. But I’m sure reminiscence isn’t as interesting to mortals. Nuzian wine is likely more your language.” he said after a brief pause.

Janessa laughed at the Primarch’s comment. “While I can’t speak for all mortals, I suppose that I’ve never especially been a woman of culture.” She joked, although she noted the way that Nehushtan seemed to gaze at his own hand.

It was strange, still, for her to see a Primarch as more than just some incomprehensible figure in the distance. She was surprised to hear a hint of what she could only think of as regret in Nehushtan’s tone. He and his Legion had a reputation as being the destroyers of worlds, with their assaults known for being especially damaging and brutal for their foes. But the Nehushtan that Janessa had gotten to know, however slightly, didn’t seem to fit so easily into that established mold. And even then, was the violence of his tactics really the same as outright destruction? Many of the worlds that had faced the wrath of the Vipers had rebuilt far and beyond their past selves. Was that really destruction, or just the removal of the old to make way for the new?

“Well, I can’t say that I’d be opposed to some time with proper ground beneath my feet.” Janessa eventually added, a soft smile adorning her features. “And I guess that seeing the homeworld of a Primarch is an exciting experience of its own. Can’t say that I can imagine the kind of world that it takes to raise someone like you or your siblings. It couldn’t have always been easy.”

“Nuzi is deathly hot and unwelcoming to those that traverse it unprepared” he replied curtly. Raise someone like you was all that rung in his mind. He had accepted the fact that turning on his brother, Kortaez, and arresting him had afflicted him with a black mark, he hadn’t expected the reputation to infiltrate into those under his command. Or perhaps she was referring to his single minded destruction of the enemy, the unending crusades that brought worlds too heel by force. Was he truly the cold and murderous being his actions made him, despite the thoughts he held in mind?

He was quiet for a long while as he thought, ire slowly dripping inside him. However, he spoke again, his voice restrained “And you, princeps, where do you come from?”

Janessa was surprised by the curt tone in the Primarch’s response. Craning her neck to peer up towards his features, she realised that she must have struck a nerve that she hadn’t even known was there. Primarily confused at what she could have said that would have caused the giant of a man to close up beside her, she frowned as he shifted the topic back to her own past. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds, half tempted to avoid the question entirely rather than dredging up an unwanted discussion.

“I grew up on Prodoria, a knight world closer to the Legio’s forge.” She eventually said, breaking her silence. “I was born into one of the Houses before I was selected by the Legio’s recruiters. There’s a strong adherence to local customs and traditions there, too.” Janessa’s mouth twisted into a frown as she continued. “But there are times when innovation should force the old to make way for the new, and Prodoria is one of those cases. You may be the kind of person who can change their world within twenty years, my Lord. But I can’t.” The princeps shrugged as she leaned on the railing. “So I count myself lucky to have had the option to just leave instead.”

Nehushtan joined in with a frown, those his eyes remained on Janessa. “It’s an unfortunate reality that people don’t like innovation thrown at them, why else would so many worlds refuse to join the Imperium?” he sighed, though there was a moment of silence where he held back on saying something else “I’m sure those on Prodoria must foolish about themselves now, ignorance leading to them losing a princeps of such quality”

Janessa laughed, shaking her head. “I sincerely doubt that.” She said, a hint of amusement in her tone at the thought. Glancing back up to the Primarch, a soft smile had returned to her features. “Although I appreciate the sentiment, my Lord.”

“I’m sure my father might have thoughts on a Knightly house passing over qualified pilots” he jokingly added. The sound of a new visitor had him turning his attention away. In truth, Nehushtan had been aware of the closing visitor for a while, he preternatural hearing alerting him, but he had kept it to himself. A long awkward pause would have made the conversation unbearable. The sound of ceramite grating against metal confirmed his suspicions it was one of his sons, his eyes landing on him revealed it to be Gedua Iron Hand, the first among equals amongst his sons.

His noble face was stern in the sterile light, something had him disgruntled. It was hardly surprising, the former Legion Master disliked coming this far down into the bowels of the ship, but there was no one else high ranked enough to bid Nehustan to follow. Light glinted off the spread eagle effigy on his armour as he came to a stop, offering the sign of the Aquila.

“Gedua,” Nehushtan said, placing his giant hand on Gedua’s shoulder, making it seem small by comparison “what brings you?”

Gedua’s lips straightened as he looked at Nehushtan, noticeably not looking at Janessa “Searching for you” he replied.

“You could have sent a messenger, to not deprive the bridge of its commander”

“You would not have come if I did” Gedua answered, one of his eyebrows arching in jest. Nehushtan let out a low chuckle and shook Gedua gently.

“It is likely, I was quite preoccupied talking with Princeps Janessa. Have you met her?” Nehustan asked, indicating with his head to her. It was in this then that Gedua first acknowledged her presence, though he had an unmistakable disapproving frown on his face for a moment, quickly replaced by tightly drawn lips.

Gedua shook his head “I have not, though I have met her superior on occasion, mainly during operational briefings. Clarke, I believe his name is. An accomplished officer, from what I remember” he answered, his eyes darting quickly back to Nehushtan’s “But I came to inform you we will be arriving at Nuzi shortly. Astropathic choirs report the airspace is rather clogged by the influx of Legion ships, so we will be breaking from the Warp a short distance out to avoid collisions.”

Janessa frowned, shifting slightly as the newly arrived Astartes spoke with Nehushtan. It must have cut an interesting image: a pair of giants, one dressed in his armour adorned with regalia, and a mortal woman dressed in a sweaty pair of simple fatigues that she’d thrown on for her run. By the time Gedua finally turned to glance in her direction, Janessa could already feel the animosity emanating from him. He hardly seemed to even be giving her much thought, dismissing her from the conversation nearly as quickly as he’d acknowledged her existence. And even then, he didn’t even deign to address her directly.

What’s his problem? She thought to herself.

“It seems like I best be leaving you to your duties, my Lord.” Janessa said, pushing herself away from the railing as she made to leave. “I’ll see you next time we spar?”

Gedua tilted his head slightly as his eyes glanced from Janessa back to Nehushtan, even with the control he held over his face and emotion, he couldn’t hide the confusion he was obviously feeling.

“Spar?” he asked quizzically. The thought of a Primarch sparring with a mortal was utterly unthinkable to Gedua, even the idea of a Primarch sparring with a Space Marine was outlandish, a completely outmatched event that would yield no benefit to anyone. He looked again at Janessa and couldn’t picture how it would be fair, the redhead would be defeated in mere moments. Throne, even Gedua would be defeated quickly.

There was a brief moment of silence before Nehushtan spoke again “Yes, Gedua, spar. I had thought you were aware after the first bout”

Gedua shook his head in disbelief at the revelation “I had heard, but I thought it was a once off. A mortal clearly shown her place, I can’t imagine you would ever spar one of your sons” Nehushtan smiled softly.

“Gedua, my son, no one’s ever asked”

Janessa bristled at Gedua’s words, furrowing her brow towards the Astartes. “Shown her place, sir?” She said, speaking up to push herself into the conversation. A wiser woman might have kept her mouth shut, but Janessa couldn’t allow a comment like that to pass while she was standing right there. “And where exactly may that be, if I may ask?”

Gedua looked at Janessa sternly, his regal features etched with annoyance “Far below a Primarch” he shot back grimly, his face darkened. Nehushtan placed his hand back on Gedua’s shoulder, noticeably firmly.

“Gedua, not now” he said, his tone making no room for argument. Nehushtan looked at Gedua and was surprised at the outburst, he was typically far more accepting of the mortals that roamed the ship and fought with him. His brows furrowed as Gedua looked up at him, his jaw tightening “We shall speak on this later”

Behind the Primarch, Janessa couldn’t help but crack her lips into a smile as Gedua was scolded. Folding her arms across her chest, she’d opened her mouth to tell her exactly what she thought about his opinion of her when her gaze fell upon Nehushtan once more. Thinking better than pushing her luck further than it had already gone, she held her tongue even as she continued to simmer internally.

“I apologise for the distraction, Lord Primarch.” Janessa said, a hint of her frustration slipping into her tone. She hated feeling restrained like this, but knew better than directly confronting one of the highest ranked Astartes in Nehushtan’s legion. “If we are to exit the warp soon, I should go and prepare as well.” She added, turning to offer a cold look towards Gedua. “A pleasure to meet you, Exemplar Gedua.” Making the sign of the aquila, Janessa turned and left towards her quarters.

[Morrdh]

Antigan Cluster

The so-called 'Crooked Bastion' was little more than a large asteroid that laid amongst the belt of an otherwise unremarkable system, though over the centuries space pirates had hollowed it out and reinforced it's rocky exterior with armour and voidship-grade weapon emplacements. Whilst not that formidable when an entire fleet was arrayed against it, the likelihood of such an occurrence was rare given that the asteroid base was surrounded by an asteroid field and had the support of a fleet of voidships for it's defence. It was believed that only a truly determined foe would be able to take the Crooked Bastion but only after a pro-longed and costly effort, having to navigate the hazards of the belt and fend off hit and run attacks from pirate vessels lurking amongst the rocks.

It had been a fair number of decades since Alizarelia had last visit the Bastion, though it had been claimed as an outpost by the Void Reavers Legion who maintained a detachment there. Though it was rare that the Bastion played host to a sizeable gathering of the Legion, let alone the entirely of the Void Reavers saved for those oathbound to serve on other duties or could not make it for other reasons. But most of the Legion's High and Low Captains were in attendance along with their Primarch, Alizarelia herself, for one of the most unprecedented gatherings in the Legion's history. There was certainly a buzz in the air, the Bastion's atmosphere charged with excitement as the various fleet and band commanders showed off their haul of loot and casks of beverages were opened.

Through the great hall filled with roaring laughter and cheers Alizarelia, wearing her customary cut-down power armour, made her way to the head of the hall. For the most part, Alizarelia ignored the noise and exchanged a few words with her top lieutenants who were gathered at the top table. She ascended to the throne that held the most prominent position at the head of the great hall, the same throne that Alizarelia had seized from the pirate lord Feckward a century or so prior. Rather than sit in it immediately, she turned and faced the hall causing the assembled host to gradually fall silent before she began to speak. "Perilous times lie ahead."

"Legion fights Legion, brother fights brother." Alizarelia continued. "The Great Imperium is being torn asunder as we gather here."

"The Warmaster Vasilisa has placed demands upon me, so has the challenger Lord Atlas." Said Alizarelia, noticing the jeers that arose at the mentioning of both names. "But a third, much higher authority, has also placed demands upon me."

"That is right, I have met and spoken with Him." Alizarelia allowed herself a small smile as she took in the stunned looks of those before her. "I will not lie, what He asks will bring us into conflict with the other Legions regardless of whom they have declared for. But rest assured, your actions in the coming weeks and months will be for the good of the Imperium as it is His decree that they will be done by and no others."

"I trust that you, Masters of the Void, Forgers of Paths Across the Great Black, will go forth and fulfil His commands." Stated Alizarelia before adding just prior to seating herself in the throne. "For those willing to do so, ready your fleets for we sail in two standard days."

From the throne, Alizarelia watched as first whispers rippled through the assembled ranks of her Legion before growing in insensitivity into full blown debates. Then at last a low Reaver, one of the Low Captains by the name of Carno, got to his feet and silence fell upon the great hall once more. Carno hesitated for a moment, first squawking his words before growing them in confidence and saying them clearer and louder. "For the Emperor!"

"For the Emperor!" The cry sounded once more as more of the Void Reavers joined in, with more and more taking up at the cry each time it was repeated. "FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

In her throne, Alizarelia sat back and smiled.

She had them, she had the Legion behind her.

Believing that they were following the commands of the Emperor Himself, they follow her to the ends of the universe itself and beyond.

Oh how little they knew.

[Morrdh]

Ardent Will
Sol System

The air of the hanger deck was filled with shouted cries and the clatter of power tools as the fitters busied themselves. During the voyage to the birthplace of mankind, Mangan had given orders for the Air Garda's roster of aircraft to be fully stripped down and overhauled. Honoured by being assigned to the defence of the Imperial Throneworld, the Air Marshal had wanted the Gwentian air fleet to be in tip-top condition upon arrival at Terra. It was a monumental task, but the Gwentian flight-line mechanics and ground crews had risen to the occasion, often working extended shifts to get the work done.

