Chapter Nine
The arrests began soon after Fulgrim became the single most powerful being in the entire Imperium. As the proclamation of his ascension spread across the Sol System, hundreds of thousands of men and women were arrested by a coalition force of various Imperial organisations. The Inquisition, Adeptus Ministorum, Frateris Militaris, Legiones Astartes, Adeptus Arbites, Sisters of Silence, and Legio Custodes all worked in tandem to apprehend those deemed blatantly corrupt or even treasonous individuals. It quickly became evident that more were needed to successfully complete the operation. This saw to several elite Army regiments contributing forces during the mass arrests. Famous regiments such as the Lunar Twenty-Third and the Elysian First, among others, were deployed to assist in establishing martial law in several of Terra's city-districts.
From the Ecclesiarchy to the Administratum alone, tens of thousands were apprehended; many due to the incriminating evidence discovered on data-files recovered from Slyst's private cogitator. Most notable of the many arrests made during what many were calling 'the Cleansing' were those members of the Holy Synod of Terra.
Eighty-three of highest ranking men in the God-Emperor's Church were arrested, some in their quarters within the Ecclesiarch's Palace, but far more were apprehended either at brothels, drug dens, or their privately owned palaces bought and paid for illegally with the Ecclesiastical Purse.
And not only were Imperial governmental organisations purged, but so too was the leadership of the Imperial Army in the Segmentum Solar. Hundreds of generals, admirals, and other senior officers of various ranks were detained for a host of crimes that had impeded the Imperial war effort to fatten their purses or embellish their lifestyles. While many were sentenced to penal battalions, some whose crimes were not grave enough to warrant such a death-sentence were instead forced into retirement and their powerbases dissolved. More deserving underlings soon replaced those removed.
Not even the Inquisition was spared scrutiny. Abram Fex had investigated Slyst and several of his cronies for near a decade, compiling irrefutable evidence, but much was learned from the deacon's cogitator, including data-trails leading back to four low-ranking Inquisitors and dozens of interrogators and storm trooper officers. All were arrested and most executed on the spot, though several were sent to the vast prison complex underneath the Fortress of the Inquisition as a grisly example.
Not only was the Imperial military and government cleansed, but so too were the vast assortment of cults and gangs that ran large portions of Terra's undercity. Obvious examples were Inquisition and Night Lord forces storming a half dozen warehouses containing large amounts of imported warp-tainted flect products; Legio Custodes destroying over three dozen major rebel cells that were planning largescale sedition that would have led to costly open warfare; and Alpha Legion Space Marines rooting out several Chaos cells in Nord Merica industrial districts, preventing what could have been crippling sabotage if allowed to go unchecked.
The following morning, as Sol's sunlight broke through the smog-clouds, over one thousand of the highest ranking and dangerous arrestees were assembled before the gates of the Lupercal Gate Spaceport, once known as the Lion's Gate during the Great Crusade. A crowd of hundreds of thousands had come to watch. Each arrestee's crimes were read aloud while they were on their knees, the strong grip of a Custodian holding them down. When their crimes had been exclaimed to the masses, they were beheaded by another Custodian wielding an unpowered monomolecular sharpened longsword. Slyst and his High Lord conspirators were the first to be dealt with Imperial justice. The first, but far from the last. Blood soon spread from marble steps onto the ceramite flooring, eventually pooling around the front ranks of Terran citizenry and the leaders who stood by watching with dispassionate eyes as the traitors were put death.
From dawn to late afternoon this went on until the last ranking arrestee, a mid-level Administratum who had funnelled tens of millions of crowns to a crime syndicate in the Belt, was put to death. Already a Night Lord destroyer carrying three squads was already approaching the syndicate's asteroid base, intent on exterminating it root and stem and recover what funds remained.
Fulgrim, Warmaster of the Imperium and Imperial Regent, Living Voice of the Emperor of Mankind, watched through it all. The smell of death hung heavy in the air, causing some of the civilians watching to empty their stomachs onto the ground. The primarch could not blame them for such things. It was a messy business, but beyond necessary. He could not restore the Imperium abroad while leaving its beating heart to remain rotten. Though doubtlessly his manipulation of events and elimination of rivals would create new and unknown enemies in the future, it had nonetheless united the monolithic Terran bureaucracy and military forces into a single front under his command.
Well, not all, he thought, looking skyward to where Mars was. Reports from the Red Planet had been fed to him via a vox earpiece and the situation was both promising and troublesome.
