"An unprecedented army is gathering."
"From Holy Terra to Ultramar, countless Legions and fleets have answered the call of the Imperium. They are united, listening to the same command, executing the same objective, destroying the same enemy."
"Here, there are tens of thousands of Death Angels from nine Legions, and millions of mortal warriors. The faithful of Mars pilot war machines made of steel, marching in formation. They are the embodiment of technology and knowledge, fighting with thoughts and commands incomprehensible to ordinary men."
"And continuously advancing amidst their mechanical screams are the God-machines, propelled by countless ancient and great Knight Houses. Their power will only be unleashed on the most insane and legendary battlefields, fighting and dying as the greatest behemoths, imprinted in the unremembered legends."
"They will all die; they will all be immortal."
"I have no doubt that such a mighty force is destined to bring forth everything this galaxy can possess: creation, destruction, war, peace, honor, betrayal, victory, and death. This invincible power is enough to destroy heaven, subjugate empires, turn dynasties and great armies into dust in a blink of an eye, or fulfill the most insane and massive ambitions, forging a millennium of great deeds."
"Perhaps only the Emperor can wield this power, but He has distributed authority and crowns to His sons. The commander standing on the front line is named Lion El'Jonson, a Primarch recently rediscovered from savage forests and castles.
Before even shedding his ancient armor, he was granted the command staff of millions of troops. His every command will determine the fate of countless star systems and worlds; his every will shall sway the survival of millions."
"I have no right to question or judge the Emperor's will. In the Imperium of Man, no one has the right to do so. All I can do is hope and pray. Hope that the gaze and will of our Lord remain bright as torches. Pray that the martial prowess of our Great Marshal can repay the Emperor's grace."
"Lion El'Jonson, may the Emperor protect him."
——————Astelan Gourman, First Legion Scribe, who received the Emperor's grace during the Second Rangdan Xenocides.
——————
The Telos for Knowledge, carrying one hundred Thousand Sons warriors and nine times that number of mortals, set out from the forge world of Ryza near Prospero. Before its departure, it gorged itself on energy and everything needed to traverse the vast ocean of space. Then it journeyed eastward, beginning its crusade.
The ship first arrived at the world of Olympia. It stayed on this homeworld of the Iron Warriors Legion for three days until the Fourth Legion's expeditionary fleet finally assembled. Then it joined this colossal void-kingdom, together heading for the galactic northeast, where half the Imperium's might was locked in a life-and-death struggle.
The journey through the void was long and empty. The vessels of Magnus's sons, accompanying the Iron Warriors' grand fleet, traversed countless star systems, some solemn, some desolate. They jumped through Mandeville Points countless times, their footsteps spread across thousands of worlds and kingdoms,
yet the sights they witnessed were monotonously similar: as far as the eye could see, nothing but night skies with unusually sparse stars, emanating pure black or mottled colors. The meteors, which appeared so romantic when viewed from land, were merely deformed and fractured chunks of rock.
The Iron Warriors' fleet might be described as magnificent and powerful. Whenever they passed a world, they would cast a terrifying shadow capable of making kings weep. But such a fleet was also devoid of beauty; they were merely rigid amalgamations of steel plates.
These warriors from Olympia revered their powerful gene-father, yet they failed to learn his sensitive and artistic inner nature, only mimicking the Iron Blood in transforming their warships into battlefield monsters. And for Ahriman, daily witnessing these steel coffins, which lacked even portholes, completely obscuring his vision, was perhaps the second most tragic thing in his current life. As for the first...
"I was too careless, truly." The Thousand Sons expedition leader sat in his seat, his brow furrowed into a painful vortex, like a large, twisted artificial wound festering on his face. "If I had known, I should have gone down with you on Olympia, or at least reminded them—who knew these guys wouldn't care at all? Didn't they even think?!"
Ahriman was intermittently complaining to himself. Across from him, Morgan, the theoretical second-in-command of the Thousand Sons expedition, was listening distractedly. She first simply tied her long hair into a ponytail, then, while flipping through a letter in her hand, poured herself a glass of water.
Yes, since the seventh Terran standard day after the Telos for Knowledge left the world of Olympia, there hadn't been a single drop of wine on this ship. As for the mortal crew's home-brewed liquor and the potent spirits favored by the Iron Warriors, even with a bolter pressed to Ahriman's head, he wouldn't touch a drop.
Such trivial concerns, while not enough to shatter Ahriman's composure, were enough to make him specifically seek out his mortal friend and complain a bit during the long and tedious journey through space. And Morgan's answers were always perfectly apt.
[Once we reach our destination, perhaps there will be wine to drink. After all, it's both the operational command center for millions of troops and the logistics base for countless armies.]
