Book II: The Great Crusade
Chapter Twenty-Three: On Silver Wings
Location: The Primarch's quarters, Imperial Palace.
Date: 792.M30
Memory is a curious thing. It is incredibly inaccurate and easily tampered with. Yet it sculpts sentient life more than any other force. Conjuring up the right memory at the right time can save or damn someone. Mental ghosts of agony can cripple more easily than any blade or bomb. Similarly, remembrance of lessons and connections can push beings past all conceivable limits. For those burdened with power and responsibility beyond understanding, memory becomes a signpost. Moments filtered through recollection help guide those shouldered with monumental duties and keep them true to what they wish to be and need to be. One of these memories, belonging to a very special being, would help change the course of Galactic history. It starts like so many stories that shape the saga of sentient life. It started with a child crying.
Even during its early years of construction, the Imperial Palace of Terra was a labyrinthian colossus. Spanning thousands of kilometers across the homeworld and over two hundred kilometers from its tallest spires to deepest dungeons. When the first designs were put forth, the War-Masons and Architect-Clans were stunned and confused by the structure. Only upon further inspection did the genius and reasoning behind the skeleton the Emperor provided became apparent. Upon finally understanding a modicum of its purpose and its perfection, the War-Masons and later the Primarchs helped design the megastructures details.
The basic design was penned by the Emperor himself. An architectural outline to be filled in over the centuries. The reason for this curious style was the Emperor's long term intent with the palace. Humans as a species build things for current or immediately noticeable needs. With structures designed to last centuries or millennia at the maximum. The Imperial place was the opposite. It was built for purposes apparent now and in thousands of years. Designed to withstand war, disaster, and time itself for geologic ages.
Such a megastructure is built to change with the millennia and be easily updated and modified. For this purpose, countless passages, chambers, and nooks dot the palace. Unused and waiting for some future purpose. Hidden away in the gothic vaulting of the Primarchs quarters was one such place. A small balcony that provided access to a number of maintenance hatches. Its elevated location, hidden between baroque outcroppings and tucked away nature made it a perfect hiding spot. A place of solitude and reflection for the only Primarch who could easily access it. Dante: The Ninth Primarch and Imperial Angel.
A little over ten terran years old the demi-god would often escape to this perch. Seeking solitude and peace. Recently, Dante had taken to his roost for more unpleasant reasons. Hiding away out of fear and pain. Fear of his brothers, his father, and himself. Pain originating from his body and mind. Dante had started to wonder why he is what he is. He alone among the Primarch possessed wings. While many of his brothers possessed traits beyond even the most magnified human abilities. They all had legitimacy in Imperial law and human history. The inclusion of Genetics from Terran species and environmental adaptations were common and understood. All but the most extreme abhumans and spliced were accepted into the Imperium.
Dante's wings did not seem to fall into any of those categories. No Terran vertebrate, let alone mammal held six limbs. Nor possessed wings that on closer inspection seemed less like those of a Bird of Prey but instead something far more Alien. The structure and joints were flexible to a disturbing degree. The feathers looked like the smooth plumage of birds but internally were more like organic blades carved into aerodynamic form. Additionally, his bones were a latticework of compounds and alloys. Granting additional mobility and strength beyond his brothers. While his psychic powers were needed for true flight, even fully armored he could glide upon his wings.
The Primarchs' very being was marred with Archeotech and biology clearly beyond the acceptable. Where some of his siblings would wear this power and nature like a badge of honor. Flashing it at every opportunity, as Magnus demonstrated. Dante found his wings worrying and dangerous instead. He knew he and his brothers' creation had been a precarious thing. His enhanced nature indicated he was a prototype even among his siblings. Such thoughts were disconcerting but the other source of his misery turned these disturbing thoughts to outright fear.
For the IX Primarch felt deep within him something utterly terrifying. A rage as black as the void and a hunger for violence unquenchable. At the edge of his consciousness was something beyond comprehension. Mind shattering wrath honed into a diamond-sharp edge. Constantly calling out for destruction. To be unleashed upon the unworthy. A thirsting phantom that desired to be unleashed. Putting all of Dante's power to the purpose of annihilation. No matter what he tried to distance himself from this force the Primarch could not. Simply because it was no curse or chaotic intrusion. It was part of him, as much as his wings and his soul.
Rapidly developing his psychic powers the Lord of the Ninth to-be scryed his future. Desperate to uncover the purpose and danger of this crimson rage within him. Peering into the possible is not beyond the scope of any trained psyker. Doing it accurately and consistently, however, is. Dante and Konrad were born with a natural knack for this type of power. Twin seers to watch mankind and intervene when necessary. When looking into the future Dante saw it as a series of paths. Strings of cause and effect that reached from a single moment into the eons. With each event branching into countless paths. Creating an impossible web of possibility, ranging from the probable to theoretical.
As he mastered this skill the IX Primarch learned to take tentative steps along the path of destiny. Following three basic rules. First to never trust any path as the truth. They are all possibilities and easily changed by countless actors. Second to follow the Emperor and Malcador's example. Differing to their judgment and skill. Lastly that when it seems no good options are available. Take the most branching path to ensure the most possibilities to return to the course you desire.
Using these guidelines Dante peered into the future and saw countless strands of fate. Some as strong and solid as sail-tested rope. Others frayed and split by the unknown and possible. The more certain an event the stronger and larger this thread/path. With far too many blackened threads thicker than Blackwood Trunks leading to mankind's extinction or enslavement. Yet the Primarch always found comfort in a single path of brilliant gold. As unblemished and solid as pure aurumite. This was the shining path. A perilously thin and taut string of fate leading to ascension. Where mankind could not just survive but thrive. With every action of the Emperor and his servants that faint path grew stronger and brighter. Even before his very eyes, Dante watched as the Master of Mankind wove it ever larger. The Imperium acting as some great loom of destiny. Each subject of Revelation; a string working to weave themselves into a stronger path.
All twenty Primarch were woven into this shining path. Each playing integral roles to preserve and extend this thread of survival. Dante could peer into his brother's futures and catch snippets of who they were born to be. Mighty Rogal sheltering trillions under his golden Aegis. Clever Tengri wandering the outer-void laughing as he kills scourges from beyond the stars. Wise Magnus seated upon a Throne of Gold, plugged into the secrets of the cosmos itself. Of course, he could also see what might occur if any of his brothers failed. How Iskandar could grow a serpent's tail and join the Court of Pleasure. Or Philip's zeal might blind him to the truth he seeks. All of these possible futures diverged from each other at key points. Sometimes that point was crystal clear, other times lost in the fog of possibility. Yet all split at one point.
One exception existed of course. When Dante peered into his own future he saw two possibilities. An angel of light and beauty that protected with golden spear and tender mercy. Everything he hoped to be. Contrasted by an angel of blood and fury. Bringing doom and rage upon the galaxy. These two fates were no fractures or split threads along his destiny. Instead the twin Angels Dante foresaw overlapped. Existing together in a duality of being. Contradicting destiny somehow spun together. No matter what he tried, no matter how hard he scryed. The Primarch always saw the two angels together. One of lily-white wings that sheltered the weak. Another with Bloody-blades for feathers that screamed for vengeance and death.
This paradoxical and unnerving vision scared Dante. Shaking him to his core and making him question his existence. Was he a defect? A broken angel cursed to carry a schizoid nature. Seeking to do good and bring hope while born with an addiction to bloodshed and war. This misery led the youthful Primarch to his current state. Tucked away from his family and teachers in a hidden ledge he pondered his wings with a blade in hand.
When faced with the suffering and the unknown mankind always struggled with the abyss. The call of annihilation. The maddening desire to hurt oneself. Now even a Demi-God faced that dreadful siren song. Repressed pain and fear bubbling forth in a geyser of illness. The Primarchs were born larger than life. With minds and bodies near deific in proportion. This was matched by their emotions. A Primarchs joy burned brighter than the Sun, his rage capable of swallowing worlds. The Demi-Gods misery could drown billions. This byproduct of their transhuman and warp-born nature granted them profound humanity. While cursing them battle an internal maelstrom of galeforce feelings. As they grew in wisdom the Primarchs would master their nature and not be subject to herculean whims. That was not the case for poor Dante at this tender age.
Seeking something, anything to stop the bloody fury inside of him Dante planned the unthinkable. He would not disgrace himself and bring this shameful defect to his father. He would carve his mutation and failure from his very flesh. With a piece of metal gripped between his jaws and a cruelly edged dagger in hand. The Primarch prepared to cut off his wings. Sating his rage upon his own flesh and discarding what separates him from his brothers. With something between a snarl and a whimper, the Primarch made the first incision. His dagger slowly cutting through flesh and bone made to withstand bolt-fire.
Drops of sanguine blood trickled between white feathers. Biting through his make-shift gag of iron the Primarch's eyes flashed from sky-blue to ichor-red. His black rage transformed into self-destructive acts. Pausing his mutilation to suck in lungfuls of recycled air. Dante prepared to continue cutting. Gripping the knife with a shaky hand he pressed it into his flesh. Something blazing hot and unbearably bright grabbed the Primarchs wrist with adamant grip. Shocked, the Primarch dropped the knife and looked up. Staring down at him was a golden mask. Angelic features sculpted with disquieting perfection. Tears cut from opulent rubies traced somber paths down the mask. A figure formed of light and memory gripped Dante's wrist. Wearing the death-mask of an Angel and flanked by wings of fire. Just as quickly as it appeared the angelic phantom faded away.
Stunned and confused the young Primarch did not notice another figure now occupied the hidden alcove. Clad in a simple tunic, with his hair bound back the Emperor of Mankind had arrived. He had been hundreds of miles away, deep within his laboratory. Pouring over occult technology and analyzing the production quality of Astartes. Then a flicker of something at the back of his mind caught his attention. For a moment the Emperor felt his IX son's pain. Transmitted to him by the ghost of an Angel. He had raced to Dante and would have been a moment too late if the ghost had not intervened.
Realizing his father stood before him, shame filled the young Primarch. At a loss for words, Dante fumbled over his tongue as the Emperor approached him. Stoic as the mountains the palace rested upon the Emperor showed no emotion as he marched towards his wounded son. At that moment Dante feared his father more than anything. Imagining what horrid fate might await him. Would he be discarded as a failure? Or rebuilt in the hidden laboratories of Luna into something more suiting his father's needs. Worst of all part of the Primarch feared his father would pick up the discarded dagger and command him to continue cutting. The Emperor of Mankind did none of those things, in fact, the Emperor was not truly there. For a single moment, the mask of the Master of Mankind dropped. In its place was Atham the Revelator, an impossibly old man who grieved his son's pain. Dropping to his knees, Revelation wrapped his arms around his son and held him close.
Like a damn bursting Dante's pain detonated. He seemed to deflate as his sadness poured out of him. The Primarch wept into his father's arms as Revelation held him. They sat there for a long time. A scared demigod hugged close by his divine father. As his sobs grew weaker and his tears dried Dante looked up at his father and asked: "Why did you give me wings father?"
A sad smile crossed the Revelations face and he gently touched the clotted-over wound on his son's wing. A spark of light from ancient fingers flowed across the crude incision and healed it near instantly. Gesturing for his son to sit next to him Revelation spoke: "Because it's what mankind has always dreamed of. Since the first hominids glanced skyward our species has dreamed of flight. Natural selection never ordained us with wings or air-sacks. Instead, we imagined the impossible. The idea of winged humans became the first and most potent symbol of mankind transcending its boundaries. Becoming more than what the universe intended and forming a connection to power and purpose. "
With a flick of his fingers, Revelation summoned up a fire that twisted into shapes. Of a man with wax-wings falling from the sky. An ancient genius carving wings of canvas and wood. Two brothers building the first aeroplane. A somber expression crossed the ancient immortal's face as he spoke. "Many things set you and your brothers apart from mortal humans Dante. Most humans go their entire life searching for purpose, a reason to justify and validate their existence. That quest often defines the lives of trillions. My son, you were robbed of that, and gifted a clear and concrete purpose. In my opinion that creates the largest gap is simultaneously the great strength and weakness of the Primarchs. Each of your brothers and you were born to play a role in ensuring mankind's survival and ascension. It is a heavy burden, but one I believe you will all grow into perfectly. This role, in fact, brings us back to those wings I gave you. Dante, you are mankind's hope. A symbol of what we can be and what we must be. You are the messenger of humanity's future. The Imperial Angel who watches and protects. Setting an example to aspire to. You, my son, are our hopes for the future. You were created to help mankind survive and eventually thrive. Dante my son, I gave you wings so you could help teach mankind to fly."
Trembling with emotion Dante hugged his father and burst into tears. Looking up at Revelation the young Primarch asked in between sobs. "The-then what a-about the rage within me? How can tha-that be good for mankind? I fear what might happen if I lose control!"
Staring into his son's eyes Revelation could see the wrath within Dante. This was no foul pollutant of emotion like the blood-hunger of Chaos. Nor the petty rage of tyrants and thugs. What lay within his Ninth Son was righteous fury. Mankind's incarnate struggle against the dying of the light. "Oh my son" the unwilling Master of Mankind spoke.
"That rage within you is not some petty temper of mortals. When I say you are incarnate of mankind's hopes and dreams. I do not speak in metaphor. Along with each of your siblings, you are bound to humanity in a unique way. You, Dante, are what mankind dreams of. What we hope and need for the future. Dante my son, you were born to ensure mankind's survival and fulfill its hopes of a better future. On some primal level you can feel what humanity needs to survive. Of all your psychic and physical might, that is the power that sets you apart from your brothers. It touches your mind and carves itself into for better or worse. This power is valuable beyond words and dangerous too. What mankind needs is not always what we would wish. Mankind needs the beauty, heroism, and compassion you are capable of. It also needs the desperate fury and infinite hate inside of you. We want, and we need to strike back against this sadistic cosmos. To survive in this galaxy, the ability to create and protect is sadly not enough. We must also be able to destroy. Dante that fury inside you is mankinds. It is the rage of trillions suffering at the hands of our enemies. It is the bitter fury of the survivor hoping to push back the dark just one more night. You will use that rage, that hate to do good. Just as you will with your compassion and love. To survive our people need an Angel of Wrath as well as an Angel of Hope."
Absorbing this knowledge the Primarch sat there with his father for a long time. Slowly but surely new understanding entered him. Looking past his fear and trepidation. Dante looked, truly looked at the rage inside of him. Past the screams for blood and vengeance he saw it for what it truly was. It was the pain of trillions. The calls for aid that would never come. The maddening rage and grief of a mother desperately trying to ward away cerebevores from her children. Shock and hatred of a militiaman on some distant world realizing the Orks treated the destruction of his homeland like a sport. Bitter fury pouring off a child who watched her grandmother be fed to the sacrificial pits once she grew to infirm to slave away. The human species wanted to survive and it wanted vengeance. To finally strike back against the evils of the universe. To break the things of nightmares and finally know they were safe.
