Here we are. At the very doorstep of the end. What a journey it has been. What a journey.

Chaos is the Prize Chapter 95

"The lesson is not in what happened, but why it happened.

In darkness, in desperation, we did something that can only be justified by cruel necessity."

-Primarch Corvus Corax

"This is what you have wrought. Countless murderers, slayers, assassins. Borne of war that has, as always, taught the wrong lesson."

-Kreia

Neophyte Amelhyst stalked through the dark corridors of the Terran underground with his brother Fuchsian not far behind. They passed through many corridors and crossroads without encountering anyone. They made sure to tread extra carefully when they passed near the forges, for they had not too long ago had an unfortunate encounter with the Master of the Forge. They could hear the faint machine cries of the entombed Tsagaan, who had his metal frame restrained for a good reason. Tsagaan would not be taking part in the grand occasion, for if he did he would most certainly murder Chromos on the spot and who knows who else.

Finally, the two Emperor's Children reached their destination. They came to a stop before the twin doors and carefully opened it to step into the personal chambers beyond. The chambers were one of the nicer ones of the ones claimed by the mature Legionnaires. It was spacious and in very good condition. The lighting was dim and the air was filled with a mist of something very stimulating. The slaves had cleaned it spotless not too long ago. By the walls, Amelhyst could see various mundane personal objects that he ignored as he and Fuchsian made their way further into the rather long chamber.

As Amelhyst walked past an old statue of the Chemosian god of creation, the water bringer, his eyes fell upon a weapon that occupied a place upon a cleared-out spot on the wall. It was a red and brass chainaxe, chained to the wall in a crude matter like a grand trophy. The chains of the weapon were coated with some remnants of dried blood. Amelhyst wondered whose blood coated the teeth.

The chainaxe was instantly forgotten as Amelhyst turned his head and spotted what laid ahead of him. In the center position in the back half of the chamber laid a podium lit by a ray of light descending upon it. And upon that podium, resting on a carefully crafted metal support holding, laid a real and genuine boltgun.

Amelhyst held his breath as he approached the podium, his eyes captured by the sight before him. The boltgun was of the Stalker pattern with a long barrel and a mounted scope. He beheld the relic bolter, the once iconic weapon of the Venatore Legions, a weapon that had become exceptionally rare in the decades of the Long War. It was a symbol of might and legacy, a relic of past glories. A weapon to kill for.

Amelhyst reached out his hand, his pale fingers reaching to touch upon the glorious metal of the weapon. Fuchsian was beside him, marveling at the weapon as well. Just as Amelhyst was about to lay his hand upon the cold steel, a voice called out from the end of the chamber.

"That weapon belonged to the greatest Legionnaire of this age…"

The voice instantly affected Amelhyst, causing a shiver down his spine.

"You think that you are worthy of laying your hand upon it?" the voice continued.

Amelhyst pulled his hand back lightning quick. He took a few steps back with his brother and laid his head down just a bit as if in reverence. "Lord…" he said respectfully, a tiny sting of irritation in his heart for being denied.

A figure rose up from a seat at the end of the chamber, and soon the form of Lord Orchid emerged from beyond the fog of incense, the sword Malevolence sheathed on his hips. Amelhyst and Fuchsian bowed to their older brother, and to the air of Dark Prince's favour upon him.

Orchid had changed, his physical form different from the time he left Terra with Ceruleon and Sangur all those months ago. The faint purple reflection that had shimmered upon his blade now seemed to have moved upon his skin, granting the mildest of purplish tint to his pale skin if one looked very carefully. He seemed just a bit taller, his frame stronger and more refined. And most prominently of all, the change was visible in his eyes, the windows to the soul. The whiteness of his sclera was gone, replaced by deep blackness around irises of pink that glowed in the dim lighting like smoldering coals. The only thing ruining his visage of glorious perfection was an ugly scar of bruised dark blue running down his face from brow to chin between his nose and left eye.

"Lord…" Amelhyst said again. "They sent us to get you. The preparations are done and the ceremony will start within the hour…"

"I see. At last." Orchid nodded slowly as if pleased by the end of waiting. He started walking towards the podium, stopping on its side and rested his left palm upon the flat surface at the base of the boltgun. "Are you in need of a weapon, Amelhyst?" Orchid asked, his glowing gaze piercing right into the Neophyte as their eyes met.

