And here comes the second chapter. I thank Matt and Death's Watcher for their encouraging reviews, and I will see you again at the bottom of the page for a few explanations.

WARNING : minor spoilers for the Horus Heresy novels. Nothing very big, only references to events that occur in the books, but you are warned.

Oh, and I don't own Warhammer 40000, of course.

The Warp roared and raged, the terrible entities that dwelled within infuriated by the Warmaster's death and the failure of the rebellion. Thousands of ship sailed its currents, running from their pursuers. Sometimes, some of the renegades would leave the general direction of the exode, seeking to hide in forgotten corners of the Imperium, or believing they could keep ravaging the galaxy despite their defeat. They were soon proved wrong, however, as ships of the hunting horde would turn to pursue them, confident that the rest of the retribution fleet would be more than enough to deal with the main traitor fleet. Most of those splinters would be caught and destroyed, in a long campaign of cleansing that would take decades but would ultimately see the Imperium triumphant.

The Traitor Legions and their allies were preys now. Those very warriors who had freely rampaged across the stars for all the duration of the Horus Heresy were now reduced to fugitives. Had they turned to face their enemies, they could have defeated them; but no shipmaster trusted another in that band of betrayers. How could you trust someone who had already broken the most important oath, especially if you were a traitor yourself ?

And so they ran. All the way across the galaxy, driven to it by the whispers of the creatures that had brought them to the war in the first place. There, the voices said, they would be safe from the Imperium's retribution. There, they would find allies, weapons, power. Scores of ships were lost to the storm, their inhabitants consumed by servants of those powers they were now forced to embrace or die. Others managed to survive, though those were changed forever by the ordeal.

The Hand of Ruin was but one of these ships. Its master, Arken of the Sons of Horus, had ordered it to go to the same place as the rest of the Legions, but it was of his own volition. No daemon had whispered it into his heart. The Eye of Terror was the only place they would be safe from the Imperium, even if they wouldn't be safe from their own comrades or the predators of the Warp.

Ironically, the Hand of Ruin never reached its intended destination. The tides of the Great Ocean spirited the ship away from the rest of the escaping fleet. The Navigators tried to keep their cap, but the Warp's currents were too strong, and soon it was all they can do to ride the tempest, trying their best to prevent the ship from being torn apart by the hellish energies unleashed against its Geller Field.

Soon, however, even their best efforts weren't enough, and the battle for the Hand of Ruin and the souls of all its crew began.

For months, the Space Marines on board fought against the nightmarish creatures that passed through the cracks of the Geller Field, united in purpose by their survival instinct and in action by the will of Arken. The battles never ended, the warriors had to rotate the order into which they fought so that some of them would have a chance to rest for a few hours before returning to battle. There wasn't even a moment of peace; always there would be a new front opening in the struggle for the Hand of Ruin. From the commanding deck or directly on the front lines, Arken commanded all the Astartes, sending them where they were needed, coordinating their efforts and actions. Not once during all the terrible journey did the Commander rest. Even the three Navigators aboard the ship had been forced to relay each other in their efforts to ride the storm, but Arken didn't seem to need to sleep anymore. He dedicated himself entirely to the safety of the Hand of Ruin, inspiring the rest of the crew by his own actions. In another life, his deeds during the exode would have been celebrated for centuries, documented and archived as great examples of the Astartes' fortitude. But now, no one outside of the Hand of Ruin would ever know of it. He went on and on, shrugging off the questions and worries of his brothers. He himself didn't know how he was still standing, but it didn't matter to him. In the cold that had taken over his heart, and was still getting worse with every passing hour, very few things still mattered.

But despite the lack of emotions that consumed him, when the message came, it surprised him.

'Lord Arken, the Warp just … calmed. The Geller Field is stable.'

For a few seconds, the Commander of the Sons of Horus didn't know what to do. They had been fighting for so long, it seemed an eternity had passed, that they had been fighting all of their existence. And who knew, considering the way time flowed in the Warp, perhaps they had. Finally, he said :

'Bring us into realspace, Koldak. Let us see where we have ended up.'