Whilst having fewer options, the Gwentian pilots and air crews had spent the voyage training hard. The flight simulators had often been in demand at all hours as training courses for the crews had been put on to keep them occupied and sharp. Mangan knew that the simulators could only do so much and didn't come close to flying an actual aircraft, thankfully once deployed planetside they could put in a number of training sorties. There were many Gwentians eager to get airborne once more, being 'grounded' for months on end didn't sit well with them.

Of course there was the influx of new personnel, replacements for losses sustained in recent actions, who were bedding in. It had required some careful shuffling around, but an effort was made to ensure that each new arrival was paired up with a veteran aviator. Once some proper flight training could be organised, Mangan was certain that the latest recruits would shape up quite well and benefit from the most experienced pilots and crews. Secretly Mangan hoped that it would not be Terra where the recruits were first bloodied, whilst an important duty the Air Marshal willed that the Air Garda would not have to be called upon to defend it.

[Imperialisium]

The Battle for Incaladion

The battle of Incaladion would be a conflict primarily fought over fifteen solar days; or, more precisely fifteen days, ten hours, fifty-seven minutes, and nine seconds until traitor resistance was rendered zeroth. It all started with a formal declaration by the loyalist Mechanicum ships in the Imperial fleet assaulting Incaladion. Declaring the planet's ruling Magi as Hereteks in the Eyes of the Omnissiah and the Faith. Followed by a declaration from the Warmaster that having turned back on the Treaty of Olympus Mons the Forge World had forfeited itself to the Emperor-As-Omnissiah's Justice. Vasilisa herself in the capacity of Warmaster to be the instrument of His righteous fury.

Ariadne and her Sirens were the first to engage. Conducting their own assault against the orbital and terrestrial defense installations. Along with assaulting vital strategic points along the worlds vast geo-stationary dockyards. A bitter struggle against a foe hoping to buy time in a protracted peripheral void war. Legions of skitarii and combat servitors faced the Sirens along with a flotilla of Mechanicum defense ships. However, the Emperor's Will could not be delayed and the Warmaster herself, aboard the Vengeful Spirit, led the spear tip of the Imperial assault on the atmospheric defense grid.

Sun Angel warships punched through to high orbit and opened up with their bombardment cannons. Followed by conducting a mass drop pod assault of over fifteen thousand Astartes onto strategic points. Severing communication lines, logistical route, destroying bases and assaulting enemy command echelons in their headquarters. Meanwhile Sun Angel strike teams infiltrated and secured the worlds vital datastacks. Securing them for the fire storm that was to come.

In this initial assault the positions of the enemy forces became more readily known. Enemy troop movements to counter the Sun Angels and push them back into space was met by over three hundred precision Lance strikes and mass fire bombing by Naval Wings. No quarter was given among any locale bearing military positions and assets. Hab stacks hosting troop concentrations were met with waves of Marauder bombers dropping incendiaries and chemical weapons. Phosphor billowed like white fog among habstacks, manufactorums, and the base of orbital lifters. As for the lead Magi held up in their own Forge-Fanes they were met with nothing short of a full Phosphex strike. The Preceptor-General of Incaladion's own forge was beset by no less than one thousand five hundred Imperial bombers bearing Phosphex ordinance. Such was the devastation that the sickly green-white hellfire could be seen from space. Causing a proverbial fire storm that killed many thousands. All in all the initial Imperial assault would account for an estimated sixteen million dead. More was to come...

The 109th Harakoni would commit a mass combat drop of the entire Regiment onto a belt of atmospheric defense guns ringing the major Forge-complex. The last chokimg flames of Phosphex still burning in the distance beneath them. They would be accompanied by an initial wave of eight hundred and fifty thousand Imperial Army troopers landing across the planet. All in all over three million Imperial Army combat personnel would be involved in the Battle for Incaladion.

As for the Warmaster herself, she would lead thirty-five thousand Sun Angels and the Vanitor 501st, dubbed Vasilisa's Fist, in a concerted assault against the remaining primary bastion of the enemy ruling Magi.

The fighting would be fierce. The traitors even weaponizing their own citizens to serve as impromptu combat servitors. But the battle was largely a pre-decided conflict. Denuded of its Titans the forge world had nothing to directly counter the loyalist titans led by Dies Irae. Even as it strode into their forge complexes surrounded by battalions of Baneblades and the loping sprints of Imperial Knights. Cutting a swath of destruction that breached even the most determined of enemy defenses.

Ultimately, the captured traitor magi that had survived the fires of Imperial retribution would face a punishment arguably worse than death. They would be removed of all their cybernetics and declared Damnatio Memori. All record of their achievements and existence would be scrubbed of Imperial public records. Their statues and laurels torn down and scorched. Their bodies, denuded of the machinery of their religion, effectively stripped of rank and recognition as members of the Cult of the Machine-God. Would be unceremoniously tossed into combustion chambers to be atomized. No proper cremation. No proper burial. Such was the fate of traitors of the highest degree in the eyes of the loyalist Tech-Priests. A sentence levied by their own kind, for the Warmaster broached no word on the will of her allies. Her objective in the name of the Imperium had been achieved.

[Audunia]

Head of the Serpent
En-route to Nuzi

I could sense Gedua bristling with anger as Janessa departed, his rigid stoicism being the only thing keeping him composed following my silent warning to him. Admittedly, he was fully justified to be angered. I had embarrassed him in front of a mortal and openly admonished him, something the Terrans didn’t take easily or allow to move past without incident.

“Father” he said, safe in the knowledge that they were no longer within earshot. His stern eyes looked up at me and I could see a small spark of betrayal in his eyes “Would you explain yourself?”.

My face remained hard and unreadable to him, though this was something new from him, demanding explanation so brashly, one might’ve thought he was Belteshezzar. I remained silent for a moment, before turning to leave. I motioned for him to walk with me and he did so without hesitation.

My eyes remained forwards as I answered him “You must think me mad for stooping so low to seek conversation from mortals, mustn’t you” I asked, without needing an answer. His face confirmed it “But know that I don’t do it without reason. It is as the Warmaster said, we do not know who our allies are, so I seek to confirm them.”

“So you embarrass your sons in deference to them? The path to make stronger enemies than the mortals” Gedua replied, his voice rife with resentment. I paused for a moment.

“Perhaps, but you fail to see the true picture”

“Don’t act scholarly to me, father, I prefer it when you act the beast, it’s much easy to disagree with you” Gedua shot back, his hand pressed an opening rune at the end of the walkway, the whine of gears and the typically smooth slide became a juttering annoyance, sending reverbetations down the grill of the walk way.

My lips thinned as I nodded “You sound like my brothers” I joked weakly, wanting to ease the scorn he was subjecting “But I apologise for it, but it is a necessity.”

“Necessity?” he asked, an eyebrow raising fractionally. I nodded grimly.

“A necessity. Times are uncertain, our allies are even less so. I cannot profess to know how the Mechanicum will align themselves, much less the princeps that walk in their Titans. Their leader, Clarke, is resolute, but whether he is above obeying traitorous orders is beyond me. But Janessa? The cultivation of familiarity means dissension amongst the ranks if Clarke or a hierach trys to sway them, guaranteeing us at least one firm ally. I’m sure you know the value of even one Titan on the battlefield, there isn’t much in the way of bringing Titan downs other than another Titan”

Gedua was quiet for a moment, his jaw rolled instinctively as he thought. “This are subtle tactics, Lord” he looked ove at me, a small smirk had appeared on his lips.

“Times are changing, Gedua, I’m afraid even a Primarch must change with them” I answered back, placing my unarmoured hand on his pauldron “Even one as blunt as me.” I added jokingly.

“I imagine Belteshezzar would gloat that he played a part in changing how you think” Gedua offered. We walked in silence after that, my mind drifting to Belteshezzar. He had been stubborn and a thorn, but resolutely loyal that even charging him with command of Doomsday weapons was a duty he would not baulk from. I missed him, I was not above admitting it, but I knew he’d been a thorn for someone at Taracanis, there’s no way he could be killed any other way.

My eyes fell on Gedua as I realised he was now my closest son, only recently reunited since I had given him command on the three newest Imnis. We’d not shared the purpose of that posting, but we both knew the Vipers couldn’t survive past the Crusade if they continued in the culture they were. I chuckled inwardly as I realised that such forward looking was now irrelevant because of Atlas’s treachery.

[Antimersia]

Adalon Cyprus: an Epilogue

What began as nothing but a simple visit between siblings, turned sour shockingly swiftly. Adalon's armor, designed to block out the abilities of psyker control gave Ravadiana a rather antagonistic view of the visit upon sight. While Adalon meant no disrespect by it, and even attempted to show as such by willingly removing his helm as a show of respect and trust, it clearly was not enough. And Adalon's decision to remove his helm was a foolish action, marking the beginning of his end. Adalon was strong, and try as he might to resist Ravadiana's assaults on him and his mind, he only had so much will to fight back with. Adalon's Dust Giants fell to Ravadiana's own astartes. Before finally Adalon could no longer fight back against Ravadiana's abilities. Battle wounds and psyker damage to his mind made Adalon fall to the floor in a painful death. He fought to his last breath, his thundermaul in his hand until the end. The Oasys, and all of the Umbral Hornets were left without their Primarch, in need of new leadership.

[Krugmar]

Black Mass
The Price of Loyalty

---

Janus

---

Orestes sat in his throne, boxy as it was, colored a dreary metal grey. Cast onto his face was the characteristic glow of the Warp, purple hues interspaced with occasional whites and pinks dancing across his features. A while back he'd been told to make for Atlas by the Warmaster, in a concerted effort to begin a fight back against the traitors. And like clockwork, Orestes made good on his orders at once.

And yet, he couldn't be more disinterested in the pursuit.

Oh sure, Orestes certainly wanted to meet up with his sibling. But to bind and chain him, to fire at his forces, to quell the rebellion? Absolutely not. This was his one chance, he knew. His one chance to cast the die and make his move. To topple the Imperium that, for so long, had dangled a sword over his head, ready to impale him at a moment's notice, and have his reign, his power all unravel. He would not have that.
Instead, he plotted a change of plans. Out in the Segmentum Obscurus, far from the prying eyes of the Loyalists, as they are now called, he wanted to ally himself with the traitors. For as much friction between Orestes and some of his currently rebelling kin, such personal squabbles far outweighed his power-driven hatred of the Imperium.

Now, such a plan would require many considerations to be put in place, and so Orestes began to think, to calculate.

First, locate Atlas Monomakh, and engage diplomatically with him. Considering he is technically at war with me, I doubt he'd present himself in a manner that makes his location easy. Prior deployment of scouting vessels across the Eastern Fringe should locate him if he enters the region. A second deployment of scout ships, this time in the Segmentum Obscurus, in conjunction with following the psychic communiques that tell of his path of war, should do the trick in locating him and his forces, went Orestes' mind. He continued his train of thought.

Now, how to approach diplomatically? Now, Atlas is starved for allies at the moment, so he may give forces presumably out to subdue him a benefit of a doubt, but such naivety is easily exploited, and judging by his performance at Taracanis, doubt can be cast as to whether or not he would be responsive to even a sincere offer of allyship. Continue finalizing this element of strategy at a later date, until then, moving on to the next element..

Oberon. No doubt he'll be a tough one to deal with. The predator belays little inclination for either camp it seems, besides which one will bother to let him hunt the biggest prey. He has shown some inclination towards the newly traitor Primarchs in the past, though whether or not it'll be enough to push them over the edge is an enigma. Wild beasts, truly wild beasts, not barbarians like Uriel, they are difficult to build personality profiles on. It would be a gamble, but perhaps, I simply presume he'll be amenable to the cause and open to Atlas' arguments. If not, my defection will leave him outnumbered in the Segmentum Obscurus, Orestes reasoned. Still he remained in thought, his body nigh-motionless, his face wearing a cold, stoic expression all throughout.

Now, how to conduct myself once allying with the traitors? The long-term goal is to assume a leadership position, but until then utmost loyalty should be displayed so as not to put the rebellion's integrity into peril. As for battle tactics, it will be likely that other Primarchs and their forces will be entering the Segmentum Obscurus. One could especially trigger such an action by feigning a call for help, perhaps using Atlas as bait? With the precedent set by Taracanis however, such a cry would likely be met with less enthusiasm that it would've been only a few years prior. It would still eat up Loyalist forces, and bar the responding Legions and Primarchs from participating elsewhere in the conflict.
Orestes remained motionless even still, mind nonetheless in constant calculation. The Realms? In especially high alert as always. If Loyalist forces attack, they should be dealt with even with my absence.

