Announcement : it seems ffnet is having some technical difficulties concerning the alert emails. I recently published a new chapter for the story Warband of the Forsaken Sons, yet no notification emails were sent. So, just in case the same doesn't happen for this chapter, here is your warning that there is a new chapter in this other story.
AN : Hello everyone !
Soon after I wrote the story That Which Must Not Be, I was contacted again by Bighead98, who suggested ... something else to me. Can't say much more without spoiling it for you. With the new chapter of Warband of the Forsaken Sons complete, I was able to focus on this suggestion. So, here it is. Enjoy ! Review ! And if you have a suggestion of your own, don't hesitate to tell me !
I do not own Warhammer 40000 nor any of its characters. They belong to Games Workshop.
I am Malcador the Sigillite, High Lord of Terra, Master of the Adeptus Administratum and Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum. I have lived long enough to remember Old Earth, to have witnessed the history of our species in all its glory and failure, but not long enough that I can no longer relate to those not as long-lived as I. I am one of the most powerful psykers in the Imperium and beyond; my will can shatter the strongest of mind, my thoughts can lift a Baneblade and crumble it like paper. I am also a friend of the Emperor – perhaps his only remaining friend not linked to him by blood, though not the only one he ever had.
I write these words in the Imperial Palace, on Terra, the birthworld of Mankind and Throneworld of the Imperium. I write them because my life, which has lasted so much longer than its natural span, is coming to an end, and I am a vain enough man that I would like my final thoughts be recorded for posterity. Let this then, be the record of my thoughts. Let it be the record of the victory of the Great Crusade, and the triumph of Mankind over the galaxy.
Victory. Even now, after all these years, I find it difficult to believe we actually managed it. When I sided with the Emperor in the darkness of the Age of Strife, I did not think it possible for his dreams to become reality. I knew them to be noble, something worth fighting and dying for, but I thought them to be an ideal, not something that could be achieved. Yet here we are, a thousand years after Magnus sat on the Golden Throne and the Emperor declared the Great Crusade over. No power remains in the galaxy that can challenge the might of the Imperium. We have won, at long, long last.
The annals of the Great Crusade are many, thanks to the work of the remembrancers. There is no need for me to mention the Triumph of Ullanor, the Treaty of the Interex, or the Isstvaanite Rebellion, swiftly put down by the Raven Guard after they rushed to the system to extinguish the shame of revolt on a world they had brought to compliance. But I will write about the Webway Project – after so long forced to remain silent, I always enjoy having a chance to explain it.
The Webway Project was how the Emperor wanted to save Mankind from the Primordial Annihilator. Its basis was a simple observation : the Imperium needed the Warp to exist, yet the Warp would destroy the Imperium eventually. The things that dwell there – named by some deluded, unfortunate souls as the Dark Gods – are anathema to our reality, and would, unchecked, consume all that is sane and pure. Therefore the Imperium must be shielded from the Warp, separated from it. The Webway, this network of portals and trans-dimensional paths left by the first species to rule the galaxy, held the key to this. After centuries of research and decades of work, the Emperor managed to bend the Webway into the service of Mankind.
A thousand years ago, the Emperor completed his work. The Golden Throne was connected to the Webway, and Magnus was called from Prospero to take his place upon it. I remember the look of disbelieving joy on his face as the Crimson King finally learned why it was the Emperor had forbidden him his sorcerous pursuits, when he learned the purpose to which his father had always destined him. He willingly sat upon the throne, accepting the terrible burden it places upon him. Now, the Crimson King is silent most of the time, emerging from his trance only a handful of times each decade, and never for more than a few minutes each time.
With Magnus on the Golden Throne, the Imperium's fleets can now travel through the deepest places of the Warp, where the things that feed on the smoke of burning souls cannot thread. Galactic travel has become much, much quicker – one ship can go from Terra to Maccrage in a matter of days, rather than months or years. And while Geller Fields are still necessary to reach the depths of the Empyrean, the journey in itself is peaceful, the dreams of the crew undisturbed by the influence of baleful entities. There is no longer a need for Navigators – the last of them died centuries ago, alone in his gilded palace, sterilized like the rest of his kind at the Emperor's decree.