The Hand of Ruin tore the veil between reality and nightmare, and emerged inside a system with a dying star and an handful of planets that were little more than giant rocks. Scanning the skies for comparison with the star charts had revealed that they were now far in the galactic East from Terra, beyond the Warp anomaly known as the Maelstrom. The system itself had a name, too, but it was a meaningless string of numbers and letters and Arken didn't bother himself listening to it. Examining the relative positions of the stars had also revealed that almost a decade had passed in realspace since the end of the Siege of Terra.

The ship had been wounded by its flight through the Immaterium : great slashes ornated its hull, impact marks were omnipresent, and many parts of it had mutated into new shapes, the metal twisting under the influence of the Warp. Still, Merchurion affirmed that the ship could be repaired with the resources on board, and was still flight-able if they needed to run again. The ship placed itself in orbit around the third world, to allow its exhausted crew the rest it deserved.

Alone in the strategium, Arken was savoring the sensation of tranquility. Almost all the crew had fallen inconscious the moment they had emerged, but he had found that he was as fresh as he had been since their journey had begun.

He was reading damage reports, inventories and other files about what they had to work with now. He had glossed over the stores of ammunition : they were low, but they had the means to build a forge for ressuplying on board, and preliminary scans seemed to indicate that some of the rocks of this forsaken system contained ore that could be used for that losses in crew were more damaging, but they still had enough mortals to fully operate the ship. All the human troops that had been on the Hand of Ruin, however, had been wiped out by the daemons.

Arken took up another data-slate, the one who interested him the most. It was a compilation of reports that indicated the state of the Astarte forces that now called the ship home. Though they came from different Legions that had had their differents during their long history, even before the civil war, all Space Marines on the ship had forged bonds of brotherhood while battling for their very souls. Almost every Astarte had saved the life of any of the others at least once, and even if most remained with their gene-brothers, there was almost no tension between Legions. That was a small miracle in itself, thought Arken. If the rest of the fleet had made it to the Eye of Terror, there was little doubt that things would be very different there.

The Commander looked at the numbers at the bottom of the rolling text :

Alpha Legion : 92

Death Guard : 81

Emperor's Children : 83

Iron Warriors : 204

Night Lords : 113

Sons of Horus : 217

Thousand Sons : 22

World Eaters : 79

Word Bearers : 188

The numbers hid the complexity and diversity of the force under Arken's command. The Word Bearers, for instance, had nine members of the Gal Vorbak remaining, the others being rank and field battle-brothers. A total of forty-seven Terminator Armors were spread across the different Legions, and twenty-three of those needed repairs before they could be put to use again. Merchurion had had to scrap six more who were too damaged to be salvaged for spare parts. Arken suspected that if he had still been able of such a feat, the techno-adept would have wept at such a 'desecration'.

Without counting the Thousand Sons, who were all able to wield the power of the Warp, there were fourteen Librarians on board. They had been more numerous at the start of the journey, but while their abilities made them the greatest threat to the daemons it also made them the most tempting targets. The psykers had gathered together with the Thousand Sons, relaying each other to keep their mental shields up at all times to prevent possession.

They had no Dreadnought, though they had recovered the wreckage of several from Terra. Merchurion would see if they could be reused, but they weren't the priority right now. The transports the rescued Astartes had managed to bring on the Thunderhawks – Rhinos and Land Raiders – were also in dire need of repairs. So they had no heavy support at all.

Still, this was a force to be reckoned with. During the Great Crusade, entire civilizations had been conquered with half less Space Marines. With it, Arken could inflict terrible damage upon the Imperium. It would take time to reforge this splintered coalition into an efficient fighting force, even with the blooming brotherhood the warriors now shared, but once they were able to work together, to combine the individual specialities of their Legions toward a common objective …

'Lord Arken ? We are picking up a transmission.'

The message stopped his visions of grandeur and destruction at once. One of the officers had still been awake, as he had ordered a skeleton crew to remain on duty at all time, just in case. It hadn't been easy to force the few men and women to stay awake for a few hours more, but enough stimulants and threats had managed the trick.

'Did the Imperials find us ?!'

'No, sir. It … it's coming from the planet.'

Arken relaxed for a second, before realizing what the second part of the transmission meant.

'Wait. I thought this system was uninhabited ?'

'It is, lord. The scanners are formal : no life is possible, and we aren't picking up any sign of artificial environment. But the message comes from there.'

'Is it still being transmitted ?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Let me listen to it.'