"Hmph," said Orestes, at last breaking his silence of thought. The Primarch soon quickly returned to silence, looking at the Warp's inhuman colors as he did. He had more than enough time to flesh out the last of his plan, and now all he had to do was wait for the opportune moment to put it in motion.

---

Orestes and his vessels made their way from the Warp, arriving in some system in the Segmentum Obscurus. Not much activity was reported, the ships’ sensors failed to pick up on any other spacecraft besides their own. The Primarch himself, sat upon his throne, instead looked down upon a data-slate, scanning its readout with intent.

SCOUT DETACHMENT 14
LOCATION: NX-254
SCAN RESULT: NEGATIVE

SCOUT DETACHMENT 15
LOCATION: OSCIUSS
SCAN RESULT: NEGATIVE

SCOUT DETACHMENT 16
LOCATION: CHJ-1780-65
SCAN RESULT: NEGATIVE

A seemingly continuous stream of negative results, sent by several parties of scouting vessels sent to hop from system to system, on the hunt for Atlas Monomakh. Orestes was thorough when he gave the order to sweep the sector, with his fleet’s scouting vessels made to visit even the most unremarkable of systems, known only by numero-alphabetical designations granted to them by some star-searching authority.
And despite this, he was having little success so far. To an extent, he was somewhat frustrated, even if his expression did not betray such emotion in the slightest. But frustrated he was nonetheless. At how this Primarch somehow managed to evade his search. Of course, his scouting efforts were not operating at their fullest capacity. After all-

More than a few of them were still out there tracking Loyalist movements.

What would come next however came to a surprise. Another data-slate was received by Orestes, this time detailing some astropathic communique. New orders perhaps he silently reasoned. But upon reading its contents, Orestes felt only surprise.

--BEGIN LOG OF ASTROPATHIC MESSAGE--

Come, there is much I must tell you.

Meet me at these coordinates-you know who I am. You search for me.

--END LOG--

His face betrayed a feeling of subdued astonishment. Here he was, searching for the traitor with intent, and now he seemingly reveals himself to him.

This changes things, his thoughts began, while his expression returned to one more neutral. It is clear why I could not find him. Listed coordinates lead to a presumed system so small and insignificant that all of the star maps available to the XI failed to record it.

If the system even exists, or if Atlas is even hiding there continued the Primarch’s thoughts. This could be a ruse. Taracanis demonstrates precedent for Atlas using such tactics. Success on other fronts is minimal however, and ‘Loyalist’ forces in the area likely outnumber his. Assuming Oberon takes my side in a potential engagement, that is. Potential defusion of engagement is within realm of possibility however. With all variables to consider.. This gamble is worth it.

Orestes’ thoughts concluded at once. “Fleet, make for these coordinates,” he ordered in an iron voice, head rising from his seat, posture now commanding authority. Upon arriving at destination, all military elements are to be on high alert.” As if he disturbed a hive of insects, the bridge crew kicked into life, pushing buttons, commanding each other, and ordering the ship’s navigators to begin calculating the voyage. And like clockwork, where there was once a massive fleet of Legionary ships, there was now only the blackness of space, lit up by distant stars, as if holes in the dark firmament.

---

Come, there is much I must tell you

Orestes could not remove the message from his thoughts, it had hounded him for days. Oberon had merely grunted in approval. It was not that he ruled out treachery, for Taracanis would forever stain Atlas’ reputation, but that he was supremely confident in his ability to fight his way out of it. Orestes himself was not quite as eager to test his own abilities in this regard, knowing that Raziel and Lucian, flawed as they were, must have proven a challenge. And yet now both were dead, and he did not intend on joining them.

The Thunderhawk slowed, and then shuddered violently as they touched the ground. His honour guard moved out quickly to secure the area, while others landed to begin preparing a base. He had agreed to a meeting, but contingencies within contingencies were being executed in the event of the meeting going awry.

He could see Oberon in the distance, alone. At a guess, he likely had several companies ready to deep strike on his position. Orestes hoped that the rest of his legion was battle-ready, he did not relish the thought of fighting the Steel Men alone.

But what if Oberon has already joined Atlas? Is this trap for me? he thought. He soon discarded the idea, having read nothing from Oberon that would suggest such a thing. He might not have been confident about facing Atlas without backup, but he was confident in his ability to read his siblings correctly.

Oberon was waiting for him, and when he reached him he realised why. There, upon the next hill, sat at a table with three chairs was the Archapostate himself. They made there way towards him, noting the lack of any others. Atlas, it seems, was also confident. Orestes halted his honour guard, and continued with Oberon alone. A gambit, but a calculated one.

Atlas stood as they arrived, with a great smile upon his face. He was unarmoured, and wore no tension, nor worry, upon his face. It was as if he were not fighting a war against the entire Imperium, and simply meeting his siblings for an afternoon chat.

“You have brought armour, weapons, and soldiers, but I assure you today you will need none of them.” He said, taking a seat. They followed his example.

“You cannot expect us to come easily to such a meeting… unprepared.” Orestes replied.

Atlas shook his head, “No, I would be worried if you had come as relaxed as myself. The fact that you are here, talking to me, suggests that Vasilisa’s command is not as respected as she would like.”

“But we are not here to talk about her.” He continued, “That you are both her suggests you expect that something is wrong with the Imperium, with the Emperor. You would be right. I will put it bluntly, the Emperor planned to destroy us when the Great Crusade was finished, much as he did with the Thunder Warriors, and then rewrite history to make us, as them, martyrs for his cause. I rejected this, and for near two centuries have prepared for this. My legion is ready for this war, I have gathered new powerful allies to this cause, and possess the capability of slaying the Emperor. But to achieve a more lasting victory I need you and your legions.”

“Fight with me, and when the Imperium is ours, we will share it equally. No Emperor or High Lords to bow to, only ourselves ruling as is our destiny. What do you say?” He asked.

---

Damnatio Memoriae

---

The wet crunch of a blade being yanked from a skull was an unpleasant sound, but after some many years of conquest and war, it had become dull to Nehushtan’s ears. The only change was the source from which it came.

Looking down at the corpse of the slain Brazen Beast, Nehushtan spat on it, disgusted at their brother’s Legion betraying them. His eyes scanned the battlefield. It was a depressing sight. Clouds of smoke signalled burning tanks, the earth beneath them had been reduced to a swallowing mud, and the sky was choked with clouds of smoke and aircraft chasing down surviving Beasts. There were mounds of Astartes, stripped bare of their armour and weapons, had begun to be constructed.

Burial was a fate too noble for them, their bodies would be committed to the pyre. He found it ironically fitting that the Burners would be erased from existence so utterly by the flames they adored.

They at least provided some use, their ammo and armour would be used to replenish stocks and arm future Vipers, as well as allowing Nehushtan and his sons to vent their frustrations. They had spent weeks chasing the numerous raiding bands of the Beasts that plagued Ultima, at first they had commenced battle easily, but now they were less hesitant to do so. It was clear word of the Vipers presence and retribution was becoming known, but that did not mean all the Beasts had the sense to retreat. The Burners were examples of that, their pyromania had ravaged their minds.

The sound of burning flesh signalled the lighting of the first pyre. He smiled to himself as he recalled choosing to leave the Beast’s gene-seed within them, preventing the Legion the means to replenish itself. Damnatio memoriae was what Drennus had called it, and Nehushtan agreed it was a suitable punishment.

Gedua strode over to him, his blue armour had been blackened and his regal face had a number of new scars to decorate it.

“Father” he said, the paternal title sounded alien on his lips, his tone indicating he had news to share

Nehushtan looked at his son, and wordlessly signaled for him to speak.

“Word comes from Orestes,” he reported “They have located the arch-traitor”. Nehushtans eyes widened for the briefest moment, a wave of emotions washing over him. Surprise, anger, rage, relief, and hints of sadness that he would refuse to acknowledge.

He remained silent, nodding once before returning to his thoughts. He couldn’t lie that he was annoyed that Orestes had been the one to find the Arch-traitor, wishing that it was any other of their siblings, though why he felt this he couldn’t say for sure. Orestes just exude an aura that he disliked, the reliance of enforcing fear on his own sons would only lead to disaster, though from the looks of things, the Watchers were already cowed beings. He dreaded what would become of them if they were to lose Orestes, such was the way his brother cultivated all power around himself.

He turned, signalling for a Thunderhawk to collect him and those that remained on the surface. He was not Vasilia, he would not grief hold back his actions for seven days. He sensed Gedua following him diligently, while his bodyguards had assembled alongside him instinctively. They were all worn by the battle, the new reality of this war was weighing on them. Their faces had been hardened, but their sunken and bloodshot eyes betrayed how they really felt about this assignment. It was a sentiment he shared with them, but would not voice. None of them would.

Over the clang of boots crashing against the metal surface of the Thunderhawk, Nehushtan looked at Gedua, “Tell me, does Drennus know of this?”.

Gedua nodded in reply.

“Good, we will need his Judges if we are to defeat Atlas thoroughly, perhaps we can push all the way north and destroy this so called Dark Empire that Atlas has built himself” he was quiet for moment, before speaking again “And where has Orestes found Atlas?”

“Ulan Huda, father”

---

Wheel of Destiny

---

Where many worlds constructed or repurposed many vast temples and buildings to dedicate to the Emperor, the Imperium, and the Imperial Truth, Ulan Huda had ventured only to establish a singular hall. None had noticed at the time, or cared, for space on a Forge World was better dedicated to manufacturing arms or goods for the Imperium than any frivolities associated with such displays.

How wrong they had been. I now knew how essentially such monuments to loyalty were, as I entered the hall.

And there, waiting inside the hall, at its heart, was the very canker destined to destroy our Imperium. Anger flushed at the very sight of him. He had murdered my sons, my siblings, and would murder more. Yet here he was, calmly examining his axe, back turned towards the entrance as though there was not a great battle raging outside. The arrogance!

I made my way closer, brandishing Serpent’s Fang. If I could move fast enough, perhaps I could take him by surprise. End this rebellion with the swing of my khopesh. A foolhardy move, but this was no time for caution.

“I know you are there, Nehushtan.” Atlas spoke. I stopped moving, discarding the attack and taking in my surroundings. We were alone.

“The Emperor guided me to you, Atlas, though I might have guessed you would be here.” I replied. Had it not been enough to blacken the bonds between father and son without defiling and desecrating such sites? Did his hatred for our father know no bounds? What truly was this rebellion based on, if nothing more than a vile personal ambition?

“And if the Emperor had told you I was on the underside of hell would you have thrown yourself into the warp to pursue me?” He replied, not bothering to turn and face me. From the intonation it was clear this conversation amused him somewhat. I got the queer feeling he had said the words before, that this was almost rehearsed. Or this the rehearsal, for his desired or perhaps destined confrontation with our Father?

“The Emperor trawls for the ignorant and unwary, hauling his prey, gasping and raging from their destinies. I had hoped you would know better to get willingly caught in his net, Nehushtan.” He continued.

I spat on the ground between us, resentment and anger began to rise within me. Is this how Atlas truly viewed us? Had he not betrayed everything we were created to defend and fight for, I might have felt pity for him, instead I only felt disgust, “You really believe me to be as gullible as Uriel? Fighting the Emperor can only lead to unending war, I’m sure Uriel lept at this chance? And what words did you whisper Lancarius’ ear? That the galaxy would remember him for all eternity? You were right, in that part at least. I have chased you across the Sector, and I will chase Uriel and Lancarius to the ends of the galaxy once I have killed you.”

“I’m afraid this is not a chase, Nehushtan. We are merely passengers on this destiny the Emperor has set for us. I have seen the beginning and the end of our story, however, and the tale is crude and ill-conceived. I will take no chances, I must rewrite the ending of it. I had hoped you would help me.”

I paused for a moment, willing the acidic gland in my throat to calm itself. It was in this moment that I began to feel something I had long suppressed. Sadness. “Brother, I would have followed you to the ends of the galaxy if you had asked.” A laugh escaped my lips despite myself “I have. But this path you have set yourself on has only one ending, no matter how much you attempt to change that. I’m sure you know that.”

“I suppose it may be too late to request that old custom, to grant the condemned one final request?”

I mused for a moment, just what game was he playing? Was he stalling for time, or did he truly have information worth knowing? It would make no difference, my loyalty was set, but I did desire to know what had made my brothers turn, what had spurred him to murder my sons.

“My sons recalled no such courtesy from you.” I replied.

