Kalisde, fortress world, final defensive line.
"Tear them apart!"
"Blood sacrifice! Take the heads of the False Emperor's dogs!"
The black tide crashed again and again against the line held jointly by the Imperium's defenders and the Terror Legion, making the whole defense tremble on the brink of collapse.
Not long ago, the Chaos Gods had turned even more of their gaze upon this world, dispatching wave after wave of daemonic hosts straight at the fortress line.
They had even sent a fallen Primarch and more than twenty Greater Daemons.
The abominations of the warp were launching a fierce counterattack on the fortress line.
Their intent was obvious: to completely encircle the bastion and exterminate the First Primarch and the Dark Angels to the very last man.
If they succeeded, it would mean the first slain Primarch in ten millennia. Any creature that could claim a Primarch's life would receive the joint blessing of all the Ruinous Powers.
Every denizen of the warp coveted such a reward.
The abominations, the willing tools of the Chaos Gods, were ecstatic. Frenzy drove them to hurl themselves at the defenses in a mad rush, all of them hoping to seize the sweetest prize.
Huff… huff…
High Chaplain–Grand Master Sapphon leaned on his long-hafted power-axe, his armor soaked in blood, breathing hard.
He had spent the last of his ammunition; even his war-axe was close to shattering. The banner mounted on his back that had been rallying the line had been cut down by some lurking assassin.
Deadly bone-spikes and gouts of warpfire arced through the air in every direction, while screams and howls merged into a suffocating storm.
Sapphon's vision swayed. His ears were full of a constant ringing.
He looked around him: brothers who had stood firm moments before were now lying fallen, while from every direction the black mass of Chaos daemons pressed in. The tide of filth was about to smash apart the last rocky bulwark on this doomed world.
It was enough to crush the heart.
"Hold! For the Emperor!"
But there was no fear in Sapphon's eyes. With a snarl he ripped his axe out of a daemon engine's chest, then snatched up the fallen banner and raised it high once more.
This elder of the Dark Angels, High Chaplain and Grand Master, fulfilled his duty by staying in the most lethal section of the line, fighting and exhorting those around him.
The Dark Angels roared and slammed into the breach, buying a few more precious moments.
"Lazarus!"
Sapphon scanned the battlefield for the Fifth Company's commander, anxiety in his gaze.
With vox channels being brutally jammed, all he could do was pray that the message had gotten through.
"My lord."
Lazarus arrived with several bodyguards in tow, his expression tight with urgency.
"You called, my lord? I can't stay away from the line for long. If I'm gone too long, those lads may not hold."
"His Highness has been ambushed by daemons. You are to lead an inner-ring force to reinforce him. Immediately."
Sapphon fixed the Fifth Company Captain with a hard stare, voice brooking no argument.
"Nothing is more important than His Highness' life. Not this world, not every soul upon it. The Dark Angels and the Imperium both need him alive."
To the Imperium of Man, a Primarch's worth far outweighed that of any single piece of territory.
"I will protect His Highness, even at the cost of my life."
Lazarus did not hesitate. As soon as he received the order, he turned on his heel to gather his men.
Even if pulling those warriors off the line meant many more lives would be lost.
"My lord, I fear the Imperium cannot afford to lose this world. The price would be more than we can bear."
No one knew when the emaciated Lexicanium had come to stand beside Sapphon, looking like he might collapse at any moment.
In his condition, coming to the front line was tantamount to suicide. But he had come anyway, because the terrible truth he had foreseen had to be conveyed in person.
"Why? The Chaos Gods invaded this world to strike at the Dark Angels and our Primarch, did they not?"
Sapphon intercepted a blow meant for the psyker and countered, frowning.
In his eyes, this mining world had little intrinsic value. If not for Chaos closing the warp routes, the Dark Angels would have evacuated long ago.
The Lexicanium shook his head gravely.
"That is not so. In the warp, I beheld a terrifying truth. The abominations came here with a higher purpose.
A node. Kalisde is a node in some great, malignant ritual. The Dark Powers are desperate to claim it.
It is one point in a vast, appalling array spread across the entire Vostonia sub-sector, enough to tear the whole region into the warp and create a dead zone like the Eye of Terror.
Or worse.
I have a vague premonition: the Imperium will suffer an even heavier blow because of this."
"If what you've seen is true, then the Imperium will lose a vital bulwark. The Shrouded Marches will be plunged into endless chaos. The cost may be greater than losing the Cadian Gate…"
At his words, Sapphon immediately grasped the implications.
