I do not own the Warhammer 40000 universe nor any of its characters. They belong to Games Workshop.
Inspired by the Dornian Heresy, by Aurelius Rex.
I am Cerberus.
For many centuries I have hunted the Arch-Renegade Fabius Bile, to punish him for his crimes against my bloodline. Many times have I shed his life's blood, many times have I watched the light fade from his eyes. Always he stared back at me in shock, contempt, wrath – but never fear, not even once. And always, no matter how many times I have killed him, he has endured.
For the creature that calls itself the Primogenitor is much more than a single man now. It is a plague, self-replicating and corrupting all that it touches. Its clones have been at work in the Eye of Terror for millennia, and all I have been able to do is slow the rise of their power.
The Black Legion, this foul perversion of the Emperor's great gene-work, has been unleashed upon Cadia, keystone of the Iron Cage that holds the madness of the Eye in check. The clones of Fabius Bile I failed to kill have gathered the results of their dreadful work into a horde such as the galaxy as never seen before, a carnival of monstrosities of twisted flesh and daemonic creations. The abominations of the Clone Wars pale compared to what the Consortium has wrought.
I can feel, with senses that bloomed in Hell, that the barrier against Chaos is shuddering. Cadia's importance lies beyond its strategic position as the only stable route outside the Eye, beyond the antediluvian pylons laying across its surface holding the Immaterium at bay. Trillions of souls across the Imperium believe in the legend of the Cadian Gate, forever holding at bay the horrors dwelling in the Eye of Terror. There is power in belief, and that belief, reinforced by millennia of Imperial propaganda, is potent indeed. As long as the Gate holds, the Dark Gods are bound by that belief. As long as Cadia stands, their influence beyond the Eye is limited.
But if Cadia falls, that belief will die. The Imperium will know fear such as it hasn't known since the days my father yet breathed. And that fear will feed the Dark Gods, restarting the vicious cycle that once began at Isstvan and ended at Terra.
I have failed in my mission. My oath of moment lies broken at my feet, and the shame of failure burns through what remains of my soul after so long spent in the darkest shadows of Hell. Now the entire galaxy is at risk should all the loyal souls gathered to stand against the tide not be enough to stem it.
Yet I, who have buried my father and so many of my brothers, am painfully familiar with failure. It did not break me before, and it shall not do so now. As the Black Legion prepares for the final crossing, I make my own preparations. If Fabius thinks that leaving the Eye will place him beyond my reach, then he's wrong.
For I am Cerberus, the wolfhound at the gates of Hell. And I will hunt down the Defiler no matter where he might run, from the depths of the Eye of Terror to the walls of the Imperial Palace, unto eternity's end.
Until it is done.
Times of Ending : The Cadian Apocalypse
Part One : The Black Legion's Descent
Across the million worlds of the Imperium, there are no others like Cadia. The world and its star system have been remade by the Iron Warriors into a wall against which the hordes of Chaos have hurled themselves for millennia. Nowhere else in the galaxy has the blood of more Traitors been spilled – save perhaps on Holy Terra itself, where the Roboutian Heresy came to its bloody conclusion. But now, as the end of the 41st Millennium draws near, the defenses of the Cadian Gate will be tested like never before. The Black Legion, that gathering of mongrels led by the Arch-Renegade Fabius Bile, has mustered its strength to attack the Gate. Alliances have been forged with other factions of the Eye of Terror, and the hidden creations of the Pater Mutatis have been brought out of his myriad laboratories for their first field testing. Forewarned by Alpha Legion operatives, the Imperium has amassed a mighty army to reinforce the Iron Cage's greatest stronghold, but it remains to be seen if human courage and Fourth Legion's ingenuity will prevail over the horrors about to be set loose by the Clonelord …
It began, as it always did, with the screams of psykers.
Psychic activity was closely monitored on Cadia, and very few sanctioned psykers were allowed to enter the system. Only those who were trusted to guard their thoughts from the relentless corruption of the yawning Eye of Terror overhead could operate in the system, and any psyker born to the local population was either killed or shipped off-system promptly, to be examined for corruption and trained appropriately – or fed into the Astronomican, if he was too weak.
But even the most disciplined soul had a breaking point; even the most well-guarded mind could be made to suffer. In the Eye of Terror, the Grand Master Nephalor of the Dark Angels directed his Sorcerers to perform vile rituals that sent waves of nightmares and madness into Cadia. Imperial captives were dragged out of their cells and given to the Interrogator-Chaplains, their suffering and eventual breakdown and submission broadcast into the minds of the psychically sensitive.
For weeks, every psyker in the system suffered from these terrible, pain-filled visions. The astropathic choirs had to be put into drug-induced sleep after several succumbed to madness, triggering a handful of brief daemonic incursions. Astra Militarum battle-psykers were put under constant watch, several needing to be executed before they could threaten their Regiments. Even the Librarians of the Space Marine Legions deployed on Cadia were affected, and Warp travel in and out of the system became more and more dangerous as the Immaterium was filled by the echoes of tormented screams of pain and surrender to the will of the Dark Angels and their Dark Gods Tzeentch.
The Dark Angels' rites were only the beginning. Visions of bloody slaughter haunted even non-psychic individuals, invading not just dreams but even waking moments in the form of gory hallucinations that resulted in many instances of accidental weapon's discharge and the summary execution of hundreds of compromised Guardsmen. Others dreamt of great black wolves hunting them across a frozen ocean, waking up screaming in horror just as their infernal jaws closed on their necks. Unknown to Cadian High Command, these psychic echoes of the coming war were spreading across the rest of the Sector, resulting in an increase in psychic incidents and thousands of deaths everywhere as psykers succumbed to madness and detonated in fiery explosions capable of taking down entire hive-blocks.
By themselves, the rites of the Dark Angels and the time-displaced echoes of the war to come shouldn't have had so drastic an effect. But the epochal events of the Times of Ending had thrown the Empyrean into disarray. The disturbance also meant that Cadia was kept unaware of the events unfolding across the rest of the galaxy : they didn't receive the urgent psychic communiques sent by the other Iron Cage warning of Guilliman's resurrection, the messages from the Prosperine Dominion announcing Magnus' awakening, or the grim tidings from Chemos mourning the fall of the Third Legion. All these and more had stirred the Warp, causing the smaller Warp Storms that blighted the region to flare, further isolating each Imperial world. As the attention of terrible Powers turned toward the Cadian Gate, the Sentinel of the Eye found itself more and more isolated, no longer able to call for aid in the face of the Enemy.
Cadia, the Sentinel of the Eye
Before the Heresy, Cadia was a planet covered in abundant jungles, populated by tribes of primitive humans descended from colonists who had landed there during Humanity's first galactic diaspora, before the Age of Strife. When the Heresy ended and the Traitor Legions – bar the Ultramarines – eventually retreated into the Eye of Terror after the Scouring, Perturabo claimed the world as his own and, after purging the cults of Chaos that had grown under the Eye's influence, remade it into a fortress-world to rival any of those his Legion had built.
The Primarch of the Iron Warriors had learned of a mystery on Cadia that would confuse Imperial scholars for millennia to come : the famous Cadian pylons, those structures of unknown material that exist by the thousands across the planet, and seem to have a neutralizing effect on the Warp. Some of the Lord of Iron's advisors argued that Cadia should be destroyed, so as to close the Gate and trap the Traitors in their prison, but Perturabo strongly rejected their proposal. There was no telling what the consequences of destroying the pylons would be, and furthermore, by providing one clear path out of the Eye, the Imperials would know exactly where to guard against the return of their enemies.
Perturabo intended to make Cadia into a grindstone against which the rebel hosts of the Heresy would crush themselves for all eternity, just as the Imperial Fists had almost driven themselves to extinction on Sebastus IV. With little support from the rest of the Imperium, however, the Lord of Iron was unable to make his full vision into a reality.
This had led to the fall of Cadia one hundred years after the Siege of Terra, at the dawn of the Clone Wars, when the forces of the Blood Angels allied with Fabius Bile and his host of monsters cloned from Horus' stolen corpse overwhelmed the Iron Warriors' defenses. To this day, all Cadians are taught of this event in their religious lessons, for such a distant past has long since passed into myth even to the Space Marines of the Fourth Legion. Even this sanitized version, however, serves a purpose, as it infuses the children of Cadia with a deep, abiding hatred of the Clonelord, responsible for the planet's fall. To Cadians, Fabius Bile is something of a legendary boogeyman, a monster from myths and symbol of everything that must be abhorred in the Traitor, the Mutant and the Heretic.
After the Clone Wars ended, the Iron Warriors rebuilt their demolished strongholds even greater than before. They called upon the Adeptus Mechanicus, who, using rare and priceless technologies, terraformed the other worlds of the Cadian system – some of which had always been lifeless, while others had been rendered so by war – making them suitable for human life.
The death-world of Prosan, closest to the star, became a training ground for Cadian troops and Iron Warriors recruits, turning its incredibly hostile environment from a challenge the Mechanicus hadn't been able to solve into an asset. Korolis, which was barely large enough to qualify as a planet, was given to the Mechanicus as thanks for their aid, and was turned into a center of production for weapon-grade atomic materials and associated weaponry, as well as an extraction and refinement facility for the vast stores of promethium below its surface. Sonned, Cadia and Holn, the next three worlds moving away from the star, were turned into fortress-worlds, with the Iron Warriors building a singular great keep on Sonned and Holn (Kasr Sonned and Kasr Holn, following the naming pattern of Cadia's own Castellum). Each was defended by millions of Imperial Guardsmen, with Cadia itself further fitted with factories capable of producing all the many, many types of ammunition and replacement parts the planet's defenders might need.