For promising, it seemed much of the Martian Priesthood detested Oud Oudia Raskian. Though Fabricator-General, it seemed Raskian had created many enemies in his pursuit of that high office and created more during his tenure. Though large swathes of Mars held loyalty to Raskian, either personally or to his position, far more was either neutral or loyal to the Imperium. Fabricator Locum Vuellic Nael had stayed true to his oaths and already was marshalling forces to counter-act Raskian's call to arms.
What was troublesome was that though Raskian was outnumbered, he did have the potential to hold out for years, destroying many forges and disrupting Martian production on a scale that would devastate hundreds of warzones, causing their collapse as Imperial forces ran out of supplies. That was something that could not be allowed. Any serious delay on Mars' industrial output would have dire consequences galaxy-wide.
As that Administratum official's head rolled down the Palace steps, Fulgrim watched Saint Amelia deliver a rousing and one of maintaining vigilance even at home. Fulgrim had privately offered the woman to become the next ecclesiarch as Gregorius XI had been quietly retired to live out the remainder of his days in peace. Despite him having no official control over that powerful organisation, Fulgrim knew his influence carried significant weight and some, regrettably so, would be worried that to go against the primarch would see them suffer a similar fate of those dying today and all the days to come after their trials were conducted. Surprisingly, Amelia had declined, stating she served the Emperor more at Fulgrim's side than she would being overseer of the Imperial Creed. And Fulgrim privately agreed. The Saint-Prophetess, as some had begun to call her, would be needed on the frontlines of the Imperium's counter-attack. Already a suitable ecclesiarch-elect had been chosen among one of Slyst's most virulent critics, a cardinal by the name of Roland Buchar, and had been retrieved from a penal mine in the Belt earlier that morning. It would take several days for him to arrive but when Buchar did so he would be met by the replenished Holy Synod and voted in as Ecclesiarch of the Adeptus Ministorum.
Amelia's speech ended and Fulgrim departed, heading to his chosen council chamber. It took several hours to walk there but when the primarch arrived, the Strategium Imperialis was running at full capacity for the first time in centuries. Hundreds of Army officers, Mechanicus tech-priests and technologians, and data-analysts fell to their knees in fealty. The dozens of Astartes officers, including the Legion Representatives, fell to their knees too, beating their chest once in salute.
Fulgrim took a deep breath, purple eyes surveying the scores of view-screens presenting constantly updating information, the hundreds of advanced cogitators that hardly made any noise at all, and the large hololithic projector in the centre, detailing a map of the galaxy. His eyes hardened to see that map, so much of what he and his brothers had built under their father was overrun, occupied, rebelling, or simply gone. The galactic map would have to wait though.
At a signal from the primarch, the hololithic image changed to that of Mars. All watched it with a keen interest, wondering how the Phoenician would circumvent the difficulties of a quarter of the Red Planet defying his authority.
Fulgrim stared at it for a moment, then spoke.
"Let us begin."
Eleven days after the Terran Cleansing, an Imperial armada arrived over Mars. A finely intermeshed mix of Frateris Militaris, Army, and Astartes warships, led by the Incorruptible, anchored near Deimos, Mars' distant moon. Both Deimos and Phobos were controlled by the Throne-loyalists and the Mechanicus fleet there amalgamated with the Imperials.
Fulgrim watched the view-screen closely, arms folded as he analysed data-streams scrolling by. His primarch mind noted it all; storing the information away, all while Shipmaster Pyren Andreas briefed him of latest data-packets incoming from Fabricator Locum Vuellic Nael and Imperial agents scattered across the Red Planet.
"The surviving remnants of the Raskian-aligned fleet has been defeated and destroyed near the Asteroid Belt by a combined Imperial-Mechanicus fleet. Only ten percent of the Martian Defence Fleet joined Raskian and many of them were crippled in high orbit, recaptured by Throne-loyal boarding parties."
"Nael has done well securing void supremacy" Fulgrim admitted, pleased and impressed. "How fares the ground situation?"
"While the Fabricator Locum has captured a dozen forges and two score hive cities across the planet, eleven of Mars' thirty quadrangles still exhibit significant rebel presence, most worryingly the Tharsis Quadrangle. Much of Tharsis remains in enemy hands, including Olympus Mons whose deadly air defences have prevented Fabricator Locum Nael's bomber squadrons from piercing its airspace with any degree of regularity or effectiveness. Casualties have been reported as extremely high in the attempts."
Fulgrim nodded. "As we expected, then. No matter, Raskian's days are numbered."
"How shall we proceed, my lord?"