He looked toward the distant Chaos rift that loomed like a colossal, upright eye, spewing an unending stream of daemons. He sighed.
"But how long can we hold?
Three Terran days are almost up. If our reinforcements don't arrive in time, everything will be lost."
There was one more sentence he left unsaid.
Even if reinforcements arrived, unless they were a massive, elite host of Imperial troops, it would be nearly impossible to hold a world whose defense grid had been almost completely destroyed.
Given the way things were going, how many forces did the Imperium truly have left to throw into this meat-grinder, and how long could they exhaust themselves against the Chaos Gods here?
"The Savior's reinforcements will arrive on time."
The Lexicanium spoke softly.
He had no choice but to pin all his hopes on that. On the Savior, the new Emperor of Mankind, withstanding the Chaos assault and disrupting their plot.
At that moment, a rumble from far off drew both of their attention.
They looked up to see several Thunderhawk gunships trailing fire as they plunged toward the ground.
Those were the transports bearing the inner-ring relief force meant to reach the Lion.
Watching this, Sapphon and the Lexicanium grew even more anxious, their worry for their Primarch, their "Highness," sharpening into a cold dread.
They had no idea what state he might be in.
…
Northern sector of the fortress ruins.
Here, Chaos taint lay thick over everything. The battle had smashed the structures flat; lethal miasma clung to the rubble, and streams of molten rock flowed along the ground.
The earth itself shuddered, over and over, as if some titanic beast were rolling beneath the surface.
"Damn it, get off me!"
"Ha ha ha ha! Sweet, sweet blood points!"
Captain Broken-Horn of Terror Legion Fourth Company wrestled his Hell Drake mount down onto a Bloodthirster, raking at the greater daemon in a frenzy.
Seizing his chance, he drove melta weaponry into the daemon's flesh again and again, carving out wounds that refused to close.
Above them, Infernal Drakes swept and circled, constantly intercepting and destroying the massive Bloodthirster-like war beasts trying to break through and lend support.
"WAAAGH!!"
Not far away, more Terror Legionaries bellowed as they threw themselves at a towering Keeper of Secrets, hacking gashes into the daemon's body with every pass.
"Filthy Terror thralls! Die, all of you!"
The Keeper writhed and shrieked.
Never before had she been hit so hard by such a reckless assault, especially not by mere "lowly" Chaos Marines.
Under normal circumstances, warriors of their rank were beneath the notice of a "noble" Keeper of Secrets; they would never be worthy opponents. Yet now these upjumped mortals had actually managed to wound her.
Her fury boiled over. All four of her arms whirled, scything out lethal blades that shredded any Terror Legionary they touched.
Yet it availed her little.
Terror Legionaries existed only to bring terror to others; they themselves knew no fear.
The only thing they were afraid of, perhaps, was Blood Point Implosion.
That fate was worse than death: to see all your gear and power stripped away and scattered to the warp, leaving you a wretched labor-slave, doomed to watch others charge while you carried the ammo.
The Terror Marines stared at the Keeper before them like predators eyeing a giant, walking pile of currency.
There was no fear in them at all. They just kept sliding in low, making quick cuts. One axe-swing was enough to break even; two was pure profit.
If they died, well, that was just bad luck. The others would still have their chance to farm those blood points.
Soon, the ten-meter-tall Keeper of Secrets was crawling with Terror Legionaries.
Her screams rang out as she toppled, and then the beating truly began. A dozen chainswords, axes, and power mauls rose and fell in a blur, and her agonized shrieks echoed across the ruins.
Another Keeper, rushing to answer the call, caught sight of the scene. Her entire body shuddered. Without a second thought, she wheeled away and flew off to attack the Lion instead.
She had no desire to provoke Diablo's infamous mad-dogs, especially after discovering that they were even crazier than the legends claimed.
When Broken-Horn realized the Lion had been ambushed, he had immediately led his company to the rescue, interposing his warriors between the First Primarch and multiple Greater Daemons and their lesser kin.
The Dark Angels hadn't reached their gene-sire that quickly, and they were still trapped outside the encirclement.
All they could do was watch their Primarch struggle in mortal danger.
Of course, the Terror Legion's speed had a very simple reason:
This was where the blood points were thickest.
How could they not rush it first?!
Sadly, even their arrival could not greatly ease the Lion's peril.
Right now, the First Primarch, Lion El'Jonson, was facing the combined assault of eight top-ranked, extremely powerful Greater Daemons.