There was a blur of static, and then a voice that was impossibly clear given the distance of the transmission spoke in Arken's ear. The voice was deep, even more so than that of a Space Marine, and was dripping with alienness. The Son of Horus felt his skin crawl.

Warp-craft, thought Arken. Even now that they were outside of the Empyrean, it had followed them. The message merely confirmed his opinion.

' … to me, lost children of the gods. Long have I waited for you here, guiding you to this place through the Great Ocean. You have suffered much, but you have endured and proved that you are worthy. I will ease your grief and grant you power beyond your wildest dreams, power enough to claim the vengeance that is rightfully yours, power enough to avenge your fathers. I am the Tear Drinker, the Harbinger of Sorrow, the Destroyer of Kings. I am Serixithar. Come to me, lost children of the gods …'

The message looped, over and over. Arken took a few minutes to listen to it in detain, piecing together what he knew of the situation. There was a daemon on the world below. And apparently, it was responsible for their presence here. Or at least it wanted them to believe it was. The Commander had faced too many warp-born in the last months to trust any word coming from them. They had lost too many Astartes to the lies whispered by the creatures who had boarded the ship. He had seen it himself, several times : good warriors, veteran of Isstvan, who had endured the Siege of Terra, and yet were deceived like gullible children by the lies of daemons hiding their horrific nature under seductive appearances.

The lies hadn't worked on him. It was as if he could see right through them, to the rot behind the glitter. Daemons were liars, it was in their nature. Only the blood-soaked, horned ones didn't hide their intentions – to kill and kill and kill for their lord and master. The daemon on that insignificant rock hadn't claimed that it wanted to kill them all and take their skulls, so it belonged to the 'deceiver' category.

But it may be truthful when it said it was responsible for bringing them here, and if that was the case, then they had to get down and meet it. Arken turned the facts a few times in his mind, and came to the same conclusion each time.

'Officer,' he said through the vox. 'Can you send a reply on the same frequency this message is using ?'

'I … think I can, lord. But it isn't a natural message, so …'

'I understand. Just put my words on the correct frequency, I am sure whatever is sending will get them.'

There was a pause, and Arken heard the officer he had been speaking to shout at someone else – probably a vox operator who had been asleep at his post. Then, the officer said :

'We are ready, lord. Your next words will be transmitted at the same frequency.'

The Son of Horus took a deep breath, then whispered in his vox :

'We are coming.'

There was a moment of silence, then the voice of the officer came back :

'Sir ? The transmission from the planet has stopped.'

'Then it means the responsible got my reply. Did you get a location on the signal before it stopped ?'

'Well, yes, lord, although given the nature of the message, it is probably …'

'A trap ? Yes, I know. But I doubt it is the kind of trap you are thinking of, officer.'

Organizing the planetfall of a thousand Astartes was a logistic nightmare at the best of times. It was necessary to supply all of them with ammunition and equipment for the expedition. Briefings and tactical maps had to be sent to the officers, who would share the information to their battle-brothers. Finally, the aircrafts had to be coordinated to allow the best deployment.

They had no actual stock of ammunition beyond what Merchurion had stored in his forges, what the Astartes carried on themselves and the loot from the Ultramarine boarders. Information about the landing zone was foggy at best, and the hierarchy of the warband was something to laugh at. The Astartes onboard the Hand of Ruin had broken down in packs, members of each Legion staying together. Each pack had a leader, at least, and all of them would obey Arken's orders. The nightmarish journey had made sure that they would follow him; after all, had he not successfully led them out of the very maw of Hell ?

The different Legions on board had a grudging respect for each other, yes, but apart from the Librarians, there was no pack made of mixed blood. It made sense tactically, as the Space Marines were used to fight with their own battle-brothers and the ways of war varied greatly from one Legion to another, but it wasn't good for the stability and the morale of their group of exiles.

In spite of all that, Arken managed to order a planetfall and carry it out without any loss of material, or worse, Astartes. The aircrafts had been repaired quickly by Merchurion's servitors, but the techno-adept had been clear that they weren't to be used in actual combat. So, to prevent the precious machines to be damaged if … when things turned to a battle, Arken had ordered his brothers and cousins to land five kilometers away from the signal's point of emission. Any further than that, he had reasonned, and whatever damaged the ships would most probably kill them all anyway.