Hive-cities were built on Macharia, though their population has lived under constant martial law for the last ten thousand years. There, vast greenhouses and livestock breeding and processing facilities produce the prodigious quantities of food the other planets of the system require. Even at the Gate, the proximity of the Eye and the raiders make Warp travel unreliable, necessitating the system be self-reliant when it comes to nourishment. Macharia also serves as something of a vacation planet for the Imperial Guardsmen, who can spend their leave there. The gas planet of Vigilatum was made into an outpost of the Imperial Navy doubling as a training area, and Kasr Partox was fortified and turned into the system's fourth and final fortress-world. Saint Josmane's Hope, renamed in the 39th Millennium after Saint Josmane successfully banished a Greater Daemon summoned there by a Nurglite cult, currently serves as a military prison, hosting criminals from all across the Sector awaiting judgement and processing into the Imperium's Penal Legions. Finally, the frozen world of Solar Mariatus was converted into a lesser forge-world, becoming the source of much of the war material the other planets need – tanks, weapons, as well as parts for the ships of the Imperial Navy.
Though the worlds of the Cadia system have their own Planetary Governors in accordance with the regulations of the Adeptus Terra, true power lies in the hands of the Iron Warriors, culminating with the Triarch permanently assigned to the Cadian Gate. As one of the Trident, the august triumvirate leading the Fourth Legion while its Primarch slumbers in his Dreadnought coffin, this Triarch holds absolute authority over the entire system and every Imperial asset in it, though of course a certain degree of politicking and influence management is inevitable when dealing with certain Imperial organizations.
At the twilight of the forty-first millennium, the Triarch ruler of Cadia was Khorius Rex, an Olympian-born veteran of a hundred gruelling campaigns all across both Iron Cages, against the Slaves to Ruin in all their forms. His cold and bitter demeanour haven't made him popular to the human troops under his command, illustrating the need for a separate, human chain of command suborned to the Legion's own.
Though it was now all but cut off from the rest of the Imperium, Cadia wasn't caught off-guard. News of the Black Legion mustering in the Eye of Terror had reached High Command long ago, delivered by figures bearing the mark of a many-headed snake. Millions of Guardsmen were dispatched to every potential battle-zone, in a feat of logistics that strained even the masters of the Fourth Legion's legendary capabilities. Troops and ships had been pulled in from all over the Segmentum and beyond to reinforce the Gate, resulting in Catachan Regiments being assigned to the same battle-zones as the Vostroyan Firstborn. Tens of thousands of Chemosian Eternals had also arrived months ago : they had been meant to accompany a detachment of Emperor's Children, but the sons of Fulgrim themselves had never arrived. Whether they had been delayed or lost in the Warp was still unknown.
Several Companies of the Sons of Horus Legion had come to Cadia, their warriors eager to shed the blood of their ancient enemy, the Black Legion. With them had come the august battleship Vengeful Spirit, queen of the void and scourge of the enemies of Humanity for ten thousand years. The Gloriana-Class vessel had served as the Sixteenth Legion's flagship since the hallowed days of the Great Crusade, and her prodigious might was now lent to the defense of Cadia, a sight that buoyed the spirits of all Imperial Navy elements in the system.
A few of the dreaded kill-teams of Night Lords also arrived before Warp travel was rendered difficult, putting themselves at the service of the Ordos Cadia until the arrival of the Archenemy. A full Chapter of the Word Bearers had also answered the call for aid, as did three Companies of World Eaters, who were swiftly spread across the ranks of the Astra Militarum to bolster them in accordance with the Twelfth Legion's doctrine when operating with the Guard.
Several Orders of the Sisters of Battle had also sent what forces they could to Cadia, as had the Mechanicus allies of the Fourth Legion. Titan-carrying ships had delivered the God-Machines of Legio Vulcanum along with thousands of Skitarii warriors and their tech-priest overseers. Answering ancient bonds of fealty, several Knight Households had also arrived to stand against the Archenemy. And, following obscure predictions from their Prognosticars, a complement of Grey Knights had arrived in secret, immediately journeying to the Inquisitorial stronghold on Cadia.
The presence of warriors from so many disparate Imperial forces was an inspiring spectacle, but those with access to the bigger picture knew it was a sign of the terrible might arrayed against Cadia by the Black Legion. For years, High Command had known of the heretics' plans to launch an attack on the system of a scale unseen since the Clone Wars themselves – though in truth, the reports of the Hydra and Ordos spoke of a force far greater than that the Blood Angels and the Clonelord had unleashed back then massing on the edge of the Eye of Terror. Despite the awesome might of the armies that had been gathered at Cadia to meet this Black Crusade, all knew that the most difficult battle of their lives laid ahead of them.
They were right, for the Archenemy had invested considerable effort and resources to preparing the way for the Black Legion – and not all of them had taken place within the Eye of Terror. Despite the constant efforts of the many Inquisitors permanently assigned to the system as part of the Ordos Cadia, cults had always grown like weeds in the system. The Eye whispered heretical thoughts into the souls of the billions of men and women dwelling beneath the Cadian star, and not all of them were able to ignore them. As the psychic disturbances increased, these cults – some of which had remained hidden for generations, deliberately refraining from any action that would draw attention, while others had only just arrived in the system, hiding among the throng of reinforcements, or come into existence as a result of the increased Warp activity – began to take action, answering signals from their distant gods.
Acting as a fifth column to the oncoming Chaos invasion, these heretics began a system-wide campaign of sabotage of the Imperial war effort. Supplies were lost, destroyed or soiled. Isolated troopers and field officers were murdered in the shadows. On Prosan, an entire promotion of young Cadians was ritually murdered by their instructors, their blood used to summon Khornate daemons that attacked the Iron Warriors' facility on the planet, breaching it and destroying the equipment used to monitor the progress of the Aspirants sent to the death-world for training. The presence of the daemons enhanced the hostile conditions on Prosan, resulting in giant, continent-spanning radiation storms that, combined with the daemonic presence, killed almost every trainee on the planet. At the order of the Inquisition, the remaining Imperial facilities were evacuated as swiftly as possible, and their personnel remanded into the hands of the Ordos for interrogation in order to weed out any remaining traitors.
The loss of Prosan before the Black Legion had even arrived was yet another sign that this was far more than just another attempt by the Traitor Legions to break free of the Iron Cage. But it wasn't the only calamity of its scope to befall Cadia.
On Korolis, the facilities that refined nuclear material were suddenly struck by a plague of mutation that spread across all Mechanicus personnel. What little flesh the tech-priests had left suddenly blossomed with unholy growths, driving the flesh-hating adepts into violent madness. This was the result of a daemon of Tzeentch that had been summoned years ago by a fire-worshipping cult among the Promethium workers, who had subtly spread its influence among the tech-priests, waiting for the signal to reveal it. Driven to insanity by the horror of their condition, the tech-priests turned their arsenal of nuclear weaponry against themselves, detonating enough nukes that the explosion reached the vast Promethium reservoir deep below the surface of Korolis. The resulting cataclysm devastated the entire planet as thoroughly as any Exterminatus, sending thousands of souls into the Warp, where the long-departed daemon of Tzeentch awaited them, cackling.
Less pernicious but still badly disruptive were the flagellant cults, born of the sense of despair and creeping horror the psychic disturbances fostered. Doomsday preachers claimed that the God-Emperor had turned His gaze away from Cadia, and that only by repenting of their sins could they earn His forgiveness. The attempts by the flagellants to force 'repentance' upon those their leaders denounced as responsible – most often non-Cadian Astra Militarum Regiments and officers – caused further anarchy, and were eventually met by brutal crackdowns led by Iron Warriors enforcers, who had no time for such foolishness when the Archenemy was metaphorically knocking at the Gate.
The impact of all of this, however, paled compared to that of the tragedy that would become known as the Tyrok Infamy.
"I was there, and I saw it all happen.
Me and my Regiment had landed in Kasr Tyrok after days in orbit, the Iron Warriors finally getting around to processing us. Of course, given how many troops were being deployed, I was amazed they had gotten to us that quickly.
We were part of the last batch of reinforcements who had made it before the Warp had become too unstable to cross. Over a hundred thousand Guardsmen and their equipment, all spread out across the Fields. It wasn't a parade, not exactly : the Iron Warriors don't believe in parades, from what I understand. It was a muster, where our commanding officers would be handed our assignments in the Castellum.
Still, we were being honored, we were told, because the Triarch himself had come to direct the proceedings. He had brought his command vehicle, an Ordinatus-Class engine called the Fist of Atlas, a veritable fortress on tracks that resembled nothing more than an enormous slab of steel bristling with guns. We were all standing in its shadow, waiting for our orders, when it happened.
One hundred Regiments were deployed on the Tyrok Fields, but only half of them were loyal to the God-Emperor. The rest were faithless heathens, who had managed to conceal their heresy from the watchful eyes of the Inquisition. Moving on some unseen signal, they all opened fire at once, from their lasguns to their tanks. The infantry fired at the rest of us – I saw the man standing to my right, whose name I had never learned, fall with a burning hole in his skull – while the heavier guns targeted the Fist of Atlas.