Swearing a silent oath to himself Dante decided from this day forward what he would be. To the lost children of Terra, he would be a deliverance on Silver Wings. To the cosmos's myriad of evils he would be a Destroying Angel. Like the Elohim of Terran myths, he would protect the chosen people and be blazing doom to their foes.
Location: Vostroya, Northern Segmentum Obscurus
Date: 890.M30
The lessons taught and the knowledge gained that fateful evening would echo for centuries to come. Particularly during the early years of Imperial expansion into the galactic north. When the great Primarch Dante Uriael and the IX Legion were dispatched on the first expedition to those distant reaches. The IX was renowned across the growing Imperium for its compassion, honor, heroism and martial talent. From Lord-Commander to Neophyte the Legion was forged in the Primarchs image. Skilled in more than the ways of War. The IX Legion is a brotherhood of artists and soldiers. Renowned for winning the compliances of hundreds of worlds. Through refined diplomacy or red-tinged fury. Ranking both in the top three for martial victories and peaceful unification among the twenty legions. These combined reputations and countless merits earned the IX the arduous task of entering the mysterious stars of the galactic north.
A region with scant records and little contact with the rest of the galaxy. The Halo Stars and Ghoul Stars formed a grim crown for the galaxy. Places rife with legends and stories of monsters and fiends. The Imperium had focused on a balanced path of expansion across the galaxy to ensure supply lines were not overstretched or threats were overlooked. Logiticians and other experts in math-lore estimated the Imperium would make its first forays into the galactic north by 925.M30. Recent events had forced the Imperium to move up the time table and dispatch the IX Legion in a macro-expedition to the sectors that bordered both Halo and Ghoul stars.
This exceptional act of dispatching an entire Crusader Fleet and accompanying forces was not without reason. Disturbing reports were coming in from the Imperial system of Vostroya. The industrial world of Vostroya Prime was one of the more important centers of Imperial power in the Segmentum Obscurus. Recently a worrying event rocked the system. Thousands of warp-signatures erupted without warning at the Mandeville point. A massive fleet of unknown origin was warping into the System. Astropathic distress calls were sent. The systems PDF and Mechanicum maniples readied for battle. As the unknown fleet entered into realspace it was bombarded with Vostroyan scans and hails. No response came and the fleet of countless divergent vessel designs simply hung in the void. Silent as the grave.
A strike force of resupplying Solar Auxilia quickly assembled and prepared to board the largest ship in the Ghost Fleet. All auspex scans came up with no signs of life and only the bare minimum of ship functions. Once aboard the seemingly abandoned vessel, they were shocked when its primary airlock opened itself to them. Preparing for the worse the soldiers entered the vessel.
As they skulked through the empty halls of the ship it became apparent something was incredibly wrong. The ship had been vented of atmosphere and its systems seemed to be only operating at the bare minimum to ensure functioning. The first sign the ship was, or at least had been crewed appeared as they approached the bridge. A single human hand clenched around a support bar. Frozen solid and severed at the wrist it showed all the signs of rapid-decompression and void-death. Suddenly very thankful for the Solar Pattern armor they wore. The Auxilia continued into the vessel.
Signs of violence dotted the hallways as they drew closer to the bridge. Las-burns dotted bulkheads. Flattened slugs dented the metal walls, and most worrying of all. Claw marks and blast-patterns of psychic lightning covered the floor and walls. Finally, the imperial scouts reached the Bridges entrance. A hulking door of solid alloys and wardings against warp-predators. Countless scratches were etched into the door. The frantic clawing of human hands leaving trails of frozen blood and much larger cuts made by alien talons.
After checking the surroundings and laying down detection-webs the Auxilia got to work cutting through the scarred bulk-head door. Even with plasma-cutters, it took the Imperials a while to carve an entrance into the bridge. Once inside they found the command deck nearly empty. Its portholes and the faint flicker of cogitator runes the only light. Igniting a few lux-globes the Auxilia spread throughout the Bridge. At the vessels command throne, they found all that remained of the ship's crew. Literally bolted into the command throne was a void-mummified corpse.
The Ship's captain had strapped himself to the throne and kept the ship on course, even into death. If the rigor-mortis grips on the console were any indication. As if sensing their presence the bridge suddenly came to life. Great data-feeds projected forth and started displaying runes and messages recorded by the ship's crew. The tongue and writing system of the ship had diverged significantly from Gothic. Of all the information only two were recognized by the Auxilia. The Skull and Crossed Bone and the three open circles of Biohazard. Symbols born on Ancient Terra and kept across the stars to mean Death and Diseases.
Documenting everything they could the Auxilia prepped themselves for decontamination and left the ghost ship. Similar discoveries were found aboard the entire fleet. Most lacking a captain, and the ship's Machine Spirits slaved to the capital ships will. A Magos Biolagos and his entourage was quickly summoned alongside Dialectic and Cultural experts to decipher the ghost fleet mystery.
The results came back quickly. An unknown Xeno threat had attacked the fleets home system and unleashed a number of mutagenic bio-weapons. In a desperate attempt to flee the Alien onslaught a fleet of hastily assembled refugee ships were launched to the last contacted human system, Vostroya. Infected humans or disguised Xenos, the data was unclear. However, managed to sneak aboard the vessels. The survivors and crew fought valiantly but were quickly overrun as the infection spread through the fleet. Granting the quickly mutating subject to the Xeno Curse a malicious intellect and physical properties beyond mortal humans. As death stalked closer with each passing day and the uninfected found themselves being pushed farther and farther back. The fleet captain made a fateful decision. It was better to die human than let the monsters use him and his fleet to attack another human system. Final messages were recorded. Tearful farewells to a family long dead, and snippets of information on the Alien threat. Then in a final desperate act the fleet exited the warp. Opened all airlocks and shut down all atmospheric systems. Jettisoning everything in the fleet. Freezing and voiding both Xeno and humans alike. Leaving the bridges with just enough air to allow them to plot a new jump into the warp.
This dead fleet had flowed on the Sea of Souls currents for over a century. Finally exiting at Vostroya, carrying a message to all who would listen. This light flung into the future would not go unnoticed. The Imperium of Mankind would avenge the Ghost Fleet and the lost worlds it hailed from. The IX Legion and Primarch Dante Uriael aboard his flagship the Sephirah had arrived at Vostroya. With wings of mercy and blades of wrath, the Imperium was coming. Nothing would stop the Imperial Angel and his sons.
Location: Hossak, Northern Segmentum Obscurus
Date: 890.M30
On a world far from the light of Sol, a small child awoke. The noise of waking birds and insects roused the boy from his slumber. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Eigen son of Deir disentangled himself from the pile of dirty furs he called a bed and went to start his morning routine. He shared the shabby sleeping hut with his grandmother. She would wake soon and he hoped to get water before then. The old woman had a fierce streak about her and did her best to ignore time's slow advance. Eigen had quickly learned the only way to stop her from doing tasks her body could not handle was doing them himself. The war had claimed both his parents and Grandfather. It was up to Eigen to look after his grandmother now.
Ducking out of their small hovel, the boy walked between dingy huts, carrying a rust-stained pail to the village well. The village did not have a name. Names imply time, value or emotional investment. This was just another in a series of refugee camps created by survivors of the invasion. Every few years, the enemy would get closer and the three hundred or so people of the village would flee farther into the wilderness. This would be Eigen's third village. He lost his father at the first one and his mother at the second. His third would not claim his Grandmother, he could not- would not lose the only family he had left.
After a minute or so of walking, Eigen arrived at the well. It was little more than a hastily built pump using recycled bits of a broken land-car to dredge water up. Exchanging greetings with his neighbors also by the pump, Eigen got in line, patiently waiting for the cobbled-together purifier in the well to excrete cleaned water. The enemy liked bioweapons, they had learned that early on. The camp had an old Defense-Smith who knew who to build stuff like the Well. She was probably what had kept them alive this long. Although in the quiet of the night Eigen heard whisper among the elders. Debate on whether death by poison or the elements might be a better fate than capture.
Waiting in line Eigen's thoughts turned to the stories Grandmother told him. Stories of how people lived before the invasion. How cities filled with more people than a thousand villages gleamed under the world's twin suns. Where food was easy to come by and the occasional street gang or mutant was the biggest threat. Such things seemed impossible to Eigen. Other stories she told though, they seemed painfully real. Of how the invasion started.
How long ago the different nations and peoples of this world lived together. It was not always peaceful and bad things happened, but most of the time the people cooperated and understood each other. Of the nations, Belstadt was one of the most powerful. The Bel civilization ruled a great empire of many people for many years. Until one day, when the Star-Masters arrived. On ships of steel and fire, they came to the Bel. Anointing the old aristocracy with strange power and teaching the Bel to hate. The Star Masters said the Bel was the only one worthy of the power and blessings afforded by them. All other nations and peoples must be broken with iron and blood. Armed with the Star Masters power. The Bel started a war to end all other nations.
With weapons that were neither animal or machine, they broke cities. The ancient fleets of the other Nations vainly battled the Parasyte Ships of the Star Masters in the void. Armies of Bel made stronger and crueler by strange science enslaved entire countries. They sent millions into death camps that fed their war machine. The other nations of the world formed an alliance and fought bravely. Not knowing the Star Masters weapons could kill through more subtle means. Water and Food were tainted. The cruel strength and goals of the Bel infected thousands of free people. Who immediately turned upon family and friends before surrendering themselves to the extermination squads. After nearly three decades of fighting, the powers that be became desperate. They sought salvation or at least evacuation. The best and brightest were drafted to build a fleet of arks. Ships that would take the last of Hossaks free people to a distant star.
It took years but eventually, the exile fleet gathered everyone it could and fled to the stars. Nobody knows what happened to it. Some still prayed that they would return one day, to rescue those they had left behind. Others listened to the Bel propaganda announcements, believing the Ark Fleet was cast into Hell as they ran like cowards. Eigen didn't think the truth mattered all that much. Over a century had passed since then. Year after year, the Free Peoples were ground to dust under the enemy assault. Bel soldiers born and bred for War were pumped out of She-Beasts, women mutated by the Star masters to create more of their chosen people. After many fierce battles and brutal years. The last cities and fortresses of the "inferiors" were stamped out. The fight against the Belstadt Empire collapsed. The Free Peoples were struggling just to survive, hiding and traveling across the wilderness. Fearing the Untehounds of the Bel that hunted them always.
Eigen knew the enemy was all around them. More than once he had hidden in some rocky cove or ruined building, holding his breath as a patrol of Bel Troops marched by. The roving village Eigen belonged to was luckier than most. They had survived on the run for almost two decades. Losing some members to raids or Bel patrols yet still surviving. Even at the tender age of ten, Eigen knew the ugly truth of the village. Eventually, they would be caught. You can't run forever, and the enemy ruled the rest of the planet. With every passing day, more resources would be put to wiping out the last few pockets of "inferiors." As much as the village tried and no matter what Eigen hoped, the enemy would find them. In the end, all they could hope was another day of freedom. Even if the next day was the last, and today would be the last.
Eigen was third in line for the well when the first shot was fired. For a second a whistle filled the air, and then the ground shook. His ears rang and stars floated past his eyes. Eigen had been knocked to the ground by a shockwave. Focus returned to his vision just in time to see a glossy black attack craft hover over the village. Shaped like some foul bug the craft floated by, kept aloft by roaring turbines. Machine and even Flyers were rare but not unheard of for Eigen. Looking up at the eerie craft he got a strange sense. As if it was not truly a machine, but something wearing a machine. The way it moved, how its gun ports scanned the village, or its flaps shifted. Eigen was reminded of the great Arachnids of the Noyn jungle his Grandmother told him about.
At that moment, as he sucked air back into his lungs and fought off the concussion racking his body Eigen made two realizations. The first was that they were under attack, and the second was that he needed to get to Grandmother. With painful slowness, the boy pulled himself to his feet. A staccato of gun-fire cracked through the village. Eigen ducked and felt the heat of bullets fly past him. He watched the rounds slam into the steel sheeting of a nearby hut and bounce off. One dropped to the ground next to him. It was soft, made of some sort of putty. Enough to disable but not kill. The Bel intended to take prisoners. Children in the village were taught from the time they could walk that death was better than being captured
Running between the shacks, he tried to ignore the screams and explosions echoing through the village. Eigen was small and fast, able to dart through buildings and pathways. He was getting close to his hut. A little farther and he could reach Grandmother. A nearby scream brought him to a skidding halt. Hiding behind a flimsy wooden wall. Eigen peaked out from behind the building he sheltered next to. In an open space between huts, which had once served as a meeting place. Over a hundred villagers were corralled together like livestock. Black-armored Bel soldiers guarded them with cruel indifference. Still, more soldiers and untehounds entered the makeshift plaza from other side roads, marching and in some cases dragging captured villagers to their fate.
Eigens neighbors, friends and people were being branded and manacled. The scent of fresh blood and expended ammunition wafted through the camp. The boy did not fully notice either of these things. His attention was stuck on the leader of the Bel. Standing taller than the tallest man he had ever seen, was a thing of nightmares. Human in shape along, it was hairless, dreadfully pale and clad in armor that seemed to fuse with its flesh. Cruel cables of woven veins and fluid tubes traced the nightmare's body. One hand was a collection of sinuous tendrils and manipulators. The other, a chimera of steel, tissue, and bone that was shaped into an alien facsimile of a hand and churigon tools. Despite its swollen and distorted form, and its grotesque perversion of the human figure. The thing's face had a beautiful, human elegance married to its biomechanical horror.
Dread and revulsion filled Eigen. He had never seen anything like the nightmare before him but he knew what it was called. It was a Bel Noble. The selected of the selected. Those chosen by the Star Masters to be elevated past humanity. They were physically and mentally augmented in countless ways. Every Bel was raised to worship and emulate the Nobles. Hoping they would be found worthy to join the growing ranks of the chosen aristocracy. Pulling his eyes away from the foul thing. Eigen tried to fight off the mind-shattering fear the Noble instilled in him. One of the arriving soldiers pushed a new figure into the plaza. Even while enthralled by terror Eigen realized who it was. The soldiers had captured his grandmother.
Without thinking he ran forward, rushing to the old woman. Weaving past the soldiers and embracing her. Looking at her last grandchild she whispered in a sad rasp "Oh Eigen, why didn't you run?"