“Indulge me, Nehushtan. All you must do is listen.” He answered, turning to face me. He brought his arms out wide. “This battle is one of many sublime moments of our undoing. This rebellion is the ineffable fulcrum upon which swings our entire existence, and that of humanity. This is where the Emperor is once again betrayed, just as we were betrayed.”

“In this instant Orestes and Oberon have now turned on you. Their sons slaughter yours outside in my name, yours slaughter theirs in His. The culmination of two centuries of lies and deceit from both sides, born from a madman’s need to rule not just men, but their very hearts. I am the only object which stands in his way, fulfilling not the destiny he crafted for me, but which fate herself granted me.”

“Our undoing?” I spat furiously “This was not His plan, it never was! You have blinded yourself brother, it pains me to see it, to imagine a galaxy without the Great Crusade. All you have accomplished is the decline of humanity, of the Legions, of us. Though I know you won’t see it that way. To your dying day, you’ll proclaim it the Emperor’s true plan, rather than accept the truth that you, brother, that you have killed us.”

“Be still, Nehushtan, and understand. At the moment of my founding I was intended to become one of twenty, building His empire, crafting it, perfecting it. As our sons die, and we grow weary and suspicious of each other, He moves to Terra to begin the next stage of His plan, all the while the culling begins. Starting with Kortaez, and moving on with each and every slight committed. His dutiful children blithely murder the unruly and ambitious, while anxiously awaiting their own date with the executioner. I was to be one of the former, such was my destiny.”

“There’s nothing to understand, Atlas! Your words are as charismatic as ever, and I am sure you have deluded yourself into believing them. Tell me, did you feel so righteous when you killed Lucian? Was your goal still clear and noble when Raziel lay dead at your feet? I love you brother, dearly, but I cannot sit by as you plunge the Imperium into darkness.”

“Let's drop the moral posturing, shall we? We both know there’s no altruism in this pursuit. Your reckless indignation led you here, I counted on it.” He said, becoming angry for the first time. It confirmed to me that he truly believed what he was saying. “There’s no shame in it, Nehushtan, revenge is motivation enough, at least it is honest. Hate me, but do it honestly.”

He took a deep breath and calmed himself, and I asked myself, was there more to this? I hesitated a moment, wondering whether to strike while distracted. Then I reminded myself, he was on edge, any attempt made would be futile, and I would lose the chance to learn even a little more, gain awareness of any further potential traitors.

“Two centuries prior, I am presented with a dilemma. Let us call it a two-sided coin. If the coin falls one way, I accept my duty and murder my siblings, accepting theirs and my own sacrifice in His name. The Imperium survives, stronger than ever, but built upon lies and subject to the whims of a would-be god. If the coin lands on the reverse, I refuse this burden, and thus doom the Imperium to endless war and, even with my victory, an eternity of collapse. Either way the game is rigged.”

“The Emperor a god, would that truly be so bad?” I asked, though I allowed Atlas not time to respond. “We agree then that the Imperium is crucial, and must be protected at all costs?” I asked, attempting to poke a great hole in his logic.

“Yes Nehushtan, and that’s why we’ve come half-circle to this place. It is why we will meet again at Terra, full-circle.”

I laughed contemptuously, “After all this and you make my case for me. To put an end to this stalemate then, you and the other rebels must die. Only then can the rest of us prove to Him our loyalty and worth.”

“This Imperium doesn’t belong to Him, Nehushtan, it belongs... to us.” He said, with great emphasis and pleasure on the last bit. I could tell that he was sincere, that he truly believed his actions were those of a righteous elder brother protecting his family. Had it escaped him that he had already murdered two of his ‘beloved’ siblings, that he had drawn myself and Drennus here for the same fate?

“Your arrogance is boundless Atlas, you really believe yourself the Emperor’s equal? Would you light the Astronomicon, guide the armies of humanity, and ensure its safety in this cruel universe, without burning out like the weak lights we are?” My jaw rolled as my grip on Serpent’s Fang tightened, my fingers gently brushing against its activation rune “We are weak imitations of the Emperor, and you have already killed two of us. How many do you think you can kill before all the duties He carries become impossible for us to complete?”

He did not seem fazed by my outburst. I grew confident in the idea that this was a performance, that he needed to confess to someone his sins to allow him to stomach his repulsive actions thus far. But I must confess, he had sowed some seeds of doubt within me, albeit not the ones I think he intended.

He chuckled, “There’s a third option. A monumental secret, hidden from His very sight. But it’s a secret you will all have to discover for yourselves, before I reveal it to you at Terra. Upend your destiny, Nehushtan, the chance is laid out for you here.”

I ignored his offer, “You said it yourself Atlas, there are only two sides to your coin.”

“Apparently so.” He said, his eyes gazing towards the entrance, and then back to me. “But suppose you throw a coin enough times… suppose one day, it lands on its edge.”

I planned to reply, but upon seeing him hoist up his axe and pull in his power fist, I knew that our conversation was at its end. He had told me everything I needed to know, while I had confirmed his fears, that I would not join him. That there were others who would always stand against him.

---

Atlas was fast, even by Primarch standards. I was stunned by the sudden shift Atlas had made from mere moments ago, calm and contemplative, to the unbridled rage he now exhibited with every strike. I pressed firmly on the activation rune of Serpent’s Fang, it’s power field crackling to life just in time to block and furious axe swing. The sound the clash of weapons made rang out unnaturally, as though the weapon’s themselves abhorred fighting each other.

I gritted my teeth as I was forced onto my backfoot by Atlas’ assault, looking into his eyes. What had once been filled with love was now replaced with a cold and silent murderous rage I had only seen in serpents. I pushed forwards and shoved him off, but he was relentless. No sooner were our blades disconnected he lunged into another attack, my own reluctance allowed him to graze my armour, shearing the blue paint off with a horrific metallic squeal.

Shoving him back with my shoulder, my grip of Serpent’s Teeth tightened as he regained his footing. Like sharks moving in for the kill, we circled each other, eyes meeting with electrifying intensity. Even now, I fought my disbelief. Disbelief that Atlas, the greatest of us all, could turn into such an animal against his brothers. My heart sank and resolve hardened as I remembered that he had killed Lucian and Raziel.

“Tell me” I spat, raising my khopesh defensively as Atlas brought his axe down from above, the metal clanging fiercely “Did you treat Lucian like this? Did our brother yield even less brotherly care? Did you even try to talk to him?” I felt my anger grow as my eyes became wetter with grief. Atlas swung again, his axe would have bisected me by the hip had I not taken a step back, the axe cutting through air at a hair’s edge.

Atlas remained silent as he punched towards my gut with the power fist. I stepped into the blow, the snake visage on my left pauldron shattered against the powerful blow, my eyes watching his axe hawkishly. He’d anticipated my retreat and had prepared to swipe me, instead I was blown back. I landed roughly amongst a pile of debris, stone cracked against the impact. Dust was thrown in the air like a deathly cloud.

He strode closer at a frightening pace, I scrambled to my feet and brought my khopesh up in time to block another powerful swing aimed for my neck, a crackle of power rang out.

“Are we even your brothers?” I shouted again, emotion clogged my voice like an overflowing river, tears fell from my eyes against my will. I loved Atlas, I envied Atlas. He was the greatest of us and everyone knew it, close to every one of us in the ways I wished I was, but to see him turn on us broke my heart in ways I didn’t know it could.

He faltered for a moment, just a moment, and I saw my chance. A gap in his guard, one I could exploit but something held me back. When I looked at Atlas I could remember when I first saw him, his words had made me laugh, set me at ease. When we fought the Rangdan, when he was at his worst, I still felt as though he appreciated me being here. But now I felt nothing but anger. By the time I’d shook the thoughts from my head, the gap was gone. I lashed out anyway, lest he know my reluctance to fight him. My khopesh smashed against his axe, his guard was knocked back. I could only assume he hadn’t been expecting me to go on the offensive, but I had no intention of doing so.

“Brother” I said again, as the gap widened between us “Have we become the objects to you that you say we are to our Father?” Atlas clearly disliked that comment, he lunged forwards again blindly but the hook of my khopesh caught his axe with ease. I spun him with great effort, he staggered backwards, anger etched into his features. He didn’t answer me, instead replying with a flurry of increasingly angered attacks.

The axe swings beat harder and harder against Serpent’s Fang, weakening my guard weaker and weaker with every passing moment. My own reluctance was costing me. With a strained jaw, I closed the power fist and jabbed out, connecting with Atlas’ abdomen. I activated the flamer, it scorched the slate grey of his racked armour into blackness. He retreated as the promethium continued to spit out flames, it clung to the shattered rockrete floor as a small inferno. I cut the stream and we were again forced apart.

The sound of parchment flapping in the wind brought my attention to the Oath of Moment I had sworn to Drennus, that I would bring justice to the arch-traitor. But justice did not mean death. I brought my eyes back to Atlas, and readied myself to reveal a truth I had withheld from even the Warmaster.

“Atlas…” I began, the flames decorated his hooded face with dancing shadows “You set yourself against us because of some truth you have learned, but I have learned a greater truth” I turned off the power field of Serpent’s Fang, a stupid move but one I hoped would gain Atlas’s attention and stay his hand for a moment longer “In the warp, I saw something. Our Gellar Field failed, beings that defied the laws of the galaxy attacked. Stories have been related to me of nightmarish visions, but I saw something, brother. It was me, contorted to a horrific degree. It promised me infinite power in exchange for my loyalty…” my eyes met Atas, I put as much concern into my gaze as I could “...I rejected it, but it revealed something to me. It said gears were in motion beyond my control...I believe Taracanis were those gears, brother.... I do not believe we are the players you think we are, I think we are the pawns of a much greater game.” I added with a finalty. My finger still clung close to the power field’s activation rune, but held off.

He stopped, and though I still saw the murderous rage boiling beneath the surface, I could sense he still exercised enough restraint to listen and truly hear my words. He pondered them from a moment, and I could tell from the most minute movements that he dwelt in the region between passionate fury and serene calmness.

“You have listened to all I have said, yet you have failed to understand it. This is a war between those who would seek to chain humanity, and those who would seek to free it. There is no time for childish quandaries over good and evil. Morality is as much a luxury as it is a curse, indeed to act righteously is to so self-assuredly damn our entire species. You have passed one test by denying the would-be-gods of the Warp your allegiance, yet you have failed the most crucial one by pledging your soul to the one at Terra.” He said, spitting out the words as if he were chiding a child.

“I did not want Lucian or Raziel to die. Lucian rejected my thesis, and Raziel showed up uninvited to Taracanis and so sealed his own fate. None of you have to die, you must merely join me or stand aside. Else I will haul you back to my ship until the war is over, and spend eternity convincing you if I must.”

“You do not have to forgive me, for my crimes against you and your sons are innumerable and immeasurable, but I ask you one final time. Join me.” He finished, figuratively offering out his hand for the first, and last time. Whatever I thought of him, I knew he was a man of his word, as tarnished as that was by Taracanis.

I shook my head in angered disbelief “Lucian died because he did not listen to your lies, Raziel died because he simply got in the way? It is remarkable you say this and still act as though you’re not our Father, as you claim him to be”

“This is not about caring for us or the Imperium, is it? You fear death, that is all. You fear it so greatly that you have condemned your brothers to die so that you might evade it, dragging Uriel and Lancarius to their deaths because of your lies, and you want the rest of you to believe you, so that you might actually believe your own lies.

“But it is you who has failed to understand something,” I said, thumbing Serpent’s Teeths’ activation rune, the energy field fiercely crackling to life again “The Imperium and mankind needs the Emperor” I raised my blade and pointed it at Atlas “but it does not need you.”

I let out a guttural cry as I lunged forwards, every suppressed emotion I had every felt. Every time I quelled my anger, every time I held my tongue and let resentment boil inside. My blood boiled as I released it all, the servos of my suit whined as it struggled to keep up with the force I had pushed upon it so suddenly. Pure rage powered my slash, Atlas’s axe was raised with mere moments to spare. The force of the crash and the momentum I carried with me pushed him backwards, staggering against the shattered earth.

All sounds of the ongoing battle faded from my ears as I continued my enraged attack, strikes of increasing ferocity clashing angrily against Atlas’s axe blows. Never letting up, I pressed forwards as Atlas retreated slowly, concentration set firmly in his face. He was smart, but he hadn’t expected this, I could tell. Perhaps he had held out hope that I could still be swayed, but I had shattered that hope to pieces with my words. It was only fair. The way he coldly referred to Raziel and Lucian and their deaths had blown apart any concept I had of Atlas. Perhaps everything about him had been a front, a lie to draw the weak willed to his cause.