An Ordinatus is a tough beast, but even they have their limits, especially when their void-shields are down and nobody is expecting an attack. That first volley crippled the Fist of Atlas, and the traitors swarmed around it to get inside and finish the job. Meanwhile, we were shocked and terrified, many of our officers dead, the chain of command in tatters. Already there were cries to retreat, though I am convinced they were shouted by heretics planted behind our lines to ensure we routed.
Even so, Emperor forgive me, but it almost worked. It would have worked, in fact, if he hadn't shown up. General Creed had been deployed at Kasr Tyrok for months by then, and he had sniffed something wrong going on with this muster. He and his Regiment, the 8th Cadian Infantry, suddenly showed up, and he rallied us all and led us straight back into the heretics, who by then had breached the Fist of Atlas and were pouring inside.
One Regiment wasn't enough to compensate for the losses we had taken in the first treacherous volley, but the heretics were too focused on the Fist. With General Creed directing us, we tore through them like the Emperor's own sword, with the Cadian 8th at the front. Amidst the chaos of battle, somehow I had ended up joining them, and I saw Creed fight himself, wielding a bolter in one hand and a power sword in the other, while his tall, scarred bodyguard fought at his side.
We slaughtered them, letting none escape, and eventually we made it to the Fist of Atlas. But by that point, the Triarch and his entire command staff had already been killed. Each of them died as heroes, surrounded by the corpses of traitors.
I am sure there will be an investigation by the Ordos into just how so many traitors managed to reach Cadia. But with someone like Creed to lead us, I know we'll be able to defeat the Black Legion, no matter what treachery it throws at us."
From the private writings of Lieutenant Charles Jordan of the 589th Hadranos Fusiliers
Ursakar E. Creed was one of Cadia's most renowned generals. As a child, he had survived a Chaos raid on Kasr Gallan, and be saved from the ruins by the Cadian 8th Infantry Regiment, who had adopted him as one of their own. As Creed grew, his rise through the ranks was meteoric, and he eventually left Cadia to fight in the many wars of the Imperium, earning many accolades for his bravery and tactical genius. Like many others, he had been recalled to Cadia as the Black Legion's attack approached, and quickly established himself as a capable leader, who could make the various Imperial factions work together efficiently. The Triarch had noted this ability and made ample use of his skills, which had exposed Creed to the mind-boggling complexity of the Fourth Legion's defensive array at Cadia.
With Khorius Rex and his command staff dead, and Creed acclaimed as a savior sent by the Emperor by the troops, the remnants of High Command decided to put him in overall command of the Imperial Guard forces in the system. The thousands of Iron Warriors left in the system were still under the command of their Warsmiths, who would coordinate with local commanders. To represent his new authority, Creed was presented with the title of Lord Castellan, a title he tried to refuse thrice before eventually surrendering to the inevitable.
Despite Creed quickly taking over and the best efforts of Imperial propagandists to use him to balance the damage the Tyrok Infamy had done to morale, the loss of so many commanders took its toll on the defenders. Confusion and fear spread down the chain of command, and at precisely the correct moment – when doubt had time to grow, but before the Inquisitors, Commissars and Ministorum Priests could effectively suppress it – the Black Legion and its cohorts finally arrived.
The Mandeville belt of the Cadia system had long been fortified by the Iron Warriors. Over a score of space-forts were guarded the easiest points of entry, equipped with the most powerful guns the Imperium could produce, and patrols of the Imperial Navy constantly sailed it, looking for raiders trying to sneak through the Iron Cage.
The Warp broke apart, opening a rift in reality so wide it could be seen all the way to Cadia itself. From this wound in the cosmos emerged the fleet of the Black Crusade : hundreds of ships of all size and shape, each one bearing the marks of a prolonged stay in the Eye of Terror. Astartes ships taken by the Black Legion from all Legiones Astartes were present, as were entire renegade Battlegroups of the Imperial Navy, eldritch Dark Mechanicum constructs, and swarms of captured and converted civilian ships whose holds were full of mutants and heretics. Through the use of sorcery, Dark Tech and the guidance of mutated Navigators bred in one of the Clonelord's many hidden laboratories, the fleet had managed not only to escape the Eye of Terror, but also to arrive together and in formation.
At the center of the fleet was the Pulchritudinous, the same Lunar-class cruiser that had led the attack on Chemos months prior, though none of the defenders knew this yet. With it came three enormous, sphere-shaped vessels, nigh on ten kilometers in diameter. Auspex scans indicated very little in the ways of weaponry on these void-leviathans, but there were a great number of active power sources inside, leading Imperial analysts to believe these were troop transports. Certainly, the way the Black Legion protectively closed ranks around them suggested they were important to whatever mad scheme the Primogenitor had in mind to break the Cadian Gate.
If that were all, the outer defenses might have been able to hold on long enough for the rest of the Navy in the system to come to their aid and crush the Black Crusade before it had really begun. But along with the Black Legion came the ships of two other factions of the Lost and the Damned : the deluded knights of the First Legion, the Dark Angels, and the butchers of the Black Templars, that splinter faction of the Imperial Fists Traitor Legion. These contingents were led by none other than Grand Master Nephalor, the Lord of Stars, and Sigismund the Destroyer himself, Chosen of Khorne and twice-traitor to his Emperor and Primarch.
Nephalor, the Lord of Stars
One of the nine Grand Masters of the Dark Angels, Nephalor is among the greatest masters of void warfare to have ever lived. During the Great Crusade, he was one of the few Terrans whose loyalty to the Primarch was never in doubt, keeping him from being exiled to Caliban with the rest of the warriors who would become the Fallen. His exemplary loyalty led to him being noted for promotion, which led to the discovery of his prodigious talent for void battle.
At the betrayal of Isstvan V, it was Nephalor who orchestrated the slaughter of the loyal Legions' fleets, though his plans were thwarted by the sacrifice of Captain Typhon of the Death Guard. During the Siege of Terra, it was Nephalor who directed the fleet of the First Legion, coordinating with the other Traitor forces to crush their way through the space defenses of the Solar system. When Guilliman died and the Roboutian Heresy ended, it was again Nephalor who led the withdrawal of the Dark Angels, allowing them to flee before being caught by the returning World Eaters and Word Bearers.
For this, he was named a Grand Master of the Dark Angels by Lion El'Jonson, and charged with the defense of their holdings inside the Eye of Terror. Ever since then, Nephalor has been a steadfast defender of Tzeentchian dominions against the other Traitor Legions, leading his fleet to many victories, both as a skilled void commander and as a champion of Chaos in brutal boarding actions. The straightforward nature of his purpose has kept him from the labyrinthine intrigues that characterize the rest of his Legion, instead serving Tzeentch through dazzling displays of tactical skill and outmanoeuvring his foes.
All of this, of course, is only the story the agents of the Imperium have managed to piece together from Crusade-era records and interrogations of heretics. It may be partially true or woven entirely from lies : as with most things where the Dark Angels are concerned, there is no way to tell, and Nephalor has had little known involvement with the galaxy outside the Eye of Terror. If this version of his past is true, then Nephalor might be the oldest of the current Grand Masters, having held the position since the Dark Angels' exile. His influence outside the Eye of Terror is limited, but he does lead his own cults among void-dwellers. Hiding among the Imperial Navy and other Imperial void-faring institutions, these cultists hold to strange beliefs even by Tzeentchian standards, and have brought more than a few ships they had captured to the Eye, adding them to the Dark Angels' armada.
Across the millennia, Nephalor has received many gifts from Tzeentch. Most of these gifts are esoteric in nature, giving him terrible insights that make him an even more redoubtable commander, while his soul has been scoured to the point he feels no doubt or fear, only an infernal desire to see the will of his Dark God and Primarch done. Even so, he is a terrifying sight. The very energies of the Warp course through his veins, making merely looking upon his exposed face a risk to one's sanity, while every wound he takes results in his foes being bathed in Warp-fire. His eyes burn even brighter, forming tiny windows into what remains of his soul, and his head is crowned by a mane of black feathers gleaming with the light of forbidden knowledge.
As one of Lion El'Jonson's chosen lieutenants, Nephalor wields the Sword of Illumination. This powerful blade was forged on Cysgorog, and is said to contain the bound essence of one of the Firetide's divine spirits, captured by a First Legion warband in the Radiant Worlds. Regardless of its origins, its blade can cut through any armor and sorcerous protection, and inflicts terrible burns that form patterns pleasing to Tzeentch. Many have been wounded by the Sword of Illumination and survived, only for their body to become a gateway to the Empyrean later.
Worst of all, these ancient Traitor Marines had brought with them two Gloriana-Class warships, each a match for the Vengeful Spirit in seize and firepower, if not in honor and dignity.
When the nine great hosts of the Dark Angels had assembled at Cysgorog by the Lion's order, Nephalor had been given command over a significant portion of the Traitor Legion's fleet assets, far greater than the one he had commanded as part of his duties in the Eye of Terror. With the Invincible Reason, the Dark Angel's Gloriana-Class battleship, serving as their flagship, this armada had joined with the Black Legion. None knew what fell bargain the Clonelord had made with the Daemon Primarch of the First Legion to secure such assistance, but there were many rumors, each more disturbing than the last.
