Exitus Ultima Chapter 4

In the twenty-second hour the Storm Heralds breached the Temple of the God-Emperor Enthroned in Glory, central nexus of authority on the planet and Defacto governor's palace. Within the hour the temple was cleansed of all Heretics and not one enemy was breathing within. In the twenty-third hour the Space Marines swept out across Vatalem, moping up isolated pockets that had been bypassed. Fierce and bloody was the culling and no mercy was shown, or asked for. Twenty-three hours and fifty-eight minutes after the first Imperial set foot upon Sacellum silence fell over the city-state and Chapter Master Phalros planted the Imperial flag, claiming victory. The Primarch's expectation of reclaiming Sacellum in a day was met with two minutes to spare, a testament to his genius and the fervour of the Space Marines.

Fighting over, the process of restoration began. Reclamation parties swept the ruins of destroyed city-states, searching for loyal citizens hiding in crypts and sepulchres. Scorched slums of labourers were picked over, the survivors few and far between. Blinking wastrels, thin and pale from days cowering in the dark emerged into the light, unable to understand their salvation. In the burnt-out ruins tears were shed over toppled shrines and demolished Templums, men who had lived their whole lives within those walls weeping over piled debris. In city-states that had withstood the rebellion rich Pylates and Confessors led prayers of thanksgiving, making sure to reap as much of the laurels as they could for themselves.

The Adeptus Astartes did not hang about for the clean-up. The Hawk Lords, Excoriators, Destroyers and Sons of Orar departed immediately. The bulk of the Storm Heralds left too, already planning their victory celebrations. But not Toran, the Captain was required for procedural matter.

Outside the ashes of Vatalem the Imperial Guard regrouped, retrieving scattered platoons, nursing the wounded and ministering to wrecked vehicles. Soldiers got drunk as they revelled, gambled and whored at will, even as Munitorum functionaries sighed over depleted tallies of ammo. A veritable tent-city erupted in hours, serving all the Guardsmen's needs, high and low, including justice.

Toran stood on a raised platform, surrounded by crowds of troops, half-listening to a clerk drone. Under the hot sun a tribunal was taking place, passing out judgement upon those who had failed in their duty. Even on a victorious day like this there were those who fell short of expectation, cowards and incompetents who proved unworthy. The Imperial Guard liked making examples, and upon one such officer they passed judgement: summary execution.

The crying wretch was dragged away as Toran examined the judges. There were three, sitting under parasols held by mute servitors. The left chair was occupied by a fat Proctor-General, Mabath Jurry, a Munitorum clerk in Toran's opinion. His chin was in his neck and Toran suspected he'd fallen asleep. To the right brooded a gaunt man in Cardinal's robes and a mitre so high it seemed it must almost fall off. His eyes were fiery and his accusations sharp: lack of faith, lack of zeal, lack of courage. He found fault with all who came before them and his dirty teeth flashed with every sentence of execution. Cardinal Mightily Praiseworthy, was he known, short for Mightily-Praiseworthy-is-the God-Emperor-on-Terra. The middle chair was occupied by Commissar-General Ariena Asher, a stern lady with steel in her gaze. She held the gavel of office in an augmetic hand and she wore her greatcoat comfortably, despite the roasting heat. Asher had passed every judgement so far and it was always the same: execution.

As the condemned soul was dragged away Toran muttered, "Could have saved us all a lot of time by just shooting him at the start."

Chaplain Furion responded, "The wheels of justice must turn."

"Why bother?" Toran sniffed, "We all know the outcome before this started: all the accused are all guilty."

"And yet the troopers must see justice done. This isn't about the condemned, it's about the witnesses. Making examples for all to see."

"Surprising the Indomitus Crusade needs such displays."

"The Departmento Munitorum isn't going to let a little galactic upheaval get in the way of bureaucratic procedure."

That was a snide comment and Toran glanced at his old friend. The tall Chaplain stood in his black plate, stern as ever but with a sad cast to the eye. Furion was not long for Third Company, once the Indomitus Crusade was away he would take up the post of Master of Sanctity, highest of Storm Herald Chaplains. Toran would see him again, but not in battle, there would be a distance between them. A familiar feeling, the whole Storm Heralds Chapter would be left behind as Fleet Primus forged on, tasked to guard the critical supply line that ran through the Saint Karyl Trail. Toran understood the need, this warp passage was the last viable link between Segmentums Solar and Tempestus, it had to stand so the Crusade could progress, but it hurt to be left behind.

His musings came to an end as Asher called, "Next: Colonel Montrose, 78th Yeomen!"

"Here we go," Furion affirmed.