I had resolved not to die in the name of his ego, the Oath I made to Drennus came to the forefront of my mind. Even if Atlas fled, I would pursue him.

---

Ulan Huda Lower Orbit
Pax Imperialis Gloriana Class

The drop-pods rattled as they decoupled from the Gloriana, black metal turning cherry red in the heat of orbital entry. They numbered in the dozens, the entirety of the Legions First Company, led by Drennus himself. Fighter craft swarmed around them for a moment, creating a screen of protection before breaking off to intercept a Watcher flanking maneuver.

80 kilometers. A Huntsman ship tore from the dogfighting, speeding toward the swarm. The massive guns of the Gloriana retorted, blasting it to pieces.

40 kilometers. Orbital defense towers erupted with fire, attempting to shred the oncoming Judges, but found themselves overtaken by timed Viper assaults, great barrels detonating as melta-charges ignited.

20 kilometers. In the chaotic din of the battle, as bolters barked like thunder and chainswords roared, a voice overcame every vox present, every comm-net and auspex. Hard and edged, a rumbling, hate-filled sound. It was the cold fury of betrayal, of raw disgust and hate.

“Hereteks of Ulan Huda, your Judgement has come.

Traitors of the Apostate Legions, your Judgement has come.

Atlas Monomakh, His Judgement has come.”

Another voice overtook the comm now, as Heretek scribes attempted to stop the transmission. Not another voice, but voices. They were legion, a rich baritone of hate and purifying rage. They chanted with clarity of purpose, of unity in oath and blood.

”WE ARE HIS JUDGES!

WE ARE HIS JUSTICE!”

Impact.

Captain Yenua of the Steel Men was the first to die. He had served against the Rangdan, butchered the Interex and held deep loyalty to his Primarch. Steadfastness and veterancy did little to protect from several tons of hardened metal falling at high speed, however. In milliseconds his hardened ceramite cracked and wrent, transhuman flesh and bone crushed in a single pain-filled moment.

The red mist of blood mixed with a great plume of dust and smoke as the drop-pod settled, and for a stunned, scant moment silence reigned. Then the bloodshed began. Autoturrets spewed hot death as the Judges charged out from the insertion devices, yet chanting their hateful vow as they began to render their justice. Ahead of those black-cast executioners was the Judge himself, their Primarch, Drennus. He bellowed in cold fury as he swung his hulking executioner blade, cleaving through traitor Astartes and Heretek forces alike. A huntsman leapt at him from the chaos, screaming in hungering madness, wrist-blades extended. Drennus swung his blade upward in contempt, batting the feral beast away even as he sliced the Huntsman in twain. That was what filled him, what fueled his fury as he laid siege to this pit of tech-heresy. Contempt for the traitor, for the foul insurrection which had taken hold here. The time for grief and sorrow was long past; The bell had tolled, and it was the day of execution.

As Nesh and Atlas dueled, rage and pride clashing in a mythic confrontation, the sounds of the battle swelled higher. A great impact to the left of them, sending dust and bodies into the air. The roar of bolters and the sickening tear of flesh and ceramite. The air whistled as a head landed between them, tumbling to the floor in a dead-eyed gaze to stare at Atlas. A captain, someone of rank and importance, if judging from Atlas’ indignant fury. Nesh raised his head and there Drennus stood, black armor awash with the cherry red of traitor blood.

“Atlas Monomakh, I Judge you guilty of high treason and secession. The sentence is death. How do you plea?”

“Vindicated.” Atlas responded, his eyes still upon the head of Mantes. It had been his honour to serve as the Ilarch of his Agema, the personal company accompanying Atlas. His final honour.

Drennus moved with unnatural speed, a blurred black bolt in the dusky light of the hall. With equal speed Atlas brought up his Aetos, parrying Drennus’ Redemptor and sending a shockwave through the building as they met. Nesh came to his left, roaring with all the pain and anger he could muster. He swung his Khopesh in a long and predictable arc like a madman, leading to a quick parry by Atlas’ Hand of Fate. Yet it had been a feint, allowing Nesh to deliver a gut punch that sent Atlas skidding back several feet.

For several minutes the brothers worked in tandem, coordinating their attacks with expert and surgical precision. Little by little they would wear him down, slowly manoeuvring him into an unfavourable and irreversible position by which they could deliver the killing blow.

There was a slight pause in the fighting as they configured their positioning, preparing for the final strike. In hindsight, a mistake.

“He screamed and begged, Nehushtan.” Atlas said, taking in deep and heavy breaths. “Uriel told me. Your precious Belteshezzar begged to join us, pleaded for mercy. And when he saw he would not be granted any, implored Uriel for a quick death.”

Atlas chuckled, though it was a black anguished cackle filled with phlegm and blood. “Whether he got what he wanted, I’m not sure. Perhaps he’s still dying slowly on Taracanis. Or maybe he is now one of my sons. You sent him to his doom, you failed him.” He mocked.

Nesh’s rage flared as Atlas spoke his mocking words, his blood boiled at this desecration of his favoured son. Nesh’s lips parted in a grim snar, a tidal wave of curses and retorts being held back by the barest semblance of control, his mind demanding that these lies be paid for with Atlas’ blood “And you will join him in death, “ he roared viciously “screaming for mecry!”.

Drennus whipped his head around to Nesh, but it was too late. He saw a murderous black rage overcoming his brother, contorting his face into that of a serpent uncoiled and ready to strike. He leapt forward with complete abandon, putting all of his might into Serpent’s Fang. A noble, foolhardy action. And by the wry smile on Atlas’ face, exactly the reaction he had hoped for.

He darted to the side, and as Nesh came crashing down, splintering the earth with a mighty strike, he sent his power fist right into his side with all his strength. A blow that would kill any Astartes merely sent Nesh flying into the wall, collapsing a portion of the building on him.

Drennus had no time to curse, nor was he inclined to. He would embody justice, or be its martyr, there was no inbetween. Yet before he could assemble a new plan Atlas was upon him. For the brief moment their eyes connected he saw in them the cold and impartial fury he prided himself upon.

The next few moments were a blur as it took everything in him to parry every oncoming blow. Where he and Nesh had patiently built up their advantage, Atlas demanded it with every swing. It was then he realised that Atlas was not fighting as Atlas, but as Uriel, thus throwing off his strategy. A brazen kick to the chest sent him backwards, a whip of his axe sent his sword flying from his hands, and he prepared for the incoming blow of Fate to deliver a potentially lethal blow.

Yet it did not come. Nesh leapt in the way, shouldering the full power of the blow, and using it to ricochet his own body around to return another gut punch to Atlas. Atlas’ blow to Nesh had clearly worked too well, blowing enough rage from him to still his nerves and temper his resolve. Their eyes met for a brief second, and they knew what had to be done.

Breaking his fortress was harder the second time around. His eye darted between them, using the knowledge painfully gleaned before to predict move after move. Yet even for a demigod mistakes happen, the most minute errors resulting in catastrophe. Though for mortals the fight lasted barely a few minutes, for them it was an eternity of calm thought and furious action.

There was another lull, the calm at the centre of the storm as the final act approached. They were confident that Atlas had no other ace up his sleeve, no revelation to rile Nesh, or even attempt a futile crack at Drennus’ mental defences. Yet he would be lying if he did not say Atlas’ calmness unnerved him somewhat. Were his mind not fully focused upon synchronising the finishing blow with Nesh, he would have spent a few more crucial milliseconds exploring the idea.

“Oberon, time to join the hunt.” He said softly, and there dropped a pale beast from the rafters above.

---

He had always wanted to kill a Primarch. Never a specific member of his siblings, though there were quite a few with which he would enjoy the opportunity. But to defeat such an equal would be the ultimate test, the ultimate showcasing of his strength. Over his violent, brutal life he had hunted prey of all kinds, from simple tribesmen to half-mad Xeno abominations, from the strong to the weak. But never his own kind; To hunt another predator, to slay that which shares your blood and brutal skill, is an experience unlike any another. To match cunning and claw as you fight for survival, scrabbling in the blood-soaked dirt to breathe even one second longer than your quarry. That was what he hungered for, for the ultimate struggle, the dominance of the strong over the weak. This was what typified his entire existence, from the whirlwind of violence that was Nuceria, to the headhunts carried out in the name of the Emperor, and now for Atlas.

He had wanted to take the Serpent and the Judge immediately, to leap down and savage them, to feel hot adrenaline course through his veins as he butchered the fools. It took strength to resist the Call and not withdraw to that state of ferocious, inhuman instinct. It took even more to not give into temptation and let the Nails take him; Heeding the Call was a far riskier choice than accepting the butcher-joy of the Nails. But Atlas had bade him to wait; Whether his ‘brother’ desired a chance to prove himself or was simply buying time for Orestes, Oberon didn’t care. He knew why Atlas brought him here, as defeating two Primarchs was no easy feat, especially the Serpent and the Judge. Atlas had needed an unparalleled killer.

The scant minutes of battle had felt like hours as he crouched in the high-vaulted beams of the self-ignorant church to the ‘Imperial Truth’; The Truth of stagnancy, of proliferating weakness and unculled herds. Atlas promised to change that, promised to show him a far greater Truth. His observant ruminations came to an end as Atlas spoke, and Oberon smiled as he dropped down before them, landing far too quietly for a beast as massive as him.

He towered over them all, even Drennus, looking down on the two with cold, predatory observation. His pale flesh riddled with scars and patches of bulging black veins, eyes like daubs of black paint on a marred white canvas. He let out a low, rumbling growl as he slowly slinked forward, body language loose despite the mild twitch that occupied his limbs, a restrained pounce in every step. His morbid collection of skeletal remains and armor remnants clinked on his belt, and he heard the Serpent beginning some insult, but the sound began to fade away as the thundering pulse of his heartbeat began to dominate his hearing. His mouth tasted of raw iron, and his limbs ached with a longing need. A movement, a shifting of plate, and that’s all it took.

With a roar he flung Skull Taker at Nesh, breaking out into a lunging sweep with his wrist blades, curved barbs gleaming in the dusty lights of the cathedral.

Nehushtan dodged it, but the distraction was long enough for a volley from Atlas’ Hand of Fate to knock him back. Oberon was upon him, leveraging his weight and free hand to throw him like a ragdoll across the room. Nehushtan bore the pain, intending to go on the defensive until he could find an opening.

Such a thought was not shared by Drennus, whose mind was solely upon retribution. He was here for the head of the Archapostate, and he would get it. He barreled into Atlas, and the two were soon darting across the room, exchanging move and counter-move. Neither seemed to be able to fully grasp the upper hand.

Nehushtan had little time to watch their battle, for Oberon came bounding towards him again. His gleeful grin sent shock through Nehushtan’s soul. It was unlike Atlas’ calm frown, or even his sadistic smirk when he taunted about Belteshezzar’s death. Deep down there was perhaps a part of Atlas that rued what he had sown, but Nehushtan could see there was no pity or remorse in Oberon’s eyes. He was on the hunt, and Nehushtan was his prey.

The next few moments, or perhaps minutes, were a blur as Nehushtan did all he could to defend against Oberon’s onslaught. Pieces of his armour were torn off, or gauged deeply, though he denied Oberon the opportunity to pierce beneath or deliver any grave wounds. His leftern shoulder piece was pulled off and crumpled in Oberon’s hand, before being tossed to the ground.

In a fit of rage Nehushtan aimed a blow at a weak spot, a small chink in Oberon’s armour, whirling his khopesh around to ensure that he could slice into it. To his surprise Oberon made little attempt to stop it, allowing him to slice open his chest armour and rend his torso. Nothing fatal, but it would leave him with a nasty scar.

A guttural laugh brought him back from his rage, as he realised his left arm had been grabbed while completing his manoeuvre. A cold sensation washed over him, his eyes filled not with fear, for Primarch’s are incapable of such emotion, but a realisation for what was about to happen. His defiance, however, refused to let him yield and he let out a wild slash with a khopesh that dug deeply yet helplessly into Oberon’s armour, the momentum of the attack lost as his body was yanked forcefully, the sound of tearing metal and ripping flesh overtaking the sound of battle in his ears, as his arm was torn from his body.

