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The Final Crusade
Prologue
"WARP DAMN THE LOT OF YOU! YOUR WEAKNESS HAS COST ME AND THE CHAOS GODS THE ENTIRE CRUSADE!" Abaddon screamed in anger. Not one of the multitude of commanders, Lords or Lieutenants from any of the Traitor Legions dared even twitch as Abaddon's anger rolled off of him like a flood, each of them fearing to bring the full wrath of the Despoiler down upon himself. Time seemed to slow as Abaddon let his gaze drift across the faces of each and every one of them.
"Begone," he snarled finally sagging back to his throne. "And when the Chaos gods ask who it was that cost them their due, I will tell them of you." The various commanders left quickly, no doubt thanking the Warp Powers for their survival.
Abbadon waited a moment in silence, as his throne room echoed with the fading footsteps of his subordinates… before chuckling to himself quietly. A faint shift in the air caused him to look up as a tapestry shifted aside, revealing the shape of the sorcerer Zaraphiston.
"What did you think of my performance?" Abaddon asked, coming to his feet. Zaraphiston cocked his head in surprise.
"Performance, my Lord? But the 13th Crusade failed!" Zaraphiston stopped in shock as he remembered just how fatal criticizing Abaddon could be. Fortunately, Abaddon merely chuckled again.
"I've no doubt that that is what our 'friends' out there fear and the Imperial scum hopes, but all evidence to the contrary, the 13th Crusade was never intended to defeat the Imperium. The Cadian sector has been drained dry and despite the damage to the Blackstone and the Planet Killer, virtually all of our true strength remains untouched."
"I see, my Lord."
"On that subject… How is our new force coming along?" Abaddon asked as he strode into the elevator behind the tapestry, his bodyguard and Zaraphiston falling in behind him.
"Very well now my Lord," Zaraphiston said happily as the lift began to desend into the base. "We've finally cracked the last obstacle to their construction. Using the same techniques as in the Defilers, we can provide them with a suitably minded…power source. And the servitor technology combined with the sample we retrieved has allowed us to join the last connections."
"And numbers?" Abaddon asked as the lift groaned to a halt.
"We'll have a dozen ready for deployment in about a month," Zaraphiston replied as they strode out onto the hidden manaufactorium level. It had changed since Abaddon had last seen it, over a century ago. Now oversized harnesses lined the walls, with gantries twisting over and around them in ways that did not seem quite physically possible. Many of the harnesses were empty, but twelve of them held dimly lit humanoid forms, immense and well armored. "More will be available as we start diverting more slave-gangs to them."
"As I said," Abaddon stated grinning bloodlessly, "the Galaxy shall burn."
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Few people, even the High Lords of Terra, know much about the Adeptus Cusdodes. The personal bodyguards of the God-Emperor of Mankind, they take no orders but those from their own captains and the Emperor himself, who has remained silent for the last ten thousand years.
At the same time, not one of the Cusdodes marines would disobey an order from the right source. Even a set of orders that had been sealed ten thousand years ago.
As such, at the orders of a long dead Cusdodes commander, carefully timed astropathic messages were being transmitted across the Imperium under the command of the present day Adeptus Cusdodes.
A ten thousand year old game was finally being bought into its closing stages.
To be continued...