Perfection Marred
Gaeis Henohn, shipmaster of the heavy cruiser Righteous Elegance, watched his ship's primary view-screen as the Third Legion warship moved deeper into the Chemos Star System asteroid field, the Kyklos Belt. Flanking it were two destroyers, the Ediphon and Bright Star. The small squadron had been in the Belt for weeks now, searching for the loyalists that had escaped the Feast of Rebirth. Some had escaped Chemos and were able to get on a warp-capable starship, but these loyalists managed only to board an intra-system cargo hauler. His squadron was only one of many combing through Kyklos, the primarch's standing orders were to find and eliminate them.
Henohn wished to be in the wider war, fighting beside the main fleets, the ones conquering in the War Commander's name. It was an honour, he thought, to be assigned to the Chemosian Defence Fleet. But the Fulgrimian Heresy, as many on both sides were calling it, neared four months old since its inception at the Dropsite Massacre, and the most exciting event in that time for Henohn had been rest and recovery on Chemos. The pleasure he experienced at Callax's primary officer's brothel had been… exquisite.
"Shipmaster, charge ready," spoke his weapons' officer.
Clearing his mind with a slight shake, he stood straighter in his command throne.
"Very well, fire."
From one of Righteous Elegance's torpedo tubes, an enlarged explosive charge was fired towards wide crevice in a large asteroid. It was large enough for the small hijacked hauler to hide in. The charge went in and detonated.
Not strong enough to break apart the asteroid, but powerful enough to destroy whatever lay in the crevice. Small rock fragments flew to the three warships, their void-shields disintegrating them on impact.
"Report," he ordered, though he could not help the tone of boredom that seeped in. Luckily the Astartes on board were not on the bridge. Lieutenant Commander Nyphen was not one to shirk his duty, or those that he commanded, and boredom was akin to shirking in the legionnaire's mind-set.
"Scanning… scanning… Asteroid B3-774U is void of enemy presence. No clear wreckage."
"Well, that's disappointing." Running a hand through his thinning hair, he shrugged. "Proceed to the next tar-"
"Contact, contact! Ship detected, six hundred kilometres ahead, fleeing, point of origin Asteroid B3-667E."
"One of ours?" If it was, Henohn would chew out the officer stupid enough to be in his sector.
"Negative. Classification: intra-system cargo hauler, name: Daeinata."
"That's her," he whispered. Chuckling, thinking about the reward he would receive, the shipmaster opened a link to the legionnaires.
"Lord Nyphen, we have found them."
The response was immediate. "Acknowledged. We will deploy soon."
"My lord, wouldn't it be better to destroy them from a distance."
The legionnaire's voice dripped with malice, "Silence, mortal, this is Legion business. Mind your tongue."
Sweat budded on his face, his mouth became dry at the thought of provoking the Astartes. "Of course, my lord, apologies." At least he did not stutter, he knew how to talk to them.
A grunt was the response.
"I am sending you the data now," Henohn said, nodding to second who quickly transmitted the necessary information to the lieutenant commander.
Within moments five Thunderhawks, filled with the entirety of the Twenty-Ninth Millennial's Sixteenth Company, left Righteous Elegance's hangar bay. One hundred Space Marines to personally fight and kill those that defied their gene-sire. Intelligence reported the loyalists on that hauler numbered no more than forty, at best. Accompanying the dropships were two squadrons of void interceptors, to hunt down any escape pods or dropship from the hauler.
Within moments the Sons of Fulgrim neared the hauler, forcibly boarding it with melta-charges. Henohn knew the legionnaires would be going for the bridge and the engine room, securing both would secure the ship.
"Sir?" spoke his vox-officer, shock and panic entering her voice.
"Yes?" he asked, curiously.
"We have been boarded, Deck C7."
Henohn bolted his feet. "What?!"
"We have been boarded, sir; internal scans report at least thirty Space Marines are engaging the crew. They are slaughtering them," she sounded scared, as well she should.
"How did they get aboard?" he demanded, sitting back down.
"Our shields were lowered for several minutes for the dropships and interceptors. Perhaps they attached to the hull before they were raised again."
"A ship would have been detected."