He wanted to shout, to scream, to yell bloody murder. He felt the cold chill of death, and the fiery heat of a thousand suns radiate down his spine and through his body. The world was spinning, and yet he was focused entirely and clearly upon the brutish monster standing before him.

Before Oberon could make another move, Drennus collided with him, sending him to the floor and the arm reeling across the room.

Nehushtan did not know what Drennus was shouting at him. His eyes darted between his arm, Oberon, and the approaching Archapostate. His stance faltered for a moment as his enhanced brain fought to fully register what had fully happened to him A cacophony of chemicals were unleashed in overwhelming numbers in his body, his hearts hammered with the rush of adrenaline and the demand to avenge his disastrous injury, while his conciousness demanded his withdrawal. His eyes glazed over as his concentration began to falter in response to his blood loss, his blue armour hidden beneath the dark crimson.

Then behind him, he heard a noise. A clunk, as several severed heads were thrown to his and Drennus’ feet. They were familiar to him, some were his lieutenants, some Drennus’. And the one who had thrown them was also familiar: Orestes.

Nehushtan looked at Orestes, his mind fought itself back to his forefront. How Nehushtan hated the worm, the coward Orestes. His eyes regained themselves, a new emotion he hadn’t experienced before took him over. He’d experienced anger and rage before, but this was something new. A unbridled sense of wrath screamed throughout his mind as he looked at the traitors. He re-ignited his khopesh, readying himself.

“Worms” he spat acidicly. Atlas had goaded them into a trap, aided by the least trustworthy of his brothers, and they had wandered into it willingly. So be it then, if this was to be his death, then he would die standing and with a defiance on his breath. He took a shaky step forwards, instinctively going to raise his flamer, only to see it laying discarded on the ground further away, next to his own similarly discarded arm. Fine, Nehushtan thought to himself, I shall kill them with my own hands.

Drennus though the same, but he was not about to let a duel decide his fate. They would all die here together.

He spoke into the vox an old command, one of the first set he had drilled into his legion, and yet one never used before.

“Bridge, this is Drennus. Order Five Five One Dash Four. Immediate Initiation.”

Hellfire rained down from above in a near instant, turning what was once a secular temple to the Emperor into a hellstorm of fire and molten mortar.

---

Sow the Nightmare

---

Even amongst the ten thousand thousand stars of the Imperium, one would struggle to find a stranger sight. Two great giants, their armour singed and burned, skin covered in cuts and burns, and one entirely missing an arm, hastily making their way through a jungle of concrete and metal.

Drennus pulled Nehushtan along, one arm upon his shoulder, the other on his sword. He sliced down anything foolish enough to get in their way.

Every few moments he took a glance at Nehushtan, to assess his brother’s condition. He could see that he was worsening by the minute, even his superhuman systems were struggling to deal with the sheer damage inflicted upon him.

A stumble began the cascade of errors, as Nehushtan’s mind began to shut down. Drennus was no apothecary, but he surmised that his brother’s body was attempting to divert all energy towards his wounds. They slowed to a halt as Nehushtan first fell to his knees, and then became limp. His ragged breaths and constant sweat told Drennus that he was alive, though barely.

An Astartes in this moment, forged to be without fear, would have crumbled. Alone and stranded upon a hostile world, chased by hordes of traitors, and their new abominations, beside a dying demigod, would have been too much to handle.

But Drennus was no Astartes. He was not even a mere Primarch. He was justice itself. Judgement come.

He pulled Nehushtan up upon his shoulders, and carried on. He would not stop, for any man, nor creature. Not even if the Archapostate himself were in their path.

Then the first of the hunters caught up to them. It had been an Astartes once, he assumed, though its form was bestial, warped, and disgusting. Its armour betrayed that it had once been a Zhataroi, though now it seemed more xeno than man.

Drennus spat in disgust, and when it dived down he bisected it as gracefully as one could when having a Primarch upon their shoulders. Unfortunately Nehushtan’s bulk blocked his spotting of another coming from the side. It ran its claws into his side, great daggers rupturing into his insides. From the back he could feel another barrel into him, attempting to slice at his legs.

There was no time to evaluate the situation, plan a battle. Nehushtan was fading, and before long even his wounds would catch up to him.

He ran as fast as he could, bolting with all the strength he could muster. The creatures hampered him relentlessly, matching him in speed and every so often slicing at him.

He would reach the beacon, his last hope of escaping this accursed planet. He would not let Atlas have a complete victory.

---

Devastation lay around them, untold corpses strewn amongst the battlements. All they could smell was ash and blood and the rot released by the dead. The rush was exhilarating, each explosion in the distance releasing a burst of adrenaline.

For months they had waited, holed up in the Gate of Dreams. Never alone, even during periods of solitude. And now they could unleash.

He felt rage boil from a place he did not know. It flowed through him and felt natural, it felt incredible. It was his rage, he was it, and it was him. It did not even have a name, for its name was Vikare. They were inseparable in soul, just now as they were in body.

His armour had fused to his flesh, a great gaping maw where the mouthpiece would be. Tendons rearranged themselves, expanded, grew stronger. Bones had cracked and splintered, shifted agonisingly, before settling newly into place. Great claws extended from where hands had once been, and now caked with the remains of loyalists.

“Death to the Anathema.” He cried, though the words came from his other half.

They were the Mal Khrysa, the ultimate synthesis of man and warp, the future of the Imperium.

Today, by spilling the blood of the unworthy, they would see their father’s dream realised.

[Krugmar]

---

Mirror, Mirror

---

Oberon stalked the concrete fields of Ulan Huda, searching for any last survivors. They were pitiful scraps, though, and so soon he would retire from the field and leave his Astartes to claim any last trophies.

His own trophy had gone missing after they had been bombed from orbit. Atlas and Orestes had withdrawn, both injured and weary from the fight. Oberon had found such an action ill-advised, and had attempted to track down Drennus and Nehushtan himself. Their flight had, however, proven successful. By the time he caught them, they were reinforced by their scum, and though he had mowed down dozens in seconds, they were able to flee like the cowards they were.

Still, the day had been a rousing success. He had proven his superiority, that he was the strongest of the Primarchs. Stronger than the Emperor himself.

Atlas’ vision was as flawed as the Emperors. All that mattered was the hunt.

The Hunt Eternal.

---

Orestes had secluded himself in his inner sanctum shortly after returning to his command ship. There was so much to unpack, and he could allow no interruption to his thoughts.

First, that Atlas was greatly flawed. The plan allowed for too much room for Nehushtan and Drennus to operate unexpectedly. Atlas’ desire to speak with Nehushtan made little sense from a tactical or strategic point of view. Orestes had attempted to communicate to Atlas that his previous butchering of Nehushtan’s legion, and Nehushtan’s disposition, made the chances of winning him over impossible to render even as a percentile.

Second, that the Loyalists were in a weaker position than they knew. Nehushtan and Drennus’s defeat was not a calamity in terms of overall strategic defense, but in terms of morale it was a huge dent. They had disobeyed the Warmaster’s commands, and ruptured her mixed strategy of offence and defence. Now she would have to re-evaluate the rebellion, and her own positions. He surmised with a high likelihood that she would take a gamble and put all her cards on defending Terra. All actions would likely be to slow down Atlas’ advance, and remove from him key resources, while accepting that he would eventually arrive.

Thirdly, that he himself must somehow take command of this rebellion. Atlas was too motivated by a fear, though what it was Orestes had yet to uncover. Atlas and the Emperor were short-sighted, led by emotion and destined to be destroyed by their own grand plans. Orestes had his eye on every detail. His Imperium would be orderly, with every single thing accounted for.

But he would move one step at a time. Let Atlas be the herald of woe, the devil of the Loyalists, the rising star of the rebels.

And when the time was right, the betrayer would become the betrayed.

---

Remember Drennus, we are Mankind’s hope. Vengeance cannot be a part of what we must do. If we allow our passions to turn to bloodlust, we will become as vile as the xeno

It was only now that Drennus truly understood the Emperor’s words. He had always perfectly understood his role: a tool of the Emperor, his scion of justice. He had revelled in it, knowing that he brought judgement upon the unclean and unworthy. Yet perhaps now he had let pride interfere with his sacred mission.

Justice had become vengeance. He did not want to admit it, but taking Atlas’ head had not truly been about holding him accountable for his crimes. He had felt the same rush as Nehushtan when the opportunity arose, and now bore the same shame and scars at their defeat.

Justice was dispassionate, it was an unkillable idea, one which transcended time and space and was the ideal for all Man. He had thought he embodied it, but he was not pure enough yet. He would have to strive to earn the right to be the Emperor’s Justice.

The first step would be the hardest, the most humbling. He would go before the Warmaster, ashamed and defeated, and seek only one thing.

Penitence.

---

The entirety of the Head of the Serpent was silent, the only noise being the motor servos of the mindless servitors and the mechanisms of the vast vessel. Not a voice uttered a word as a sense of shame clung to ever surface of the ship. Astartes in the blue of the Vipers Astra sat, their armour plate scored with evidence of the futile and desperate battle they’d just fought.

“The Primarch?” one would ask, his voice low and miserable.

“Stasis” another would reply. That was all that was needed. The damage that Nehushtan had taken had been severe, his left arm had been ripped from its socket and the blood had flowed unceasingly, the wound too great for even his enhanced biology to manage. Lord Drennus had taken charge in his absence, but even then he had been noticeably absent. In truth, the Vipers had looked to Gedua, their former Legion Master, for leadership and he took the reins with hesitance.

To him, taking charge would be akin to a coup in their gene-father’s absence, but there was no other option available to him. He’d seen the crippled form of Nehushtan in stasis, and even when unconscious he still looked formidable and imposing, he’d never seen Lord Oberon but could only baulk at the size of the beast that could cause such an injury to the Emperor’s own gene-forged creations. He cursed himself for failing to be at his master’s side, though he knew his presence would be meaningless and would’ve amounted to little more than a nuisance.

Still, the grief caused the mind to do many things. Gedua had shed his more ostentatious armourings when he returned to the ship, taking the more typical pauldrons and remaining helmetless. He’d heard rumours that some of the more mauled Astartes had started to flagellate themselves for their failure, a practice he would normally subdue but couldn’t bring himself too. Let them work their grief out, he had resolved to himself.

“Heading, Lord?” the shipmaster asked, his name still unfamiliar to Gedua, he’d only recently been given the position following the death of the previous Shipmaster during the nightmare that Nehushtan had informed him on. An unpleasant mess.

Still, Gedua remained silent

---

The Star of the Waning Summer held above Ulan Huda, drifting slowly through the remains of the Loyalist fleet.

Inside its palace, Atlas sat upon his throne. He held in his arms a relic from his brother, Nehushtan’s own arm, so recently torn from its host.

He did not know exactly why he had taken it. Perhaps some part of him felt shame towards what he had done, and wanted a constant reminder. Perhaps he could not bear to see it become one of Oberon’s gruesome trophies. Regardless it was his now, and would be kept securely alongside Raziel and Belteshezzar.

His mind drifted between many things: the Warp, the War, his Father, the Warmaster. Each a problem to be solved, each time through violence.

Ulan Huda had shown him one thing, that he was not strong enough. The Emperor was a being unmatched, and he had struggled to fight only two of his siblings at the same time. He could not strike the Emperor with the anathame, if he could not even get close. That was also assuming a fair fight. What if he had to fend off Malcador’s sorcery, and also battle Vasilissa, while attempting to strike down his Father?

There was more to be done. His allies had promised him power beyond reckoning, and though he had been reluctant to accept their offer, he now knew it was inevitable. He would make a deal with the devil, and bear the consequences. It was all for a greater cause, the liberation of Mankind from the tyrant. There was no price he would not pay, no cost too great, for that sweetest of things:

Freedom.

---

Black Mass, the second betrayal of the Atlas Apostasy, has been a collaboration between Audunia, Krugmar, Lunas Legion, Danubian Peoples, Prusslandia, and Woodstovia

[Morrdh]

Alizarelia Kallax

Though assured of the devotion of her Legion, the absolute loyalty of the warriors under Alizarelia's command was another question entirely. Believing that they were acting in the Emperor's name would only go so far, sooner or later a choice would have to be made whether the Legionnaires were more loyal to their Primarch or the Master of Mankind. But by then they would be bound to the service of the Renegade God.

Then there was Atlas and Vasilisa.