"N- no, Lord," Amelhyst replied with a faint stammer, quick to refuse his craving for the venerable weapon of the podium.

"Shame…" Orchid said with a faint smile. "Because I happen to have a spare weapon laying around that I have no use for…"

"Lord?" Amelhyst asked with sudden interest.

It did not take long for Orchid to move to the side of the chamber and lift up something wrapped in cloth from a table. He brought it before Amelhyst and started unwrapping it. "I believe that out of you two, you are the one pursuing the art of the blade…"

Amelhyst's eyes went wide. In the cloth in Orchid's hands lay an red bladed katana sword alongside some sort of gun-like sheath. It was clearly a Kingdom-made Huntsman weapon of fine craft. It was worlds beyond the sharpened shank of crude metal Amelhyst was carrying around.

"Take it," Orchid said.

Amelhyst reached his shaking hands forward and carefully picked up the blade. He caressed its smooth metal surface and marveled at its sharpness. He picked up the sheath next, turning over to get a grasp of its projectile function. This was no weapon of the grunts, this was a weapon of a warrior.

"It is yours." Orchid said as he cast aside the empty cloth. "I have great expectations for you…"

"Yes, my Lord. My brother," Amelhyst said with a weak voice, still not quite believing the magnificent arms granted to him. He showed the weapon off to Fuchsian, enjoying the envious and admiring look in his brother's eyes.

Without further words Orchid walked past his two younger brothers and headed for the door. Amelhyst and Fuchsian snapped out of their small trance of weapon-bliss and scurried after him, not wanting to be left behind.

"You two go ahead, I have something I need to take care of on the way," Orchid said. As he exited his chambers, he heard the bellowing cry of Flavius echo through the walls.

"THEY FOUND WHO AT THE RUINS OF BEACON?!"

The door of the secret Apothecary chamber opened, and in walked two Alpha Legion Neophytes and a young female. The boy inside lifted his gaze to his older brothers, who now represented the two oldest members of the Hydra's bloodline. They had come to retrieve him and break his solitary time in this secret cave of Ceruleon.

"Brother," one of them called. "The time has come for you to join us."

The boy rose to his feet.

"This is Bora. She is the new head of the Hydra Network," the second older Neophyte introduced. "She has been in charge of Site Alpha in the past months. She will bring you up to speed on relevant matters."

The girl made a short bow, her blue eyes looking sharply through her purple hair into the boy's eyes the entire time. "It is very much nice to finally meet you, lord."

"Were you granted a name by Ceruleon?" the first Alpha Legionnaire asked as he lifted an arm to greet the boy.

"Yes." He squeezed the priceless blood vials passed down to him by the late Chief Apothecary in his offhand, the blood vials that had been delivered to him in secret by the Emperor's Children champion just a few moments ago. He moved to his brothers to grasp their hands wrist to wrist in a warrior's salutation.

"I am Opalgon."

Orchid was walking through the Apothecarium, on his way out after filling his favor to Ceruleon. The numerous beds and similarly serving platforms were all empty. Every single one of the Neophytes had been released from their implantation rest. All were ready and ready to take up their part in the Long War.

By pure coincidence, Orchid happened to see a group of XXth Legion's female puppets around. A couple of them were working with packing some stuff. Orchid stopped on his tracks as he recognized one of the girls. Out of impulse, it made him change his course.

"Greetings, Kaltrina," Orchid said. The girl turned her blue-haired head to him, stopping whatever she was doing at the moment. She was a shade of her former self, changed much since the last Orchid had seen her in the aftermath of Beacon. She was thin and unkempt. Her expression was pitiful. Her blank eyes seemed to be devoid of all life and happiness. It seemed as if she had been slowly dying ever since the death of her master, just waiting to fall over and stop breathing.

Orchid tilted his head and observed her. He had never gotten along with her, and the feeling had been mutual. He had pondered many times about killing her. But at that moment, he let go of that past.

"You know…" He said silently. "Azuhrius once told me something. He told me that if anything should happen to him, I was to convey a message to you."

Kaltrina's expression changed just a bit and she listened with attention at odds with her disheveled and careless appearance.