For a while, Arken had considered leaving a small force of Astartes onboard, but he had abandonned it quickly. If the ship was attacked by Imperial forces while they were on the ground, then better he had all his troops with him rather than on the battered ship, where they wouldn't be enough to repel an all-out loyalist assault anyway. Besides, there was always the risk that they would run with the ship and leave him stranded here. The risk was slim, of course, but it was even slimmer if there were only serfs aboard. The mortals wouldn't dare to betray him, for the very simple reason that without the Astartes, they would be entirely defenceless. He could focus on the purpose of his presence on that little ball of rock : meeting a daemon.

He descended from the Thunderhawk, hearing Damarion speak with the pilot, a mortal wearing an isolated suit with whom the Son of Horus had apparently some sense of comradship, as unlikely as such a thing was, and set foot upon the world. His helmet screen warned him that the planet was unsuitable for life, its atmosphere not sufficient to allow even the most basic lichens to thrive. The crew had warned him about that – it was one of the few pieces of information their damaged auspex had been able to pick up – and he had made clear to the Legionaries that they were to keep their armor void-sealed at all time. Luckily, those whose armor had been deprived of that function had already repaired it, as void-sealing was the only thing protecting them from some of the daemons' gas weapons.

Arken looked around him as his brothers, led by Damarion, deployed around him. The Captain and the rest of his squad had taken over as Arken's bodyguards. They wore the Terminator Armor of those who had fallen at their master's side during the boarding of the Ultramarines. During the journey through the Warp, they had quickly mastered the heavy set of armor, and had protected Arken well. The Commander himself didn't wear the same armor as his bodyguards, preferring the standard power armor. It gave him more flexibility, something he believed a leader should always have on the field of battle.

The world was … bland. An asteroid in all but the sheer size of it. Rock, as far as the eye could see, with mountains made of more rock at the horizon.

The thousand Astartes he had brought with him on that worthless planet were completing the planetfall. He could hear shouts and curses on the vox, as the Thunderhawks did their best to avoid crashing into each other. Once he was sure they were all finished, he started to walk, gesturing for Damarion and the others to follow him.

The rest of the Sons of Horus fell in line behind them, and the rest of the Legionaries soon followed. Marching was one of the few things that all Legions did the same way, after all.

The procession lifted a cloud of dust in its wake, and Arken thought that he would need to look at those who had been forced to be at the back of the column for signs of anger. Astartes were supposed to be able to endure walking through the dust risen by others' boots, but there were a lot of things about Astartes that weren't as they were supposed to be. Horus' rebellion had amply proved that.

They marched in silence, without any communication on the vox. Arken had ordered it so, but it was reassuring to see that they actually obeyed him, even on something as apparently trivial as keeping communications at a minimum.

Five kilometers weren't any distance to a Space Marine, and they arrived at their destination a few minutes later. They were at the base of one of the planet's mountains, in front of an opening in the wall of rock. The hole was big enough for ten Astartes to walk through side by side, and was clearly unnatural in origin. They were too smooth, as if they had been cut with a laser and then polished by an army of slaves. Arken opened a vox-channel and commanded for the Librarians to come over.

The psykers had been just a little behind him in the column. The majority of them wore the colours of the Thousand Sons, but they were others mixed with them : Arken spotted the livery of his own Legion, as well as that of the Night Lords, Word Bearers, Alpha Legion … In fact, all Legions aboard the Hand of Ruin except for the World Eaters and the Death Guard. The last psykers among the World Eaters had died in the war for the Five Hundred Worlds – though he didn't know the details, it was rumoured that their own brothers had hunted them down, but it could be just slander.

As for the Death Guard … Mortarion had never trusted psykers, and had made sure none of them received his gene-seed after he took command of his Legion. Those already incorporated had suffered … accidents long before the start of the civil war. No outright purge, at least none Arken was aware of, but things like being assignated to the wars with the highest casualty rates, or reinforcements arriving just a little bit too late. All in all, considering the tension caused at Nikea, it was probably best that no son of Mortarion joined a group so dominated by the Thousand Sons.

The psykers were surrounding a black case, kept levitating by their common will. Three meters long, one meter large, the case contained something Arkenn felt they may need before this was all over.