They were two sides of the same coin far as Alizerlia was concerned and she intended to feign fealty to both, making them think that she was on their respective side. Vasilisa was half a galaxy away and no doubt had her hands busy defending the Imperium, but there was no question that the Warmaster still had agents everywhere. In contrast Atlas was much closer and thus more of an immediate concern, granted on his own he would struggle to match the Void Reaver's sheer fleet strength. Alizarelia had to convince both that she was working for their respective side.

Long hours were spent pouring over the star charts of the region as Alizarelia thought out her next move, trying to determine a course of action that would allow her to dupe her siblings. At last she selected a number of systems that were suitable for the task she had in mind, all were effectively backwater systems and not known to harbour any of Atlas's forces. Launching a series of attacks against these systems she could say that she was carrying out the Warmaster's command whilst at the same time avoiding conflict with forces loyal to Atlas.

As a final touch she had an astropathic message to Atlas stating that she'd been commanded by Vasilisa to harass his forces and included the backwater systems she intended to attack. Whilst not outright saying it, Alizarelia hoped that Atlas would release that she would be going out of her way to avoid attacking his forces.

[Krugmar]

---

Interlude

---

At this moment millions around the galaxy would be fighting or dying. Men and women clawing for survival amidst an orgy of chaos and violence, as Astartes turned on Astartes, Imperial on Imperial. Fires raging as hearts burned, screaming bloody hate into the dark oblivion awaiting him.

Yet in the Palatial structure adorning the Star of the Waning Summer there was naught but peace and tranquility. The air was still and calm, no voices reverberating through its empty halls. Only a solitary figure hunched over a desk, compiling messages for kin far away.

The war may rage on all around, a storm that may never end, but at the heart of the storm Atlas felt only tranquility. Butcher. Saviour. Apostate. Visionary. He was all of them. It did not matter to him. All that mattered was completing his purpose, and pay any price to do so.

And that price would be his siblings. To free some, others would have to be damned. To death, or worse.

---

+++ INCOMING TRANSMISSION +++
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +TRANSMITTED: Star of the Waning Summer
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +DESTINATION: Alizerelia Kallax's Flagship
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +RECEIVED: Pending

---

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + ++ + + + +REF: Inq/90840958940324323432/SWS
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +AUTHOR: Atlas
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +SUBJECT: Alizerelia, are you with us or against us? Unlike the Emperor I have no desire to seek leadership over you, and so I ask you to fight with us against him as an equal. If he remains in power he will dispose of us, much like the Thunder Warriors, and create himself a god. I would urge you pick a side soon, for while I am forgiving, I fear those loyal to Him may not look kindly upon neutrality.

+++ INCOMING TRANSMISSION +++
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +TRANSMITTED: Star of the Waning Summer
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +DESTINATION: The Lord Colossus
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +RECEIVED: Pending

---

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + ++ + + + +REF: Ord/4848684394958485/SWS
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +AUTHOR: Atlas
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +SUBJECT: Orestes, I request that you and Oberon take your Legions to the southern Segmentum Solar. You must begin an encirclement of Segmentum Solar, which will draw more Loyalist forces back. Gather as many resources from allied forge worlds in the area, and siege any to deny Terra their resources. If Vasilissa strikes do not make a stand, but engage a deep defence. Waste time and resources for the Loyalists. Use your own initiative, withdraw if you must, and allow Oberon to do as he must.

[Krugmar]

To Mock a Laughing God
Part 1: Seek First the Kingdom

---

A Sacred Brotherhood

---

Aboard the Star of the Waning Summer the Ekthroi had their own space. It was a relatively humble affair, a simple room where they could gather and speak their mind to one another outside the presence of their Primarch. Atlas believed it would give them the confidence to confront him should they believe him wrong, and forge strong links between them. In the early days it had, at least the days Ulysses had seen. Over time they had used it less and less, for one sole reason: Erebus.

Erebus had never officially been amongst their number, and so had never entered these chambers. Yet his influence had run deep within the Legion. Azrael and Agamemnon had been the first to turn to his counsel, and so meetings were held less and less. Evonios and Parizitis later began joining them in their clandestine meetings, although the latter was often blocked by Ektor from attending.

Not today, it seemed, for Ulysses could see only Ektor and Achilleus in the room. Ektor was sat at the table, while Achilleus slowly paced behind him, up and down the right side of the table.

Ektor looked up, "Ulysses, do you bring word from Atlas?"

He gently shook his head, "Still nothing." He replied

Achilleus laughed, though it was one born out of frustration not joy. "He has met with no one except Vikare for weeks. Not even Azrael or Evonios. Why do we sit here, while the galaxy plunges into war?"

Ulysses had no concrete answer for him, only guesses, and such conjectures could not console him.

It was Ektor who responded, "This will not be a conventional war. We have already seen that with our new... allies."

"Erebus' foul xenos from the warp. We are better off without them and their so-called 'gods'." Achilleus spat.

Ulysses nodded slowly, he too had little love for Erebus' religion and found the entities they had encountered so far to be more reminiscent of the old Cthonic pantheon of his homeworld than the blessed Titans of the skies Erebus had made them seem akin to.

"We would be, but the False Emperor leaves us no choice. Is he even human, what if he is one of these warp gods? If Atlas is speaking to Vikare, then that means he is trying to understand something about their nature." Replied Ektor

Achilleus growled, "I'm not sure what wisdom could be gleaned out of that monster."

"Hold yourself Achilleus, Vikare is one of us now, and his condition is not of his own making." Snapped Ulysses. Though he too had been concerned upon witnessing Vikare's strange form in Taracanis, a discussion with him afterwards had dampened many of his fears. There was something else in Vikare, something deep under the skin, but he was still a Steel Man.

Achilleus glared at Ulysses for a few seconds, but soon regained his composure.

There was a knock at the door, which set them all at edge. All the Ekthroi knew the code to the room, and though he had never done it, the only other who might seek to enter was Atlas. Ulysses made his way to the door and with a tap of a button opened it.

In front of him was not their mighty lord, nor was it even a fellow Astartes. He looked down to see the figure of Szina Albarazi staring back at him. He noted that she had torn off the Aquila formerly on her uniform, and replaced it instead with the Eye of Atlas.

"Captain." He said bluntly, confused as to her arrival.

"Ulysses, Lord Atlas wished me to inform you and the other Ekthroi that we are on the move." She responded, her bloodshot eyes staring lifelessly at him.

Ulysses frowned, it was unusual for a man of his station to learn about events via a mortal. "Where are we headed?" He asked.

She shrugged, "Some knife-ear world, Shelwesaim or something. Records didn't bring up much, only that so far we've ignored it due to a significant Eldar infestation."

"Hm." Pondered Ulysses

"Oh, and he also wanted to meet with you personally." She said, turning without a word and departing instantly. Ulysses did not make his way immediately, pondering on the situation for a few seconds. After a few moments he decided to make his way to the palace, he might at least find some answers from Atlas as to this abrupt decision to abandon the war effort for some backwater world.

---

Death shall have no Dominion

---

It was an ugly thing, but it would prove most useful for the coming storm. It had his fingerprints all over it, a ship made for so singular a purpose it could not escape it. A potent reminder that in the end destiny always catches you, that death is the end for anything and everything. And so shall this ship to the traitors be death. Let Atlas revel in his destiny.

Yet for all this bravado she knew it was hollow. He viewed himself as the Emperor's equal, a conductor of silence who could play the very bones of the universe and strike a chord so abysmally beautiful and fantastically diabolic even the dark gods themselves would weep. Or perhaps it was all simply a game to him, moves and countermoves. Just why had he supplied Atlas with two of these monstrosities, one which was now under Uriel's command, of all people, burning through the eastern fringe. The other, Dawn's Grace, was currently with the Archapostate himself.

Its name perhaps hinted at its purpose. Was there some he knew that she didn't? Was it a great gamble, an edge that would lead the traitors down a set path?

She gripped her spear tightly. In the end these games mattered not. Live or die, win or lose, she would plunge destiny into Atlas' side. After that her war would be over. No more Atlas, or Blades, or that blasted Emperor.

Let them die. For her, death would have no dominion.

---

Palace of the Mind

---

"Ulysses" boomed a voice, making him jump. He had been so engrossed in gazing at the piles and heaps of books and data-slates that he had not seen his Primarch shadowing him in the distance. It was not the figure he had been expecting. Where always they had seen the Stirian Prince, the Palatine of the Twelve, now he saw an unkempt and weary man. It was only now that it dawned upon Ulysses the weight Atlas carried upon his shoulders, one now amplified by this war.

"My Lord, you summoned me?" He said meekly, feeling it unwise to be bold at this time. Taracanis and Ulan Huda had been very trying on their father.

To his surprise Atlas smiled, and almost in a flash he seemed a different man. The tired lines vanished, his eyes seemed intense and focused, his hair slowly straightening itself, and his form resumed that of an intimating demi-god. Gone was the weariness, no more did his shoulders and form seem burdened by some unthinkable task.

"Yes, there is much to prepare Ulysses. For weeks I have secluded myself here, devoting every second to studying. I have thoroughly checked every piece of information gathered over two centuries, every document given to me by Ravdania and Erebus. Scoured my mind to recall every piece of information." He said, walking among the mountains of words and machines. He stopped by one such hill and stared at it for a second. "And I found nothing!" He shouted, throwing out a fist and sending it crashing to the ground.

Ulysses stepped back a bit, but did not say a word. One could always tell when Atlas had finished speaking.

And he was proved right by a slight smirk. "Then it came to me, what use is looking through Imperial records and conjectures? Even Ravdania's work never broached the topic of the weaponry I seek. But there were a people who do have great knowledge of the warp, of chaos. By chance one of their works made it to my personal library, a gift from a rogue trader who had dealt with their kind dwelling in a city deep in their webway. It speaks of many things, but of great interest to me is of a world, Shelwesaim. In its 'World Shrine' is said to dwell a number of souls recalling the days before their empire fell. Ones who know of secrets best left forgotten, of ancient weapons and sorcery." He explained.

He paused for a moment, looking at the data-slate containing said information. Clearly the rogue-trader had copied the work, or gained a copy, instead of trying the temper of whoever he was parleying with.

"It is perhaps a fool's errand, but I am left with few options. If there is one race that would have the means of entering the warp, it would be those who have control of the webway. At worst, I have wasted some time, and still possess the anathame." He continued, although Ulysses could not help but notice the weapon was not with him. Perhaps Evonios still had it?

"I think it is worth the endeavour Atlas. Ulan Huda has gained us a good deal of time to prepare for the true war. I will begin making preparations at once, to face whatever meagre defences are thrown at us."

---

A Feudal Endeavour

---

They had not exactly been meagre defences. Their initial attack had been successful, bombarding key locations and establishing a base from which to land troops. The world was a lush paradise from orbit, but on the ground it was hell. Creatures prowled in the darkness, lurking in the thick growth and snatching a meal when they could. To an Astartes they posted little threat, but the regular infantry began to fear the prospect of leaving the path made by their posthuman superiors.

That had only been the beginning. There was a reason the Great Crusade had often skipped Exodite worlds. They were as tribal and stubborn as the orks, and yet also possessed a high technology which made them lethal. Add to that a penchant for calling aid from any nearby craftworld, and any stray Eldar or their darker kin, and you had campaigns that could get bogged down for months or even years.

They did not have months or years to spend here, and unfortunately for the Exodites they had their own weapon: a Primarch. Within a single week most of their tribes had been scoured, with many areas of the world reduced to scorched wastelands or newly created irradiated seas. Their capital was now in flames as their last lines of defence crumbled.

But it was not just Atlas, Ulysses noted, that was the reason they were collapsing so quickly. There had been a shift in his brothers, in his legion, that he had first noted at Taracanis, but could now see clearly. They felt an urgency, an anger, a fury, that was now being unleashed. For two centuries a False Emperor had taken advantage of them, and now with this and more victories they would be free. Atlas had promised them the Galaxy, and so they would take it.

Fury was spent as Exodite blood washed through the ruined streets. In vain hope or a spiteful defiance the Exodites had gathered at a great temple. Ulysses now strode past their bodies, all wreaked by severe wounds. There had been no hope here, nor even a faint defiance. Were one to see the sight, they might think mercy a fanciful invention, a theoretical. Perhaps, he mused, to an Astartes it simply was.

Inside the temple he saw his gene-father standing at a strange pagan machine. Surrounding him were Erebus' cultists from Colchis, chanting and screeching black speech and ghastly chants. Littered around them were Exodite dead, though he could tell they had not died fighting, but screaming. Whatever deities they had been slaughtered to had clearly listened, for he watched as darkness enveloped and infiltrated the golden light emitting from the altar.

