Chapter 7 End of Heresy

Far to the galactic north the fires of the Horus Heresy raged on, the Traitor Legions had never admitted defeat and continued their campaign to dominate humanity. They were opposed by the remnants of the Loyalist Legions, battered and bloodied but still burning with the need for vengeance.

The Sons of Horus fought a steadfast rearguard, the loss of their father doing nothing to diminish their skills in war. Their feints and counter attacks were swift and hard, going straight for the throat as had ever been their way. They were chased by the Blood Angels, whose reaction to their own father's death could not have been more different. With incandescent wrath they hurled themselves at the offspring of their father's murderer. Blood demanded blood and they ignored their own wounds to close with the hated foe and unleashed their blackest rage.

The Dark Angels fought a bleak campaign across the circumference of the Eye of Terror crushing and burning all opposition, uncaring for how many innocents were caught in the crossfire. The unexplained loss of their homeworld Caliban and enigmatic disappearance of their Primarch seemed to have unleashed a terrible ire. They fought with the zeal and fervour of those who had seen their hearths and homes burnt before their eyes but all inquiries into the matter were met with flinty stares and bitter silence.

The Death Guard continued their rampage, filling worlds with disease and rot for the delight of Grandfather Nurgle. The White Scars were in hot pursuit, once they had been the hunted but no more, never again would they let anyone else determine their destiny. At their head was Jaghatai Khan whom had a blood debt to settle, he did not know if Mortarion could bleed anymore but he was determined to find out.

The Iron Hands fell upon heretics and Traitors with icy vehemence, seeking to drown the pain of their Primarch's loss in blood. It was not enough, it would never be enough.

The Emperors Children led a merry dance across the stars, pleasing Slaanesh with the horrors they inflicted on the helpless and pure of heart. They were hounded by the Salamanders who scoured away their perversion with the purity of fire. Though few indeed Vulkan was with them for every battle, what his sons could not scorch clean he would smash with his irresistible strength.

The Iron Warriors moved to secure the worlds around Olympia, bitterly digging in and determined to make any intruders pay for every step they took. But ever the more furious and unyielding was the Imperial Fists, advancing in golden waves and tearing down every barrier and obstacle held against them.

The Word Bearers followed Erebus and Kor Phaeron in a swathe of conquests, casting down the symbols of imperial rule and setting up cathedrals to the glory of Chaos. Lorgar himself though retreated into bitter seclusion: his every sacrifice and betrayal had been driven by his belief in the inevitablity of victory. He had set divinity against the atheism of his father and lost, but what truly broke his spirit was that the Ruinous Powers didn't seem to care, in fact they only laughed at his torment.

The World Eaters were leaderless and without direction, heeding only the howls of Khorne to butcher and maim. They were beset on every side by the Raven Guard who through a series of ambushes and daring strikes exacted a terrible revenge for the infamous ninety-eight days on Istvaan V.

The Thousand Sons meandered between library worlds and research outposts, looting all they found, Magnus had foreseen this conflict would last millennia and he had preparations to make. They left in their wake cults of Tzeentch who multiplied like a virus, laying the foundations of a corruption that would plague the Imperium forevermore. When Leman Russ heard of this his rage was staggering to behold, he ordered his Space Wolves' Thirteenth Company to harry the foe and deny them respite. They swore to follow the Traitors into whatever hell they cowered and not return until they had the heads of each of Magnus' sorcerer Lords in their hands.

The Night Lords laughed to see their kin butcher themselves on the altar of vengeance; they cared about nothing but their own self-aggrandisement. Leaving their cousins to their bloodshed Curze led them into the galactic east, to his fortress of bones, he had an appointment with destiny and he did not intend to miss it.

Reports of the Alpha Legion were few and far between, and they seemed to be taking little part in the fighting. The few sightings revealed them to be scouring random worlds linked only by a series of ancient Xeno 'Halting Sites'. A single patrol ship reported sighting their fleet assaulting an unknown vessel that resembled a massive bronze disc. Regrettably in the carnage of war this was just one more mystery that would never be explained.

This war was as terrible and destructive as the worst that the Arch-betrayer Horus had unleashed. Though the high and mighty of the Imperium would prefer to deny it had the Loyalist Legions not continued the fight the Imperium would certainly have fallen.

The situation was finely balanced, the irresistible force met the immovable object and there was no telling which side would win.

Then came the Imperial Cult.

With faith and fury the Cultists hurled themselves at the Traitor Legions, seeking vengeance for their crimes against the God-Emperor. Even the Chaos Marines struggled to hold against the tidal wave of zealotry unleashed against them, the masses seeking to bury them in bodies. No matter what horrors they unleashed the Cultists just became evermore fanatical, wave upon wave of them as endless as the ocean.

The Cult had more bodies than they had bolt shells!

Eventually the Traitors had no choice but to retreat into the Eye of Terror and brood bitterly on the fate they had chosen for themselves.

For his part the Traitor Primarch Lorgar was stunned, this new faith was everything he had ever dreamed of creating, the power of belief was truly unleashed yet he found himself on the wrong end of their Jihad. For the first time he understood his betrayed father's warnings about the perils of setting up gods to serve one's own ends. Twice he had placed in his faith in divinity and twice it had proven too weak to accomplish his goals.

Filled with bitterness and resentment he resolved to spite his new deities and take his own life, but the gods of Chaos are cruel and capricious. They owned him now, body and soul, and were loath to relinquish their new plaything. Even as the blades found purchase in his hearts they poured their power into his mind and body, cursing him with immortality.

Filled with the potency of the warp the new daemon prince screamed his despair; he was now doomed to spend eternity watching the two faiths he had birthed wage endless war upon each other. With the laughter of the Ruinous Powers booming in his ears Lorgar retreated to Sicarius and sealed himself into a towering basilica to brood on his gods' endless failures.