Failing to hold back his tears, Eigen hugged his grandmother and wept. He had no answer other than a pure desire to be with his family and not leave her to die alone. Cold, hard hands grabbed Eigen by the collar and pulled him away from his grandmother. Hot metal was pressed to his neck and the boy screamed. A brand to identify and track him was seared into his flesh. The Bel Soldier pulled him further back, holstered his brander and locked ugly cuffs to Eigen's wrists. The plastic insert in the manacles swelled to trap his small hands, locking him in irons like the rest of his people.
Once every villager was accounted for, the soldiers locked their human quarry to a great chain that connected to a Bel troop carrier. Marching behind the convoy of armored vehicles, the villagers despaired. The strong helped carry the weak. The young and old were guided and protected. After nearly three hours of marching the prisoners reached their destination. Laying between rocky outcroppings and stunted trees was a great machine, shaped like some eldritch wyrm of metal and flesh. With insectoid segments that could open up to carry cargo. Easily large enough to carry the people and all the belongings of ten villages. This was another thing Eigen had heard of but never seen. An Untapede. It would load him and his entire village into its hold. Then slither across the ground like a gigantic serpent. Taking them to the final solution the Star Masters had decreed for the unchosen.
One by one they were marched into the pitch-black container-segment. Eigen and his Grandmother stayed close to each other. They were to the back of the line. Pulled forward slowly into the maw-like Untapede hold. Ahead of them, Nivic, daughter of Malai, a young woman from the village started to panic. Pulling on her chains she wailed and begged the Soldiers around them for mercy. A blur of motion flitted past Eigen and before he could process, the Noble was next to Nivic. Expressionless it peered down at the sobbing women. Her screams died as dread filled her mind. Nivic slumped to her knees and stared up at the towering mass of flesh and metal.
The noble's mouth changed. Opened was not the right word. Unfolded was probably closer. Plates of chitin and plastic designed to mimic skin shifted inhumanly. The Noble's jaw split and extended, leaving room for a… thing to stir out of its throat. Like some primordial worm, dredged up from the ocean's bottom it extended. Sickly pale and fleshy. The animated appendage stretched out of the noble's maw and approached Nivic. It twitched and moved, sensing the environment and the young women before it. Then in a flash, the worm struck. Its tip unfolding into a horrid chimera of stinger and mouth. The Worm stabbed into Nivic's forehead, puncturing her skin and skull, thrusting the fleshy protuberance into her brain. The noises Nivic made while she died were beyond expression. However, her screams and seizures could not fully cover up the horrific sounds of the Noble feeding. It sucked the neural tissue from her brain like an arachnid drinking its trapped prey.
After far too long the noise stopped as the Noble finished feeding. The worm pulled itself from her corpse and returned to the Nobles body. Its mouth resealed itself and the monster stalked away from its kill. A pair of Bel soldiers grabbed Nivic's corpse and hauled it away. As they left Eigen heard one remark to the other: "Unchosen harlot should be honored Margraf Rachhet chose her as feed. Our lady lowered herself to devour this sow."
Eigen and his Grandmother were loaded into the cargo-segment along with the other villagers. The segments door squeezed shut and the nearly three hundred survivors were packed into the container designed for carrying livestock. A single high up slit in the door provided the only light for them. Holding his grandmother's arms Eigen started to weep. Soon others joined him. The only noise in the box was the gentle murmur of crying. After what felt like an hour, the distant engines of the Untapede came to life. A deep vibration passed through the craft and it started to move.
The Untapede scuttled across the ground, taking them to their fate. It traveled for hours, no food or water was provided. Some of the more injured prisoners collapsed from exhaustion. Eigen and his Grandmother passed the time singing old songs from a nearly extinct culture, seeking to comfort each other. They traveled for at least twelve hours, the scent of soiled clothing and misery started to fill the segment. Some people had tried to sleep, others watched the environment for whatever next threat appeared. Eigen felt himself fading into unconsciousness, the gentle rumbling of the Untapedes movements strangely soothing.
Just as he teetered on the brink of sleep the Untapede came to an abrupt halt. The former villagers were tossed about by the rapid deceleration. The segments floor shook as a great explosion went off nearby. Soon the silence of there transport was replaced with gunfire and heavier discharges. Screams and thundering explosions could be heard, getting closer with each passing breath. The crackle of flames and ripping metal added to the cacophony. With what little space remained the villagers huddled into the far wall. Away from the door and whatever was happening outside.
A scream of steel being torn filled the segment. Two massive blades ripped through either side of the door. The metal plate designed to keep bovines penned in was shredded. The rail system the door was locked into was torn out. A pair of hulking hands punched through the sliding doors front. With great effort the hands ripped the metal door in half, sending each part flying in each direction. Sunlight poured into the segment, the second of Hossaks twin suns still in the sky. Eigens eyes adjusted and his mouth fell agape. Standing before them was an Angel.
Clad in ornate armor of red and gold. It towered over Eigen and was the size of the Bel Noble. Great wings of steel protruded from its back. Feathers of shining metal slick with blood. Its face was a helm of noble countenance and a great blade and gun were sheathed at its waist. The villagers were too tired to scream, only stare up at the supernatural giant. Its head cocked to the side slightly. Descending slowly, it rested on its knee. The great wings protruding from the Angels back folded behind it. Armored hands that had ripped apart solid steel reached up to its helmet and removed it with a click. Beautiful features and short golden hair spilled from the helm. The Angel spoke in a deep, rich accented voice. "Fear not! I am Battle-Brother Yasen of the IX Legion. Ancient Terra has come for her children."
Behind him, they could see the last of a battle being raged. The corpses of Bel soldiers dotted the ground. In a nearby crater, a teardrop-shaped machine opened up like a flower of metal. Donning his helmet the Battle-Brother spoke again: "You are under the protection of the Angels of Death, we have come to save your world from its Xeno invaders. The Auxilia will be here soon. All will be well."
Not fully understanding what was happening Eigen felt himself speaking despite himself. If this Angel was truly here to help them. It must stop the thing of living nightmares. "Angel, is the Noble dead? Did you kill it?"
Before the Angel could respond they got the answer. A blood-curdling scream echoed through the air. The Bel Noble pounced over the Untapede and slammed into the Astartes. Its bulk and momentum Carrying the Angel of Death to the ground. The Astartes brought his hands up and threw the creature off of him and scrambled to his feet. Hissing slightly the Bel-Noble landed a dozen feet away from the Untapedes segment. Drawing his chain-sword with both hands the Angel flared his wings menacingly. Shouting over his Vox: "Khrave located, possible uninfected civilians found. Take to the skies, my brothers!"
With a great downbeat of his metal wings, the Astartes shot forward. Propelled by superhuman muscle and archeotech wings. Brother Yasen brought his chainblade down towards the Khrave. Its engine roaring for blood. The Xenos wrapped the tendrils forming its right arm into a solid mass and cloaked it in psychic energy, blocking the chainblade just in time. The impact pushed the Xeno back another few paces. Its face near touching the Astartes helmet. In a voice, both fearfully human and greatly alien the Xeno spoke: "We are Khrave no longer, now we are Rangda."
With great effort, the Rangda-Khrave pushed Yasen back. Lifting its left arm, bolts of psychic lightning discharged from the horrid claw. Yasen cloaked himself with his wings, blocking the bolts and rushed forwards. His wings expanding out in great arcs of killing edges. The Rangda-Khrave danced backward. Its armor scratched by the very tips of Yasens feathers. Yasen then pushed forward. Unholstering his bolt gun he emptied its rounds into the Xeno. He attacked four different ways. His wings moving with impossible grace to parry and slash. Chainsword and Bolt Pistol striking out with methodical accuracy.
Snarling slightly the Xeno fired a heavy barrage of Warp-Energy from its claw-cannon. Enough to force Yasen to momentarily pause his attack. The Rangda-Khrave's tendril-blade split. From one great blade to a dozen lashing whips coated in psychic power. To Yasen's horror, the whip-blades started to chip and crack his feathers and blade. The Xeno had turned its weapons into formidable force-weapons and its technique was truly formidable. The mechanical precision of each blow, combined with a feral animalistic power was dangerous.
A singular deft strike lashed across Yasen's chest and forearms, splitting through ceramite and drawing blood. Larraman's Cells quickly closed the wound. Yasen ignored the pain and the psychic-feedback of the Weapon, which could cause minor seizures to mortals. Snarling with a mixture of contempt and rage the Astartes pressed forward. His chainsword and wings catching the many blades of the Rangda-Khrave. The Astartes and Xeno locked blades and matched strength. The Xeno was stronger, no doubt of that, but not enough to easily overpower an Astartes. Staring into the horrific face before him Yasen spoke: "I am the anvil of War."
From above the Rangda-Khrave, another voice answered: "And I am the Hammer of Wrath."
A power-sword came down in a perfect arc. Bisecting the Xenos head and upper torso. Another of Yasen's squad had arrived. An Astartes using his mighty wings and armor thrusters had flown a short distance and cleaved through the Xeno. Yasen pulled back and ripped his chainsword through the Rangda-Khraves torso. Splitting it in half. Both Astartes backed away from the Xeno, dislodging their weapons from it. An opaque white fluid poured from the grievous wounds. The new Astartes, a Battle-brother named Araqiel pulled out his Volkite pistol and prepared to burn the Xeno. Yasen stopped his squad-mate when he saw a slight movement in the shredded body.
Yasen plunged a gauntleted forearm into what was left of the Rangda-Khraves chest. With a grotesque squelch, Yasen ripped a massive worm from the corpse. It thrashed in his grip and hissed with its sucker-fangs. Fleshy roots, attached to its host-body snapped like viscous threads. After studying it for a second, Yasen squeezed the pale worm until it popped. The Xeno worm splattered into a pool of broken tissue and white fluid. Tossing it to the ground Yasen nodded to his battle-brother. Using the miniature underslung flamers provided for this mission and Araqiels volkite they turned the Rangda-Khrave into ash.
The Battle-Brothers shook hands, locking wrists in the typical legion fashion. Araqiel spoke: "It's a good thing you checked. The main body could have escaped into the soil while I burned its exoskeleton."
Shrugging slightly Yasen responded: "I should be thanking you, Brother, it pains me to think how much longer I could fight the enemy. I do not doubt your Volkite could have reduced it to dust before it could escape. My goal was to check what the Adeptus Umbrex reports said was true. This Xeno filth has turned this entire planet into a factory farm. Consuming most of the population and using the collaborators to breed better host-bodies. That thing was once human, now it was a suit of mutated flesh worn by a Khrave-Worm."
Araqiel gripped the handle of his power-sword tight enough to crack granite: "So the Khrave we have in the Lexicanum records were not using stolen human flesh? Wearing some other poor Xeno. Brother Maniul said the ones he fought while deployed on Expedition Fleet 93 had mandibles and four arms."
"It seems so, our records show the Khrave preferred warp-craft over other technology. This biological and technological mutilation is also new. We must send this data to command. It can be sent along with the freed prisoners. They will need to be tested for contamination." responded Yasen.
Araqiel bid his squadmate goodbye and took to the skies. He was part of the Legion minority that could do more than glide or slightly hover with his wings. Yasen would catch up with his squad soon. He knew they needed every blade they could during the conquest of this land-train station. Even so, he had sworn to protect the mortals he had found. Without the IX Legions interference, they would have been sent to one of the many "farms" scattered around the Belstadt contient.
Returning the terrified villagers, who had not left the Undtpede segment. For fear of provoking his or the Xenos wrath. Yasen spoke to them. Explaining the Imperium of Mankind and why they were here. He was no Iterator but the IX Legion always had a certain charisma to them. Within a few short minutes, an Auxilia transport arrived. The landing craft easily overshadowed the Land-Train his squad had stopped. Adding a mixture of awe and even more fear to the villagers.
The ship's landing doors opened and Solar Auxilia poured from it. Squads, transports, tanks, prefab buildings and more exited the lander. A well-armored Troop Master approached the Astartes and saluted. Yasen returned the salute and spoke: "Troop Master, I have refugees and tactical data. Ensure both get to command. These civilians have suffered greatly, treat them with the respect any Imperial citizen deserves. I know I can count on the good men and women of the Auxilia to do this."
The Troop-Master glanced over the freed prisoners and spoke: "On my honor as Troop Master of the 5th Red Kestrel Terico I swear to you Angel of Death." The Astartes handed the Troop Master a cogitator disk dispensed from his armor with all the data recorded from his fight. Yasen saluted the prisoners he had freed and returned to the battlefield.
Turning to her soldiers Troop Master Numeria Aibara barked: "You heard the Astartes, get some ration packs to these civilians and tell the churgion to prep his tools. I want each of these people, fed, inspected and ready to launch by sundown."
The Enginseers assigned to the Terico got to work cutting the restraints off the freed prisoners. Having spent years among the soldiers of the Imperium these Martian adepts possessed manners enough to try and not frighten the shocked survivors. Soon enough the former villagers found themselves within a prefab building. Eating surprisingly decent rations, talking with Auxilia in the make do mess hall. Waiting for them to be taken one by one to be examined by the Churgion. So far results were good, the isolated nature and filters used by the village had protected them from the contagion unleashed by the Xeno invaders. The Churgion theorized the century or so of surviving the biochemical assault had given them minor resistance to the agents used. Or the Khrave had simply wanted the refugees and other similar "wild game" fresh and clean. The latter seemed more likely since the biological agents found in the wilds of the planet seemed tame compared to the ones used in the "farms" liberated by the IX.
Holding his Grandmother's hand and listening to an energetic Auxilia describe the Solar System. Eigen felt safe for the first time he could remember. He had watched an Angel risk his life to protect them. The Az-tart-ess as the Soldier called the Angels had been created to destroy monsters and keep humans safe. By this account, Eigen felt they had succeeded in this purpose. The man in the white robe had given him and his grandmother a shot, and he enjoyed the bowl of warm food in front of him. They had survived, in the century since the Bel's complete conquest the survivors had seen little but the very worst mankind could offer. Now the very best had arrived. Bringing deliverance on Silver Wings.
Location: The Seraphim, flagship to the IX Legion - In orbit of Vostroya.
Date: 890.M30 (One Solar Week before the assault on Hossak)
The IX Crusader Fleet left Vostroya with as much data as the Imperium could squeeze from the ghost fleet. All added to the rapidly growing Lexancium archive. Vostroya also had another gift for the IX Legion as they prepared to leave. The industrial world provided fifty Auxilia Cohorts to join the IX Crusader Fleet. Each cohort was composed of 120,000 trained soldiers and equipped with the best weapons and supplies Vostroya had, swelling the Imperial Fleet by six and a half million.