Atlas held his hands inside it. Where light touched him it seemed to scold, but was soon soothed by the purplish blight. Slowly the taint overtook the golden light. As Ulysses stared deeply into it he could almost hear screaming, and a melodic laugh that tore into his very soul. A wave of pleasure and pain overtook him for a second, before he shook it off and pulled himself away. When he deigned to look back he saw that it had all faded completely, the shrine empty, listless, and lifeless.

After a few moments he had recovered enough to speak, "Did it work?" He asked, though he was not entirely sure what was supposed to have worked in the first place.

Atlas looked at him, though it also felt as though he gazed through and past him, as if his eye was here and there, settled on one and seeing a thousand.

"Answers, and more questions."

[Revlona]

Centurion Treyon Furates regretted many things in his life, becoming astartes was not one of them and never would be. He was basically a god! His genes were altered and his body made to be a thing of perfection. Compared to the mortal things that scurried around his feet, he was a god, yes, this had to be divinity. With barely a hint of effort Furates hand swung in a backhanded motion and one of the mortal guardsmen who had been nervously sending him glances was sent thundering into the wall. Without another look at the most likely dead man who had been staring to long the Centurion continued on his task. Something better suited for a Legionnaire he thought, ensuring the security of the upper armory. Not like it needed securing, not again the scurrying mice under feet, perhaps from their brothers above but even they had not the numbers to take the Bastion and most certainly did not have the balls for it. The Princeps had put fear into them, into an astartes! He wanted to laugh at his brethrens cowardice but could not, because as he entered the upper armory he died.

Lucian

Lucian looked down at the features of the head as it rolled along the floor of the armory. Centurion Furates, dead in a single stroke, not even allowed to show surprise in death. The borrowed power sword in the Primarchs hand hummed in appreciation at use as it was put away. "Begin the operation," Lucian vocalized for the first time that day, tremors shaking the floor and walls mere seconds after his words. Those explosions wracking the Bastion as the cleansing of Lucians home began. Near a thousand astartes had been given entrance to the massive castle by those astartes of the First who still felt loyalty to their Primarch and Emperor. Defense platforms, armories, barracks, and all sorts of strategic targets went up in flames as explosives detonated.

Lucian strode out of the upper armory and stroked the trigger of the bolt pistol head in his right hand, two unarmored astartes died, their extra organs and martial prowess doing nothing to stop the bolt rounds as they found unarmored targets. His new singulares formed around him, bolters chattering away as the traitor mortal forces died, daring to rise with these astartes against him.

New thumps could be felt, almost as if the Bastion was rocked from the outside in. "Phase two begun my Primarch," A voice vocalized over the vox. "Understood, I am making my way to you Captain, secure the upper middle floors in the meantime," Lucian vocalized back, his voice reaching the reinforcing Astartes and mortals whose drop pods and gunships had just arrived to a near defenseless bastion.

"The Traitor is dead my Primarch..." Captain Terro said over the Vox, his tone etched with hints of smug satisfaction. "How anti climatic," A singulare said from behind Lucian, several of the others chuckled in response at that. "Understood Captain, take command of your loyalists in the lower levels and begin the third phase, crush the traitors between us." Lucian said, a grim smile playing on his face. His legion needed this, a cleansing of unfaithful brethren by those who had suffered the most at Atlas hand, treason could never be forgiven but the executioner could not take pleasure in his work.

His home would be clean of the taint and he would be allowed to turn his eyes elsewhere, to places beyond his home. He would strike out at those who had wronged him and avenge those who had stood beside him, his brothers, his sons, all of them. He would say the names of the fallen as he looked into the eyes of the Traitor Atlas and drove his blade into his heart, if the snake even had one still. All would come, his Unifying Sons would be his instruments of revenge, but not as they were. Changes must be made, for they Unified no more, now they would Avenge.

[Europa Undivided]

Pacification of Majarhast
Ultima Segmentum

Erik Matras

The Underdragons are in their element.

Prowling within the ground underneath the glacial fortresses of the Majarhast were dozens of Underminers, their capillaric forms crawling like a worm through rotten wood. Their drills made short work of the rock that obstructed their path, carving a path that could be likened to the tunnels of an ant colony, only far greater and more pronounced. The Underminers and their passengers, followed by elements of the Legion and their allied Imperial Army forces, travelled these winding dungeons, laying the work towards the final assault against the final fortress of this world, which had held defiantly against the armies of the Imperium of Man for months.

Underdragon Legionaries, their armored vehicles, and the components of the Imperial Army that had accompanied them to this frigid wasteland gathered in front of the final fortress. In front of the invading force was the Primarch Erik Matras, his black and red armor adorned with purity seals and the Aquila that symbolized the Imperium itself. On his back were wings; not true wings, as one could see, but simple decoration, a memento of his homeworld, Halkiyon Primaries. They fluttered in the wings, emitting a sound that would have confounded any wild beast that stood nearby.

In the Primarch's hands was the mighty warhammer, the Shatterer, which he regrets to not have named more creatively. Still, it could break the ground asunder with one blow; but against a fortress that had enclosed itself within a barrier, he couldn't simply smash his way through.

Not that he did so, anyway. He had always been the kind to pull underhanded tactics, after all, to the point that his brothers and sisters saw him as having no honor in battle.

But what is honor in battle, he would ask. The only thing that matters is victory…

Vox chatter filtered in from under their feet. The Underminers were underway.

The Dragon Engines surged forth, raining down from the low hanging voidships in the dozens. Artillery had softened the shields earlier, puncturing it at several points and forcing them to regenerate. In these points did the Dragon Engines drop, spewing blessed promethium and flak gun fire at all this that opposed them. It would seem that the Dragon Engines had been left to their own devices… until one, two, three, and dozens of Underminers burst out of the grounds within the fortress, disgorging the Underminers Attendants, armored in Terminator armor and shrugging off much of what the natives could throw at them. They were then followed by other Astartes, who fought alongside their Imperial Army allies.

And outside, Erik Matras simply placed a reed on his mouth, watching as the fortress fell right before his eyes. The Majarhast would soon finally sue for peace… and join the Imperium in pain of death.

Halkiyon System
Ultima Segmentum
The Present Day

Erik Matras

Imagine Erik's surprise and rage when news of the betrayal of three of his siblings came to him. The Betrayal of Taracanis told him everything he needed to know, and prepared not just the Underdragons, but the entire system of Halkiyon for battle. He trusted that the Halkiyon Unity can defend itself should any lesser threat, such as xenos, tried to attack it, but a legion of one of his traitorous siblings would be another matter entirely.

Raids did happen, though. The Brazen Beasts attacked and pillaged worlds across the Ultima Segmentum, and though the penchant of the Halkiyonites for subterranean and sub-aquatic settlements would have made it far more difficult for them to get attacked, no one was truly safe. The Underdragons kept them well away from the Halkiyon System to their best of their abilities, though some worlds nearby would suffer enormous loss of life and damage.

Then came the news of Ulan Hada, and the defeat of not one, but two Primarchs in the hands of the Traitors. Here, Erik realized that he must move, now. Or else the noose around his worlds will tighten, and nothing will be left to save.

And so, two of the five chapters of the Legion was determined to be left behind in Halkiyon in order to protect the system if any incursion that proved to be too strong for the planetary defence forces to fight off came in. The other three will accompany their Primarch as he departs for Terra, knowing that the Emperor will most probably be the prime target of his traitorous siblings. Erik Matras would also send a message to the Warmaster, who had finished her campaign in Incaladion. The message reads thus,

"Warmaster Vassalia. My Legion has finished preparations, and along with two thirds of it, I will head towards Terra with all haste. The rest has stayed in my home system to stop any incursions. Unless you order me otherwise, I will keep on my current path."

[Morrdh]

+++ INCOMING TRANSMISSION +++
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + +TRANSMITTED: Star of the Waning Summer
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + +DESTINATION: Alizerelia Kallax's Flagship
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +RECEIVED: Pending

---

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + ++ + + + +REF: Inq/90840958940324323432/SWS
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +AUTHOR: Atlas
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +SUBJECT: Alizerelia, are you with us or against us? Unlike the Emperor I have no desire to seek leadership over you, and so I ask you to fight with us against him as an equal. If he remains in power he will dispose of us, much like the Thunder Warriors, and create himself a god. I would urge you pick a side soon, for while I am forgiving, I fear those loyal to Him may not look kindly upon neutrality.

Alizerelia mulled over the astropathic communique, considering how best to respond if she even responded at all. She would have to choose her words carefully, least they be used to incriminate her. It was unclear whether Atlas had gleamed the information she'd wanted to give him in her message, but at the same time she didn't want to plainly state her intentions. What was she to do when it seemed that Atlas grasped the art of subtlety as well as an Ork?

It made her less inclined to openly declare for Atlas.

So how best to reply in a way that would allow her to play both sides? She would have to avoid outright saying she was committing to a cause, rather she would have to go with something a bit more open to interpretation but hopefully allow Atlas to join up the dots in the right order. In the end she decided to rephrase her previous message, hoping that her hints were more clearer.

As I stated, I have been commanded.

My Legion has been tasked with relying intelligence, but the warp is being extra fickle and many messages have been altered or rendered incomplete by the whim of the Empyrean. Such false information can and has hampered the fighting ability of a force, either by causing them to attack the wrong position or wander into an enemy trap.

I fear the warp will become even more troublesome for sending messages.

[Danubian Peoples]

Primarch Orestes Charon of the XI Legion
Gloriana-Class Battleship Lord Colossus, circa 712.001.M31
Orestes' Inner Sanctum

Private Log 454, dated 712.001.M31
--BEGIN LOG--
Suspicion regarding Eolon power sphere warranted. Initially considered mere human archaeotech, further inspection reveals it to be of much older and more powerful make. Artifact seems to hold properties similar to the Dread Glaive and other Class N objects (see Private Log 112). Could likely serve multiple hives, contrary to underutilization exhibited by Eolonian city plan. Typical of xenos.

The Imperium's descent into civil war has granted access to a considerable number of worlds of potential note in Imperial space; with new orders from Atlas demanding the conquest of the southern Segmentum Solar, it would be easy to scour such planets in the Segmentum of any objects of interest. Forge worlds likely to hold especially valuable content; note to negotiate where possible with allied worlds for select archives and artifacts, and ransack enemy forge worlds for theirs. Latter strategy likely to prove more successful.

In this vein I have also been commanded to consult another Primarch to begin coordinating the invasion proper. With a significant portion of my forces guarding the Lordship, their reinforcement would be welcome. How to conduct my own personal expeditions alongside this conquest without raising unwanted attention from my sibling must also be considered. Devoting resources to side endeavor could be perceived as detriment to rebellion.

Will report to Atlas in short order as of creating this log entry. Warp temperament has experienced significant downward trend. Psyker elements of my forces increasingly affected by Warp disturbances, causing notable loss in productivity. Signs point to galaxy-wide change in Warp, correlating exceedingly close to the advent of the rebellion. Warp xenos phenomena harnessed by Atlas likely connected. I have ordered calculations to predict future Warp temperament. Must be sure to circumvent this change.
--END LOG--

Thus did the Primarch Orestes conclude his latest log, which was but one of several. Though separated from the most robust iteration of his information-collecting apparatus (located in Rytax), Orestes still found it useful to collate what he could while on campaign, even if he had to make do with more limited resources. Private logs were one such form of information, personal recordings of the Primarch's thoughts to be used for later self-consultation. Of course, should their security be compromised, measures were in place to scrub the hardware on which they were held of all information, ensuring Orestes' thoughts remain their own.

Orestes then stared at his great Dread Glaive, a mighty piece of technology from who-knows-where. He watched as a sick, green glow emanated from the strange runes that marked its surface. He then turned his attention the material of which the glaive was built. How it seemed to be damaged when subjected to sufficient force, and how that damage, as if soft, pliable clay, would vanish in minutes. He could not risk a more invasive probe into its properties, lest the artifact be broken, but nonetheless Orestes saw the fires of opportunity burning from within.

His face twisted into a slight smile at the thought, quickly returning to a neutral expression as he took his eyes off the weapon. His iron frame moved with considerable speed, as the Primarch exited his sanctum, its twin guardians of Astartes opening then closing like a great door behind him. Now all he had to do was send a quick communique to Atlas.

<<"I have received and acknowledged your command, Atlas. Will begin coordinating attack plan with my sibling in short order.">>