A young woman was dragged onto the podium, past watching crowds of officers and guardsmen. A few jeered but it was half-hearted, the day had dragged on too long for anyone liking. The woman wore a Colonel's rank pins on her lapels but her hands were manacled and her head low. She looked young, by Toran's admittedly flawed grasp of mortal appearances. An inexperienced officer from a newly founded regiment. Glaeba and the other worlds of the trail had provided to replace recent losses of the Crusade. This woman could not have held her post for more than a few weeks, now her career seemed to be over.

Asher waited for the accused to kneel, "You are Colonel Montrose, commander of the 78th Yeomen, colloquially called the Plough-pushers."

"I am," the woman confirmed.

"You stand accused of failing to follow orders, of unnecessarily wasting lives and abandoning allies in battle. How do you plead?"

Montrose's head came up, "It wasn't my fault, the Alpha Legion attacked with Termite transports Two-score fiends burst out into the heart of our formation. Half my regiment was slaughtered before we could fall back and call for artillery!"

"Your problems are irrelevant," Asher stated, "The God-Emperor expects His officers to overcome obstacles and complete their given objectives."

"We could not!" Montrose cried, "It was impossible."

"She's not wrong," Furion whispered, "Thirty Possessed Marines in their midst, she did well to only lose half her regiment."

Cardinal Praiseworthy leaned forward to spit, "You placed the lives of your men over duty to the God-Emperor. Your lack of faith disgusts me."

"Hear, hear!" snorted Jurry suddenly waking up.

"The court calls Captain Toran to testify!" Asher declared.

Toran had been waiting for hours and stepped forward to testify, "The Storm Heralds advance was endangered when the 78th Yeomen failed to support us. Our right flank was left wide open and came under attack. Had we not reacted swiftly we could have been repulsed with great losses."

"Did the Yeomen attempt to return after their unauthorised withdrawal?" Asher pressed.

"They did not." Toran stated truthfully.

"Thank you, Captain," Asher stated as Toran withdrew, "The evidence is irrefutable. Colonel Montrose failed in her duty and showed cowardice in the face of the enemy... she has proven... she has... she... Someone shut that crowd up, I'm passing my verdict here! I said what is that bloody racket?!"

Toran's head turned as a great commotion arose in the surrounding crowds. Cries of surprise and elation. A tremendous roar arose as Guardsmen cheered and wept, crying hosannahs to the burning skies and applauding like drunken Scholam-boys. Toran knew only one thing that could produce such as response and was not surprised when ten Space Marines stepped onto the podium. Sapphire blue armour, golden filigree, broad shields and golden axes in hand: the Victrix Guard, and at their head Cato Sicarius, Knight-Champion of Macragge. His stern gaze swept the stage as he barked, "Make obeisance!"

All fell to one knee, even the judges, as Roboute Guilliman stepped into view. The Primarch himself, glorious and resplendent. The Armour of Fate dazzled in the hot sun, every detail loving fashioned. He was handsome in the way a bolter was handsome, hard, precise and direct. His brow bore golden laurels and at his hip hung the Emperor's Own Blade. He bent the universe around him by merely existing, the most important person present without even trying.

Cato Sicarius slammed a fist to his chest and proclaimed, "Announcing the thirteenth Primarch, Lord of Ultramar and Avenging Son. Blade of Unity, the Eagle of the East and Ruler of Hosts. The Last Loyal Son, Risen and Victorious. Imperial Regent and Lord Commander of the Imperium Entire: Roboute Guilliman!"

"Rise," Guilliman commanded. All did so and Toran looked upon his Gene-father. He hadn't seen the Primarch since the Great Refusal but as always was struck by contrasting visions. His organic eye showed him a living demi-god, stepping out of ancient history. His augmetic showed him a harried commander with too much to do, a man whose important business had been interrupted by a vexing issue. And Toran didn't know which image was true.

Warily Asher said, "Lord Regent, we hadn't expected you."

"I hadn't expected to come, but I must prevent this grave miscarriage of justice."

"Now see here!" Praiseworthy spat.

Guilliman ignored him as he turned to the prisoner, "Colonel Montrose, explain how the Alpha Legion attacked you."

The wide-eyed Colonel looked ready to keel over but couldn't refuse, "We were attacked from below by Termite Transports."

"A most unconventional means of attack."

Asher cut in, "The means are irrelevant, she..."

Guilliman stopped her with a raise hand, "And how did you respond?"

Montrose explained, "When it became obvious we couldn't hold, I ordered a rearguard to delay the Traitors and fell back. I called in artillery to stop their rampage. I should have stayed with my men; I should have stayed with the rearguard. I'm sorry, I should have died with them..."