The Thousand Sons are now led by Ahriman, First Captain of their Legion. They no longer take part in the few remaining wars of the Imperium – instead, they stand at the Emperor's side, assisting him in the next stage of his grand design for humanity. On worlds shielded from Chaos' influence by powerful, planet-sized wards, the Emperor and the sons of Magnus work together to guide human evolution into a form that will truly be immune to Chaos' corruption. It will take thousands – perhaps tens of thousands – of years before they complete their work, and none can predict what form the end result will take. But in the meantime, generations will live in peace and prosperity.
This prosperity is fuelled by the new discoveries of the Mechanicum. The Quest for Knowledge continues – even after ten centuries, the tech-priests have yet to complete the collection of every scrap of lore lost during the Age of Strife. Much of what they have found is, of course, forbidden – Warp-manipulating technology, gene-forging devices, nanoscopic swarms, the hideous Abominable Intelligence, and other, even more dangerous secrets. But what the Emperor allows the priests of Mars to use has ushered in a new age of prosperity for the Imperium. The Imperial Army has access to new, more powerful weapons, and the civilians of the Imperium all live in far better conditions than a thousand years ago. Most of them have never seen war in any form beyond the stories that reach them – stories of the Imperial Army, and of the Space Marines Legions and their Primarchs.
As the Primarch chosen to be Warmaster in the Emperor's absence from the Great Crusade, Horus was the only one of his brothers to know the truth of the Webway Project. On Ullanor, I managed to convince the Emperor to tell his son why he was seemingly abandoning him – to share his vision with the one tasked with defending it. I still tremble sometimes when imagining what could have happened had I failed to break through his stubbornness. Horus is still Warmaster, supreme commander of the Imperium's armies, subject only to the will of the Emperor and the Council of Terra. He is Mankind's mighty sword arm, and none can stand before his might. But his hold over his brothers has grown weak in this time of peace, with each Primarch walking his own path.
Ever since Lorgar killed Kor Phaeron after the Rebuke of the Word Bearers on Monarchia, the Urizen has been withdrawn and sullen. He will not talk of what happened, not to me, whom he still sees as responsible for the humiliation of his Legion. But he took the lesson of Monarchia to heart. Colchis has changed greatly since the Seventeenth was clearly told to stop worshipping the Emperor. The temples have been cast down, and in their place Lorgar has raised great academies, with the help of Prosperine teachers. It is my shame that when Lorgar was down from his father's rebuke, I could do nothing to help him, but it is my joy that Magnus could.
It is good that Kor Phaeron died. Neither I nor the Emperor could touch him, for Lorgar would never have forgiven us, but we both could sense something dark about him, the leftover stench of the Ruinous Powers. However, all of Colchis bore the same stigma, even after Lorgar had cleansed it with his noble, if dedicated to an inexisting god, crusade. At the time, we decided it wasn't worth the risk alienating Lorgar. Even so, I am relieved that the old worm won't be there to pour poison into his ear any longer.
After years of being looked down by his brothers, Lorgar proved his worth beyond all expectations when, a few decades after the Rebuke, he saved Angron from the Butcher's Nails. By combining his awakened psychic powers with technology older than the Nails themselves and the records of Nuceria's overlords, he found a way to safely remove the implants. Even more impressive, he managed to help Angron get over his grief for the loss of his fellow warriors, left to die by the Emperor all these years before. Angron hasn't forgiven his father for that – I doubt he ever will – but he no longer burns with anger at the Emperor.
After the Red Angel was saved, so too were his sons. The procedure developed by Lorgar was used to free the Twelfth Legion from the Nails, with Angron commanding those few of his sons who wanted to keep them to undergo it. I heard that in a few cases, the Legionaries had to be dragged to the operation table, as if the implants were driving them into a frenzy to escape their destruction. Considering the malevolent design of these horrible things, I wouldn't be surprised if that was actually the case.
Nowadays, Angron has returned to Nuceria. He has deposed the descendants of the lords who made him fight in the arena, and become ruler of the world, ending the civil war that had raged there for hundreds of years. He has lived far beyond the most optimistic prognostics of Arkhan Land, and is likely to live as long as any of his brothers – longer if he keeps away from battles. Lorgar often visits him there, when his duties as diplomat give him the time. The work to repair the damage inflicted by generations of warfare upon Nuceria can always use the help of another Primarch's mind. His sons have become peacekeepers on that world and a handful of others in the region, forming a small domain that might not be as prosperous as nearby Ultramar, but is still a model of peace and safety.