"He told me to tell you this: 'The Hydra's head has been cut. It is up to you to make sure there are always more heads to cut.' That is what he said. He told me you would understand."

Azuhrius had never said such a thing. Even if he had formed such a message in case of his demise, he would never have left it for the unreliable, driven by his urges Orchid to convey.

There was a semblance of life in Kaltrina's eyes. A return of faded light. "I understand," the girl said silently.

Orchid nodded. With that, he turned on his heels. He made his way out of the Apothecary without further delays. On his way, he happened to see the way leading to the hall of the fallen, which was in close proximity to the Apothecarium. As he had time, he made a turn, decided to take a small detour.

The walls of the hall were, as always, lined with the nameplates of dead Legionnaires fallen over the decades. Orchid passed by a bulk of them without interest, finally stopping at the section where there was still room for more plates to be added in years to come. His eyes fell upon three plates lined side by side, one of them crafted by his own hand.

He slowly read the plate of Azuhrius Lernaean, written by himself. The record of his deeds made sure no one would dismiss the scale of the achievements by the fallen son of the Hydra. Orchid looked over the much more humbly marked deeds of Nox Deimos, but those deeds deserved to be marked down nonetheless. Finally, he went over the achievements of Sangur Calvarie, the Legion of One, over his 11 years of service to the World Eaters. Orchid made sure there was a record at the bottom of who had slain such a mighty warrior.

Orchid spent time there among the names of the dead until it was finally time for him to join the still living for the occasion at hand.

The sight was magnificent. In this grand hall of ruin and lost glories stood once more a massive host of warriors. Over 200 Venatore Legionnaires, even if the bulk of the force was made up of freshly inducted Neophytes. The Legions stood in loose numerical order, every one of them represented by a score of warriors, with the exception of the lost XIth and XVth. In decades, in living memory, no such concentration of force had been assembled by the legacy of Terra. It was a force that would make the Kingdoms of Remnant tremble.

Opalgon stood at the back corner with his fellow Alpha Legionnaires. Since his special, solitary implantation had occurred in a close enough time frame that he could not be distinguished from the group of the main implantation batch started after his own, he could take his place among the other Neophytes without anyone from other Legions taking notice. So he stood in a row of 12 Alpha Legion Neophytes. Head Operative Bora was standing behind the Legionnaire Neophytes, as well as, most surprisingly, previous Head Operative Kaltrina, who had for some reason found a sudden need and motivation to stand beside the young sons of the Hydra. They all beheld the ceremonial declaration of the Great Diaspora by the mature Legionnaires standing on an elevated platform before the mighty host of Neophytes.

Terra could not support such a force. The resource requirements to feed and sustain such a host, let alone arm and equip it, were enormous. As another matter, everyone knew that the fresh Legionnaires would start killing each other as soon as a good opportunity presented itself. Thus, the mature Legionnaires had declared the Great Diaspora. It was time for the Legions of Terra to march out into the world outside.

Such was the edict decided by the older cousins. Each Legion would set out to the world, each free to pursue their own goals, prosperity and passions as they saw fit. Those with mature Legionnaires leading them without doubt already had great plans in place. In accordance with the Pact of Terra, a small complement of mature Legionnaires and a new Apothecary Coven would remain behind on Terra to look after the place, and to care for Geneseed storages. As long as the Legions were independently unable to take care of their own recruitment and implantation, the Pact of Terra would guarantee the neutrality of the old Imperial capital and the prospect of the new blood being inducted into the ranks of the Legiones Venatores.

Maroos walked back and forth on the elevated platform, spouting litanies about the glory of Chaos and their chosen. Smurfus held a somehow great but still cringe-worthy speech about the coming wars and glories. There was also a Legionnaire who had been thought to be slain in the attack on Beacon Academy. Some Death Guard guy named Rustus, who had apparently been dug up by the Ultramarines from the ruins months after the incident, somehow still alive thanks to the blessings of the Plague God. The guy looked awful. Even the mighty Lord Kiarana opened his mouth to dispose words of wisdom upon the host arrayed before him, receiving cries of approval from the Neophyte force.

Opalgon looked around. Around him, he saw faces of young warriors eager for conflict and glory, eager to prove themselves and to throw themselves against enemies on the altar of war. The energy and drive in the air was thick enough to cut with a chainsword. Opalgon smiled. This truly was a new age for the children of Terra.