"Aye, but not power armour," argued his tactical officer, "Those are void-sealed and we passed by a medium sized asteroid. It is not inconceivable that they went from asteroid to ship via thrusters taken from the hauler."
Henohn shook his head angrily. "Contact Lieutenant Commander Nyphen, we need him here-"
The hauler exploded, detonations coming from within. The Thunderhawks were caught in the blastwave, as were several of the fighters, becoming nothing more than cosmic dust. Henohn slumped in his throne, his one hope vanished.
He listened to his officers as they reported the crises overtaking the ship. Ship-to-ship vox was being jammed, likely by a Techmarine. Riot suppression security teams and anti-boarding ship defence squads rushed to stop the boarders, but they might as well have been fleas to a lion. The engine room was lost, the last transmission from the tech-priest cut short by the buzzing whirr of a chain weapon. Soon after the armouries and hangar bay fell. Henohn eventually turned off the vox. The screams were too much. Eventually, they came for the bridge. The thud of heavy figures rapped outside, a musician of death playing the tune of revenge.
The door exploded, molten metal dripping to the deck as a dozen figures entered in Legion colours. One bridge crewmember raised a laspistol but was punched by a viper-fast legionnaire, caving in the crewmember's chest. The officer flew across the bridge to impact the wall, sliding down leaving crimson smears behind. There he lay in a growing pool of his own blood, breathing erratic, wheezing, and failing. No others moved in defiance, all knew they could not resist.
These were no Sons of Fulgrim, but Emperor's Children. The Palatine Aquila, not the Chemosian Phoenix, rested upon their breastplate showcasing their allegiance. The Astartes secured the command deck, making sure none would sabotage at the last moment.
One, bearing the markings of captain, moved to him. Red eye lenses looked down upon Henohn. He saw himself reflected in them, and felt insignificant beneath that hateful gaze.
"Shipmaster, open fire on the two destroyers."
"I… I can't…. that's treason."
"A traitor, not wanting to commit treason, refuses to betray betrayers. How ironic." The officer pulled his bolt pistol from his mag-lock. "Fire on the other ships now or face the consequences."
Henohn sunk further into his throne, eyes fearfully watching the pistol. "I cannot. They'll… they'll kill me if I do."
The Space Marine knelt onto the plasteel floor. "If you do not, I will kill you."
Henohn glanced at the pistol again, shaking in fear. The sweat from earlier returning, much multiplied.
"Fi- Fire at… the enemy ships," he said weakly.
The legionnaire nodded and rose.
The Righteous Elegance fired against its two escorts, who had closed in for assistance, not realising their squadron flagship had been taken over by loyalists. The outcome wasn't in question when the heavy cruiser unleashed its awesome arsenal. Within twenty minutes both destroyers drifted in Kyklos Belt, no more than shattered wreckage and flickering fires.
With the escorts destroyed, Henohn saw a half dozen Stormbirds emerge from a crevice in another asteroid, heading towards his ship. When the Stormbirds landed, he watched the pict-feed built into his throne and witnessed hundreds more Emperor's Children emerging from them.
No more than forty, my arse, he thought darkly.
Another officer, another captain, soon joined the other on the bridge.
They conversed through the vox, or so he assumed, nothing was said through the external speakers. Eventually they motioned for the crew to leave.
"What are you going to do to us?" he asked them.
They did not deign to respond, merely shepherding them to an empty cargo hold several decks below, pushing them in and locking them up. It was not the entire crew, as that numbered in the thousands, but the command crew and officers and ranking non-coms that could potentially incite rebellion amongst the crew were interred. The Mechanicum priest and his acolytes were nowhere to be seen. Henohn assumed they were dead.
Many of the crew prayed, many to the primarch and the Dark Gods, some though were to the Emperor. Henohn knew he should stop that, but found he could not. No matter if the ship was somehow retaken by the Sons of Fulgrim, he had lost, life forfeit the minute the loyalists had secured his vessel. Slumping against the wall, hot streams of salty tears dripping from his face, the former commander of the Righteous Elegance wept like a child.