Dante noted with a grim acceptance that these numbers would be needed in the coming battles. The shifting tides of fate obstructed his foresight, but not enough to blind him of the huge amount of death to come. The future seethed with inevitable carnage. Data gained from the Mechancium analysis of the ghost fleet indicated the nature of the threat and the fleet's system of origin. A Xeno-Horribilis known as The Khrave were to blame. These nocturnal mind-eaters had been encountered before, yet never with power or numbers to conquer an urban world capable of warp-travel. They had mainly been wandering predators, picking off weak worlds or populations similar to how the Eldar hunted. Analyzing the data, Dante felt his father's cryptic words echo through his mind. "We will face three great threats in the Great Crusade. The taint of Chaos, the Greenskin hordes and festering horror of the Rangda Cerebvore along with their spawn."
Much like Dante, the Emperor's psychic foresight was diminished by the sheer complexity and variability of multiple, simultaneous, galaxy-wide wars. The Master of Mankind had done his best to warn his sons but trusted them to use their own judgment. Malleable visions of possible futures would do more to harm than help. Still, foresight was useful in both immediate and especially for long term use, where the trends of destiny were more set. Foresight had become a valuable tool of the IX legion, its Primarch forming a pact of students both Human and Astartes to assist him. This Grigori Choir as it became known was composed of Librarians and sanctioned Psykers who worked together to enhance the potency and accuracy of Dante's visions.
The Choir had storied history and showed its worth yet again as the IX Prepared to journey to the Khrave infested system. In the great resonant amphitheater at the heart of the Sephirah, the flagship of the IX Legion, hundreds of psykers stood in attendance arranged into choruses of one librarian aided by nine psykers. The Grigori prepared to work as Dante stood in the center of the amphitheater, acting as the focal point of the ritual. Clothed in white robes, the Primarch flared his wings out and started to chant. At this signal, his sons and students joined him. Inhumanly beautiful voices harmonized in a meditative song. As the Archangel, angels and anointed humans sang their minds drifted into the immaterial. Just as their voices added to each other in the material, their minds worked together to peer into the future.
This choir of angels and angel-touched added their power to the gilded inferno that was the IX Primarch, allowing the superhuman intellect of Dante to pluck details and information from a thousand possible futures. Dante's goal wasn't to predict or change the future. Instead, he sought to gather as much tactical data as possible. If in a hundred futures, an enemy fleet opened fire upon the IX Legion, Dante had a hundred visions to learn the formation and tactics of the enemy.
Learning all he could, Dante started to feel the strain of this task upon his choir. They would be needed in the battles to come. With a soothing whisper to their souls, the Primarch guided the Grigori to end the ritual. It was no easy thing to touch a Primarch's soul, even with his consent and guidance. As was their tradition, the psykers each grasped the metal wings of their overseeing Astartes who in turn formed a chain of hands around the room, connecting all the Librarians, and ending the chain at the two Coryphaeus Librarians. In turn, the two leaders of the left and right side of the choir touched the Primarchs wings to form a great chain through which thoughts and memories could pass, feeding into the Primarch's mind and expanding his view of events past his own interpretation and perspective.
Ending this process by folding his wings, the Primarch bowed to the Grigori and offered words of appreciation and kindness. Leaving the Choir to recover from the ordeal, Dante left to consult with his officers. Within the strategy-deck of the Seraphim, Dante met with the four battle masters of his Legion, known as the Hayyoth. These Astartes were personally selected as his closest subordinates after a grueling vetting process, and each was a master of a distinct breed of warfare. First was Raldoron-bin-Vir, master of the Legion's elites. The second was Asmodei-bin-Tauri, master of the Legion's armor-skeletons. The third was Sahaqi-bin-Avis, master of the Legion's winged and mounted warriors. The fourth was Verchiel-bin-Leo, master of the Legion's warriors of the blade and claw. Fifth in attendance was not a member of the Hayyoth brotherhood of generals. Azkaellon-bin-Vigil, the leader of the Ophanim. The Primarch's own guards stood in the shadow of his gene-fathers wings.
The five Astartes saluted their Primarch and sat at the grand holo table in the room's center. Each of the Astartes was proud noble warriors, but they were nothing compared to the radiant splendor of their gene-father. Even after over a century of close exposure and companionship, the warriors of the IX's inner circle were awestruck by Dante's aura. The Primarch was an Angel given flesh and struck awe and devotion into the hearts of mankind.
Each of the chosen Astartes felt a sense of pride that they had been trusted by their Primarch to be his closest advisors. They, who were tasked to hear of his visions first, tasked with helping Dante share his prophetic burden. Knowledge of these visions and seats at the Holo-Table would soon be expanded to the Lord-Commanders, Chapter Masters and other elite of the Legion. The nature of the Primarch's visions sometimes required only his most trusted sons to learn the full truth. Mortal and Astartes alike seeking to alter the future could easily become sources of calamity. It took a skilled hand and deft intellect to weave new futures. Knowledge alone of possible futures without the ability to handle that information had spelled the doom of countless seers across species and millennia. Dante sought to prevent that fate befalling himself or his sons.
With a gesture, Dante produced a psychic illusion of the world they sought. A projection of information compiled from countless visions turned into a military briefing by a demigod's mind. Combining words and psychic messages the Primarch spoke. "The Ghost Fleet's origin is a civilized world called Hossak of the Hossak system. It is less than a week of Warp-Travel away and will be relatively easy to navigate too. The scar upon the Warp left by the Ghost fleets final voyage is still visible to Navigators and me. The Hossak system is under the control of the Xeno species known as the Khrave. They are mind-eaters. Some of my brothers and the Expedition Fleets have encountered them before."
Dante pulled up a flurry of images pulled from the Imperial Lexicanum and his visions. Depicting the Khrave and all their depravity. "The actual Khrave are a species of parasitic worm. They capture other sentient species and consume their neural tissue and psychic activity through an unknown process. Horrifically, they also use bodies of sentient species found acceptable as hosts." The displayed data cut to a helm-recording of a VI Legion Astartes ripping the limbs of a horrific hunched over bat-like Xeno. The Astartes paused for a moment and let out a primal roar before plunging an armored fist into Xenos's chest and ripping a wriggling white worm free of its husk.
Returning the images to projections of the Hossak system the Primarch continued: "My visions and psychic senses indicate the Khrave are using Hossak as a farm of sorts. They are using the local humans as some sort of livestock, keeping part of the population as hosts and enforcers, while the rest are herded into concentration camps. We will face a combination of modified STC equipment used by the indigenous humans and more exotic Xeno weapons. Tyric and his sons reported the Khrave using psychic weaponry that turns warp-energy into blades and bolts."
Taking a deep breath Dante let the image fade and spoke somberly: "My sons, I fear this coming battle. Not because what we will face or what must be done to the lost and damned humans upon Hossak. I fear it for what it will ignite. We will win this battle, from a logistical, tactical, and strategic perspective, the Khrave lack the resources to stop the might of an Imperial Legion. There was not a single future where I saw us take substantial losses or damage of any kind. What happens after this battle is what disturbs me."
The golden light that accompanied the Primarch seemed to dim. The Archangel of Mankind feeling the weight of his burden. "My sons, we have fought for decades to ensure the survival of mankind. Faced horrors and evils beyond count. Bringing judgment to all through blade and flame. Our liberation of Hossak will set forth a chain of events that will start a conflict beyond anything any of us have seen. Beyond anything, any living being aside from my Father and his contemporaries have witnessed. Mankind seeks to claim this galaxy as our domain. We are not the only ones. My visions have seen our foe. Xeno's capable of evil and destruction comparable only to the Orks and Chaos dwell in the galactic north. A festering empire that conquerors and kills in the cruelest manners possible. The Khrave are but a vassal and a tool to this enemy. Until now, the Imperium and this enemy have not come in contact. By striking the Khrave, we will start a war that will threaten mankind and the entire galaxy."
"The Rangda await us, they will unleash bio-terrors and war-breeds upon mankind. They will make no distinction between civilians or soldiers. We will suffer horribly in this endeavor. The Rangda will corrupt entire worlds with their gene-plagues, forcing us to butcher innocent humans by the billions. We were made to protect and help mankind. The coming war will make us defile that oath in order to fulfill it. My sons, I have seen the atrocities that must be done. Cities of millions burned with phosphex for fear of a single infected. Seven Legions, including us, will suffer greatly in the coming Xenocides. All of this will be- no, must be started when we bring death to the Khrave upon Hossak."
Pausing for a moment, letting the impact of his words fall like hammer blows upon his chosen advisors, Dante slowly stood up from his throne at the head of the holotable and spread his wings. "Raldoron, Asmodei, Sahaqi, Verchiel, Azkaellon, my loyal sons. I tell you this not to dishearten or dismay. We are the Angels of Death. Our Legion perhaps more than any other is worthy of that title. My father created us to do what must be done in the service of mankind. The trials before us will be great. The consequences for failure is the death of our species. In the times to come the Imperium will need us more than ever. The IX Legion will be Angels of Death. Just as we were always meant to be. War against the Rangda will test us, and I trust you all to do your duty. Telling you all these dire visions is meant to help you steel your souls and help me guide the IX Legion. We will start this war with a full understanding of what it entails. That does not just mean the destruction that will come from it. When we bring steel rain to Hossak and a thousand more worlds touched by the Rangda, we will save lives and end suffering. In the ancient texts of Terran cults, the Angel of Death was not always a figure of destruction. It was sometimes a figure of mercy and protection. The IX Legion will fly upon Silver Wings where even Daemons fear to tread. We will do so with righteous fury and just mercy. We will do this not just because our Emperor commands it, nor our Imperial Truth demands it. We will fight because it is what is right. There are people we can save and monsters we can slay. I will spread my wings and shed my blood to save all I can, I ask you to do the same. Take to the skies with me, my sons. For we shall know no fear and our enemy will know our wrath."
As one, the five angels knelt before the Primarch and swore oaths to their genefather. This trust would not be misplaced and they would not fail. Raldoron the first of the Hayyoth and Equerry to Dante spoke: "It honors me my Sire you trust us with this knowledge. I still must ask why you should risk your life for the possibility of saving the lives of a handful of holdout across Xeno infested worlds. Dante, my Primarch. I would rather die a thousand deaths than watch you fall to a threat as dire as this. Let us Astartes enter the fray in your sted."
Smiling a sad smile the Primarch responded: "My role to play is this. If an Angel does not bring judgment or guard the innocent it cannot be called an Angel. The Emperor created me to save those I can, and destroy those who I must. Your love and care for me is felt my Son, but I cannot ask anyone to face what is to come if I do not. The path will be hard but we will triumph. I would spread my wings and fly to my death gladly for mankind."
Nodding solemnly the Hayyoth saluted the Primarch and Azkellon spoke: "By our blood, are blades, and our brotherhood we will not let such a thing happen. We will fly wingtip to wingtip with you wherever you go for however long we can father."
Location: Bel-Haust, Capital hive of Hossak.
Date: 890.M30
The IX Fleet exited the Warp in a flash of impossible color and distorting reality. They had traveled along the current of ugly death forged by the Ghost Fleet's voyage. Gellar Fields and Hexagrammic wards obliterated the colony of Nurglic Daemons feeding on the psychic-trail of misery and death. Like some great spear thrown by a primordial god, the IX Fleet re-entered real space in battle formation. This was not a mission of peace or even the pretense of diplomacy. Mankind's wrath had come and it would make the stars tremble.
The Seraphim and its orbit of escort ships were the first to be noticed by Hossak's defenses. Cogitators screamed warnings of enemy contacts and targeting lasers locking onto the massive Flagship. The IX Crusader Fleet had warped into the primary Mandeville Point of Hossak which was in the range of two Star Forts, placed to guard the route from Hossak to Vostroya. For a split second, the Imperial fleet hung in the void as the Warp disgorged the last of its vessels. On the bridge of the Seraphim, Primarch Dante stood, peering across the Hossak system with superhuman and supernatural senses.
Of all the Primarchs, few possessed psychic senses even close to Dante. Where Magnus possessed the most raw power, and Kalib Kraad boasted control beyond compare, Dante had the sensitivity and aptitude to observe past, present, and future with incredible detail. The Primarch felt the unguarded thoughts, emotions, and activity of the entire Hossak System. Dante's perfect expression was a mask of beatific stoicism, hiding his thoughts as he let his shimmering soul spread out across the system.
He could feel it. The death, the hate, the misery, the sheer evil that infested this system. How men turned on each other for cursed power. Billions living and dying in city-sized death camps designed to keep a stable population of people as livestock. On top of it all, the gluttonous alien intellects of the Khrave slithered across the system, wearing stolen flesh and devouring the minds of innocents, leaving a cloud of broken souls to cover the local warp like some dreadful pall. The way the Khrave harvested… They did not simply kill. The title of 'mind eater' given to these Xenos was far too literal. As they consumed living prey, always living prey, the Khrave used their own psychic talents to feed upon the soul of whatever human was unlucky enough to fall in their grasp. Just as they sucked neural tissue out of broken skulls, the Khrave hollowed out there victims souls to increase their own warp-potency
Their horrific actions left untold billions of broken souls to wander the shallows of the Warp, violated in such ways they could not even find peace in the Astronomicon. These pour things, for to call them souls would no longer be accurate, existed in a state of broken death. They were but scraps of souls, suffering immaterial dementia. Easy pickings for the carrion-eaters of the Warp. Normally in places of horror like this, where unprotected souls filled the warp, the endless hunger of Chaos glutted itself on these lost spirits. In the Warp around Hossak, the Great Powers were uninterested. The discarded scraps weren't even enough to gain the attention of the thirsting gods. They left this miasma to their most pathetic Daemons, letting the Furies, Chaos Beasts and other spiritual vermin enjoy this bounty.
A single tear of stigmatic blood dropped from the Primarch's eye, splattering upon the granite floor and quickly fading from being. Unsheathing his twin blades, Dante read the minds of the traitors and Xenos upon the Star-Forts. Unsure of what was happening, they were afraid to open fire on a possible ally. Dante intended to enlighten them and ensure they died screaming. Raising up his left-handed blade. A cruel-looking thing of black-metal and a brutal pommel of red leather and rubies named Mephiston. Matched by a silver-bladed twin of cultured gold and other precious metals named Alatron. With his blade of wrath raised, the Primarch gave the order. "Show no mercy. Today, we are Angels of Death and we shall show them our wrath!"