Meanwhile, the Black Templars had brought their mythical flagship, the Eternal Crusader, which Sigismund had stolen during the Breaking of the Imperial Fists. With them came a swarm of cult-ships full of the Blood God's mad devotees, as well as several Space Hulks the followers of the Destroyer had turned into ad hoc transports. Several of these monstrous amalgams of ships of all types and origins were identified as having been seen in Imperial space before, only to have reportedly vanished decades ago and been presumed to have finally fallen apart in the Warp. Now the truth was revealed : they had been taken by the Black Templars and their mortal thralls.
Within these Space Hulks dwelled entire corrupted civilizations dedicated to the worship of Khorne through the teachings of his Chosen Sigismund. Descended from cultists of the Blood God who had boarded the Space Hulks generations before, they had spent all their lives fighting against the other horrors inhabiting their homes – from Genestealers to daemons and everything in between. The casualties they had sustained, and the number of such cults who had been completely wiped out, beggars the imagination, but eight Space Hulks had been tamed by Sigismund's followers.
At the conclave of the Chaos Lords prior to the Black Crusade's beginning, Nephalor had been given overall command of the gathered Chaos fleets, as the foremost void-master among them. The Lord of Stars had long supplemented his strategic prowess with Tzeentchian sorcery, and the outer defenses suffered the full brunt of his prowess. Within hours, the space-forts that had barred the way of the Black Crusade were naught but lifeless husks, and the Traitor fleet pushed into the system.
On the Imperium's side, Admiral Quarren had taken command of the fleet, leading from the ship Gathalamor. Faced with the might of the Traitor armada, he quickly realized that a direct confrontation was suicide. From accessing ancient records and consulting with the officers of the Vengeful Spirit, it was obvious that the Eternal Crusader and Invincible Reason were more powerful than any ship save their loyalist sister. The sorcery of the Dark Angels also had to be taken into account : while the Imperial ships were protected by their own psykers and priests, recent events had proven that such were not beyond the Traitors' ability to breach.
If the fleet was lost, it would leave the worlds of Cadia defended against orbital bombardment only their own anti-ship artillery. While powerful, these weapons were limited in range, and the Traitors would be free to bombard the planets from afar using solid projectiles. Admiral Quarren instead decided to resort to hit-and-run tactics, striking at the Chaos fleet with the longest-ranged weapons at his disposal and retreating before the heretics could bring their full might to bear. Unfortunately, while this tactic would prevent the Traitors from bombing the worlds of the Gate into dust, it wouldn't stop them from unleashing their forces upon them.
As the Black Crusade fleet advanced, the Night Lords launched a series of lightning-quick raids upon its vanguard, their Strike Cruisers risking dangerous proximity in order to deliver their kill-teams to their destination. Within the next few days, eleven capital-class ships of the traitorous Navy elements were crippled in the void, their engines destroyed or their officers slaughtered by the sons of Nostramo. Those of the boarders who managed to escape and return to their ships also brought with them intelligence they had collected during their deployment, bringing the names of some of the most infamous Chaos Lords among the attackers as well as more estimates of their numbers.
Instead of sailing straight for Cadia, the Traitor armada split up into several elements, each aiming for one of the system's worlds – though the bulk of its number, including the Invincible Reason, remained around the Pulchritudinous and its three spherical cohorts. Solar Mariatus, the outermost planet of the system, came under attack by Dark Mechanicum elements. According to the data recovered by the Night Lords, this faction of hereteks had been contracted by Fabius Bile to help outfit the hordes of traitors and mutants that had rallied to the Black Legion's banner. Solar Mariatus was part of the price the Primogenitor had paid for their help, both for the valuable resources and industry on its surface, but also for the opportunity to face their loyalist brethren of the Martian Priesthood, who held dominion over Solar Mariatus by ancient accord with the Iron Warriors.
Soon, the forges of Solar Mariatus became the ground for a bitter war between the Dark Mechanicum and the Adeptus Mechanicus, supported by a garrison of Iron Warriors and Cadian troops. The rest of the Traitor fleet continued onward, until it reached the prison world of Saint Josmane's Hope. Black Legion ships departed toward the planet, their captains hoping to recruit the penal population to their cause. However, Saint Josmane's Hope was managed by a grim Iron Warrior veteran, who had lost most of his flesh to war and Warp-caused mutations, and was more machine than man by this point. What remained of his mortal mind had been tormented incessantly by visions of the Imperium's fall, sent to him by Chaos Sorcerers who hoped to break his resolve in order to ease the capture of the world he was responsible for.
They had underestimated the endurance of Perturabo's sons, however. Or perhaps they hadn't, and the madness of the Warden simply ran in an unexpected direction. Regardless, when the Traitor fleet had finished smashing through the planet's orbital defenses and had placed themselves into orbit to discharge their invading armies, he activated a mechanism the Fourth Legion had secretly built into the planet thousands of years ago. Saint Josmane's Hope detonated, killing every soul on its surface and wiping out the entire Traitor contingent that had attacked it. No attempt was made to evacuate the loyal souls on the planet, though whether this was because the Warden didn't want to risk alerting the heretics to his plan or because he was acting on his own and didn't want anyone to try to stop him is unknown.
The sudden loss of Saint Josmane's Hope further damaged Imperial morale, for all that it effectively did little to diminish the system's ability to fight back. The Imperial Navy complex at Vigilatum was a much more important asset, but by the vagaries of cosmic motion, it was on the other side of Cadia's star from the Black Crusade's fleet, and was thus spared for now, as was Macharia and its food-production facilities. With Korolis already lost, the Black Legion and its allies were free to focus their attention on the fortress-worlds of Cadia, though they must always keep an eye out for the combined Imperial Fleet that lurked in the system, ever ready to strike at the smallest weakness.
The three met in a small chamber. Only Fabius was there in the flesh, clad in his full panoply of war, with his coat of flayed faces, the Chirurgeon clattering on his back, and his skull-topped staff, glowing the fury of the daemon caged within.
In front of him, Sigismund's image was cast by a flickering hololithic projector, while Nephalor's silhouette was cast from his warship's bridge through sorcery, using the eldritch proprieties of the Invincible Reason – and oh, how Fabius loathed the bitter irony of that name – to achieve what standard, sane technology was capable of. Another sign of how far the First Legion had fallen.
"My friends," Fabius greeted them. "We have gone through much, and stand together on the edge of a new age for the galaxy. I am pleased with how things have gone thus far. The Black Legion stands ready to play its part in the next stage of our campaign. Are there any issues on your ends ?"
"I still say we should have waited longer," said Nephalor's sorcerous projection. "A few more weeks, and my Sorcerers would have delivered us the system on a silver platter."
Sigismund let out a short bark of laughter.
"You don't understand the point of this Crusade, magician. Cadia is but the first step on this span of the Eightfold Path. It is the crucible in which our forces will be forged for the Age of Blood to come."
"Barbarian," sneered Nephalor.
Bile cleared his throat before things could degenerate further – uncounted millennia of experience dealing with Chaos Lords had refined his skills in such matters. Unfortunately, it had done nothing for his health, and he had to cough for a few seconds before actually being able to speak :
"Though Sigismund couches it in words a little too extravagant for my tastes, he's right, Nephalor. If this victory is to be won, it must be won through martial might, not treachery and tricks. The rest of the galaxy waits beyond the Cadian Gate, and I won't let my children go out there in the dark until I know they are ready to face the monsters waiting for them."
Nephalor laughed, his laughter completely different from Sigismund.
"That you can say such things, Fabius, and mean them, both impresses and disgusts me in equal measures. Very well. We'll do it your way. All is in readiness."
Nephalor was lying, Fabius knew. Or rather, he was holding something back, some secret plot he thought would deliver them – or at the very least him – victory without struggle. But the Clonelord had known such was inevitable from the moment he had realized he would need the assistance of the First Legion to bring his creations to this, the ultimate testing ground in the galaxy that Perturabo and his sons had so kindly prepared for him.
The cost to secure the Dark Angels' aid had been steep, but his coffers were deep and full of ten thousand years of his Black Legion's tribute. The hundred years one of his selves had spent working with the Apothecaries of the First Legion to help replenish their ranks in time for the creation of the Nine Hosts had been much more trying on his patience. Knowing you were still doing other things at the same time didn't lessen the burden of working with superstitious fools.
But it had all been worth it to come to this moment. Nephalor was a short-sighted fool if he truly believed Cadia would fall so easily, but then such was the curse of his entire Legion, who had given themselves away to the lies of the Warp so that they wouldn't have to look at themselves. Fabius was far beyond such limitations, having known who he was long before the Drukhari had tried to break him, only for him to laugh in their faces and correct their technique as they cut him apart.
Whatever it was, Nephalor's plot would fall, because it was the nature of such schemes. But Fabius would let him enjoy himself a bit longer, so long as he did what was expected of him and ensured his beloved children reached the surface of Cadia without being blown to pieces by the Imperial fleet.
"I'm ready as well," growled Sigismund.
Despite the armor the Destroyer wore and the fact he was only a projection, Fabius could feel the fury burning inside the Black Templar. It amazed him that Sigismund was even capable of coherent thought, yet the renegade son of Dorn had proven a most reasonable associate since the two of them had met, seemingly by accident, on one of the Eye's countless battlefields. Either of them could have killed the other then, but they hadn't, and both had profited from their distant but more or less cordial relationship in the years since.