Arken greeted the son of Magnus that led the group of psykers. Clad in the armor of a Captain of the Fifteenth Legion, Asim was a member of the Corvidae, those of the Thousand Sons that specialised in divining the future. He carried with him a staff of polished silver, atop of which hung the skull of a creature that Arken couldn't identify. The bones looked like they could have belonged to a Legionary … but they were horribly distorted, as if they had been merged with a canine's own skull.

The Commander had seen Asim use that staff during their journey, blasting daemons apart the second they materialised in the ship. He had also seen him put a bolt in the head of one of his own brothers, when he had been taken over by a warp-born, before anyone else noticed the change. If the corpse hadn't turned to dust like it had, Asim would have been the one suspected of possession. He had known it, but he hadn't known that the corpse would prove his action necessary, yet he had done it without hesitation. Arken felt he could trust the Space Marine, at least in matters regarding the Warp.

' Asim. What can you tell me ?'

The psyker turned toward the cave, and stood, motionless, for a few seconds. Blue sparks ran on his armour and staff as he focused his gift to peer into the maw of the earth. When they vanished, he looked back at Arken :

'There is a powerful presence in this cave, Awakened One,' he said, using the title that the Legionaries of the other Legions had given him. He hadn't tried to suppress its use; he didn't have any reason to. Asim continued : 'It is a dweller of the Great Ocean, that much I am sure of.'

'How can it be able to maintain its presence ? Is this planet touched by the Warp ?'

He left out the real question, if this is the case, why in the Horus' name didn't you warn me?Asim shook his head.

'While it is true that most denizens of the Great Ocean are unable to manifest in the Materium for any extended period of time outside of worlds already claimed by the Warp, there are some who are able to sustain their existence indefinitely, until they choose to return to the Great Ocean or are destroyed. Of course, only the most potent of daemons are capable of such a feat, and not even all of them. There is another criteria to this ability, but we do not know what with certitude. This is what is going on here. A very powerful daemon, somehow possessing a link with the Materium strong enough to wait for us to come here.'

'Has it been here for long, then ?'

'This area is tainted by its presence. Now that I know its aura, I can see it. It has been here for months, Arken. Possibly even before … before the Siege ended.'

Arken felt a dangerous anger rise in him.

'Are you telling me that this … thing knew about the result of the war beforehand ?'

Are you telling me that the warp-born knew my father was going to die, and didn't do anything to prevent it ?

'Who knows ?' Asim shrugged. 'The Warp doesn't follow the same rules as this plane, brother. Time flows very differently there, not only slower or faster but even in reverse. That daemon could come from ten thousand years in the future and try to alter the course of events to suit its own agenda … or it could be as you said. Or we could have spend longer in the Warp that we think, and it arrived here long after we fled. We have no way to know except asking it directly and taking whatever lie it gives us in answer at face value.'

There was a bitterness in Asim's voice that prevented Arken from digging deeper into the Libarian's mysteries. Everyone knew that the Thousand Sons had only escaped destruction at the Space Wolves' hands thanks to their Primarch, Magnus, who himself had had to make some kind of bargain with the Octed to save what few of his sons remained. The Space Marine was entitled to feel bitter about any dealing with the warp-born. Arken tried to soften his voice :

'Do not worry, brother. I have no intention of blindly believing whatever that creature has to tell us.'

Asim slightly bowed his head in acceptance, although Arken felt that he wasn't reassured at all. He returned with the rest of his coven, and a thousand renegade Astartes walked into the cavern.

The tunnel went down, deep into the planet. It circled and turned, forming a spiral, the diameter of the tunnel remaining the same all the way. However, ten minutes or so after they entered, the nature of the walls started to change. While they had been smooth at the entrance, strange patterns were beginning to appear on the rock, seeming to be moving until one looked directly at them. They were … pulsing, as if they were the veins of some great, unknowable organism. Arken could feel the tension in his brethren. They were too used to that kind of things to panic, of course, but it set them on edge, even more likely to open fire the instant they reached their destination. And while Arken had little doubt that the meeting with the daemon would end in battle, he had questions he wanted answered before bolts started to fly.

The Commander opened a vox-channel to all the other Space Marines :

'Remember : stay focused. We are here to talk.'