Fulgrim moved to the bridge's primary hololithic projector and pointed at a hive city to the east of Olympus Mons. Situated in and around multiple furrows and ridges stretching four hundred kilometres, was one of Mars' greatest hive cities, and considered the eastern gateway to Olympus Mons.
"We start at Sulci Gordii."
Lord Commander Caedus of the Second Millennial, Third Legion, stood in the transport bay of the Stormbird Winged Glory as it approached Mars. It was not the only one, far from it. Hundreds of dropships, from the rare Stormbird, to the common Thunderhawk, to the aging but still used Skywing, headed towards Mars, synchronising their arrival with that of a significant Throne-loyal Mechanicus army beginning their assault on Sulci Gordii's outer districts.
Olympus Mons was near impregnable, and made even more formidable with the various forges and hive cities surrounding it, all having been fortified since the Scouring. Fulgrim's plan then was not to assault Olympus Mons directly, but rather its outlying districts and subsidiary cities. Sulci Gordii was the largest and would thus become the first target. Its fall would set an example that would intimidate others to see reason and leave the rogue Fabricator-General's cause, or at the very least that was what was wished.
Caedus' thoughts were interrupted by the motorised hum of the four large combat-servitors standing at the dropship's rear, where the disembarkation door was sealed shut against the void. He did not care for such things, the III having preferred true warriors rather than lobotomised half-human/half-machine that lacked any intuition and flexibility. They were brutish things for a brutish people.
The Chemosian looked at the other two squads of Astartes that cohabited the Stormbird with the sons of Fulgrim, albeit temporarily. Twenty Iron Warriors under the command of Lieutenant Jerak stood in their gunmetal silver-grey with black trim, Jerak's being gold due to his rank. The primarch had decreed as the Imperial armada left Terra that the assault force would field mixed Legion forces, supposedly to better employ their strengths while mitigating any weaknesses. Caedus at first was privately offended that the primarch thought his sons had weaknesses, but the lord commander quickly came to the conclusion the III were scattered across the other dropships to negate those Legions' weaknesses and not their own since there were none to correct. Truly, the new Warmaster was wise.
The Olympians smelt of fyceline and armour oil, their bolters and melee weapons not as pleasing in appearance as the Emperor's Children but no doubt just as effective. The four combat-servitors were theirs, of a design of their own making. Unsurprisingly, the IV legionnaires seemed eager to wage war on Mars, their poor relationship with the Mechanicus well known. Under Raskian's reign, the relationship had gone from cold and distant to increasingly volatile, with several skirmishes being reported to the High Lords. It was something Fulgrim had informed his inner council that must be mended.
Jerak noticed his watching and moved over.
"Yes?"
"I was merely admiring your combat-servitors and your personal armament," he lied. It was obvious the Iron Warrior did not believe him but it did not bode well to argue prior to battle. To alleviate the situation, Caedus asked an honest question. "Is it true you recruit from other worlds?"
Caedus expected one of several things. Laughter was not one of them. It was gruff, rustic, the noise of wry bitterness.
"Aye, we recruit from other worlds. Look up ahead and you'll see four of them."
Caedus looked at the combat-servitors, underneath their thick armoured plating and heavy shields bolted to their forearms, there were scraps of flesh still visible. On one of them, he could see a serial number tattooed on it.
"So all sons of Perturabo hail from Olympia?"
"Nearly all," Jerak said, voice turning cool. "There are some mongrel bastards here and there, no more than a few hundred in total. The other 'recruits' become servitors."
"I see," Caedus remarked. "You seem eager for battle, cousin."
"We Iron Warriors have little joy in our lives, garrisoning worlds, enacting sieges, partaking in gruelling warfare on a thousand worlds. But bringing the Emperor's justice to those who called my Legion oath-breakers during the Heresy… well, it brings satisfaction to say the least."
The Chemosian was about to say something when the dropship began to shake as it entered the atmosphere proper. Soon the Stormbird's internal temperature rose as the hull reddened under atmospheric entry. Caedus donned his helm, the other Astartes, both Iron Warrior and Emperor's Children following suit.
The Winged Glory buffeted as it hit air pockets, and eventually when anti-aircraft fire began to blacken the sky. Over the vox, Caedus heard casualties being curtly reported. Any moment could be the Winged Glory's last. But that would not be this day.
The dropship landed with a thud on Mars, its disembarkation door opening. Red dust and the smell of burning promethium filled the hangar bay. The four combat-servitors lumbered out, their massive shields protecting the Space Marines from incoming fire. All four would eventually become destroyed but not before allowing most of the precious Astartes to reach the first of five trench lines.