Perturabo, the Lord of Iron, ended his participation in the Great Crusade when his homeworld of Olympia rose in rebellion against the Imperium, led by his own adoptive father. He brought the Iron Warriors to Olympia and crushed the rebellion, but in the aftermath, as he contemplated the ruin he had made of his Legion's homeworld, he despaired and vowed to never do such a thing again. He bent the entire might of the Fourth Legion to rebuilding the planet's civilization, and he lives there now, not as a ruler but as a simple citizen. Without his leadership, the Legion has broken apart under dozens of warsmiths, each guiding his warriors to their own path. Some have built great fortresses in contested territories, while others lend their might to battlefronts throughout the galaxy. A few remain on Olympia, having become teachers and architects rather than warriors and generals. From the ashes, Olympia has been reborn as a world of wonders and prosperity, though it is haunted still by the horrors that took place during the rebellion.
Ferrus Manus brought his Legion back to Medusa at the end of the Great Crusade. In the late years, his sons had embraced augmentation to an unsettling degree, holding humankind in contempt and seeing metal as stronger than flesh. It took decades for Ferrus to purge this attitude from his Legion and bring some balance of healthy respect for the strength of technology and proper reverence for the human form. Even then, the Legion retained a predilection for machines and cybernetics. Nowadays, the Tenth Legion is the closest ally to the Mechanicum, its members spread out among the skitarii hosts, providing advice and elite forces. Ferrus himself has remained on Medusa, directing the slow process of building a true civilization upon that harsh world and harvesting the secrets of the Telstarax for the Imperium. His hands are still covered in the same silver metal as they were when the Emperor found him, though he has spent decades searching for a way to remove it.
Ultramar remains as strong and peaceful as ever. Roboute Guilliman rules there, master of the Five Hundred Worlds, and his Legion has grown in numbers thanks to the billions who live under the protection of the Avenging Son. Numbering in the millions, the Ultramarines are the most numerous of all Legions, and they have become peacekeepers, but also men of state and other, less expected pursuits. They serve as the champions of Rogue Traders and Governors alike, or assist the Arbites with their duties. In the Fortress of Hera, Guilliman manages his empire within an empire, spending every day absorbed in the minutia of countless documents. He is happy there, I think, helping build the future of his people. Still, a time might come when we need him to don the panoply of general once more, and I do not doubt for a moment that he will have lost none of his edge then.
Most of the Salamanders have returned to Nocturne and become the planet's protectors, though others have spread across the Imperium and become master craftsmen and smiths. They forge the weapons and armors of the Imperium's elite, their craft rivalling the greatest forges of Mars. As for Vulkan, he has come to Terra, drawn by some unspoken destiny. There, he has replaced Dorn as the Warden of the Throneworld, defender of Magnus. His strength has greatly increased since his arrival a thousand years ago – it's as if he draws power from the very earth of Terra. Even though he keeps watch before the Golden Throne, he also spends much time creating objects of incredible beauty – no weapons, not anymore, but trinkets and artworks the likes of which have never been seen before. I fancy myself as a connoisseur of art, and I freely admit that the wonder Vulkan crafts are enough to make me weep.
Unfortunately, not all sons of the Emperor are living such peaceful, relatively happy existences. Leman Russ, ever distrusted by the Imperium for his barbarian act, has withdrawn to Fenris, his Legion seeming to wither in this peaceful age. I think that without battle to divert his mind, he dwells too much on the past, on the things he did for the Emperor of which none might speak. His sons keep watch over Fenris, and hunt the great beasts of that world, but they rarely venture beyond the system anymore. And in the icy wastes of that world, the numbers of the Wulfen increase with each passing decade as some recruits fail to resist the beast in their blood. Sooner or later, they will become a threat to Fenris' human population, and Russ will have no choice but to order their execution, lest they upset Fenris' delicate balance of life and death. Maybe then, when he has to be an executioner again, he will be shaken out of his melancholy.