"Then let us begin," said the Primogenitor with a smile that would have withered the hearts of mortal men.
Here, at Cadia, the galaxy would once again witness the undeniable genius of Fabius Bile.
The Eternal Crusader and the rest of the Black Templars moved to attack the fortress-world Kasr Partox, whose great citadel was defended by millions of loyal Imperial souls. Meanwhile, Kasr Sonned, Kasr Holn and Cadia itself were attacked by the hordes of the Black Legion, with the Dark Angels adding their might to the assault on the system capital. The first wave of this assault was made of disposable troops, cultists and mutants and the most degenerate of the Lost and the Damned, who were of little use to Fabius Bile's grand designs except as cannon fodder. Many were killed before even making planetfall, cut down by anti-air artillery, but such was their number that millions still reached the surface, landing in the empty plains between Castellum.
With their faith stoked by Ministorum Priests and their discipline reinforced by Commissars, the Imperial Guard stood ready to meet the heretics. The skies of Cadia were soon torn by vicious dogfights between Imperial Navy fighters and Chaos aircrafts. Chaos Titans marched, met in god-like battle by their loyalist counterparts. And, eventually, the hosts of Ruin hurled themselves at the walls of Cadia's fortresses, where they were met by the guns and blades of Humanity's defenders.
Yet all was not as it seemed, and it would fall to a most unlikely hero to discover it …
Being dragged out of a comfortable retirement on a planet where every civilian considered me the next best thing to the Emperor reborn and thrown into what was shaping to be the worst war of the millennium was not an experience I would recommend. Even the latest round of rejuvenat treatments I had undergone on the way there – apparently, a Hero of the Imperium was supposed to have scars, but not white hair – wasn't enough to lift my spirits. I had thought I had done more than my part in service to the Imperium, but apparently not everyone thought that, or else believed that the legendary Commissar Ciaphas Cain would jump at the opportunity to fight the good fight once more.
Well, I was being dishonest with myself. I knew damn well who was responsible, and surely by now they didn't buy into my overinflated reputation.
At least I had been reunited with the Valhallan 597th. Broklaw had been dead for years by that point, killed in action and buried with all military honors, but Colonel Kasteen was still active and in charge. We had spent a few evenings drinking together to the memory of fallen comrades, which was a maudlin way to pass the time, but we were old people by now, no matter what we looked like. Apparently she too had been selected for rejuvenat treatment, though I wasn't sure if that was because of her leadership skills – which were considerable – or because she had spent the most formative years of her career with me, and someone in the Inquisition thought they were being clever. If so, I wished they had helped her get the promotion she deserved, but that her temper and lack of patience for the politics that plagued the highest echelons of the Guard had kept her from getting.
I stood in the command center of Kasr Tyrok, with Jurgen at my side. I had been redeployed there following the disaster at the Fields – apparently, some genius over at High Command had thought that a Hero of the Imperium was exactly what was needed to restore morale after that. It was a good idea, I had to give them that, but unfortunately what Kasr Tyrok got instead was me.
Still, since the conditions in the Warp meant I was stuck here for the foreseeable future, I had done my best to ensure the soldiers I was going to hide behind once the bullets started flying would not break apart and run, leaving me standing alone in front of the Black Legion's monsters. I had spent the last month running around, using every inch of my unearned reputation and manipulative skills to reinforce morale and keep tempers from fraying during meetings between the hot-headed children who were supposed to be elite Imperial commanders.
I had also done other, classified things, which was why Alpharius was standing guard next to the door. He had been doing that since that incident with the cultists I had accidentally uncovered in the Militarum-sanctioned brothel. And no, no matter what Kasteen might try to insinuate to get me in trouble with Amberley, I had only been there to recover a squad of troopers who I assumed had gone too drunk and failed to show up the following morning. I hadn't thought to find them about to be sacrificed to the Ruinous Powers, although on the bright side they certainly weren't going to go back.
By the time the dust had settled and I had dragged the troopers to the medicae and the cultists to the nearest incinerator, another undeserved accolade had been added to my name. I had gone to my quarters to collapse only to find that Alpharius had turned up and claimed that, if I was going to keep getting myself in these situations, he would make sure I stayed alive to continue to serve the Imperium. In my exhausted state, I had almost told him to bugger off before realizing that a Space Marine bodyguard would do wonders for my lifespan, and grudgingly accepting before finally falling asleep.
His name wasn't Alpharius, of course, but that's what I called him anyway – my own private joke, dating back to the first time I had met one of the Twentieth Legion. Not very funny, I'll readily admit, and perhaps even petty, but after all the trouble the scaled bastards have gotten me into I consider it my Emperor-given right. If they think they can use it on everyone else, then it's only fair I should use it on them for a change.
I hadn't been surprised to find that the Alpha Legion had a presence on Cadia. As far as I could tell, they had a presence everywhere, or at least everywhere that mattered. I had only met Alpharius on Cadia so far – or at least, one Legionnaire pretending to be him at a time – but that certainly didn't mean there weren't more, working hard to root out cultists and traitors.
Although, now, they probably had moved on to bigger targets, I thought as I sipped from the hot mug of tanna Jurgen had provided for me. The heretics had finally arrived, and after blowing up another planet in the system – always a bad sign, that, in my experience, when something like that happens twice in one campaign – they had made planetfall here.
Kasr Tyrok was ready for them, though. The Iron Warriors had built the walls well, and we had many men to hold them. I had been on the walls several times already, including at the very start – there had been no getting around it, and believe me, I had tried – and been greeted by enthusiastic shouts and the sight of many dead heretics.
Of course, we all knew the Black Legion was still holding back its main force, which raised the question of what they were doing right now. The analysts of Kasr Tyrok were debating that very point, the main hololithic display showing a map of Cadia with the positions of loyalist and traitor positions. Everything was as the newly promoted Lord Castellan Creed had ordered, with units covering each other's positions on the walls of the Castellum and mobile forces being held in reserve across the board -
I paused. My palms were itching, which was a sign my subconscious had caught onto something the rest of me hadn't yet. I had learned over the decades not to ignore that sort of things, so I forced myself to look at the tactical display deeper, trying to see if I could figure out what was wrong with it. There was something … something -
The coin dropped, along with my stomach.
"Oh frak," I said out loud, unable to stop myself. Jurgen turned toward me – as did Alpharius.
"Sir ? What's wrong ?"
I didn't answer my aide's worried query immediately. Instead, I spent a few more moments contemplating the thought that had struck me, turning it over in my head to see if I couldn't find anything that meant I was mistaken, that I was just being paranoid. Unfortunately, I didn't, which meant that if I wanted to have any chance of ever seeing Perlia again, I had to do something that was very likely going to be stupidly dangerous.
Again.
"Call Inquisitor Veil for me, Jurgen, please," I told him softly, fighting to keep my voice calm. "Tell her there's something I need to tell her right away."
Five hours and many very tense conversations later, I strode into the command bunker in Kasr Gallan, from whence Cadian High Command directed all the armies that had been gathered to try and stop Bile's insanity from spilling over into the rest of the Imperium. Amberley was there too, with her retinue – a handful of whom I was familiar with from previous encounters – as was Alpharius and a squad of his battle-brothers, which neatly confirmed another of my suspicions. At her request, Jurgen remained at the back of the group, hidden behind the bulk of the Alpha Legionnaires.
Amberley had been horrified when I had shared my revelation with her. For a moment I had thought she would think me mad – not that I could have blamed her; in truth, me being mad would've been a relief compared to me being right – but then she had asked Alpharius, and he had seen it too.
All of us barged in unannounced and fully armed. As you might imagine, our arrival drew some attention. Creed himself turned toward us from where he stood at the center of the bunker, surrounded by screens and reports, and raised an eyebrow.
"Commissar Cain, Inquisitor Veil," he greeted us. "To what do I owe the pleasure ?"
"General Ursakar E. Creed," declared Amberley, very pointedly not using his recent title. "By my rank as an Inquisitor of the Holy Ordos, I place you under suspicion of treason, heresy, and collision with the Archenemy. You will surrender yourself to us, that we might ascertain the truth of these accusations."
There was a moment of shocked silence, then – as I had known would happen – a clamour of objections from the command staff. Even the fear of the Inquisition, which was ingrained on Cadia even deeper than in the rest of the Imperium, couldn't quite overcome the loyalty these people felt for their Lord Castellan. Which would have been fine, if not for what I had discovered.
Creed didn't appear worried by the accusations, each of which were punishable by a slow and painful death. "And what exactly am I supposed to have done, lady Inquisitor ? Your accusations are … vague, to say the least."
That was my cue. "You sabotaged the entire Imperial defense of this world," I said, drawing everyone's attention to myself, much to my discomfort given how many of them were armed and angry. "It is subtle, I will give you that, but you've positioned the Astra Militarum units under your command in ways that leave openings that our enemy cannot fail to use."
"If that were true," slowly replied Creed, "it might be a ruse on my part, to draw our foes into a trap – one that your actions here would ruin."
"Maybe," I answered, staring him straight in the eye and projecting all the confidence I had learned to fake through decades of service in the Emperor's armies and at the tarot table. "But it wasn't, was it ?"