At that signal, over a thousand different weapons were discharged. Fighter squadrons of Xiphons and other patterns emerged from the flanks of the Imperial vessels. Enough lance-fire to melt a country smashed into the void shields of the Star Forts. The shields held but barely. Auger scans relayed tactical scans of the Forts. They seemed to be derived from STC patterns, but with strange Xeno modifications. Tumor-like growths of metal and flesh stuck onto the Star-Forts, latched onto docking ports like eldritch leeches.
As the Star Fort's void shields attempted to recover from the lance bombardment, the second part of the assault started. A swarm of macro-cannon shells and solid ordinance shredded the Star Fort's shielding and blasting holes in the stations. Creating an opening for the final part of the Imperial opening salvo. Torpedos and Attack Crafts filled the void. Before the Star Forts flak defenses could respond to attack Imperial ordinance smashed into them. Armor Piercing Torpedos burrowing into its superstructure and ripping the Starfort apart. The Attack Craft barely had time to unleash their wrath before the two Star Forts were shredded to pieces.
The Xeno tumors attached to the now shattered Star Forts split off. Undulating through the void like some primordial sea creature. These were Khrave Ships. As they moved away the vessels unfolded. Six 'wings' stretched from the main body as films of energy bloomed between each wing, forming a web of plasma and more exotic discharges. The wings had formed into a star-shaped sail at the vessel's bow. Dante considered giving the order to engage but did not want to send his subordinates blindly into the unknown. The Khrave web ships shot away from the Imperial Fleet, showing acceleration that outperformed all but the most specialized craft. Fleet cogitators and sensor arrays worked to dissect any and all information they could from the xeno vessels. It would be needed in the days to come.
At the Primarchs orders the Imperial fleet sailed towards Hossak, they would blast anything without an Aquilia on it to dust. It would have been well within the ability of the IX Crusader Fleet to blitz through the Star-Forts and reach Hossak before the infested planet could realize what was happening, but Dante wanted the Khrave to know he was coming. These were not mindless or twisted Xenos incapable of fear or panic. The Khrave were bizarrely and horrifically alien, but at their core, they were sentient parasites who from their earliest evolutionary roots had learned to fear one thing above all else: discovery and destruction by their host. Dante wanted the worms to know what was coming. He wanted them to understand that an armada they stood no chance against was bearing down upon them. The Primarch wanted some enemy cowards to escape deeper into the Rangda Empire and tell stories about what happened on Hossak. The Rangda and their vassal breeds had tortured the children of Terra without any consequences. Now they would learn to fear the Angels of Death.
After a few hours of steady travel, the planet Hossak grew from a speck of light to a world. The IX Legion had spent these hours making any last-minute adjustments and preparations for the inevitably bloody assault. As the orbital defenses of Hossak came into view the true void battle started. Three orbital stations circled the planet. These were not simple Star Forts, but floating cities meant to house the Khrave and their most elite servants. A squadron of escort vessels and cruisers of various designs swarmed the stations along with a single massive ship of Battleship weight class or higher. Where the fleet around the orbitals was an eclectic mix of Human, Orkish, Fra'al, Tallerian and other designs, the battleship, however, was distinctly different. It was bulbous, lacking in armament, and reminded Dante of the Terran pest called sowbugs. The sowbug ship had a small flock of transport craft rapidly leaving it, heading for the planet's surface. At that moment the Primarch understood what he was looking at. The Sowbug was not a carrier or battleship, it was a matter conveyor. A Xeno supply and trade ship of massive size. Gripping his twin swords tightly, the Primarch bared his teeth. Hossak was a livestock world for the Xenos. The sowbug was meant for taking slaughtered humans to market.
At Dante's orders, the Seraphim charged its Nova-Cannon. The superweapon was loaded with an adamantium shell and fired at near light speed. The Imperials would send a message to the Khrave and their masters. One written in fire and blood. The nova cannons' blast shredded clean through one of the orbital stations and split the sowbug in half, spilling its cargo and guts into Hossak's orbit.
The first squadron of Khrave escorts flew towards the IX Crusader Fleet's own escort craft. Destroyers and frigates exchanged light fire, a prelude for what was to come. The Imperials were curious about the nature of the Khrave fleet. It seemed a ramshackle collection of salvage, barely united in weight class and nothing else. It was not even close to matching the designs or weaponry of the webships encountered before. As a torpedo from an Imperial Cobra blasted open the side of a Khrave frigate, the nature of the ragtag fleet became clear. The Tallerian hull of the frigate split open, revealing a milky white shell of flesh-plastic hidden under the outer layers of the ship. The Khrave scrap-fleet was neither scrap nor Khrave. These were not salvaged ships, used out of opportunity or necessity. These were Rangda vessels, wearing the husks of enemy ships.
From the exposed Rangda core, the frigate extended a twisted nozzle. Swelling with alien energies, the turret discharged a gout of monochrome flames, smashing into the Cobra that torpedoed the Rangda frigate. The blast burned through the void shield-like acid, smearing itself over the Cobra's hull. The Imperial escort went dark, its cogitators, and crew going silent as the void. Yet the ship seemed only slightly damaged, scorched and twisted by some entropic weapon while still recognizably Imperial.
Auspex readouts could not make sense of what had happened to the Cobra. The Rangda weapon had doused it with a bizarre combination of hard radiation, necrotic energy, and grav-distortion. It was a foul concoction designed to destroy anything living upon the Cobra, melting tissue and bone into irradiated ash while leaving a contaminated shell for the Rangda to use.
The escort squadron charged the Imperial Fleet, but Dante would not allow them to get off a volley. The Imperial Fleet opened fire. Plasma and other more exotic munitions slammed into the Rangda ships, shearing off the stolen exoskeletons then blasting holes in the anthropic vessel. Milky white fluid bubbled from the wounds torn into the Rangda vessels, quickly congealing into a new section of the hull. The core Rangda vessels lacked armor, relying on their husks for protection. However, their techno-organic structure allowed surprising regeneration. Still, the tremendous firepower of the IX Fleet made quick work of the enemy defenses. Energy Weapons burned the Rangda Husk-Ships and Khrave orbital platforms into cosmic debris, creating a meteor shower across Hossak.
At the Primarch's order, the IX crusader fleet spread out across Hossak orbit, identifying chief targets and any humans unbound by the Khrave camps. All across Hossak, steel rain started to fall. Millions of drop pods and bombardment shells poured from the void. Astartes Companies with Auxilia reinforcements targeted the countless human-farms and traitor cities across Hossak. Stormbird flights deployed from Battle-Barges by the dozens, adding to the deluge of Imperial might. From the holds of the Stormbirds squadrons of Astartes lept. Techno-Organic Wings inherited from there Primarch letting them glide through the sky. A host of Angels ready to bring mankind's fury.
The Seraphim itself took geosynchronous orbit above the capital of Hossak. Bel-Haust, a country-sized Hive-Spire and center of the Khrave occupation. Lance Batteries opened fire on the Hives shields, relentlessly pounding the monument to Khrave enslavement. Fighter craft and squadrons of Attack-Drones poured from the Hive, exiting the void shield and engaging the Imperial forces descending from the sky. Bel-Haust stretched into low-orbit. It's top forming into a space-elevator from which Sowbug transports and other Xeno ships could dock. The burning wreckage of a Khrave orbital lay strewn around the hives outskirts. The void and ion shields protecting the hive had deflected or destroyed. The IX Legion would need to attack from the sides, where the shields were weakest. Destroy or deactivate the defenses if orbital weapons were to be used.
This suited the Astartes and Primarch perfectly. They were not built to man void-batteries or grind an enemy to dust through attrition. The IX Legion was a force of righteous fury. They would take to the skies and bring death to the Khrave, with Primarch Dante Uriael at their head. Giving command of the Seraphim to Barchiem, Ship-Master of the legion flagship. Dante summoned his Ophanim Guards and prepared to join the battle. With Azkaellon at his side, Dante arrived at the Seraphim launch-deck. Flanked by his Ophanim, the Primarch boarded the Lord of the Flame, A custom Stormbird designed to ferry Dante and his elect to the battlefield.
Alongside a host of thousands of similar Stormbirds, the Lord of the Flame departed. The golden color of the IX Legion craft shining in the bright sunlight as the Angel's host descended. Golden light rippled as they breached the atmosphere, in a formation that looked like a great pair of wings with a single Stormbird at the center of the formation emitting a star-like radiance. It was the power of a Primarch marshaling for war affecting reality itself.
Angelic light and a swarm of interceptors protected the host as it dived through the storm of flak pouring from Bel-Haust's spires. The host dove from orbit to barely a mile above the surface in a matter of minutes. As the dive reached its terminal point the host pulled up, unleashing G-forces that would have easily killed even the strongest mortal man. It simply caused the Angels of Death to grit their teeth and brace themselves. Moving at incredible speeds, the Stormbird host shot towards the base of the hive spire. The shielding covering the spire originated near its top and could be easily punched through here near the planet's surface. Barreling towards the shields, static buildup crackled across the Stormbirds. Lighting dribbled off its wings like raindrops. Turbulence increased massively as they collided with the edges of the Ion-Shields. Lesser craft would have been shaken apart by the ion field attempting to shatter the Stormbirds.
After less than a breath length, they passed through the Ion-Shield and pulled up, aiming to strafe along the near-vertical hive-spire, slowing as much as they could with the enemy fire still filling the air. The rear hatches of the Stormbirds opened up and the Astartes removed their restraints. One by one the Angels of Death lept from the Stormbirds, using their metallic wings to navigate upwards along the Hive using the updrafts created by the Stormbirds ascent and the Hive's massive size. The Stormbirds unleashed a flurry of Servo Skull interceptors to screen the Astartes' arrival before pulling off to weave in between the Hive Spires, providing covering fire.
The Upper Hive of Bel-Haust was the main center of the Khrave defense. It was an armored citadel perched upon the mountainous sprawl, a fortress-spire inhabited by the Khrave administrators of the world and their elite servants. Battery emplacements and docking gantries dotted the surface of the Spire, guarded by the most fanatical human soldiers of Hossak. These traitors scanned the sky, calling in sightings of the Stormbirds to anti-aircraft batteries. Armed with symbiotic armor and weapons gifted by their masters, they would fight to the death to preserve the Khrave world, hoping to achieve apotheosis into one of the 'nobility'.
These Bel Stormtroopers were the first to notice the second sun rising over Bel-Haust. From below the Upper-hive, a great light shone, growing with luminescence as it flew higher towards the hive. The Bel Stormtroopers turned their attention to this brilliance and saw their doom fast approaching. The Primarch of the IX Legion, clad in golden light and flanked by his Angels of Death had come to bring justice for humanity.
Dante was a new star. His wings shimmered with mystical light and in each hand, he held a sword. One as pale as ancient Luna the other as black as the void. The Ophanim surrounded him in a halo of steel. All who looked upon the Primarch felt tears well up, awestruck by his beauty and ashamed of their sins. Dante's brilliant blue eyes seemed to pierce the very souls of the Bel-Haust stormtroopers. Since the most ancient days of Terra, mankind had dreamed of angels. Now one in the living flesh came for them. Some of the stormtroopers turned their weapons on themselves. The full weight of the atrocities they committed bore down on them and they could no longer take the guilt or the strain. Others simply fell to their knees and wept openly.
With the force of a comet, the Lord of the Ninth slammed into the Spire's main dock. His impact bent metal and cracked the stone around him. Thousands of his sons landed across the Spire. A wrathful host came to break the Xeno grip upon Hossak. Squadrons of heavily armed and armored Stormtroopers, along with a pair of insectoid tanks and dozens of Khrave warriors poured out of the entry point to the inside of the hive as sirens wailed all around them.
The Stormtroopers halted as they saw what they faced. At the end of the dock were the Angels of Death with a demigod leading them. A larger Khrave spat orders in accented mongrel-gothic, snapping the troopers to attention opening fire upon these angelic foes. In the time it took the Bel Stormtroopers to pick a target and fire, the elite of the IX had launched themselves forward at speeds the human eye could not fully process. One moment the IX Legion stared down the Khrave soldiers, the next the stormtroopers died. Bolt shell and power blade weaved through the Hive Guards, a dance of death that shredded hundreds of traitors to death in a heartbeat.
Melta charges and plasma rounds ripped through the insect-tanks, blasting the Rangda vehicles into flaming bits. At the center of this carnage, the Primarch dueled the Khrave, fighting the lead Xeno that nearly matched him in bulk and three of its lieutenants. Dante spared a blade for each of them. The Archangel Primarch carried two blades but fought with four. Gossamer strands of silver that wove through his wings came alight with holy fire. The Primarch's mighty wings turned into two massive force swords. Imbued with psychic power, his great pinions deflected Warp-Glamour blades and struck out with divine strength. The three Khrave lieutenants were easily carved into pieces, their cut marks burning with golden fire, reducing the Khrave worms within to ash.
The lead Khrave started to panic. It twisted its form in ways unnatural to a human and dashed back towards the entranceway, scrambling on all fours like some nocturnal predator. With a flick of his wings, Dante fired a volley of his feathers at the escaping Xeno. Meter long feathers charged with psychic light nailed the Khrave to the floor. It ripped at its stolen flesh in a desperate attempt to escape the Archangel of Death approaching it. With his black blade in hand, Dante approached the trapped Khrave, the cruel blade of shadowed metal dripped stigmatic blood. Frantic, the Khrave begged for mercy, gibbering in dozens of tongues trying to bargain for its life. The Khrave twisted its head to look the Primarch in his eyes and froze. Instead of magnificent blue, it had seen before, Dante's eyes were blackened orbs with a blood-red iris. His beautiful features were forged into a rictus of fury. Speaking softly to the Khrave, Dante said: "I was born to be merciful. In extinguishing you and your evil kind, I will be a mercy to mankind's galaxy."
With that, the Primarch plunged his blade into the Khrave's chest cavity and burned it with holy flames. Raising his blade high to the sky, the Primarch proclaimed: "We are the Angels of Death! We bring the Dawn and scour away the Dark! Ave Imperator Ave Imperium!" With those words, Dante and the IX Legion charged into the Upper-Hive. Entering the heart of darkness with blades aloft and righteous fury in their hearts.
The Entrance into the Hive-Spire was a gaping maw, easily large enough to fit a Land Raider. Sunlight seemed to end the moment it crossed the threshold, forming a wall of impenetrable darkness. Without fear, Dante and his guard marched forward. The sixteen Astares of the Ophanim chosen by Azkaellon formed a ring of steel around the Primarch with Azkaellon himself at its head, always ready to fight and die for his Primarch.