He didn't need to add for now. The others would understand his meaning – one didn't bring a thousand Space Marines to talk – and he didn't want the daemon to learn too much from listening to his words. Of course, that was supposing that the creature wasn't directly reading his thoughts or that of any battle-brother, but he had asked the Librarians to be on watch for such an attempt.

No, all that worried him about his men at that point was that some of the World Eaters may be unable to contain their urge to kill when facing a warp-born. The sons of Angron had changed since their Primarch's transformation in Ultramar. He hadn't believed it was possible, but they had become even more brutal and bloodthirsty. The long journey through the Warp had at least given them plenty of fighting, enough to calm them down for a few days, with luck. But Arken was a leader of Astartes. He didn't believe in luck.

Still, he would have to take his chances. The World Eaters were too precious in a fight to leave them behind, even if they would have accepted such an order. So he would just have to hope that they could keep their temper in check long enough.

Hours passed as they descended deeper and deeper. The tunnel was a blatant violation of the laws of geophysics, which only reinforced the impression of alienness. By now, the walls were writhing, tentacles of fluid stone moving endlessly on them. It was unnerving, as if they were in the digestive track of some titanic beast.

Then, at once, the walls returned to polished stone. They had arrived.

They were in a great, apparently perfectly circular cavern. A sphere of almost two kilometers of diameter where the rock had somehow been removed. The tunnel they emerged from was connected to the base of the sphere. Their armor signaled the Astartes that the room was, somehow, filled with breathable air. Some of the Space Marines removed their helmet, but Arken kept his on. Only foolish leaders removed their headgear on the battlefield.

At the center of the room, less than a thousand meters away, was a giant throne. Arken used his helmet's systems to zoom on the chair. He saw …

Impossible.

It was his father. Horus, as he had been when he had last seen him. Clad in his custom Terminator armor and wearing the infamous Talon of Horus in his hand, Warbreaker in the other. His Primarch was looking at him, and smiling.

Arken knew this was a trick. It had to be. His father was dead. Killed by the Emperor, and even the Octed didn't have the power to undo such a thing. Yet still, in spite of having heard Abaddon's scream of grief, in spite of being immune to the warp-born deceptions, he wanted to believe it. That his gene-sire had somehow survived, and was here before him.

Then the image of his father smiled, and the illusion shattered like glass. The cold tightened its grip over Arken's heart, and he saw clearly again. And, for the first time since he had learned of his Primarch's death, Arken of the Sons of Horus felt hatred rise in his soul, overcoming the numbness that had taken him and spilling into his mind.

Damarion didn't understand. The Primarch was dead. They had all known it, felt the truth of it into their very souls. In the aftermath of their gene-sire's fall on Davin, there had been reports from the other fleets that Legionaries had been feeling distressed, even if they had no way to know that their Primarch was dying. There was a connection between all Astartes and their Primarchs that told them whether they were alive or dead – and the fact that the Salamanders somehow clung to the belief that Vulkan lived had caused no small amount of paranoia amongst the Warmaster's Legions.

So how could Horus Lupercal be here ?! Damarion recognized him. It was him ! The same dignified face, the same aura of absolute control, the same smile that told everyone else that he knew what he was doing.

Damarion didn't understand. His mind was paralysed. At the edge of his mind, he noticed that the other Sons of Horus were similarly afflicted. All except …

To Damarion's surprise and horror, Commander Arken lifted his bolter and shot. The bolt travelled faster than sound, straight at Horus. The Primarch moved, dodging the projectile, that embedded itself in the black materia of the throne.

But despite the dodge, the damage had been done. The veil lifted from Damarion's eyes. This wasn't his Primarch. This was a warp-born, a daemon who dared to profane his gene-sire's memory by assuming his appearance. He felt his hands move, rising the combi-bolter that was placed on his right arm, and stopped only when he saw Arken holding his own hand up, gesturing for all of them to hold on. In his other hand, he held his bolter, still aimed toward the Horus-thing.

Slowly, without letting his aim falter for a moment, the Commander marched toward the throne. The rest of the Astartes followed him, many having their weapons primed and ready as well. The creature made no move, simply slouching back into the throne, ignoring the attempt that had just been made on its existence. Damarion kept himself ready. That thing may wore the face of his father, but if it tried to hurt his Commander, it would pay.