There was a moment of silence, and I was afraid I had blown it – that he would keep up pretending, which would get ugly very, very fast, and could potentially lose us the war before it had really started. We needed him to confess, or do something else that would remove any shadow of doubt. In this situation, if he were a traitor, the smartest thing he could possibly do was keep denying everything, and wait for the Imperial defense to tear itself apart as a result.
But either because he was as caught in my reputation as everyone else, or because he was as crazy as any of the servants of the Ruinous Powers I had ever faced, he gave in, and chuckled, before erupting into a bellowing, dark laugh. Everyone else shut up, his own men looking at him with wide eyes, their minds refusing to accept the evidence of their senses.
"Well done !" He said at last, still looking at me, and I saw that his eyes had become entirely black. His voice deepened, echoing in unnatural ways : "Well done indeed !"
And that was when I realized that he wasn't just a traitor – he was something much worse. The air filled with the stench of ozone, and every light source in the bunker appeared to dim. The screens of the staff's workstations cracked and filled with gibberish. To my right, Amberley raised her pistol and fired, but her shot did no damage, despite hitting Creed right in the chest.
He started to laugh again, and as he did so, underwent a horrible transformation. His body burned away like dry paper held in front of a flamer, revealing a towering shape of writhing darkness and malice, pierced by two eyes that shone with fell illumination. Two wings of shadow – I cannot think of any other way to describe them, for they were obviously not entirely of this reality – burst out of its back, and plates of dark blue armor coalesced around its torso.
All the while, it kept laughing, a sound that cut deep into my soul. The Space Marines opened fire at once while the staff ran away in horror or stood there, mesmerized, but every bolt shell stopped in the air, frozen before it hit its target.
A man had stood next to Creed – Jarran Kell, I recognized him from the propaganda posters, a trusted retainer and companion of Creed for decades. Now the Cadian stared at his superior in open-mouthed horror, tears running down his cheeks. The monster – the daemon, for that was the only thing this abomination could be – reached out to him with a clawed hand, and crushed his skull in its palm, letting his corpse fall to the ground.
"I owed him that much," it said. "But your interference doesn't matter : you are too late. The Triarch is dead, and those who could have led this system against the forces of Chaos have followed him. Once I have killed you, Kasr Gallan will fall, and I shall remake it into a gateway for my master's legions. Cadia's defenders will be leaderless and terrified, and the fissures my work made in their walls will crack open."
The daemon snapped its fingers, and the staff members who had stayed immobile, who I had thought to be struck dumb by shock, suddenly began to move. Their flesh rippled, growing into grotesque mutations as they hurled themselves at us. Alpharius' squad opened fire at once, but there were many of them, and their corruption granted them inhuman resilience. Amberley and her associates joined the fight, but unfortunately, a particularly vicious thing of blue and purple tentacles and feathers caught the Inquisitor by the ankle and threw her across the room, separating myself from the one person in the room who might be qualified to deal with the daemon that had apparently been possessing Creed all this time … and was currently staring directly at me.
I hated being right.
"I am Korahael", it declared. "Ascended son of the Lion. Exalted among the Dark Angels."
I shivered in dread at that name, for I had seen what the Dark Angels did to Guardsmen who fell in their clutches. I had killed some of these 'Broken Ones' myself, granting them the only mercy left to them. Even the Ecclesiarchy's lunatics didn't waste time torturing or putting them to the stake – a swift demise was the only fate that awaited them, before the sight of them could drag others into damnation.
"I know you, Ciaphas Cain," said the daemon. Of course. Of course it knew me. Why wouldn't it know me ?! "The Warp knows your name, you who have stood in the way of its servants time and time again."
"How long ?" I asked, trying to stall for time. "How long have you possessed Creed ?"
It laughed.
"From the beginning, of course. When the 8th found me in the ruins, I was already there, hiding inside the flesh of that child, suppressing my power so as not to consume him entirely. Really, why else would one child be the sole survivor of a Chaos incursion ? I expected this to be much more difficult, but Cadians are desperately eager to believe in miracles. Truly, humans are but puppets dancing on Tzeentch's strings."
That, unfortunately, made a disturbing amount of sense. It didn't mean it was true, of course – I wasn't enough of a fool to believe a single word spoken by a daemon.
"And yet," I went on, forging ahead with the same bloody desperation that had gotten me through so many close calls with being sent to the Golden Throne to explain myself, "it was a human that found you out."
I was gambling that the longest I could keep it talking, the more time my allies would have to deal with the chaff and come to my aid. Unfortunately, that particular daemon didn't appear to share the pathological desire to gloat that afflicted so many of its kind – or at least if it was, it was smart about it.
Korahael caught me in one hand large enough to close all around my torso, and held me up in the air, bending down until the screaming abyss that was its face was just in front of mine.
"Your will is strong," it praised me. "You will serve the Architect of Fate well."
Its gaze bore into my skull, and I felt its will penetrate my mind. I cannot describe how utterly violating this felt, and I have spent time in the dungeons of Eldar raiders. My mind's eye was filled with visions of the galaxy burning, of Chaos triumphant and the Imperium's downfall. I saw the worlds of the Iron Cage broken, the hordes of the Eye of Terror unleashed upon the galaxy. I saw Perlia aflame, its people slaughtered as sacrifices to the Dark Gods, the children of the Schola Progenia made into acolytes of the Ruinous Powers. I saw the Golden Throne sundered, the bones of the Emperor chewed by the lowest of mutants as Holy Terra screamed in the grip of the Ruinous Powers -
Then my aide was at my side, stabbing up at the hand holding me with a combat knife. The blade had more chance of accidentally gutting me than harming the daemon – though at that point, death would have been preferable to what it intended for me – but the gesture also had the effect of bringing Jurgen close enough that the field of psychic blankness he emanated could affect the horror.
The visions faded, and its grip on me weakened just enough that, with a strength born of raw terror, I managed to break free, landing on my feet.
"LIAR !" I roared, and rammed my chainsword into what I believed to be its chest. It screamed, more in surprise than pain, and took a few steps back, glaring at me, not understanding how my puny human mind could have withstood it – then it saw Jurgen, and realized what was going on.
"Cadia will fall," bellowed the abomination. "It has been foreseen ! It is the will of Tzeentch !"
"Frak Tzeentch," I growled, voicing a sentiment I have no doubt many Imperials, and likely many Chaos cultists, have shared across all of History. "Jurgen ? Kill it."
"With pleasure, Commissar," replied my aide, sounding as if I had just asked him to refill my tanna.
The first shot of the melta-gun hit the daemon right where my chainsword had cut through its armor. The impact made it fold in two, conveniently bringing its head right in front of us. It looked at the two of us with hatred in its infernal gaze – along, I like to think, with a bit of fear.
It opened its mouth again, but before it could speak, Jurgen fired once more, burning its head off and sending its foul spirit straight back to its Dark God – who, I imagine, was less than impressed with its performance.
A surreal silence descended on the command center after that, once the last brainwashed staff members were put down by the Alpha Legionnaires and Amberley's retinue. I breathed deeply, trying to stop my heart from bursting in my chest. Despite the direness of the situation, there was one thought I couldn't get out of my mind :
'They are going to find a way to pin this all on me, aren't they.'
The banishment of the Archduke of Cysgorog – for, though Cain didn't know it at the time, such was the true nature of the daemon that had possessed Creed as a child, as part of a scheme by the Dark Angels that had run for decades – was far from the end of the whole sordid affair. All of Kasr Gallan had to be swept for heresy, as many Cadians were loyal to Creed and refused to accept the truth of his betrayal, while cultists of Tzeentch sought to do as much as possible to harm the Imperial war effort before being slain. For nearly three weeks, Cain took part in some of the most brutal fighting of his long and honored career, fighting alongside the Alpha Legion, the Inquisition, and even the Grey Knights. The entire Cadian 8th Infantry Regiment, which had been Creed's home since his discovery as a foundling, had to be purged, its members revealed to be either cultists of Tzeentch or mind-controlled puppets.
Meanwhile, news of Creed's death were spread across the system, carefully worded to hide the full scale of his treachery while undoing as much of its effects as possible. The story told by the Inquisition was that Creed had secretly been wounded during the Tyrok Infamy, and had kept it a secret in order to preserve morale. However, that wound had been poisoned, and had eventually driven him mad as a malevolent Warp-born sickness took over his mind and spread to the rest of his command staff and the troopers who were closest to him. Much to his displeasure, Cain was publicly praised as the one who had seen the signs of Creed's insanity, despite how subtle they had been, and by his intervention had saved the planet from a quick defeat.
Then came the most devastating blow to the veteran Commissar : with Creed dead, he had been proclaimed Commissar-Castellan of Cadia, tasked with enforcing discipline and loyalty across the entire planet. The Alpha Legion located new officers to replace the casualties of High Command, who were promptly promoted and assigned their duties. The orders of battle were redrawn, the subtle weaknesses Creed had built into defense lines erased. From the new command center at Kasr Tyrok, Cain broadcast encouraging messages to the Astra Militarum forces in the system with long-practiced ease. The sight of a Hero of the Imperium assuring them that, despite the challenges they faced, victory was still in their grasp, did much to allay the fears of the Regiments.
For another month, Cadia held against the hordes of the Lost and the Damned, each Castellum now surrounded by the corpses of millions of heretics. Then, among the Black Legion fleet in orbit, an order was given from the Pulchritudinous. The three spherical ships – which, according to Imperial intelligence, were unimaginatively named the Alpha, Beta and Gamma Redoubts – descended upon Cadia. At first, it wasn't clear what was going on, but eventually it became obvious :
They were landing.