The Darkness seemed almost solid, a substance that swallowed light. Leaving the IX Legion elite blind outside the aura of Radiance coming from there Primarch. Dante reached out with his spiritual senses and examined the darkness. It was a product of Alien warp-craft. A Miasma designed to give the Khrave the wretched Darkness they so loved. While capable of braving natural and artificial light the Khrave are naturally beings of the shadows. This pall of shadows would not do. He was the Emperor's Archangel and where Dante went, illumination followed.
Dante could feel the impure presence of the Khrave slithering in the darkness. Insectoid eyes and Xeno witch sight locked upon the Primarch. Umbric creatures assessing the Angels that had cut through there kindred. Strands of psychic energy reached out from the Khrave, looking for any weakness or crack in the Angels psyche. Some flaw or insecurity they could exploit. Such psychic arts made the hunt easier and the prey sweeter. The Primarch felt this web of alien intellect weaving around him. Unable to touch his light, but coveting him all the same. The Khrave consumed the mind and soul of their victim. Growing in psychic power with each meal. Devouring a Primarch would elevate even the lowliest Khrave to the elite of the Rangda Empire. Dane let the Xenos observe him as he analyzed them. In his earlier fight he had sensed something amiss.
The incredible psychic senses of the Archangel picked up "blindspots" woven through the Khrave. Gossamer holes in the warp, lines traced through the Xeno flesh that Dante was blind to. "Blanks" muttered the Primarch, it was like the Khrave had a singular organ system that was warp-neutral. Every sentient organism registered Warp positive as a Psyker. Neutral as a blank or negative as a Pariah. A being could lie anywhere on the scale but not at two places at the same time. And yet, the Khrave seemed to be part Blank. Like some separate organism infested its worm-body. It seemed the parasites had parasites of their own. No matter, the Adepts of Mars would pull the secrets from the Khrave once their stronghold fell.
Ending his observation the Primarch gathered his spiritual power, wrapping his body with an aurora of psychic light. Drawing the attention of the Khrave within the Hive-Spire entrance to him. If the first mistake the Xenos made was not running the moment the Emperor's Angels arrived, this would be their last. Dante let loose a blast of light. A psychic wave of warp-energy and photons brighter than an Atomic Weapon and more Divine than a million miracles. The Khrave screamed, screeching in agony in every way they could. Filling the air with a cacophony of Xeno screeches, warning pheromones and psychic discharges. The Light blinded them, rupturing unprotected insectoid eyes, scarring stolen ocular tissue and driving the Xenos warp tendrils back.
The Illumination drove back the darkness and revealed the chamber and its occupants. It was a great atrium and dockyard. Arched and ribbed like ancient Cathedrals and the bones of long-dead monsters. Hundreds of Khrave had hidden in the shadows. Shied away from the Primarchs light and looking to strike. Now they grasped at ruined photo-receptors and fled blindly deeper into the Spire. The Xenos had little time to suffer. The Steel of the IX Legion cut them down by the dozen. The Astartes did not suffer in the light of Dante. Instead, they were renewed, the power within their Geneseed invigorated by its source. The Primarch and his sons spread out, cutting down the blinded Xenos with calm precision. A tide of Astartes joined the Ophanim and Dante. An army of transhuman Angels eager to spill Xeno ichor.
Each squad of Astartes fought as one, forming whirling storms of death. Wings, swords and claws mowing down the Khrave. Some of the more capable Xenos started to react, summoning blades and shields of Psychic energy. These Warp-Glamours, as the Khrave called them, were adaptable and powerful. Capable of slicing through power-armor and violating any tissue it touched. Inflicting excruciating pain and requiring excision of effected tissue for any healing to occur. These weapons would not save the Khrave. Where each of the Xenos on average was stronger than an Astartes they could not face down the IX Legion elite as they worked in concert. Even though they were Angels the IX fought like every Legion was meant to, a wolfpack acting in unison to tear their enemies to pieces.
Dante led the charge, each of his blades batting aside Khrave like a sharpened wind. The twin blades of white and black along with the Primarch's wings slashed Xeno warriors apart. Each blow was supersonic, cleaving Dante's foes apart and blasting the pieces with the raw kinetic force within the strikes. The Khrave farthest from the Primarchs psychic blast were charging into the fray. Quickly regrowing damaged eyes and shaking off the traumatic surge of light. It was then the second wave of Astartes arrived, the heavier transports had followed behind the Primarchs flight and were now discharging their cargo. A new noise was added to the song of battle. The Khrave screeches, Astartes battle cries, and clash of steel was joined by the thunder of guns. Angels of the Bull-Host in Terminator Armor accompanied by Brimstone-Hosts with their Volkite Cannons and Boltguns had arrived.
As unstoppable as an asteroid impact, the Terminators marched forward. Armed with mighty Thunder Hammers, Storm Shields and boltguns mounted upon their armored wings. Marked with the Winged-Bull sigil of the IX Legion's second branch they smashed through the Khrave. The Brimstone-Host in turn fanned out, finding gaps in the battle to fire their awesome weapons. Where the Bull-Host had wings of thick metal with weapon mounts capable of acting as shields and turrets. The Brimstone-Host lacked true wings, instead advanced mechadendrites armed with heavy weapons were faceted to the pseudo-limb projecting from their back.
The IX Legion advanced into the Spire, following the Archangel and destroying any resistance. The Primarch had increased his psychic aura to a shining sphere of light that burnt away the Warp-darkness the Khrave produced. As steady as the sun's rising Dante led his legion into the Hive. His wings restless to fly the Primarch charged forward. Mowing through Khrave and traitor infantry with ease. Dante knew the goal ahead of them. The massive central transport at the Spire's heart. Wrapped around the Hives core was a system of lifts and vertical railways that formed the main form of transportation within Bel-Haust. It would be heavily defended. Yet susceptible from attacks from higher levels. The defenses were designed against invasion or insurrection starting at the Hives-base. That was not the way Angels fought, they did not slog through sieges and grind their enemies to dust. They struck from the heavens and cast their foes down.
Through all of the chaos of the battlefield, Dante kept in contact with the fleet. A mixture of Vox and telepathic communication allowing the Primarch to lead the ground battle and oversee the orbital and aerial combat. Tank columns both of Astartes and Auxilia had landed around the Hive. Smashing through any and all resistance in the Hives outskirts. Rapidly approaching its base. With the Stormbirds and Interceptors harassing the Hive top, the Armored forces attacking the bottom and the deep striking host attacking the tower from within. The Khrave and Bel defenses were stretched thin. The sight of the Angels attacking across Bel-Haust had stunned and shocked its human occupants. With the less indoctrinated citizens and soldiers of the Hive turning on their overlords in frantic attempts to earn the forgiveness of the invading Legion.
Through all of this, the Primarch prepared himself. His foresight had shown him the defenses of Hossak in their near entirety. Including the one thing upon this infested world that could threaten the Imperial offense. The true guardian of Hossak. From the moment the IX Legion entered the orbit of the planet, Dante could feel it. An inscrutable alien presence slumbering within Bel-Haust hive. From an outside perspective, it seemed Hossak was only moderately defended. It was a Rangda farming world at the edge of their controlled space. Something of reasonable tactical importance, yet not defended by more than a Khrave occupation and traitor humans. This seeming weakness was a trap. A trap the Imperial Archangel had sprung with full awareness of it. Hossak was rich in natural resources aside from the "livestock" for the Rangda. It would be the perfect bait for any rising galactic civilization. Attacking Hossak would demonstrate the civilization that fell for the bait was powerful enough to do so. New prey presenting itself to the Rangda Empire. A healthy rising galactic power, perfect fodder for the Halo Stars' masters.
Attacking Hossak tied down an invading force in a siege. Giving the Rangda time to gather their forces and seek out the new prey. If the attackers were powerful enough, however. They would activate a surprise the Rangda left on Hossak. A weapon that would not only break the offense upon Hossak but traumatize the invaders, making them easy for Rangda consumption. That weapon now awoke, the trap had been sprung and the first calls to war were starting deep in the Galactic North. Now it fell to Dante to destroy the weapon and claim Hossak before the Rangda could be fully roused. As the IX Legion descended into the Hive, the Rangda weapon opened its un-eyes and watched the Primarch. Soon it would come for the Emperor's son.
After nearly an hour of fighting into the Hive-Spire, Dante and the IX Legion reached the nearest part of the transport core. A great chainhauler that formed a line of building-sized palettes being cycled from the bottom of the hive to its very top. Even as the battle raged around it the chainlift continued its movement. Rotating the massive palettes through the hive. Stopping as they connected with each section of the hive. Giving absent workers time to move cargo. Dante approached the nearest cargo container. The Primarch knew what was in each of the boxes. He had known when he first peered into the future of this battle. Still, he hoped he would be wrong. That just maybe this time was one of those times his visions failed him. Sheathing his silver sword Dante pulled one of the boxes from its setting and ripped its top off with one even motion. The container gave easily under the Primarch's grip. Icy slime started to ooze from the box, pooling onto the floor, filling the Primarch's nostrils with the scent of industrial coolant that did little to hide the other smell coming from the container. That of frozen flesh.
With an armored hand Dante wiped away layers of the slime, until the box's content was visible. It was a human body. That of a child, probably thirteen at the oldest. Shaved of all hair and emaciated. It took Dante a moment to realize he was looking at a girl. Her flesh was distorted by growth stimulants, inadequate sustenance, and a short lifetime of hardship. Her eyes stared up blankly, the terror of her death captured in a rictus. A series of brands marked her abdomen. Some long healed and stretched by years of growth, others inflicted after her death. All markings in the Rangda tongue, serial numbers. With surprising gentleness from a transhuman warlord, Dante stroked the child's face with a single, hulking digit. With a motion, he shut the girl's eyes. Pulling away from the murdered child Dante whispered words of power and summoned golden flames, turning the body before him to ash.
Faster than even his honor guard could react, Dante grabbed another coffin from the stack and stared down at another dead child. Alien chemicals had swollen these children to the size of adults, increasing the development of bones, neural tissue and other organic matter the Rangda Empire hungered for. Repeating his earlier actions, the Primarch cremated the remains and moved onto another coffin. Then another and another. At that moment, Dante hated his transhuman genius. From just a glance around him, he automatically calculated how many bodies were on the palette. ten thousand human children were boxed as food upon the massive palette. A million for every cycle of the chainlift. The product of hundreds of city-farms across Hossak. All being transported up into the void to feed a ravenous Empire of monsters.
Igniting the entire palette with a wave of his hand, Dante stepped away from it. The IX Legion were spreading out across the hive. The Bull-Host were smashing their way into the upper hive's more fortified sections. Khrave resistance was fierces but barely able to slow down the Astartes. The Hayyoth and other Legion high command were performing excellently. Reports of entire cities across Hossak falling were trickling back. The outer perimeter of Bel-Haust had fallen. The Imperial Armor cracking the walls under sheer power of ordinance. Scouts were observing the first retreats. Both Khrave defenders and Bel traitors were feeling the pressure. The Khrave were not a warrior-breed. They were meant to find and control food sources for their Masters. The Bel, in turn, had lived more than a century engaging in the worst crimes mankind could commit. No matter how much propaganda or Xeno taint they swallowed, something inside them knew what they were doing was wrong. Not even out of a sense of morality, but a fear of punishment once held accountable.
Reaching out telepathically, Dante spoke to the Hayyoth and gave operational command to them. The force within the Hive would locate the shield generators and destroy them. He trusted his eldest sons to perform admirably. They were creatures of war, designed to fight and win even the worst conflicts. The Primarch was different, more than just a tool of war. He was an ancient divinity given flesh. Power reclaimed on Moloch, clad in physical form crafted by mankind's genius. Dante was the Angel of Mankind. Born to watch, to protect, and to destroy. Since the earliest days of human history, the greatest of crimes were believed to be punished by divine retribution. Angels of Death, Destroying Angels, Wrath of Gods, Heavenly Judgement, Divine Watchers, Tool of Smiting. So many terms for that primal idea. The idea that powers beyond anything that primitive man could imagine would protect the weak and punish the wicked.
Dante was that idea, and many more. He surrendered the burden of command to his sons and embraced his truest nature. Plunging his silver and black swords into the hive floor with such strength it did not just pierce the metal but cracked it in twenty meters around him, Dante spread his wings wide and roared a challenge to the Hive of the Damned. "FACE ME!"
A shockwave blasted through the hive like the Trumpet of Revelations, shattering glass and cracking stone for miles in every direction. Thousands upon thousands of Bel throughout the Hive-Spire were deafened instantly. Khrave were brought low by the psychic detonation. The Primarch's challenge was shouted into both sides of existence. Rippling through the Warp and the Hive's atmosphere equally. Dante wanted to call out the Weapon the Rangda left. Let the Archangel face a monster worthy of his wrath. It was more than willing.
The entire Hive of Bel-Haust felt something shift.. Across the billions of mortals inhabiting the Hive, a vague sense of vertigo spread. A feeling that some cavernous pit had been opened. An abyss widening to swallow them all. The fear and tension from the battle boiled over. Weak willed traitors had their minds snapped by an Angels Wrath and an abominations awakening. The screaming started across the hive. Thousands leapt willingly to their deaths, weeping and laughing as they went. Riots broke out as entire Hab-blocks descended into mob-frenzy.
All while something primordial rose from below the Hive. Every soul-bearing creature within fifty kilometers could feel it. The Imperial Auxilia were rattled, but quickly recovered. They had been trained for worse. Fighting alongside Angels, the Auxilia pushed through the pain and fought on. From the Hive's deepest core something slithered higher and higher. Feeling it coming closer, Dante was reminded of a well rapidly filling with putrid water. A rising tide of evil that flowed upwards through the hive's central channels. After a long moment, the presence rose up to the level Dante stood upon. Slowly the Primarch raised his swords and changed stance. He could feel an ugly intelligence pressing against his soul.
"Come monster, face your judgment."Dante spat, igniting psychic flames and power-fields upon his weapons. A thunderous crash of ripping metal and breaking stone was the xeno's response. The Rangda safeguard had pulled itself up from its nest through the thermal exchange tunnel at the Hives center. Now it barreled through the structure of Bel-Haust to reach its target. The local hive shook with impact after impact as the monster smashed through the superstructure. Not caring for obstacles or path of least resistance. It simply charged a straight line forward. Hive-Quakes started to rattle through the acrology from the damage inflicted. Dante paid them no head. His mind and body focused on whatever was coming for him.
With nightmarish force, the monster smashed through its final obstacle. Entering the Dockyard the Primarch and his honor guard stood within. It was fast, too fast even for Astartes. Smashing Azkellion and his Brothers away with a lash of power the monster reached its target. Limb/Blade/Things came down upon Dante's crossed blades with the force of artillery. The Primarch did not move, but the steel beneath him buckled slightly from the blow. Staring at his foe Dante felt its name upon his lips. A name that would be the last frantic scream of millions of Imperial soldiers in the years to come. The title was given to the most powerful of the Rangda War-Breeds. One earned through impossible actions and nightmarish power. "Theophage, God-Eater."