Caliban, homeworld of Lion El'Jonson, was lost a thousand years ago, not long after the end of the Great Crusade. When the Lion and his Legion returned to Caliban to celebrate the end of the Crusade, they found the planet risen in a rebellion led by Luther, the Lion's own foster father, and followed by thousands of Dark Angels who had been sent to the planet in shameful exile by the Primarch. Luther, once a great knight of Caliban, second only to the Lion, had been tainted by forbidden lore, and had become a master sorcerer of immense power. Caliban burned in the following conflict, and eventually shattered to pieces, leaving only the Rock – the Legion's main fortress on the planet, and now a mobile space fort the match of the Phalanx in size and firepower. The Lion himself fell into a deathly coma during the battle, as he fought against Luther himself. All the efforts of the Imperium's best healers have failed to rouse him from slumber – even the Emperor's own intervention could not restore his son. Now the First Legion hunts the traitors who survived the destruction of Caliban, cast across time and space by Luther's final spell.
A few years before the end of the Great Crusade, the Emperor's Children were divided by a terrible inner war. Almost half of the Legion rose against Fulgrim, its Primarch, led by the former Chief Apothecary Fabius Bile and Commander Eidolon. Fabius and Eidolon sought to transform the Legionaries into something more, altering their very bodies using xenos materials. They and their cronies had gained great power from it, but when they revealed their work to Fulgrim, the Phoenician was horrified and sought to kill them. Eidolon died in the following conflict, slain by Lucius, Thirteenth Captain of the Emperor's Children. But Bile escaped, fleeing the Imperium's borders to continue his blasphemous experiments. To this day, the Emperor's Children hunt for him, and Fulgrim himself lead the hunt.
Sanguinius, most beloved of the Primarchs, has been unable to prevent the slow degeneration of his Legion. One by one, the Blood Angels succumb to the Red Thirst, a flaw in their gene-seed that transform them into bloodthirsty vampires. Once kept a secret from even the Legion itself, now it is known by all the lords and ladies of the Imperium, and rumors abound in the lower ranks. Entire Companies of the Ninth Legion have gone rogue, their minds twisted by the Red Thirst into inhuman monsters who still retain a horrifying trace of their intellect. Sanguinius himself leads the hunt for them, his heart broken by their fate but unwilling to let anyone else deliver them the Emperor's Peace. In the other Companies, all who succumb to the Thirst are put down. And during that time, the Apothecaries and their allies in the Mechanicum desperately search for a cure. I hope, for the sake of the Imperium and Sanguinius himself, that they find one soon, lest the Emperor be forced to declare the entire Ninth Legion lost.
Such is the current fate of Humanity, but we are not alone in this galaxy. With Mankind's claim of the Webway, the Eldar have been driven closer to extinction than ever before. The Craftworlds have fled far from the Imperium's borders, into wild regions of space we have no interest in claiming. As long as they stay there, we are happy to let them live in peace – their time as masters of the stars is passed, never to come again. Some in the Imperium claim that now is the time to reach out to them, to forge an alliance with them – they are still our betters in many domains, and there is much we could learn from them in return for our protection. Perhaps it will happen, in time.
The scourge of the Orks endure, impossible to truly exterminate or contain. On Mars, there are entire cities dedicated to studying the biology of the greenskins. Much has been discovered – that they are a fungus species, for instance, and definitively an artificial one. But a way to wipe them out entirely is yet to be found. In the meantime, they grow in numbers beyond the borders of the Imperium, on worlds without any value to Mankind. The White Scars hunt them there, led by their Khan, away from the Imperium for decades at a time before coming back to resupply. They have become little more than stories themselves to the Imperium's common folk : tales of noble hunters wandering the wild places of the galaxy, protecting Humanity from the beasts that dwell there.
And despite all of our victories, despite all the great things that have come to pass in this Age of Glory, darkness remains in the hidden corners of the galaxy. The worst of Mankind's foes cannot be truly destroyed, and the Imperium itself has given birth to one of the greatest dangers it must now face. There is one Primarch who is no longer faithful to the Imperium, one who has betrayed his oaths and become the very kind of monster the Great Crusade was meant to eradicate.
Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, vanished after the destruction of Nostramo. Now, he and his Legion of monsters wander beyond the Imperium's borders. Every so often, an expedition will discover a human world that the Imperium hadn't reached yet – its population horribly murdered, the symbol of the Eighth Legion left behind in skulls and flayed skin. The madness that haunted Curze for all his life has completely consumed him, and it has spread to the Night Lords. Dorn and Corax are hunting for him, determined to bring him in chains before the Emperor. But so far, he has always eluded them, managing to escape in every of the few times they thought they had cornered him. Within the Imperium, the name of the Night Haunter has become a curse, and his Legion the bogeymen mothers use to scare their children into behaving. Reports have reached Terra that daemons have been sighted fighting alongside them, and I fear what such an alliance might portend.
For our greatest enemy, as always, remains Chaos. The Imperial Truth denied Mankind's worship to the Dark Gods, and the Webway Project all but starved them from our emotions. But while their influence over Mankind is all but gone, they remain powerful in the galaxy. The spiritual cancer that is the Primordial Annihilator seeks the destruction of the Imperium still, now more than ever before. Their plans to make the Imperium turn on itself have failed, and now the Ruinous Powers have turned their eyes toward other avenues of attack. They prepare for war against the one they call the Anathema, and the Imperium prepares itself for their coming. The Inquisition I founded in the aftermath of the Great Crusade's end is tasked with ensuring the Dark Gods have no servants within the Imperium itself. And the Alpha Legion, ever secretive in its means and agenda, provides Imperial commanders with intelligence on the movements of Chaos beyond Imperial borders.
Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of Pleasure and Pain, was the least affected by the Emperor's plan, for he was born of the Eldar's depravity and a creature of that species. The Dark Eldar, whose Dark City of Commoragh remains beyond the reach of the Imperium even now, still feed his power with their decadence and cruelty. With the Imperium as strong as it is, they rarely dare prey upon humans any more, but there are many other species that can satisfy their sadistic appetites. Slaanesh now seeks to turn the Dark Eldar from unwitting slaves into true worshippers – he whispers in the ears of the House princes, promising power and pleasure in return for their devotion. Already several noble Houses have fallen under his priests' sway, and if none stand against him soon the Dark City and all the billions of Dark Eldar who live there will kneel beneath his banner. Should this come to pass, the power of the relics stored in Commoragh from the days of the Eldar Empire would be a terrible threat to the Imperium, and all life in the galaxy.
Unlike his rival, Khorne, the Blood God, has cast his net wide across the galaxy. Entire species have been corrupted by the God of War, most of them having already encountered the Imperium and barely escaped extermination at the hands of the Legions. Under the guidance of Khornate priests, they have come together, ignoring their differences in the pursuit of revenge. They have formed a militaristic empire, the Blood Pact, whose sole purpose is to increase in strength until it can challenge the Imperium. Through constant sacrifices and ritual duels to the death, the priests of the Blood Pact have cut their territory off the rest of the galaxy, preventing the Imperium from sending an armada to destroy them before they are ready. However, the Blood Pact only controls a handful of systems, and they are fully placed in the Materium – their capabilities are limited in the grand scheme of things, though they could still become a force to be reckoned with. As the Imperium continues to expand, driving xenos species before it, more and more aliens are swayed by the call of Khorne and join the Blood Pact. In time, other enclaves could be created. Maybe we should stop slaughtering all xenos we encounter, but a thousand years old practice is hard to break.
When, a few years ago, the Mechanicum found the medical secrets of Mankind's past and used them to almost completely eradicate disease within the Imperium, the wrath of Nurgle, God of Plagues and Despair, was terrible. All of Segmentum Obscurus felt the Dark God's fury. On most worlds, the effect was limited to a few thousand dead, though their demise was excruciatingly painful. But on others, all life was consumed by a terrible plague, leaving naught but rotting corpses and bloated flies in its wake. Worse, all this death thinned the veil between reality and the Warp, and Nurgle used all the power he gained from it to create a champion of immense power, the Lord of Flies. Mortarion, greatest hunter of witches in the Imperium, has been sent by the Emperor to deal with this threat. The Death Lord has grown mighty over the years, and with him have gone hundreds of Sisters of Silence, but I doubt the fight will be easy. It is in times like those that I wish I believed in gods, so that I could pray to them for his safety – even if he despises me for my own psychic powers.