Hellionna and Apillia, the twin suns that warmed Chemos and gave the twilight world what little light it received, disappeared as the captured heavy cruiser entered the warp via an outlying Mandeville point. The ship ached and sighed, but no more than usual. The four Techmarines that still called themselves Children of the Emperor monitored the engine, both plasma and warp.
Solomon Demeter, former Captain of the First Millennial's Second Company, frowned as the ship soared through the Immaterium. The Navigator proclaimed loyalty to the Throne. The validity of that would be discerned when they reached Terra. Thinking of the Throneworld drew his thoughts to the folded tattered Imperial Aquila flag that resided inside his Mark IV Maximus-pattern armour. It was one of two that his company fielded, the other being the Legion's.
When the Feast quickly turned to butchery, he had burned the Legion flag, carrying the Aquila flag proudly as he rallied his like-minded brothers to secure several dropships for escape. Now… now he carried it as a reminder. Of what once was, of what was, and what may be. The dream of Unity died that day, replaced by fratricide and civil war, and the future was uncertain. Tapping his chestplate, beneath which rested the flag; he resonated with it, affirming himself to its ideals and hopes. It was a link to a better time, a more proud time of glory and conquest.
Now it resembled the light in the dark, the shield against madness. It was all he had anymore.
"Brother," voxed Saul Tarvitz, Captain of the Fourth Millennial's Tenth Company. "The regalia and banners of the Arch-Betrayer have been burned, as per orders."
"Good."
"How long is the journey to take?"
Demeter thought back to his discussion of the Navigator before he locked himself away in his protective chamber for the duration of warp travel.
"Four to five months, possibly longer depending on if there are any storms or difficult tides."
"Copy, Solomon. I will lead the deck patrols, to make sure any mutation or taint is taken care of."
"Very well, Saul. Good hunting."
Ending the link, he looked at the void-screens and thick plexiglass windows. Blank and covered to prevent the miasma of colours that was the Immaterium from driving an individual to insanity and damnation. The Emperor's Children destination lingered in his mind.
To Terra. To the Emperor. To judgment.
When the Righteous Elegance emerged from the warp into real-space it discovered nearly seven months had passed. It found itself on the far edge of the Sol System, centre of the Imperium of Man. Within moments of arrival, hails from Segmentum Solar squadrons assailed the vessel. When identified, the heavy cruiser was very nearly destroyed. Only rapid astropathic communiques from Terra forestalled such actions.
Within a day a squadron of Imperial Fist warships arrived from Saturn, led by a battle-barge, and escorted the Third Legion cruiser further in-system. It was not an escort of honour, but of caution. Torpedoes were readied; laser clusters, lance weaponry, macrocannons, plasma cannons and more were aimed at the Righteous Elegance, ready to destroy it within moments at the slightest sign of treachery.
When in orbit over Luna, three companies of Sons of Horus boarded it, led by Captain Garviel Loken, and moved swiftly to key capture points. They found the mortal crew imprisoned, the Astartes bearing the colours but not symbol of the Arch-Traitor's own Legion were standing in the hangar bay and bridge, weapons stored in armouries and no threatening moves dared made.
When the ship was secured, the prison holds were emptied of mortal crew, taken to the Outer System by means of a stark grey coloured ship. There, at a secured locale, the crew would be interrogated for information concerning Chemos, the War Commander, or anything else relating to the Traitor Legions, ranging from number of ships, Traitor Army divisions and more.
Much was outdated and old useless information, but nuggets of worth were wormed out of them, whether they wanted it to or not. The crew would die in its entirety during and after the interrogations, their bodies burned in the furnaces of shipyard construction.
The Space Marines experienced a similar fate. Interred under guard inside the Somnus Citadel on Luna, the Emperor's Children were screened by Sisters of Silence, a combined taskforce of Son of Horus, Imperial Fist and Iron Warrior Librarians, and inquisitive agents bearing the sigil of Malcador. Those that bore signs of mental, spiritual or physical corruption by Chaos were taken away, never to be seen again. Their brothers accepted this, knowing not all could escape their primogenitor's black legacy. Two hundred and forty-seven Children became two hundred and thirty-nine; all declared true Children of the Emperor by unanimous consent by all investigative parties, loyal in body, mind and soul.