In the coming years, the Imperium would learn the truth of the Rangda. How they were naturally Blanks. Protected from the dangers of the warp, and yet still capable of using its power through accursed methods. When a Rangda infests a host body, it devours it fully. The Xeno consumed their soul and used it as fuel for Psychic Arts. The Khrave and some other vassal-breeds were designed to be naturally psychic and capable of gaining bits of power from what they consumed. Yet they were still weak to the threats of the Warp. True Rangda however, were different. Long ago they had altered there very connection to the Warp. Becoming a species of Blanks, protected from Chaos and many dangers of the Warp. Still, these parasites were unwilling to give up the powers of the immaterium. They learned the art of feeding on souls as well as flesh. Using the broken fragments of there victims warp-presence to power biological sorcery. Devouring sentient beings and fueling alien rituals and warp-craft. The ultimate defilement and consumption of there prey.
Strong Warbreeds of Rangda could take this dread parasitism to its next level. Taking a host claimed by another power for themselves. Infecting and devouring Daemons of Chaos. Capturing Daemonhosts and manifested Neverborn and consuming them entirely. This required a force of will and power beyond most any mortal breed is capable. And yet, it was not the pinnacle of these warp-eating arts. The greatest of the greatest Rangda hunted the chosen of the Dark Gods. Daemon Princes, Greater Daemons, Heralds and other servants/pieces of the Four. That is a Theophage. A predator of Greater Daemons, chaos itself enslaved and devoured by Rangda might. No longer fueling its power with scraps of souls but the digested remains of the Dark Gods chosen.
Hossak lacked the usual swarm of Neverborn found at places of great atrocity. Not because of the broken nature of the discarded soul-stuff. Because they feared a predator greater than themselves. Now that monster faced down the IX Primarch. The Theophage of Hossak, hungering to taste the Anathema's child.
Greater Daemons in the material are masses of Warp-Power wrapped around a host body, given context and form by the Daemon's nature. Soul-Bearers saw the Daemon through the lens of its story. A being made of massacre and bloodshed appeared as winged hulks with horns and a greatsword. The product of pandemics appeared as a bloated rotten corpse carried by swarms of vermin. Theophages had no such context. They were not the result of emotions or events within the Warp. They were all that power consumed by an Alien mind, forged into a living weapon. The Theophage before the Primarch looked like a hole. A gap in reality that shifted and moved like an animal. Inverted space shaped in a vaguely humanoid form. Flashes of light, sound, and emotion flickered across/through/into the Theophages body. If the Primarch focused he could make out a vague shape underneath the "unshape of its body" A nightmarish visage of human and alien features together and marred by ancient battle-scars.
The Theophage spoke, not telepathically or by any conventional means. It sucked air into itself creating some inversion of speech. Speaking in a vacuum staccato of phrases plucked from humans it devoured. "Hibernating-Rock-Valuable-Now. Punishment-Guard-Complete. Wake-Spawn-Unleash-Death-Feed-FEED-FEED-Enemy-God-Ours."
Dante responded with a snarl and slashed his swords at the Theophage. It created tendril/limbs similar to Khrave Warp-Glamours to block his blows. Blades made of flickering madness lashed out at the Primarch. Imperial metal and Rangda Warp-flesh clashing faster than the human eye could react. Dante deflected a blow aiming for his head and the Theophage spun its body with the force of its blow. Redirecting the impact at a nearby Ophanim guard. Reducing the Astartes to a bloody smear upon the ground. Cursing himself Dante charged forward. Catching the Theophages arm-blades with his Wings. The Primarch thrust his twin blades through the monster's shoulders. Twisting his blades in deeper, Dante pushed off the ground with tremendous force. Launching himself and the Theophage hundreds of feet upward. Crashing them into the vaulted ceiling of the Dockyard.
Letting go of his swords Dante wrapped his armored hands around what he thought was the Theophages throat. The impact into the ceiling had freed Dantes wings and let him put them to full use. Transhuman muscle and incredible telekinetic force combined to propel Primarch and Theophage towards the Dockyard's gate. With each mighty downthrust of the Archangels wings the duo flew faster and faster. The swords lodged in the Theophages body burned its unflesh, making it flicker and twitch like a weak vox transmission. Gripping its throat seared Dantes hands. The caustic, broken nature of the Theophage rot/melted the auramite of the Primarchs gauntlets, forcing the Primarch to grip the barely contained Warp-Stuff of the Theophage with his bare skin. The pain of what was tantamount to sticking his hands into the Warp itself was nothing to Dante compared to his sons and subjects dying from his failures. He dragged the Theophage out of the dockyard and into the open sky of Hossak, blasting past entire Astartes squads before they could react.
As the soot-filled sky of Hossak surrounded the pair Dante let go. Ripping his swords from the Theophage and landing an armored kick to the monster's torso before disengaging. Flying up with a flap of his wings Dante watched the Theophage fall. Sending a telepathic message to Azkellon and the other Ophanim. Dante ordered them to assist in the destruction of the Bel-Haust shields. Turning his attention back to the falling Theophage. Dante felt disgust as he watched the new form it had taken. While still a gap in reality roughly shaped into a humanoid shape. It now flew up to challenge him in a twisted way. The Theophage's body seemed to undulate, swell and deflate like a Terran cephalopod, letting it move through the air like those ancient creatures do through water.
The Theophages arms stretched into long sinuous tendrils that reached out towards the Primarch. The air shimmered close to the Theophage as if the atmosphere itself wanted to move away from this Warp-wrapped creature. Dante could feel the Theophage's hunger boiling in the Warp. The creature made no attempt to disguise or hide its alien thoughts, broadcasting a palpable desire to crack open the Primarchs skull and devour his brain and nervous system. Even clad in an exoskeleton of stolen Warp-Power the Rangda was still a Cerabvore. Its tendrils lashed out at Dante and the Primarch easily dodged the blow. The Theophage seemed to pause for a moment and extend its senses outward feeling the losing battle across the Hive. Even as its ravening hunger for powerful flesh and souls gnawed away at it. The Theophage was no stupid beast. Quite the opposite in fact. It was of the highest pedigree of Rangda war-breeds. Cultivated in the flesh of a Vargheist host and trained from hatching to hunt Neverborn. Much like the Primarch it faced, the Theophage was more than a supremely powerful combatant. It was also a commander and force multiplier.
In an echoing vocalization that swept through the Warp and atmosphere, the Theophage reached out to the defenders of Bel-Haust, giving an order in the language of Rangda. Human tongues lack the ability to adequately describe the meaning of the order. The closest one could come is a proclamation meaning "Hatch-Rise-Awake-Rebirth-Claim-Defend-Unleash". As the command echoed through the Hive of Bel-Haust something started to change. A shift in the Khrave and human traitor armies fighting against Imperium. For unbeknownst to the Imperium the Rangda word for Farm or Agriculture has another simultaneous meaning. Nest and Nursery. Hossak was far more than a simple agrarian world meant to raise human cattle to slaughter. It was a breeding ground for the children of Rangda.
The Khrave were created in ages past by the Rangda to travel the stars, searching for sentient species to consume. Yet that was not all they were born to do. The word Khrave itself translates into Gothic as "Scavenging-Womb." Born as parasitic worms that infest stolen flesh. The Khrave find populations to conquer and devour then. Once the food source is secured and the first shipments of Brains, Bone and Bodies flow to the Core Worlds of Rangda. The Great House of the Empire that owned the Khrave conquerors would bless them with their seed. The viral life form known as the Rangda wound infect the Khrave and their host bodies. Infesting the jubilant Khrave. Slowly turning both Khrave-Worm and augmented host-body into the body of a Rangda Clan-Member.
The Rangda infection can spread rapidly, taking over entire worlds. Subverting entire populations from the inside out as they devour their nervous systems. However, that method was not the preferred. Saved for the lower castes and times of trouble. Rangda of higher pedigree were nurtured by their sire-Houses. Slowly gestating inside selected host-bodies for years or decades. Before emerging stronger and smarter. The Khrave were created to aid this process. Stealing useful bodies for their Masters and protecting them while enhancing the flesh. Waiting for the Rangda infection to spread into their own nervous system. Ending the life-cycle of the Khrave and starting that of the Rangda.
The Khrave worm even provides a valuable distraction for any enemies. They will rip out the worm and leave the seemingly dead husk behind. Not knowing a Rangdan Cerebivore or Osseivore grew within. Leaving the Rangda to survive another day. Or be awakened prematurely if needed, along with all its other kin. And that's precisely what the Theophage intended to do. Awaken the hundreds of thousands of Rangda growing within the Khrave, living or dead. At first, nothing seemed to happen. The battle continued as it had with Astartes cutting through the Khrave with methodical ease. Then the Khrave stopped dying. Bolt shells would rip the head off a Khrave warrior and it would keep coming. Melta fire turned its torso into burning sludge and the Xenos limbs kept operating there weapons. Across the Hive, the Astartes and Auxilia were caught off guard. Champion duelists turned away from bisected enemies to the newest foe. Then catch a blade into their armored ribs from the awakened Rangda.
Khrave bodies left to rot suddenly started to stir. Sparks of Warp-Energy channeled through cyborganic sorcery knitting bone, tissue and plastic back together. The IX Legion no longer faced a Khrave occupation force. Instead a newborn generation of Rangda. Sentient viral colonies that had slumbered now awoke and took command of the bodies prepared for them. Knowledge and skills woven into these spawns of the Rangda Clans and Houses kicked in. The primitive Warp-Glamours of the Khrave were cast aside. Flesh and metal impregnated with Warp Energy filtered through alien minds was unsheathed. Gouts of Necrotizing light that turned limbs to rotten stumps flashed. Horrible spikes of steel coated in a film of infected mucus extended from healing limbs.
Within Bel-Haust, Azkaellon led a force of Astartes through the darkened halls of the Upper Hive. They had followed the Primarchs orders and cut their way towards the nexus of the Hives peak and left a trail of broken corpses in their wake. The leader of the Primarch's Honor Guard flashed his blades as his company of Heroes was surrounded. Fallen Khrave from behind them rose up as Rangda and defenders before them awoke devastating power. Azkaellon hacked through an attacking Rangda Cerebvore as four of its comrades latched onto a Bull-Host terminator. Even through the thick ceramite shell of the armor, Azkaellon could hear the dying screams of fury and pain from his battle-brother. The Rangda had peeled the Terminators helmet off with lacerating tentacle-swords. Now the largest of the Four Xenos shoved cruel feeder limbs into the Astartes brain. Devouring him as he thrashed in his death throes.
Roaring in fury Azkaellon brandished his wings. Transhuman muscle and archotech metal throwing Rangda war-forms aside with ease. The Herald of the Primarch drew his bolt pistol and took aim at the feeding Xeno. Switching to Inferno rounds, the Captain-Commander of the Ophanim opened fire. A storm of gyro-jets burning hot enough to melt steel pounded into the Rangda, knocking the Xeno off its victim and letting Azkaellon pour more bolts into it. It still thrashed and attempted to stand even as the burning Bolts tore through its flesh. Yet as it burned it grew slower and more sluggish. The Rangda virus acting as a nervous system dying from the heat. As the last round of the Bolt-Pistol exited the magazine Azkaellon drove his blade into the Rangda's body. Hacking it to pieces with merciless efficiency. Ripped to burning shreds the scraps of the Rangda showed no sign of life. Ordering his force to switch to energy or superheated projectiles Azkaellon rallied the Angels and they fought forwards. Burning and ripping the Rangda as they went.
Back outside the Hive, Dante realized what had just occurred. The Theophage had rallied his army to match the Astartes Legion. This secret weapon the Rangda left behind to ensure control of Hossak needed to be stopped. As Archangel and God-Eater clashed in the sky, the Primarch gritted himself. He intended to end this duel and this battle as soon as possible. He would burn a message into the Rangda, a message of wrath and ruin. Showing them what was to come. Rangda wear the stolen flesh of their victims as bodies. No difference for the Theophage. Its true form was wrapped in an exoskeleton of Warp-Stuff. Taken from dozens of Greater Daemons it devoured over the centuries. A feat that made it one of the mightiest combatants in the galaxy. Few if any Astartes champions would be able to match a Theophage in single combat. Even mighty Abaddon or stoic Sigismund would fare poorly against this monster.
Yet the Theophage found itself facing no Astartes, Phareon, Warboss, Chaos Champion or other masters of War that stalk the Galaxy. It faced a Primarch. The Theophage was created as a rival to hunt Greater Daemons. A tool that could parasitize power from even the Dark Gods. At best a rival predator to the chosen of Chaos. A Primarch was different, they were not meant to be rivals or even hunters of Daemons or Xeno Champions. They are there extinction made flesh. The Rangda Champion that faced Dante, Lord of the IX called itself a God-Eater. In truth, it was simply the grandest of Parasites. Dante, by contrast, was an Archangel. No, he was THE Archangel.
For in distant days within the Imperial Palace the Emperor revealed a hidden truth to his Ninth Son. The Son who was given wings to teach Mankind to fly held another secret. Another mystery beside his wings, his visions, and his wrath. When the Primarchs were born many years ago on Ancient Terra the Emperor gave them each a name. A true-name. Unlike the petty shifting things of mortals or the binding curse of Daemons. The true-names of the Primarchs were static things of power and dignity. You could strip a Daemon of agency by proclaiming its name. Just as you rob a lie of its power by telling the truth. Speaking a Primarchs true-name simply carved their legend deeper into the universe. So all of the Primarchs were known by the mighty name their father gave them. Except one. One whose name had already been carved so deeply and so purely into the universe. That to even speak it with knowledge of what it entailed could shake mountains. The original Angel of the IX had become a story so great and so noble that it echoed through history and timelines. From the moment the Great Angel held the Eternity Gate and fell upon the Vengeful Spirit. Mankind dreamed of flight. Just as the Chaos Gods existed as soon as they were born. The Angel existed the moment he died. A figure of mercy and wrath stretched across space/time. Inspiring the first legends of divine watchers and giving courage to the Golden Warrior standing before a tomb of a Throne at the end of days.