Like most of the mature Legionnaires leaving, Orchid had a dozen Neophytes to lead away. On his way from the ceremony however, he found himself wandering the old corridors, filled with nostalgia. He had lived half of his life in these dark tunnels, and now that he did not know when he might return again if ever, it awakened some somber feelings inside him.

Orchid found himself in the war room. He circled the center table lined with seats, the very same where they had all made the plans for the assault of the Aegis station. It all felt like an eternity ago.

Orchid turned to behold the throne standing against the wall away from the table. The throne reserved for the most powerful, the strongest. Once, he had only dreamed of being strong enough to sit upon it. Now, he found that there was nothing holding him back anymore. So he ascended the slight elevation to the grand throne, turned around, and sat down.

The feeling of superiority was exhilarating. It was but an ornamented chair, and there was no one to witness him sitting on it, but that did not distinguish the moment more than a fraction. If the mature Legionnaires cousins had walked in, Orchid was confident they could not have dragged him down from the throne by force. Even Kiarana. The old, mighty, Kiarana. Once, Orchid had been afraid of the overwhelming might of the old raven. Now, he was not afraid anymore. For he was the rising star to Kiarana's setting dusk.

Orchid enjoyed sitting on the throne a moment longer. Eventually, just as he was about to rise, he could hear a commotion outside. He wondered what it was about, and if some Legion or another had decided to get a headstart to the kinslaying before even stepping beyond the borders of the city.

Orchid's sharp sense picked up a familiar voice not too far, and he raised his voice to call out. "Fuchsian!" He shrieked with a sharp voice that his younger brother wouldn't have missed many times the distance away.

A moment later hasty steps made their way to the door of the war room, and the face of Fuchsian peeked in, followed by the rest of his frame. "Lord Ordh-" Fuchsian noticed the throne that Orchid Was sitting on, taken back by the sight and the significance for a moment.

"What is going on out there?" Orchid asked calmly. He could hear the raging of Smurfus and Flavius somewhere close by and the sounds of great urgency.

"Its… its the Dark Angels and the Iron Hands, Lord. They are stealing the ship."

The Invincible Reason disconnected from the landing spire and started to drift upwards to the sky. The outraged Ultramarines, Imperial Fists and Death Guard were left behind on the docking site, left to scream out their rage and vengeance as the ship flew away. On the bridge, on a newly fashioned command throne that the Atlesian's had not originally installed for some reason, sat Dunstan. he looked over the view screens, the bridge manned by a couple of Iron Hands and Dark Angel neophytes, and of course Fionn at the helm.

Dustan had come for Fionn for an accord, and they had reached a deal. Dunstan wanted the ship, and Fionn was unwilling to let it fall into the hands of others without getting a great deal out of it. So the two Legions had conspired, making preparations so that they could take over the ship and take off post Diaspora faster than the Other Legion's could react. Now the ship was at Dunstan's command and would remain so as long as Fionn got what he wanted in his quest for reclamation of Terran technology.

"We are past the city limits. No signs of pursuit," Obsidiel called out the obvious to his older brother.

"Set a course according to the plans, take us to the sea," Dunstan said, causing Fionn to start plotting the course according to their agreement. "Medusa awaits"

"THAT WENT ALL VERY SMOOTHLY! WE GOT THE SHIP; TAKE THAT SMARG, YOU WARP TAINTED FUCK!" came a grating voice of one of Fionn's Neophytes. "WE ACTUALLY WORK PRETTY WELL TOGETHER DON'T WE?!"

"Indeed…" Dunstan said with mild irritation without looking at the Neophyte.

"SAY, DOES OUR ALLIANCE HAVE A NAME?! WE COULD REALLY USE ONE! MAYBE SOMETHING TO DO WITH BLACK, SINCE IT'S THE MAIN COLOR OF BOTH OF OUR LEGIONS?! WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK? HOW ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE BLACK LEGIONS?!

If looks could kill, the gaze both Fionn and Dunstan gave the Neophyte would have seen him dead. Dunstan wondered if he heard the ammo loaders of Fionn's servitors clicking from the back of the bridge.

"Okay, okay, not a good idea," the Neophyte whimpered and suddenly found his station very interesting.