"Difficult, I can tell you." At this, Ahriman's expression grew serious. "The front line situation is worse than we imagined. The combined forces of four Astartes Legions have barely managed to hold the forge world of Xana, which is the core of the front line. As for other areas, there's no time to spare. It's said that entire Titan Legions have been annihilated in battle."
[Don't be so pessimistic, Ahriman. You and your men can also annihilate a Titan Legion.]
Perhaps not. Ahriman thought so, but the words never left his mouth. One of Magnus's proudest sons merely leaned back slowly in his seat. After a while, his attention turned to Morgan's hand.
"What are you looking at?"
[A letter.]
[I made a pen pal on Olympia. She's a very nice person. Although not top-notch in knowledge, she has her own insights and thoughts about governance and society.]
Ahriman listened idly, not taking it seriously. Such a small interlude was like icing on a cake, adding a touch of interest to a monotonous journey. In this mix of monotony and amusement, the expeditionary fleet passed countless newly established interstellar colonies and spaceports, finally plunging into the void at the very edge of the galaxy. This was the limit of the Imperium of Man's territory.
War erupted here.
——————
Goyemaala Starport was a floating miracle. It was not built by the Imperium of Man; the Emperor's subjects at this time did not possess the ability to create such a marvel. This magnificent void structure might be a relic of humanity's Golden Age, or perhaps the painstaking work of other extraordinary intelligent races. But this did not prevent it from being requisitioned by the Dark Angels Legion, becoming a vast abode for the Imperium's countless war beasts.
This magnificent starport was built on a giant desert world. The shadow it cast almost covered a third of the world. However, what was surprising was that there was no connecting passage between the starport and the world. It relied on some intricate calculations and complex structures, stably hovering in orbit around the dead world.
Ahriman and Morgan stood in the huge shadow cast by the starport under the illumination of a star. They marveled at this miracle constructed by numbers and calculations: Goyemaala seemed like several starforts connected, but infinitely larger. Its interior contained hundreds of warehouses, halls capable of accommodating tens of thousands of people, corridors designed as labyrinths, and even several ancient shipyards capable of repairing large vessels.
Most of this void realm had completely withered and died, but the remaining small portion could still accommodate hundreds of thousands of mortals and warriors. Battleships and transport ships moved in and out of its dozens of ports, maintaining the massive guard and abundant supplies required by this important military hub.
"Let's go in." After patiently waiting for the Iron Warriors' grand fleet to gradually disperse and gather, Ahriman finally issued his command to the captain. Morgan even noticed that Ahriman at this moment was different from his usual self: when he faced mortal crew members, the Thousand Sons captain exuded an almost innate contempt and authority.
The Telos for Knowledge successfully docked at a relatively empty port. Ahriman disembarked with only Morgan and his two warriors. When they had completely left the ship, a mortal official was already waiting for them. His uniform was embroidered with the symbol of the Dark Angels, indicating which Astartes Legion he swore allegiance to.
Morgan saw Ahriman's brow furrow.
"Thousand Sons Legion, Ahriman."
"I believe the order I received was to complete the mission handover with Captain Azrael of the Dark Angels Legion and to dispatch personnel to assist in his operations. So, may I ask..."
"Where is he?" Faced with Ahriman's questioning, the mortal before him showed no sign of fear. In fact, his face was remarkably calm, even rigid.
"Captain Azrael cannot come. I apologize."
"Alright, then to whom shall I hand over the mission?"
"Please await notification."
"Then how long will that take?"
"Please await notification."
Ahriman's brow furrowed even deeper. He asked several more questions in succession, but received only a cold, ritualistic response. Morgan could feel a flicker of anger ignite in the Thousand Son's heart, but just before this anger could fully ignite, a black figure walked over.
"Sorry, I'm a little late." The newcomer was clad in standard Dark Angels armor. His voice was uniquely vigorous. This son of Jonson quickly strode in and waved his hand, dismissing the official. "Some tricks from the old timers in the Legion. They believe it keeps secrets longer." The newcomer showed an apologetic smile, then spoke, resolving Ahriman's confusion.
"Captain Azrael's fleet hasn't sent a signal for thirteen days. His last message was encountering a large Rangdan fleet, including combat satellites..." He said nothing more, for this information was enough for Ahriman to understand everything. "So, next, I will fight alongside you?" Facing the Thousand Sons' question, the Dark Angel merely chuckled lightly. "Perhaps, that depends on my gene-father's will. But in this war, we are fighting side by side anyway, aren't we?" Ahriman's brow relaxed, and he smiled.
"Thousand Sons Legion, Corvidae Cult, Ahriman." The Thousand Son extended his hand, and it was grasped firmly.
"Dark Angels Legion, 22nd Chapter, Zachariel."
Emmm, the Lion is so hard to write about...
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