As for Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways … None can tell for certain what the Schemer is about. Of all the Dark Gods, he is the most unpredictable, the most self-destructive and the most contradictory. The Alpha Legion claims that he has bent an aeon-old cabal of xenos to his will, and plans to use them to spread confusion and dissension within the Imperium. At the same time, Perpetuals who have remained in hiding for thousands of years have suddenly started to move, as if fleeing something. The Thousand Sons who dare leave the Emperor's side soon suffer from a resurgent flesh-change, twisted into inhuman monsters with horrible aspects and terrible minds. Prophets and oracles emerge in great number in xenos and renegade territories, bearing the mark of Tzeentch, all searching for something and manipulating others around them into searching for it also – though the object of their quest eludes us all. The Inquisition is investigating this mystery, of course, but I doubt there is anyone among them who can divine the mind of a Dark God.
And in the Eye of Terror, the Lost and the Damned gather their strength. The Dark Gods have united against the Imperium, causing the infighting between the Slaves to Ruin to decrease in strength and frequency. Renegade tech-priests have created nightmarish forge-worlds where they experiment with fusion of metal, flesh and Warp energy. Deluded champions fleeing from the Imperial Truth have become generals for the Ruinous Powers, gathering great hosts under their banner. Even with Magnus guiding our ships, we cannot enter the Eye of Terror, for Magnus' eye does not see into its hellish depths. All we can do is reinforce the world of Cadia, standing in the path of the single stable Warp route in and out of the Eye. It was Lorgar who discovered that world a thousand years ago, and wiped out its original population of Chaos worshippers. Cadia is now a fortress like no other in the galaxy, but with each passing year more of its population succumb to madness and mutation, the wards shielding them from the Eye's influence failing to contain the wrath of the Dark Gods.
I fear all of these signs point to a coming war, greater than any the Imperium has ever faced before. Soon the Ruinous Powers shall rise to strike at the Emperor's realm with all the strength they can muster. Then the power of the Imperial Truth and those who believe in it shall be tested once more. A thousand years ago, we triumphed over the plots of the Dark Gods and their minions, and ushered in the Age of Glory. A thousand years ago, we won a mighty victory. But no victory is eternal, and an empire must be defended.
But we will triumph in this coming war against Chaos, of this I am certain. And when we have slain the Slaves to Ruin, broken their fleets and forced the survivors to rout, we will rebuild what will have been destroyed, and we will return to our vigil, waiting for the next incursion. For this is what it means to triumph over your enemies and build your kingdom upon the charred ruins of their fallen empires. For the rest of eternity, you have to be vigilant against someone else who might do the same to what you have created.
And we will be vigilant. Until the end of our lives, we must keep watch, and defend Mankind from all who would threaten it until the Emperor's great design is complete and Mankind needs no longer fear the powers of the Warp, or any others. I will not see it, though. Soon I will die, and then, at long, long last, I will be able to rest.
Yet somehow I know this : I will not die in my sleep …
Lorgar Aurelian, Daemon Primarch of Chaos Undivided, Arch-Priest of the Primordial Truth, opened his eyes, drawn away from his visions by the chiming of the bells in the distant cathedrals of Sicarius. He growled in disgust at the memory of what he had seen, caught in the eternally swirling seas of the Empyrean. He felt nothing but contempt for his alternate self.
It had all been a lie, and no matter how beautiful or seductive, a lie would remain a lie. The Emperor could not protect Mankind from the Primordial Annihilator. Humanity must kneel before the Gods or be destroyed by them. Even in that vision, the alternate version of that wretch Malcador had known it, deep inside. If the vision had continued, it would have shown the Imperium destroyed by the Dark Gods' armies, the Emperor's dream burned to ashes and the entire species destroyed along with it. The Horus Heresy, as the Imperials called it, had failed in destroying the Imperium and recreating it into something new – something pure – but it had at least prevented Mankind being dragged into oblivion by the Emperor's hubris.
And now, it was time to finish what they had started. After ten thousand years, the time had finally come. Abaddon had set the galaxy aflame with his plots. The Imperium was reeling from the onslaught of the Dark Gods. Guilliman, Lorgar's old foe, had returned, brought back from the dead by alien witchery. The Astronomican was failing, and the Warp screamed with the laughter of the Gods. All was in place for the final act.
Lorgar stood from his praying position, and reached out with his mind, calling to his sons. It was time for the Word Bearers to go to war.