Even after his rebirth and the massive increase in his essential power, not even he could easily withstand such a beating.
And there was yet another threat: a fallen Primarch watching for his chance.
In the warp-rent sky above, a colossal half-man, half-serpent silhouette overlooked the battlefield.
From its back, cloaked like a mantle, trailed masses of writhing tendrils.
"A craven ambush, but you will never break my will!"
The Lion gripped half a broken sword, chest heaving.
The golden paint on his armor had been eaten away in great streaks by warp-corrosion; the plate itself was shattered and torn. It could no longer fully cover his body, leaving his abs and pectorals exposed in multiple places.
He was one slip from an indecent exposure charge.
It was a savage sight.
At his feet lay the corpses of two Greater Daemons. All around, more of their kin prowled in a hungry ring.
"You will die here. That fate cannot be altered."
A Lord of Change hovered in the air, wings beating slowly as it fixed the Lion with a greedy gaze.
"Fate?"
The Lion drew in a deep breath and let the broken sword fall from his hand.
A cold smile touched his lips.
"I am no pawn of fate. That's just a fig leaf for cowards."
An instant later, a flash of killing light streaked toward him as fast as thought.
The Lion rolled, barely dodging the blow. The bone blade only scored a shallow cut across his stomach.
After that, the battle locked back into a tense stalemate. Neither side dared move first.
The bone-deep wounds on the Primarch's body and the Greater Daemon carcasses at his feet said everything about how lethal this fight had become. A single misstep on either side could mean catastrophic injury.
"Heh heh heh…"
Suddenly, a seductive yet shrill voice echoed out of nowhere.
"You look quite pathetic, my dear brother. Like an old hound trapped in a pit, thrashing helplessly."
"Fulgrim?!"
At that name, the Lion's guard went even higher.
He had been keeping a close eye on that warp-silhouette. He knew it represented his once-brother, the fallen Phoenician: Fulgrim. That projection was the reflection of Fulgrim's true essence in the Immaterium.
Fulgrim had once taken Roboute down in a single blow. Treacherous to his core, he had surely received even more "gifts" from his patron god since then and grown stronger still.
The aura rolling off him now was nearly equal to the Lion's own.
"Come out and show yourself, so I can see just how far you've fallen, what kind of misshapen half-breed you've become."
Even as he kept one eye on the Greater Daemons circling him, the Lion laid into Fulgrim with a barrage of taunts, trying to draw the Phoenician into a frontal fight. A hidden, ambush-ready fallen Primarch was infinitely more dangerous than a visible one.
His deep voice boomed across the ruins.
"My dear brother, don't tell me you're afraid to face me? Afraid that I'll put you down and make you kneel at my feet?"
"Heh. Such crude provocation won't work on me.
My true opponent is that so-called Savior.
To be blunt, you're pitifully lacking. Your barbs are weaker than Roboute's. You should take lessons from him."
Fulgrim's voice oozed cruelty.
He had exorcised his old psychological scars and, with Slaanesh's favor, now bore a tentacled artifact granted directly from his patron's true form.
His warp power had multiplied; he could now fell the Roboute Guilliman of old with ease.
The Lion drew a long, steadying breath as he listened.
Then he struck back without missing a beat.
"You mean Eden, the Savior?
Take my advice, you narcissistic monster: don't show yourself in front of him. He's far more handsome than you, the very incarnation of perfection.
Even I am jealous. You must be seething, right?
Anyone can see it. Next to the Savior, you look like nothing but an ugly, pitiful little imp."
To claw back the advantage, the Lion threw away all restraint and laid the praise on thick.
"Lies! There is no one in the galaxy more perfect than the Phoenician!"
Fulgrim's voice sharpened into a full feminine shriek, as if someone had stomped on his last nerve.
He went redline in an instant and struck.
From the air, a forest of pink, twisting tendrils erupted out of nowhere, all lashing toward the Lion. Their impact carried terrifying weight and power.
This was a relic of Slaanesh's true form.
"Not good. That strike is even stronger than I expected!"
The Lion's pupils contracted at the oncoming tide of pink tentacles. The pressure bearing down on him was immense.
That was the crushing presence of a Chaos God's own artifact.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The tendrils speared through and tore apart several towers of twisted wreckage in rapid succession, then slammed into the Lion. At the same moment, the other Greater Daemons surged in from all sides.
What followed was a full-on beatdown: a brutal, merciless group assault.
…
A short time earlier.
On board the Dreamweaver, teleportarium deck.