A month after arriving to Terra Solomon Demeter, escorted by ten golden plated Custodes, walked down the Hall of Leng. He knew the significance of this place, residence of the Emperor. A non-formal place when compared to the impressive and daunting Throne Room.
Turning into one of the many chambers of the Hall, Demeter was gestured in. He complied with the subtle order, as if he had a choice, the Custodes following suit. Demeter knew he was to meet, but the presence of the being before him was as heavy as a world, as impressive as a clear night sky and momentous. The Master of Mankind, Saviour of Humanity, the Emperor, sat back straight against the pearl white marble throne. His face was not unkind but nor was it harsh. It was lined, but not with age but with wisdom and assuredness. For all of Fulgrim's attempts at attaining perfection, compared to his father he was but a poor copy of what truly was perfect in the universe. Ever the emulator, not the actual.
Before he knew what he was doing, Demeter knelt in subservience to his bastard father's creator.
"Rise." The timbre voice of the Emperor was deep, but not overly so.
Complying with the order, head still bowed, he waited for judgment.
"Look at me."
Doing so was difficult; such was the majesty and raw power emanating from Him.
The Emperor's stare was like a sword, sharp and focused.
Demeter's mind could not function correctly, his rehearsed words halting in his mouth, unable to escape.
"Demeter. In an old era, on where ancient Grekan mythology thrived, the Grekans believed there was a goddess named Demeter. She was the deity of harvest, fertile soil, and growth. How apt that over thirty thousand years later another Demeter would be known to me, but this one a Space Marine of the Legiones Astartes, an officer who remembered old oaths and vows sworn long ago."
The Emperor rose from His throne, moving to Demeter. Demeter's gaze fell to the floor, remembering that looking at the ground before His feet was easier to bear than looking at Him directly.
But He moved to before him.
"You have survived horrid trials, the treachery of kin, and death of Unity, but not all is lost. The traitors near, and we prepare. You refused to become a Son of Fulgrim. Of that you have My gratitude, but no longer are you the Emperor's Children. That name is too associated with the Wayward Son; it would cause others to look upon you with distrust and hate."
The Emperor rested his hand upon Demeter's head. The warmth and crackling energy in the air surged through the legionnaire.
"Kneel."
He dropped instantly, head still bowed. The sound of a sword being drawn echoed in the chamber. A golden-red blade rested on his left shoulder.
"You are not a Son, nor a Child, but a Paladin. You will be here when the Arch-Traitor arrives, and you will defend the weak, fight for the just and defy the hordes of ruin."
The sword moved from shoulder to head back to shoulder.
When finished, the Emperor spoke, "Rise, Imperial Paladin. Become Demeter of the new era."
He did so. Compelled too by himself, he matched gazes with his redeemer. He knew what to say at that moment, coming to him in a burst of clarity he had not had in over a year.
"How may I serve?"
Saul Tarvitz's head continued to ache, a by-product of thorough screening. Though many weeks old, his skull still throbbed, assured by chiurgeons and Apothecaries that the pain would fade in time. He did not much mind the pain; it reminded him he was human, enhanced though he was. And humans were flawed beings, weak in individual ways.
While Solomon was on Terra for talks with the Warmaster, Praetorian and other authorities, he waited on Luna with the other former Third Legion Astartes. Not only the ones that had arrived with him, but those that had escaped on warp-capable starships as the Feast turned into purge, as well as other isolated bands of Emperor's Children that had made it to the Throneworld. Their numbers combined now reached over four hundred, if just barely.
Moving to his quarters, he passed watchful gun-drones, Sisters, and others who still monitored them. He did not blame them for such lingering caution. If eight primarchs could betray their father, their sons would be suspect. It was only logical.
After some time, he arrived to his door. Opening it, he noticed the difference immediately. Standing on an armour rack in the centre of the room was a set of unpainted grey Mark IV armour, lacking any livery or sigils.
Nearing it, he pondered, what is this?
"That," spoke a voice from the shadows, "is your future."
Turning quickly, hand on his combat blade, he relaxed when the speaker emerged from the shadows. Clenched hand rose to chestplate in salute. Bowing slightly, he spoke in a respectful tone.
"Lord Regent."