Guilliman however countered, "A commander has a duty to place their juniors in the way of danger, for such officers must one day rise to become commanders themselves. Cato Sicarius: recite the Crusade's officially approved tactics for dealing with Termite assaults."

"There is no such regulation," Sicarius stated.

"Because I have not yet written it. Colonel Montrose maintained cool decision making under fire and deployed creative problem solving. The deaths of her men was unavoidable and Had she hesitated then tens of thousands more lives would have been lost. I therefore decree that Colonel Montrose shall be cleared of all charges and immediately transferred to the Crusade's General Headquarters, with a commendation for original thinking. She will head a Strategoes-Symposium, tasked to generate effective solutions to future Termite attacks."

A great ruckus spread through the crowd as all gasped at his overturning of the verdict. All were whispering in awe but Asher spat, "You can't do that!"

"The Golden Throne of Terra says I can dispense justice as I see fit," Guilliman replied flatly.

"You have some nerve!" Cardinal Praiseworthy hissed as he strode forward. The man barely came up to the Primarch's waist but must have had Adamantium for a spine as he physically jabbed the giant with a finger. The Victrix Guard nearly struck him down but Guilliman stayed them with a gesture and let the man rant, "You destroyed many sacred Templums, demolished holy shrines. You claim the authority of the God-Emperor and yet desecrate His holy places!"

Toran saw the smallest twitch under Guilliman's eye at the words God-Emperor but the Primarch replied, "The Emperor expects victory above all. I know this, I spoke to him in person. The time and energy you waste building monuments could be better employ in the front line. If you truly wish to serve your god, then go pick up a lasgun and learn how to shoot. I can make it an order, if you wish."

Cardinal Praiseworthy fell back but Guilliman wasn't done, "Now we come to the most bitter pill. Commissar-General Asher: I accuse you of dereliction of duty and conduct unbecoming your office."

"What?!" Asher cried in disbelief.

Cato Sciarius stepped forward brandishing a data-slate, "This order, signed by your gene-imprint, diverted active Regiments from the fighting, to purloin relics and materials from the Cathedrals. Whole units, sent off-mission, to loot Templums and steal precious icons."

"What?!" Praiseworthy cried, "You dared steal from the Ecclesiarchy you bitch!"

"No!" Asher cried, "I was preserving the relics, keeping them safe from the fighting!"

Guilliman refuted, "Then how did they end up on shuttles marked with your personal seal?! You are accused of abandoning your duty, to loot and plunder, lining your pockets with the... 'cultural artefacts' of another adeptus. How do you plead?"

"You can't do this to me!" Asher cried as her hand moved. From under her coat a laspistol rose, angling towards Roboute Guilliman. Toran's hand moved for his sword, Transhuman fast, but before his sword cleared the scabbard the Victrix Guard struck. A golden axe blurred, wisps of molecules burning, and then Asher's head rolled from her neck, leaving the body to fall. It happened so fast none could see it, but the Commissar-General was dead.

Guilliman watched without moving an eyebrow then stated, "Add threatening the life of the Imperial Regent to the charges, and a plea of guilty."

Proctor-General Jurry gulped, "You killed her."

"She killed herself with her stupidity," Guilliman asserted, "I suggest this court adjourn till another judge can be found. Colonel Montrose, come with me, you have work to do. Mightily-Praiseworthy, the cultural artefacts will be returned to your personal custody, to redistribute as you see fit."

The Cardinal blinked in surprise then grinned avariciously. Toran knew the man wouldn't let his spat with the Primarch stand in the way of profit. The Cardinal would certainly be keeping a few relics for his personal benefit, effectively a bribe large enough to buy planets. Guilliman was many things, general, scholar, teacher and leader, but he was also a consummate politician. With this gesture he'd turned the Cardinal from a political enemy into a somewhat reluctant ally. And all without any hint of improper behaviour.

Guilliman turned to leave and the Victrix Guard fell in line. Toran straightened up and opened his mouth to greet his Gene-father but Guilliman strode past without so much as a glance at the Captain. Toran was stung by the unspoken dismissal, but knew their stations were so far apart as to be in sperate solar systems. Roboute Guilliman led galactic armies, Toran was a mere line Captain, he had no right to call upon his gene-father's time or attention.

The Regent left and whispers flew wild in his passing. Guardsmen collected the Commissar-General's corpse as the other judges departed. Toran shook his head, "That was unexpected."

"The Regent is a Primarch, they do as they will," Furion replied.

"A wonder to see him, even if we did not speak," Toran sighed.

"You have six gold studs already, many of our Brothers seethe in envy of such favour," Furion chided.

Toran nodded, "I suppose there is a bright lining."

"What's that?"

Toran grinned, "We have a story none of our Brothers will believe."