It was an impossible sight.
As a Commissar, I had spent a good part of my life aboard ships, going from one war-zone to another in the name of the Emperor. Despite not knowing much about the finer details of classes and tonnage, I had a better sense of their scale than most people outside the Imperial Navy. And I knew that they were never, ever supposed to land.
Apparently, someone had forgotten to tell the Black Legion that, or more likely they had decided to forgo sanity and do it anyway. The three ships were landing at vastly distant spots, all of them in the middle of nowhere. Some of our anti-void batteries had still managed to hit them, but their void-shields had easily absorbed the blows.
Cadia shook as the first of the enormous engines landed, shaking the grimy pict-feed a group of braver than me Cadian scouts had gone out to secure. Powerful thrusters fought against the planet's gravity, but even so, the descent was far from smooth, reminding me more of the drop-pods I had seen Astartes use to get down from orbit than a nice, bulky Valkyrie.
Immense disembarkation ramps unfolded from its base, difficult to see through the smoke and dust. Figures began to emerge from inside, and despite the distance and poor quality of the transmission I recognized them at once, as did many of the others in the room judging by the sharp intakes of breath.
Space Marines – or rather, things that looked like Space Marines. As more details came in, I saw that many of the figures were warped in some ways, afflicted by mutations that would have earned death in a loyal Legion. It was one thing to know Bile's reputation, and quite another to see the reason why he had gained it with my own eyes.
To my growing horror, more and more of them kept coming, dozens, hundreds – thousands. This entire ship, I realized, was full of Bile's unholy creations.
The Clone Wars of yore had just begun again, and we were frak out of legendary heroes.
The New Marines
For thousands of years, the clones that make up the entity known as Fabius Bile have worked hard in the Eye of Terror. Many of them have remained among the Black Legion, leading raids to secure pieces of rare technology or lore that the Clonelord could put to his own depraved ends. Others have worked for warbands belonging to other Traitor Legions, as well as other potentates – both within and outside the Eye of Terror. The shroud of legends surrounding the Clonelord, as well as the mockery the Warp makes of time, have kept many from realizing the multi-bodied nature of Fabius Bile despite this. But even those who did failed to discover that many other clones remained in hiding, working within secret facilities established throughout the Eye with resources taken by the Black Legion or bargained for in exchange for his services. Within these facilities, the Consortium bred its New Marines, meant to surpass and succeed the Legions created by the Emperor Himself.
Working in absolute secrecy, with their assistants (mostly vatborn mutants, with a handful of hereteks bound to obedience through the most extreme measures and never allowed to leave), these iterations of the Primogenitor indulged their wildest experimental impulses. The many warped genetic lines of the New Marines are wildly different from one another, with little trace left of the original gene-seed from which Bile's work started. Entire communities of humans exist like livestocks within hidden colonies protected from the Warp by powerful Geller Fields, their ranks replenished from captives from outside the Eye, their existences serving no purpose other than to provide the Clonelord with untainted subjects for his research.
For most of the Long War, the warriors born of these twisted experiments were kept in stasis, only a handful let out in order to test their abilities in the field to refine the creation process. All of them were fully equipped before being entombed, their gear procured from the Dark Mechanicum hell-forges indebted to the Consortium.
There is no unity among the New Marines. Though some share a specific breed of alterations, others are entirely unique, the product of strike of mad inspiration by the iteration of Bile that transformed them. All of them are trained to use their gifts before being put into stasis, and relentless indoctrination as well as biological conditioning keeps them entirely dedicated to the Primogenitor, whom they regard as a mix of father figure and god-like liege lord.
Yet for all their gifts, the New Marines are still a work in progress, and Bile is always looking for improvements to make on the next generation. Specially equipped servitors accompany the New Marines in battle, tracking and distinguishing them from the unique markings each bears on his armor. Avoiding battle themselves, they watch with enhanced sensory organs, recording and broadcasting the battle prowess of their assigned subjects for the Clonelord's perusal. To the New Marines, these servitors are the Eyes of the Father, and they strive to perform well before them.
Each of the three Redoubts that landed on Cadia contained thousands of Astartes, many of them bearing obvious marks of the Clonelord's tinkering with the Emperor's sacred genetic work. The lowest estimates of the Astra Militarum analysts put the total number of Chaos Marines now on the planet at ten thousand, which was more than the total number of loyalist Space Marines deployed in the entire system. Mercifully, neither Kasr Sonned nor Kasr Holn reported sightings of these New Marines, though by that point Kasr Partox was straining under the assault of the Black Templars and their blood-crazed minions.
The war for Cadia had only just begun, and to Cain's horror, it looked like he was in charge now. But even as he struggled under the weight of his new responsibilities, high above Cadia, another confrontation was about to unfold. Fabius Bile's attack on Cadia had drawn the eyes of many, and while the Clonelord had managed to rally most to his cause or convince them to stand aside and not hinder his attack on the Cadian Gate, there was one old enemy that nothing could dissuade.
Emerging from the shadows, the wraith-like Astartes who called himself Cerberus manifested aboard the Pulchritudinous. This was the first time since the warrior had lost his name that he had left the Eye of Terror, and it was a relief to him that this was even possible – for even as he hunted down the clones of the Arch-Renegade, a part of him had dreaded that his new talents were the result of corruption, a dark boon bestowed upon him by the Ruinous Powers in order to warp him into the agent of their own grudges against the Clonelord. Yet here he was, alive and outside of the Eye, with his power undiminished despite no longer being surrounded by the stuff of the Warp.
With this relief came the knowledge of what he must do next. Thousands of years spent hunting Bile's incarnations had taught Cerberus much about the Black Legion, and he knew that it was only the former Chief Apothecary's strength of will and ruthlessness that kept its disparate elements united under a common purpose. Without him, the renegades and heretics that made up the Black Legion quickly turned on each other : he had seen it happen many times after he had killed the clone overseeing them. The attack on Cadia had its own momentum, but if every clone of Bile in the Black Crusade's fleet was slain, it would deal a crippling blow to the Black Legion's leadership, and might even sunder the unholy alliance it had forged with the Dark Angels and Black Templars.
As he made his way through the Pulchritudinous' Warp-infected corridors, the Black Legionnaires that stood in Cerberus' way died. New or old blood, veterans of the Long War or newly spawned abominations, it made no difference : the greatsword of he who had been Garviel Loken cut them all down as the Son of Horus went deeper into the Traitor flagship.
Guided by preternatural senses, Cerberus knew the location of his quarry. All clones of Fabius Bile aboard the Pulchritudinous were gathered together on one of the viewing chambers, high up the central spire of the Chaos vessel. Sealed gates and thick walls were no obstacles to him, for he simply passed right through them, momentarily relinquishing his hold onto physicality in order to do so.
No less than five clones of the Primogenitor were present, their minds merged together into one gestalt consciousness as they watched their creations fight on the planet below. They turned to face Cerberus, but before the hunter could kill them, he came face to face with the creature known as Melusine, who emerged from the shadows to stand between him and her fathers.
Melusine, the Daughter of Sin
The creations of Fabius Bile are countless, and have blighted the galaxy since the time of the Clone Wars. Though the Daughter of Sin has never spilled a drop of Imperial blood, she remains one of the Primogenitor's greatest creations, and one whose mere existence represents the potential for the galaxy's doom.
Her head crowned by a pair of horns and her legs ending in hooves, yet beautiful in a way truer than the seductive deceit of Slaanesh's children, Melusine was born after the Clone Wars, during the time Bile spent with the Raven Guard. Two things would come of that period of unholy alliance : the incubators from which the Nineteenth Legion's Spawn Marines are created, and Melusine herself, created by Bile using his own genetics, making her is daughter in some twisted way. A perfectly balanced union of the living and the daemonic, Melusine is some manner of half-daemon, but unlike other such horrors, her existence is perfectly stable and she does not need a constant influx of Warp energy to sustain herself.
Since her birth, Melusine has wandered the Eye of Terror and the Realms of Chaos, walking freely in places of nightmares, where mortal souls are nothing but fuel and sustenance to the Neverborn hosts. She has danced for Slaanesh in the Silver Palace, fought Bloodletters in the barren plains below the Skull Throne, exchanged riddles with Lords of Change in the Crystal Labyrinth and harvested the fruits of Nurgle's Garden alongside the joyous minions of the Grandfather. There are stories of her visits on many daemon worlds inside the Eye, though none can tell what her purpose was.
Among the Black Legion, Melusine is something of a folk's heroine, her story growing every time she comes visit her father in one of his many bodies. Despite her nature, she has what appears to be genuine attachment for the monster that created her, and has endeavoured to keep him safe from the machinations of the Dark Powers. She knows Bile's stubborn refusal to submit or even acknowledge them as gods could easily outweigh the gains his actions have earned them, however unwillingly. Though Bile doesn't know it, his Daughter of Sin has brought low Daemon Lords, engineered the death of entire warbands, and gone on centuries-long quests to recover offerings that could appease the Ruinous Powers, all in the name of protecting her father from the wrath of the Primordial Annihilator.
