They lay across Camlan in piles. Loyalist and traitor, adeptus astartes, heretic, mangled and blooded. No longer to spread glory or death in the name of anything, but beaten and broken. The field was still, unmoving, as quiet as a crypt. A silent place for the greatest warriors in all the galaxy to sleep their final rest. Usoran, Vashuss and the Black Tomb, the only survivors, had already gone for the Imperial Palace.

It was totally silent. A rogue wind blew and hissed softly though the emptiness of the abandoned hive city, through the rusting wrecks of fighting vehicles and along even further through vacant air. It was a totally alien world, a moonscape of desolation and quiet. Fallen hives, dust, and shadows prevailed through the hives of Holy Terra where not even a fly made its home now. No lights shone, no vehicles moved, no souls hustled their overly busy bodies through the maze streets. Most of all though was the visceral loneliness. It sucked one's soul out of their body. The close-knit hives meant that any shout would be squelched to silence in the urban void. To have such a massive city free of life was unnatural. To call it a ghost town would be like calling a star a spark.

"Why Vashuss?" asked Usoran as he placed the Alpha Legion lord at the mouth of the Imperial Palace. The Black Tomb took its place behind him, ready to follow him to the Emperor.

"Chaos, it had to overreach itself…" Vashuss said, "from the start of the Horus Heresy, we have been trying to bring the Imperium to this moment, the only moment when chaos could wipe itself out. And now it has, and now we are all that remain of the Astartes." Usoran nodded. Not even the Salamanders had survived. Their crashed gunships were still strewn with the bodies of their dead. "I am sorry, there was no other way. Now the galaxy is empty, hollow, lifeless, thanks to the powers unleashed on it by the tower." He coughed.

"No, probably not completely," Usoran replied, "somewhere out there, there must be something…"

"No," Vashuss gasped, "finished." Usoran would not argue further.

"Come on, brother…"

"I am not your brother!" Vashuss sputtered, coughing out blood. "I…I am not worthy. All the things I did in the Emperor's name. Just do what I asked you to do…" Usoran nodded and raised Afennor's rifle.

"Go with ease, my evil friend," Usoran said. And so it was that Afennor's special bullet found its home at last, deep inside Vashuss' skull. Usoran cast the weapon away and turned to the Black Tomb. "Goodbye," Usoran said softly to the primarch-dreadnought. Even now, the Black Tomb was slouching forward as whatever animated it gently abandoned it. Then, it was still, like a logic-engine when the power-conduit was pulled. He turned back to the palace.

"We're here," Usoran gasped to himself, clutching his injured flank. His fingers caressed the rift in his armor where Mortarion's final blow had fallen. He flinched and thought of the daemonic contagion that was swiftly claiming his life. Though defeated here, chaos would take at least a generation to fade completely. Though now feeble, it had not lost the power to kill. It would remain in the much-weakend form of Nurgle, who would yet remain untl the last living thing died. But then, he too would be gone.

He was alone, now shouldering not only the burden of the Emperor's forgiveness for his chapter, but the burden of being the last of the Adeptus Astartes. It was an honour he did not want and even as he carried out his final pilgrimage through the hallowed and hollow corridors of the Imperial palace, he wished he didn't have to live to see the last days of the Imperium. Once or twice he fell, Mortarion's wound stinging, overcome. But his courage and determination stood him back onto his feet each time, edging him forward towards the throne room where he had stood when these halls were busy and the Imperium was merely dying. Through bomb-shattered chapels, caved-in halls, even through a room that still burned with the wreck of a crashed marauder, Usoran drove.

He hurt the whole way. He bled the whole way. He weathered the pain for hours where any man, even an Astartes, would fall. But Usoran did not. This testing journey on its own would have been legendary were these halls still filled and the Imperium still alive. Now the only witnesses to his short but difficult quest were the staring marble angels that he walked beneath as he entered the presence of the Eternity Gate.

Usoran journeyed down the long road to the gate from the entrance to the mammoth chamber containing it. He was unopposed as he passed by it and entered into the presence of the Golden Throne, surrounded by lifeless guards. It was there that Usoran cried for the second time since becoming a Dark Angel.

"My lord," he said, head bowed and sword held up. "My name is Brother-Captain Usoran of the Dark Angels and I am the last of nine true legions and their chapters." Prayer was easy. What did one say when one was here? "My lord," Usoran held the blade up. "Behold, the mended sword of Lion El'Jonson. Forgive the Dark Angels for their failings and their sins and their heresies. Absolve their conscience so that I may sleep in peace. The scourge of the warp is killed. After thirteen thousand years it is finally over. It…" Usoran looked up, "my lord, it is over!" He bowed his head once more and held up the sword in both hands. His body was thrown into scourging agony from the strain. It was like the Emperor was testing him. He placed the sword on the Emperor's lap.

[i]Usoran. Sit by the throne. Sit by my throne, Usoran my son. [/i] Did he only imagine that or was that the pain talking? Regardless, Usoran did so without question, seating himself to the throne's left. He closed his eyes.

He was a child again, lying in a comfortable bed in a warmly lit room of wood, a lionskin rug on the floor and a motherly rocker in the corner. A brave sword hung above where the youth lay. Usoran lifted his pale hands up to wipe his weary eyes. He was sleepy.

"[i]You have done well my boy [/i]"

Usoran looked at Lion El'Jonson, now standing by his bedside. It could have been Usoran's little eyes, but the man was transparent like water.

"Chaos…it destroyed all?" his tiny voice asked.

"[i]Perhaps, out of the nothingness, life might yet bloom. But that is a question for the ages. Our war is won. Chaos cannot trouble us any longer,[/i]" the primarch promised. A thin hand reached down and stroked Usoran's brow with a father's love. "[i]It's time to go now.[/i]" Usoran nodded, a weak smile bending his boy-lips.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"[i]We're going home,[/i]" Jonson promised, "take my hand." Usoran had to squint to see it, it was so hard to see now that it was so clear. His young fingers closed around the old man's hand and he rose up. His sandals clicked against the ground.

"Thank you," Usoran Tabbercs whispered with all his strength. And, side by side, the pair walked off into eternity.

It was totally silent. A rogue wind blew and hissed softly though the emptiness of the abandoned hive city, through the rusting wrecks of fighting vehicles and along even further through vacant air. It was a totally alien world, a moonscape of desolation and quiet. Fallen hives, dust, and shadows prevailed through the hives of Holy Terra where not even a fly made its home now. No lights shone, no vehicles moved, no souls hustled their overly busy bodies through the maze streets. Most of all though was the visceral loneliness. It sucked one's soul out of their body. The close-knit hives meant that any shout would be squelched to silence in the urban void. To have such a massive city free of life was unnatural. To call it a ghost town would be like calling a star a spark.

And so it was that the final flames ignited by the Horus Heresy, which had been waged one hundred and thirty centuries before, were extinguished at last forever.

And so it was that the Age of Man ended with as dignified an end as he could have hoped for.

And so it was that the war across the stars ended.