Caedus caught a brief glance of the sprawling hive city that was Sulci Gordii, its spires reaching several kilometres into the air, with the city itself spreading out of line of sight. He could see dozens of dropships touching down in this sector, hundreds more flying overhead to other designated landing zones across Sulci Gordii. His genhanced hearing picked up the deep thundering of massed artillery barrages and he could see fighter and bomber formations unloading their payloads against the rebel-held city. The Throne-loyal Mechanicus' attack had coincided perfectly with the arrival of the Astartes. In the background, ten kilometres away, Caedus could see Titan god-engines exchanging fire, using the mountainous ridges and vertical hab-towers as cover.
Caedus rushed out, storm shield in his left hand, a bolt pistol in his right. Up ahead was a bunker sporting two stub guns and a lascannon. One Child fell as he exited the Stormbird, his upper torso gone via a cannon's las-bolt. The lord commander grimaced at the death. Nero was a young legionnaire, one who still carried both progenoid glands. Now both were gone, vaporised.
Putting the death away from his mind, Caedus and his eighteen remaining legionnaires stormed the trench lines. Jerak's Iron Warriors joined them, chainswords and power mauls their preferred melee weapon.
The two score legionnaires entered the trenches and Caedus came face-to-face with the enemy. The warrior wore a mustard yellow uniform, with black webbing crisscrossing over his chest, the pockets filled with power cells and grenades, all underneath a red cape. The rebel fighter was half-machine/half-human: a mid-ranking Skitarii. The Skitarii's red augmetic eyes latched onto Caedus and brought up a melta gun. The weapon would have killed Caedus if not for Jerak's power maul caving in the Skitarii's chest, sending the rebel's corpse flying out of the trench.
Caedus nodded his thanks and the Iron Warrior returned it before returning to the fray.
Three Skitarii rushed him from a nearby underground bunker, in their hands electro-lances, sparking with electricity. He fired a single bolt round into the centre rebel's power pack, destabilising the volatile equipment, incinerating the three in a blue-white explosion. More came for him but his squads unleashed their bolters into the bunker. Bolters were originally made to kill Orks, Eldar, and other such horrors, eventually proving equally effective against Traitor Space Marines during Dorn's Betrayal, but it was more than serviceable against the Legiones Skitarii. Mass reactive bolts impacted then exploded, sending shrapnel and innards to adorn the trench's red dirt walls.
He fired his bolt pistol until clicked empty, mag-locking it to his hip, and unsheathed his power sword, activating it as he cut through platoons' worth of rebel soldiers. The smell of burning metal, blood and oil permeated the air.
As Jerak's and Caedus' warriors neared the city proper, the enemy defences thickened. While it would have proved enough to stop less than two score legionnaires, it was useless when assaulted by hundreds of Space Marines. Black Templar Initiates worked alongside Thousand Son Librarians, Night Lord Terror Squads soared over the rebel ramparts to sow confusion and fear amongst the Skitarii. Caedus knew many of the Legiones Skitarii had their emotions suppressed or removed, but if anyone could stir dread into becoming uncontrollable fear, it was those elite Nostraman Marines. The other Legions were represented and Caedus saw first-hand the benefits of the Legions working together. Was this what it was like in the Great Crusade? Was it like this during High Lord Abaddon's Imperial Crusades? Such cooperation and synchronisation between the Legiones Astartes had not been seen in centuries, if not millennia. Pride bloomed in Caedus' chest, knowing his father was the one to orchestrate this. Though a loyal Astartes of the Imperium who would die to defend it, he quietly pondered if the Imperium could survive the many threats assailing it. A year ago, he would have privately admitted only to himself that there was no hope; that the Emperor's dream of Mankind ruling the galaxy would sputter and die, crushed beneath the weight of xenos, heretics and worse. But Fulgrim's return and his quick assumption of power gave the Imperium a chance at survival.
The first four trench lines had been hastily erected, staffed with third-tier Skitarii Hyspasist soldiers and equipment, designed merely to waste legionnaire bolt ammunition and to thin the encroaching Astartes. They did both, with dozens of Space Marines dead or severely wounded, but out of the near thousand that had gathered across several sectors, it was inconsequential. But as the loyal Angels of Death approached the final trench line defending Sulci Gordii, the veterans and well-armed among the rebel Mechanicus revealed themselves.