At the end of the forty-first millennium, Melusine surprised the entire Black Legion when she appeared at Bile's side during the muster within the Eye of Terror, abandoning her wandering ways to remain with the Black Crusade he has finally launched. Her goals and motivations remain unknowable, even to her sire, who does not even know himself whether he returns her affection or merely pretends to, so stretched out is his withered soul.
Though the paths that had led them to the Pulchritudinous couldn't have been more different, Cerberus and Melusine were both unions of Materium and Immaterium. As they looked upon each other, they each saw before them an inverted reflection of themselves.
It was not a sight either of them enjoyed, and without a word, they began to try killing each other. Cerberus' greatsword met the twin blades of Melusine with a shockwave that shattered the screens the clones had been using to monitor their creations' advance on the planet below.
Again and again they clashed, moving across the chamber, both fighters passing from flesh to spirit to dodge blows before returning to corporeality to strike again. They moved at incredible speeds, and the clones of Bile knew that, even should they use the combat drugs they kept ready at all times, they wouldn't be able to amount to anything more than a distraction in this battle of champions.
Across the Pulchritudinous, creatures in whom Bile had bred psychic abilities cried out, sensing the duel between their Primogenitor's beloved daughter and the soul who had slain so many of her fathers. Aboard the Invincible Reason, the Sorcerers of the First Legion paused their rituals, and wondered what pieces of the Great Game were responsible for this disturbance. And on the surface of Kasr Partox, Sigismund shook his head in annoyance as he decapitated another Iron Warrior with the reforged Storm's Teeth.
The battle went on for several minutes, neither combatant able to gain a definite advantage over the other. Cerberus' armor was dented and scarred, while Melusine's honey-coloured skin was spotted with several patches of blood, from wounds that had already healed thanks to her unnatural origins. Fabius had called for reinforcements, not having any qualms about throwing away the lives of his Black Legionnaires to protect himself and Melusine, but Cerberus had already killed the closest Chaos Marines, and with the bulk of the Pulchritudinous' forces already planetside, it would take some time before reinforcements arrived – something Cerberus had been counting on, though he hadn't anticipated Melusine's interference.
In the end, it came down to their natures. Melusine was a subtle creature, who had used intrigue and manipulation to achieve her ends as often as her blades. Meanwhile, Cerberus had dedicated himself wholly to a singular purpose : the killing of Fabius Bile and all his creations. In this contest, which occurred as much in the Empyrean as it did in the Materium, such a symbolic advantage was not one the Daughter of Sin could overcome.
Cerberus and Melusine crashed together again, this time in their spectral forms, their essences searing one another in a deadly embrace. Reality buckled as kindred but opposite energies met, and the ages-old hate of Cerberus triumphed over Melusine's half-daemonic nature and determination. The conflagration faded, revealing Cerberus towering over Melusine, her blades broken, while Cerberus' greatsword laid on the ground a few meters away. Blood and sweat ran across the Daughter of Sin's body, and she struggled to even move, her strength spent in that last confrontation of power and will.
Cerberus seized the Daughter of Sin and raised her above his head, before bringing her down on his knee with all the strength he could muster. Melusine, who had endured the horrors of the Courts of Chaos, cried out in pain, and to Cerberus' mild surprise, the clones of Fabius Bile actually moved to intervene – even though they knew, deep down in their bones, that not even together could they hope to match Cerberus' might. The Clonelord was many, many great and terrible things, but ironically for one who might very well be the oldest Space Marine in existence, he had never been a true warrior, and the tricks he used to compensate wouldn't work on Cerberus.
As Cerberus moved to recover his sword and finish the job, the clones rushed toward him and their fallen daughter. One by one, the four clones who had tried to attack him were cut down, slain with merciless efficiency born of a hundred centuries killing them. The fifth was on his knees, cradling the broken body of Melusine in his arms, and didn't even look up as Cerberus advanced on him, determined to end this and buy some respite for the defenders of Cadia.
"Are you weeping, Father ?"
Melusine
The Son of Horus struck, but before his blow could hit, something huge and terrible smashed him aside. Claws of adamantium wreathed in lightning tore through his armor and flesh and sent him flying and crashing to the ground, blood pouring from the wound.
The pain was immense, but Cerberus paid it no heed. He forced himself to his feet, preparing to face whatever new horror Bile had unleashed to save himself – and then, he saw the Eldest standing there, between him and the last remaining Bile clone, still cradling Melusine's wounded form.
For the first time since he had held his brother's corpse in his arms, Garviel Loken screamed.
No.
No, this couldn't be.
But it was.
He recognized the Eldest's face. It was Horus'.
But this was no cloned Primarch, spawned by Bile's vats. Cerberus recognized the torn throat, sewn close by silver thread. The memory of that lethal wound was forever seared in his mind, for it was from there that Sanguinius had drunk the soul of Horus Lupercal at the Eternity Gate. Somehow, Cerberus understood, Bile had reanimated the corpse of his Primarch, turning it into a soulless revenant bound to his will, and made that vilest of all his creations into his enforcer. This close, he could feel the black animus that served as a replacement for the pure spirit the False Angel had devoured. It was a wicked, artificial thing, and his mind recoiled from imagining the forbidden artifices by which Bile had created it and infused it within Horus' reanimated corpse.
And he understood too how the Sons of Horus had all been deceived. The body they had burned after the Clone Wars hadn't been Horus' own, merely another duplicate, carefully prepared to look like the real thing having been subjected to further defilements, and guarded with enough ferocity that they had all believed it to be true. Perhaps close examination would have revealed the deception, but the Sixteenth Legion had wasted no time in burning the corpse once they had recovered it, lest it fall once more into enemy hands.
In his shock and wounded as he was, Cerberus was no match for the Eldest. Perhaps things would've been different if he had seen it coming, or hadn't been entirely focused on killing Melusine before she could recover – he had seen Bile's creations survive far worse than what he had done to her. But the Eldest had completely blind-sided him, its eldritch nature eluding Cerberus' preternatural senses.
The Eldest kicked his sword aside, breaking the ancient blade beneath its armored boot, and seized him by the throat, slamming him against the metal wall. It raised its other hand, covered in a power claw gauntlet, and made to kill him – and in a moment of terrible weakness Cerberus found that he welcomed that end. But it was not to be.
"Hold," called the last clone of Fabius Bile. The Eldest' claws stopped, mere millimeters from Cerberus' throat.
"I will not have this butcher escape us so easily," continued the Clonelord in a deceptively calm tone. "Bring him to the cells reserved for the Neverborn. The chains there will hold him, whatever he has made of himself. I will deal with him in person, once I have attended to your sister."
The Eldest inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Very well, father."
It methodically broke each of Cerberus' limbs, smashed his sword to pieces under its boot, and slowly pressed on his chest until his ribcage was cracked and every intake of breath was painful. Only then did it drag him out of the observation chamber, and into the lightless dungeons of Fabius Bile. It was not gentle, and every moment was agony for Cerberus, the grasp of the Eldest keeping him from slipping into incorporeality and escaping until rune-marked chains were clasped around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place, burning his flesh through his armor.
Yet the pain of his body was nothing compared to that in his heart.
AN : Well, here we are. I said that I was going to finish Warband of the Forsaken Sons before returning to this, but as I said in the Portents, my Internet got cut off last week-end and inspiration struck. Three lore books read as sources (13th Black Crusade, Codex : Eye of Terror, and Fall of Cadia), two days of frantic writing, a week of finishing up and polishing off later, this was done.
As it turns out, there is a lot of lore about Cadia. Part of me always assumed there was only one planet in the system, because, well, that's the one that's most spoken about. But every planet mentioned here is canon, though I may have fudged some of the details (no mention is made in canon of the Mechanicus terraforming them, for instance, but I'm pretty sure no natural system has 8 life-bearing planets at wildly different distances from the star.
I considered writing a biography for Cain, but then I realized there was no point to it. It would mostly be references that only the people who don't need to be told about him would get, and anyway, if you are reading this, then I think I can safely assume you know about Ciaphas Cain, HERO OF THE IMPERIUM. Still, in case you don't, I really recommend checking out the book series about him. It was one of the first Warhammer series I ever read, and every time I come back to it, it's still as good, funny, and surprisingly emotional as I remember (may the withered soul of Warmaster Varan burn forevermore in the Warp's deepest pits for what he did).
Then we have the two big reveals of the chapter : Creed being possessed by an Archduke, and the Eldest being the original corpse of Horus, reanimated by Fabius Bile. The first was inspired by the Wheel of Time series, specifically a certain scene in the very last book, which I won't spoil here. The second ... well, after coming up with the concept of the Eldest as one of Bile's earliest creations and a super-badass mystery bodyguard tasked with killing all threats to the Black Legion (including the clones of Bile that get corrupted or fall from the path), I needed to find an identity for it. I am pleased to say that I didn't violate the rules of writing a mystery : I already knew what the Eldest was back in The Fall of Chemos. Even if a lot of the Times of Ending is improvised book-to-book, I still have an idea of where I am going.
This is fanfiction, not Game of Thrones. We have some standards here.
As always, thanks you all for reading. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter : please tell me what you thought about it, and what you think will happen next now that the battle of Cadia is properly underway. As for me, I'm going to do what I initially planned to do and return to Warband. If only I could conjure the same kind of efficiency as when I wrote this chapter on demand - the whole story would be over before December. But the muse is not to be questioned, or compelled.
Zahariel out.