"Lion has been surrounded by daemons. We don't have time to wait for the full deployment. We have to teleport down now and pull him out."
Eden glanced between Guilliman and the Khan, worry etched across his face.
"The scanners and teleport beacons are in place. Let's see what we're dealing with…"
He pulled out a dataslate and reviewed the sensor feed.
It showed the output of the devices he had quietly seeded through the Terror Legion, allowing him to get a clearer view of the battlefield and lock in teleport patterns.
"According to the scan, there are more than ten top-ranked Greater Daemons in that sector. That's… not going to be easy."
He frowned at the numbers.
Then the slate automatically played back the latest audio clip the probes had captured: the Lion's deep voice.
"…Eden is more handsome than you, the very incarnation of perfection.
Even I am jealous. You must be seething, right…"
That snippet from the Lion's exchange with Fulgrim was practically dripping with admiration and saccharine flattery.
All three Primarchs blinked and exchanged a look.
"I didn't think the Lion held me in such high regard. Or Fulgrim. We really have to catch that one…"
Eden coughed lightly, cracked a joke, and tapped "save" with a casual flick. Pure reflex. Nothing more.
At that moment, the teleport chambers pinged readiness. The teleportarium was primed.
But before Eden and the Khan could move, they realized Guilliman was already stomping toward a teleport pod, radiating murderous intent.
"Fulgrim."
Roboute stepped into the chamber, jaw clenched, eyes burning.
"I'll stop that creature. This time I won't let him get away."
After ten thousand years, he finally had a chance to wash away that humiliation.
The words were barely out of his mouth before the hatch slammed shut.
With a flare of warp-light, the Ultramarines Primarch entered teleport translation and vanished.
"Let's go too."
Eden and the Khan quickened their pace toward their own pods.
In truth, having Roboute go down first as the vanguard fit their original plan perfectly.
Seconds later, two more shafts of light flared as the Savior and the White Scars Primarch disappeared from the deck.
Heavy footsteps echoed as Custodians, legendary warriors, and other high-ranking fighters filed into their own teleport chambers.
The Savior's strike force was spinning up fast.
…
Northern sector of the fortress ruins.
Hum…
Two radiant teleport flares slammed down into the battlefield. Wrapped in sacred hymns, two towering Primarch figures strode forth.
The Savior descended upon the world clad in the One True Armour, the very image of a golden overlord. The Khan stood beside him, emanating his own savage aura.
Bang.
"Hm?"
Eden casually raised his forbidden-pattern bolt pistol and blew apart a Greater Daemon in front of him, then snorted in mild confusion.
A chorus of terrified voices rose up around them.
"The Cursed One!"
"The Cursed One is here?!"
Daemons in the vicinity shook as if in a sudden chill and scrambled to get away. The Savior's presence and aura terrified them far more than they were willing to admit.
Eden didn't dwell on it. He simply found it odd.
He scanned the area.
"Where's Old Roboute? Didn't he teleport in first?"
As if on cue, another teleport flare came down nearby.
"…?"
"FULGRIM!"
Guilliman's furious roar split the air as he appeared before them, only to freeze for a second when he saw Eden and the Khan already there.
Eden's scalp prickled. He sucked in a sharp breath.
Good grief. Teleport… delay?
That level of causality was downright terrifying.
Suddenly, having Roboute as vanguard didn't feel quite as reliable. How were they supposed to catch Fulgrim if their vanguard could arrive late to his own grudge match?
There was no time to think about that, though. Eden's psychic senses had already locked onto the Lion's position.
"Move! Support him!"
Boom…
In the distance, explosions kicked up pillars of dust.
The three Primarchs triggered their jump systems in unison, vanished from where they stood, and hurled themselves toward the embattled sector.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
A Bloodthirster had the Lion pinned, roaring as it hammered its fists down again and again, beating the Primarch bloody. Even his helmet was half-smashed.
It was a wretched sight.
"Die, Lion!"
The Lord of Change dragged itself up out of a heap of rubble, leveling its staff at the Primarch. That weapon, heavy with shards of "destiny," would certainly take the Lion's life if it pierced him.
But before it could strike, something slammed into the ground behind it with a titanic crash.
"Gah!"
The fate-weaver felt death looming and tried to dodge.
Too late.
The twin raven heads let out a single, horrible scream as its body withered and collapsed in on itself, shriveling like a husk.
"?!"
The sight stunned everyone present. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze.
Face swollen, nose bleeding freely down his battered features, the Lion slowly turned his head…
(End of Chapter)
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