Hypasist regiments who had served with distinction in dozens of campaigns manned the trench, with platoons of Praetorians scattered about to bolster firepower and repulse any Imperial breakthroughs. There was a fifty metre gap between the fourth and fifth line. Caedus hauled himself up and raised his power sword.
"For the Emperor!" he bellowed, the battlecry soon taken up by hundreds of transhuman warriors from a dozen worlds. As they rushed over the open ground, machine guns and cannons spat death at them, artillery and mortar fire exploding amongst them.
The first unit of loyalists to reach the fifth trench was a platoon led by a XII centurion. Though the Third Legion prided itself on its swordsmanship and excelling in all manner of warfare, Caedus privately admired the flawless cohesion and teamwork the World Eaters were famous for. A typical World Eater would most likely lose to a typical Child of the Emperor, but the Twelfth Legion's organisation and teamwork would have put a III company to shame. They tore into the rebels, their chainaxes and bolt pistols delivering death with ease. Not even three dozen Praetorians delayed them much.
Caedus jumped into the fifth trench, his purple cloak a symbol of his office. Many rebel soldiers aimed their weapons at him but all fell before the might of the Emperor's Space Marines. For half an hour the legionnaires secured the fifth line, losing only thirteen Astartes in the attempt while many thousands of the enemy lay dead.
"Sire," he called over the vox, "the outer defences have fallen to our forces. Shall we proceed into the city itself?"
"Very good, my son," said the Imperial Regent, "Advance to Cadaigaat Square, link up with Octavius and Skitarii Tribune Laddakis and then seize control of secondary objectives."
"Copy, my lord," Caedus switched to his Millennial vox-channel. "Brothers, we have our orders! Onward towards glory and victory. For the Emperor!"
And the loyalists advanced into Sulci Gordii. It took almost an entire day due to the extensive resistance they faced and the sheer size of the hive city but as night began to overtake the Tharsis Quadrangle, the Imperial Aquila, that ancient symbol of the union of Mars and Terra flew over in victory.
Sulci Gordii was now controlled by the Imperium. The road to Olympus Mons was open.
As Throne-loyalists consolidated control over Sulci Gordii, five Stormbirds flew to the Soburin Wastes, located between Sulci Gordii and the loyalist city of Jovis Fossae. Once, when the Emperor walked among His subjects, the Soburin Wastes were known as the Soburin Plains but as with so much in this darker era the land had become warped and decayed through millennia of neglect, hyper-industrialisation, and scores of minor tech-wars waged upon it between vying forges. Now nothing lived in this irradiated wasteland but rogue servitors and cannibal tribes.
The Plains had become the Wastes and little cared for what happened here. Thus, it was the perfect place to hide the Project. The five Stormbirds approached a crevice in the earth, a natural formation at first glance but in fact artificial, created by more refined technology than the Mechanicus used today.
The dropships set down on the crevice's lip and Fulgrim exited the dropship, followed by Magnus, their respective bodyguards, a demi-company of the Custodes led by Shield-Captain Agamemnon, and Fabricator Locum Vuellic Nael along with several of his lieutenants.
Fulgrim took a deep breath of the Martian air and frowned in distaste. The legendary Fabricator-General Kelbor-Hal and his even more revered successor Zagreus Kane had attempted to make Mars's biosphere prosperous like it had been during the Dark Age of Technology when it had been a near-mirror copy of an unspoiled Old Earth. Those terraforming efforts had failed over the years. The air was breathable for the primarchs and those accompanying them, but an unaugmented human would eventually suffocate at the scarcity of oxygen, already laden with pollutants.
They moved to the lip and walked down a carefully hidden pathway carved into the side of the crevice wall. At first glance it looked nothing more than protruding rocks but was expertly made to blend into the environment. Several minutes later, Fulgrim and his companions stood on the crevice floor. They approached the rock wall.
None spoke; their minds processing the information he had told them only hours ago.
Fulgrim stood before the wall, knowing he was being watched.
"Open," he commanded. For a moment nothing happened, then the rock split, dust drifting until it fell alongside the shattered stone. The wall continued to expand, allowing the group to see several thick gates grinding open, revealing a single figure, tall despite being hunched, adorned in Martian red with grey and bronze metal protruding from his back alongside a half-dozen mechadendrites. In the tech-priest's hands was an imposing power axe with the Mechanicus' sigil on its head clear to all.
"Greetings, Lord Fulgrim," intoned Belisarius Cawl, Archmagos of the Adeptus Mechanicus and Director of the Primaris Project, "Welcome back."