"Course set," Fionn muttered with a cold voice.

Dunstan watched as the view beyond the viewscreens changed. He could see the glimmer of the ocean in the far distance. Obsidiel made his way to the command throne, taking a stand next to Dunstan.

"The ship is yours, brother. Congratulations."

Dunstan only nodded. He rubbed the pommel of his sword resting against his armored leg. For once in his life, things were going great.

"With this ship, the Legion will truly be a force to be reckoned with. The First Legion can finally take back its place as the mightiest of the Legion." The Neophyte let out a small eager chuckle. "This world is ours for the taking. Our father, the Supreme Grand Master, would be proud."

Dunstan glanced at the Neophyte before facing forward once more with a steely expression on his face. "I am the Supreme Grand Master now…" he replied.

Opalgon entered Ceruleon's personal chamber for the first and final time. Next to a now wilted hydrangea shrub was a table with a book. He grabbed the book, opening it for the first few pages. He huffed with amusement.

"What?" asked Bora.

"The oldest trick in the book," Opalgon said. "Look." He pointed behind Bora. Bora turned to look. Opalgon quickly pocketed the book in his bag and hastily left the room. He could hear Bora let out a silent curse as she realized what had happened and followed after him, both of them leaving the Apothecarium that had been like an unofficial secondary lair of the Legion at the time of Chief Apothecary Ceruleon. Now it was time to leave it behind and move into the future.

The two of them walked through many corridors, and especially descended down many stairs. They were heading deep into the Terran underground. When they finally reached their destination, they found themselves in a long chamber. With 20 doors lining the walls, 10 on each side.

Opalgon took in the space that he had only ever heard of. Then he started walking through the tombs of the progenitors, passing each pair of symbol-marked doors after another. He noticed from the disturbed dust that the VIIIth door had been opened most recently. At the end of the corridor, he turned to his side to face the door marked with the Hydra, and the numeral XX.

"Wait here," Opalgon said to Bora. He then moved to the door to push it open, the twin doors opening up stiffly to allow him entry. He entered the tomb. There were no other sources of light other than the faint blue lights of the power field machinery keeping the Primarch and his wargear sealed.

Opalgon took in the space for a moment, breathing the stale air. Then he produced a single small blood vial from his bag. Filled with impossibly bright blood, he uncorked the lid and lifted the blood vial to his lips. He drank the blood, draining the vial fully. Then he folded the container away and waited. It took a while for the effects to take place and run their course. When it was done, he knew it. The feeling was quite simply incredible.

He stepped forward, reaching the edge of the large platform where the Primarch rested. The power field hummed with deadly power, the careful calibration designed to kill and incinerate anyone but the Primarch. Good thing he was Alpharius.

Ceruleon had once told him to arm himself, for no one else would save him. He reached down through the field that only tingled against his skin, his hand finally coming to grasp around the shaft of a spear. The spear.

The site Alpha was located at the very edge of the city, far away from the eyes of the Other Legions. It lay in a basement of a ruined bunker complex, the entrances suitably hidden from anyone in search of scavengable loot. Down there, hidden from all their cousins, Oplagon was greeted by twenty makeshift beds occupied by 20 recruits in the final stages of implantation. Those 20, most promising looking recruits from the raid on Vale who had mysteriously gone missing during their transport and were never entered in the total official tally of captured children, the other Legions one the wiser. The XXth Legion could not be expected to organize the whole event without getting fairly compensated, now could it?

With these soon-to-be-ready warriors entered into the ranks, the Alpha Legion had received thrice the number of new recruits than every other Legion. Now all that was left was to raise and train them into warriors of the XXth Legion.

Opalgon smiled. They would outnumber them. They would outnumber them all. And truly be, legion.

"Make war and move on, and again, and again, until nothing breathes which stands against us. All else is sophistry and pretty lies."

-Primarch Ferrus Manus

"To have fallen so far and learned nothing, that is your failing"

"War... is a hunger. And there are spirits in the galaxy whose hunger is never satisfied."

-Kreia

The final long chapter of the story. Only the epilogue chapter remains, comign soon. It will be quite short, and will mostly consist of author notes, stuff like my feelings for this story, and my plans for the future.

Leave a review if you feel like it and have a great day.