This figure would have countless names and countless roles. Taking his final form and greatest actions when it combined with the greatest son of the greatest son. In another timeline, Dante the Master of the Blood Angels would achieve apotheosis with the Herald of his Primarch. Joining with the Black Angel and its Red Clad Champion to be reborn at the end of the God-Emperor's Imperium. Dante the Primarch was not known to the galaxy by his true name. He wore a golden mask meant to honor his greatest son and hide his true power. Now facing the Theophage and a world infested with nightmares the IX Primarch dropped the mask. Speaking a name he hoped to be eventually worthy of using and letting Dante finally sleep how he wished too. The Primarch proclaimed his true name for the first time and the darkness across the galaxy trembled
"I am Sanguinius, Archangel of Mankind. You have invited my Wrath, and there shall be no Mercy."
In the material, world, nothing seemed to change. The Primarch flew towards the Theophage with his blades aloft. Ready to strike the killing blow. In the Immaterium it was like a supernova had erupted. A sector cleansing mass of white light with a silver pulsar called the Sanguinor clutched in one hand, and a blackhole named Mephiston in the other. The power and idea of the Great Angel. In all its forms, focused upon the Theophage. As that power washed over the Rangda weapon its alien mind formed a few final thoughts. Its entire life it had been called a God-Eater. Raised to devour weaker life and hunt the predators of the Warp. Yet in all that time it had never truly seen a god until now. The flickers of the Dark Gods' attention were sickening waves of malice. The crushing presence and intellect of the Great-House-Minds were strong but formed of stolen power. This… Angel before him was something else. Pure, Mighty and divine. The Light of Sanguinius fell over the Theophage like the Firstborn of Gyptus, Chosen of Khorne, Ravening Hive-Fleets and Armies of the Damned before it. Snuffing it from existence like a mote of dust caught in a solar eruption.
As quickly as it happened it was over. The burned empty husk of the Theophage fell from Hossak's sky, unworthy to share the Heavens with the Archangel. Its cloak of stolen warp-stuff stripped away and its body broken by the swords of the Primarch. Across the Warp the mightiest of Psykers and Warp-Predators noticed what occurred. Far away on the Bucephalus, the Master of Mankind let a small smile slip. The Angel had taken to the skies once again. Upon some distant Craftworld a prodigy ended his meditation with a shock. Feeling the future change in a storm of golden fire and silver wings. A green-skinned behemoth took a moment to pause as it throttled a rival and sniffed the air. Some ancient bestial instinct told him a fight was coming. The Chaos Gods paused the clash within the Warp, only to peer into the Materium and observe the one they coveted above all. The best of the Emperor and Mankind they so hoped to despoil. Something that defied classification as flesh or machine peered out from the Halo Stars. Tissue so old it seemed fossilized, moved according to an ancient intellect. A threat was registered by this primordial beast and a warning sent to Rangda worlds beyond the galactic edge.
Across Hossak, a shadow of a memory of the Great Angels power flowed through his Geneseed. Pushing power and wrath into the flesh and souls of the Astartes. A ghost of the Black Rage filled the hearts of the IX Legion. letting them fight faster and stronger than before. Ripping apart Rangda spawns with righteous madness. Leaping into the fray with an Angels Wrath tamed by his Mercy coursing through them. They were not lost in the vengeful delusion of the Black Rage nor the blood-hungry Red Thirst that had cursed the original sons of Sanguinius. Instead, they came alight like the Angels they were always meant to be. In the Materium, they were pushed to transhuman heights by the blessed blood of the Angel flowing in their veins. In the Warp, each of their souls blazed. Clad in the gold and crimson light of the Primarch. Blinding the Witch-Sight of any Xeno that dared look upon them.
As the Angels of Death fought across the Hive and Azkellon led his Battle-Brothers to the height of Bel-Haust a vague sense filled the IX Legion. Clad in transhuman flesh and bonded to their Primarch, they were meant to fight the wars of the Materium. Yet that might not always be the case. As the radiance of a demigod filled them the Emperor's Angels wondered that in some far distant age they might be called to fight other Wars. When the Legions of Light march upon the Strongholds of Chaos they would do so as beings of spiritual power. What they felt now as the Primarch touched his true nature, was a hint of what was to come.
Silver flames flared from the Astartes' Wings and enchanted flames coated their weapons. Letting them cut through Rangda and Bel Soldiers possessed by cyborganic weapons and armor. The Space Marines wept tears of red gold as the power of their Primarch filled them. The love and power of the Emperor's greatest son was a thing of wonders. At the very peak of Bel-Haust, the force led by the Primarchs Herald found the massive shield generator complex. Techmarines hurried to commune with the apostate technology as their Battle-Brothers protected them from the last defenders. The Brothers of the Amber-Host, the deployed tech-marines castigated the cursed machines of the Rangda and Bel. Casting out the heretek and breaking the Shield Generators with binaric exorcism.
As the Great Shields of the Hive fell the final stage of the battle started. The full wrath of the Imperial fleet opened fire upon Bel-Haust Hive. Lance strikes tore apart entire Hive-Spires. Bombardment Cannons turned the defenses of Bel-Haust to molten slag. Storms of dropships unhampered by anti-aircraft fire thundered from orbit. The Theophage lay dead and the Rangda realized the battle was lost. Across the hive, the Cerebivores and Ossivores fled. Retreating into the darkened squalor beneath the hive. Hounded by Astartes the entire time they fled. As the defenders of the Hive were crushed by the Imperiums might a shining Archangel flew across the Hive. A guiding star to his sons and soldiers.
Hidden behind psychic luminescence, the Primarch had suffered. His feathers were burnt and frayed at some places. His face was gaunt, as if he had not eaten in days. The normally flawless skin of Dante was sallow and marked with healing burns. Communing and channeling the power of Sanguinius had been incredibly challenging for the Primarch. Each of his brothers was tasked to create a legend of themselves that could echo through the Warp. Dante was faced with an opposite problem. His legend existed, he needed to prove himself worthy of it. The sheer exhaustion and pain the Primarch felt were firm reminders he was not yet worthy. Dante could tap into a power none of his brothers could rival, at the cost of himself. His father's gift had been that power, and warning of how to handle it. The Primarch had hoped he had grown in his decades of Crusading enough to use it. While he had not burned or been possessed by the Gold or Black Angel. He had still flown far too close to the Sun like Icaros before him. Taking a deep steadying breath as he glided past the main Bel-Haust spire Dante reminded himself that in time he would master this power. He just hoped the demonstration of it had been an adequate threat to bluff the Rangda into being more cautious.
Returning to the Seraphim and resting the Primarch commanded the rest of the battle from his Flagship. His trusted sons capable of taking the lead. After a month of fighting Hossak was fully compliant. The remaining Rangda was deeply entrenched under Bel-Haust and the last traitor-human defenders had surrendered. Soon the first detailed reports of the Farms across Bel-Haust were coming in. Of country-sized concentration camps were millions of deformed vat-bred and stolen children were raised as livestock. The Rangda fed on neural tissue and needed rich sources of it. So the human livestock were not the degenerated husks or meat-hulks seen on Orkish or other Xeno worlds. They were bred to be intelligent and quick-witted. With constant streams of basic logic and mathematical problems blasted into their holding-pens. Correct answers earned more food. The Rangda realized the threat of intelligent livestock, so they made slight modifications to their food. Shortly after birth, every child was lobotomized with Xeno industrial equipment. Stunting the development of fine motor control and social development. Creating millions of damaged children and teenagers with the dexterity of toddlers. Penned together and farmed for Alien monsters.
The liberating forces had tried to help them. They livestock-children could only moan and scream. Thrashing at each other and the Imperials with unnaturally elongated limbs. Some were taken from there factory-farms and screamed at the sight of the Sun and sky. Such impossible concepts had them howling until they passed out. Others were even worse. Filth covered and meuling for nutrient gruel for answering questions projected on large holo-tablets. Imperial Churgions inspected the human livestock and found entire colonies of alien bacterium inside them. Regulating and controlling agents that replaced some of the biological functions that could not survive the horrors of the farms. As Dante read report after report he felt his twin hearts grow numb. He had seen some of these horrors in his visions but he had hoped they were just another illusion born of Chaos twisting the threads of fate. Each report ended with the same solum recommendation. The Emperor's Peace would be the only salvation.
Feeling the rage boil within him Dante felt the Dataslate in his hands turn to a fine powder under his grip. He looked down in slight befuddlement, he had not realized he had been holding the glass tablet so tightly. Shutting his blue eyes Dante felt the red of his hate dye his pupils crimson. The Primarch wished he could deliver a thousand deaths on the Rangda for there crimes. He would have to settle for one extermination. From his command throne, Dante gave the orders for dealing with surviving humans across Hossak. The freefolk who had survived as wild game for the Rangda would be indoctrinated as Imperial citizens. The Bel Empire and all its people would die in fire. They had betrayed mankind and committed great evil. May they find absolution in the Astronomicon's light. For the billions of broken humans across Hossak, cruel mercy was prepared.
A tool of ethunanzia was decanted. Amanita-Finis, as it was called, was unleashed across thousands of farms. Designed to be easily inoculated against by Imperial technology. When an unprotected human was exposed they died painlessly and near instantly. The ease of treatment made it an ineffective bioweapon but perfect for this role. As clouds of pale smoke fell across the world. Dante felt the billions of dead enter into the warp. The confused and lost souls entering the soul-net of his Father's power. As the deaths across Hossak ended. A final matter was at hand. The remaining Rangda must be dealt with.
Hiding beneath the Bel-Haust Hive the surviving Xenos had burrowed deep. Creating nests and defenses to protect themselves from the Imperium. Auxilia and Astarte's expeditions had been difficult and fruitless. It seemed the Rangda hoped to outlast the invasion fleet and wait for the Imperium to leave. Using the infrastructure and size of the Hive as a shield. The IX Primarch would not stand for that. The Imperium disembarked from the Planet, thousands of drop ships ferried entire armies into orbit. Leaving a world devoid of human life, ready to face mankind's wrath. At the Primarchs command, the Nova-Cannon of the Seraphim fired upon Bel-Haust Hive. A moon cracking ordinance smashed into the Hive. A wave of plasma blanketed a hundred miles in every direction. Punching from the Hives top to the edge of the planet's mantle. Leaving a tectonic plate sized crater of obsidian where the Hive once stood. Mountain ranges worth of ash blanketed the planet. Burying the bodies of billions of innocent victims of the Rangda and the scars upon the world their occupation had made. As the molten glass that once was Bel-Haust started to cool, Hossak was declared cleansed of the Rangda.
Adeptus Umbrex Records- Compiled by Steel Agents Eigen Dierkind and Tatiana Su-Wong
Sample Text of Historical and Tactical Assessment of the Early Rangda Xenocides.
At the Primarch's command, Hossak was to be put under a thousand-year quarantine to ensure the Rangda was gone and honor the human lives lost to the Xenos. Across the fleet, countless great works of art were started. The passion and emotion of the IX Legion channeled into works that would memorialize Hossak. Despite the great military success of the battle. A sense of bitter loss was palpable. They had crushed the Rangda and sent a message but they now knew what the Imperium faced. This had been a border outpost and farming world. Billions of innocent human lives had been ended by the Astartes, giving them the only mercy they could. The scale and unimaginable cruelty of the Rangda Empire dawned upon the IX Crusader Fleet. Suicide among mortal officials and soldiers involved in the liberation and euthanization of the Farms was not unheard of. Iterator and Chaplain efforts to combat this misery were increased.
Physical injuries were also traumatic. Any damage inflicted by Rangda or Khrave weapons was more horrific than initially noticed. Tissue burned by Necrotic Fire refused to heal and in many cases needed to be excised to stop infection and necrosis. Grid-pattern scars of skin and muscle that had to be removed became common across the Astartes and Auxilia of the Fleet. Even worse were those unfortunate enough to make physical contact with a Rangda. The infection of the Xenos spread ruthlessly. Transhuman biology protected the Astartes from the worst of it. Their body naturally quarantining the viral clusters. This still required cauterization, amputation, and painful surgeries. Mortals infected typically had enough time to write some final letters and say goodbye thanks to Imperial medicine. Most took doses of various painkillers or engaged in ritual suicide according to there home culture. Some even challenged Astartes to honor duels for the glory of dying in battle. Those Angels accepted and marked their armor with a black stripe in recognition.
Samples were taken from countless Rangda bodies and weapons acquired by the Mechanicum and Adeptus Umbrex. A grisly discovery was made that even when burned and hacked to bits. Rangda infected tissue was still technically alive and under the control of a much reduced Xeno intelligence. It seemed total disintegration was the only thing that could truly destroy them. Tech-Priests across the Fleets forge-ships got to work designing and manufacturing new munitions and decontamination procedures.
After three months in the Hossak system, the Imperial fleet prepared to push deeper into Rangda space. The IX Legion would begin a campaign of rapid decapitation strikes and purging to harass and threaten the edges of the Xeno Empire. The VIII Legion and its Primarch Konrad Cruze would be joining them soon. Dante and Konrad as the Seer Primarchs would engage in a War of Shock and Terror as the Imperium mobilized. Giving the Forgeworlds and Recruiting Systems much needed time. Psychic foresight allowing them an estimate of the Rangda military's movement. Giving them plenty of opportunities to strike and make the Xenos suffer. The campaign strategy was to continue this tactic until five other Legions could assemble. Letting the full attack on the Rangda start.
In the coming decades of War, the IX Legion would be tested like never before. The noblest of the Legions would fight alongside its most brutal cousins in a grinding hell-war. That would leave trillions dead in the crossfire. In the ensuing centuries and millennia, scholars would debate why the IX Legion was tasked with fighting in the most horrible conflict of the Great Crusade. Some argued it was a simple matter of luck, with the IX being first to attack the Rangda and start the Xenocide war. Others claimed it was a method for the Emperor to battle-forge his Archangel. Guiding Dantes ascension and evolution into Sanguinius. Preparing him for his duel with (REDACTED) during the Great Doom-Tide of the Eastern Fringes.
Assessment based upon classified records and the Emperor's own statements indicates the reason was both of these and one additional. In the darkest days of the Xenocide when the Imperium surrendered so much of its humanity in the name of survival and victory. Dante and the IX Legion were there to remind mankind that the Dawn was coming. To be a living testament to the good within humanity. Dante shined like a guiding star. Helping his brothers, sons, and nephews keep their humanity. Acting as an Angel of Wrath and Mercy who watched and guided the Imperium through the worst of it. Where Eddard Fendragon was the commander of the Xenocide Crusade and Tyric Balderson was its fangs. Dante was its heart. The IX Legion and its Primarch directly saved millions of human lives and protected billions across the galaxy. Demonstrating compassion, honor and crimson fury in the name of Imperator and Imperium. Truly the IX Legion earned the title it still carries to this day. The Dawn Angels, Ninth of the Legio Astartes and Watchers of Mankind.