Finally, when he was only ten meters away from the daemon, Arken stopped. His anger had cooled off, but he knew this wasn't going to end well. He looked straight into the daemon eyes, those eyes that looked so much like his Primarch's but were absolutely nothing like them. Keeping his head immobile, he forsook his own strategy and removed his helmet. This had to go face-to-face. This was important. This would shape the future of all the Astartes in the cavern with him.

'Serixithar,' he said to the daemon.

'Commander Arken. My son.'

The daemon's voice was just like Horus' had been. Arken pulled the trigger again, causing another mark on the throne, on the opposite side of the creature's head this time. The creature kept smiling.

'How dare you ?' growled Arken, making several of the World Eaters start rumbling too. 'How dare you appear before me in that disguise ?'

'I thought you would like to look at your father one last time. It appears I was wrong. My apologies, Awakened One.'

'You do not call me that, daemon. Only my comrades call me that. Now, tell me. Why did you call us here ?'

'I didn't 'call' you here, Arken. I brought you here. It was by my will that you were separated from the rest of your little band of failures. I arranged for you to come here, rather than in the Eye. While it is a delightful place, I feared it would not be to your liking, and there is so much more you would be able to do outside of its confines.'

Slowly, Arken lowered his bolter. When he spoke, however, his voice was just as charged with anger as it had been before.

'Hundreds of my brothers died because of that, daemon.'

'And how many more would have died if you had been trapped in the Eye of Terror with the rest of the Legions ? What do you think they are doing right now ?'

The daemon stood up, its shape changing, twisting as if bones were rearranging themselves under its skin. A beak pierced the mask the creature wore, revealing a face that was much like that of a vulture. Its hands turned into avian claws, and two feathered wings rose at its back. In a moment, only the remnants of the armor it wore indicated that this was the same creature that had been sitting on the throne when they had entered the cavern. The creature was almost five meters tall, far above even the Terminators.

'You have been absent for a long time, Arken, though it is naught but the blink of an eye to my kind. Ten years have passed in this plane since your precious master fell against the Anathema. His failure condemned your race, Arken. Your brothers are trapped in the Eye, now. They are killing each other. The Sons of Horus are all but extinct. The other Legions all turned on them for your father's failure. And they didn't escape unscathed either ...'

Serixithar pointed at the Thousand Sons in the army Arken had brought with them with one claw.

'Their Legion is dead, or as good as. Ahriman, the most powerful of them, foolishly tried to challenge my lord, to save his brothers from His touch. He didn't realize he was merely executing my Lord's will. Now, the sons of Magnus have been reduced to an army of puppets whose strings are pulled by the few of them who survived.'

The daemon lurched toward Arken, something akin to a smile forming on its face.

'That is the reason of your presence here. My Lord desire for another group of servants. He desires for another to be His agent in the Materium, and He has chosen you, Arken. I am here as His herald, to offer you to join Him. I will grant you blessings in His name. I will ensure you find plunder and glory. I will make you into the weapon He demands you to be.'

'What makes you think I will even consider your offer, daemon ?! We have been slaves to the False Emperor for too long already ! We will never bow to another … creature again !'

'Are you comparing me to the Anathema ?!'

Arken smirked. At last, he had managed to throw the daemon off his game.

' I am one of the favorites of the Architect of Fate ! I am one of the Court of Change ! I am a lord of the Warp, mortal, chosen by Tzeentch to be freed of the chains of the Materium and ascend at His side ! You will not insult me like that !'

'In case you haven't noticed, Serixithar, you are in presence of over a thousand Astartes. You are the one who should watch his tongue.'

At Arken's words, those of the Astartes who hadn't already done so aimed their weapons at the daemon. Serixithar merely chuckled.

'They are loyal to you, are they not ? You owe me for that, Arken. In the Eye of Terror, you would have torn each other apart, loyalties to your Legions overcoming the fact that they all owe you their life. Here, they have no choice but to follow you … just as you have no choice but to follow me. How do you expect to escape the hunters of the Imperium without my help ? I can guide you through the stars, to avoid the hounds and find easy prey.'

That caused Arken to pause. Despite every reason he had to never trust a warp-born, he had to admit that they knew things. And if that one was an agent of one of the Octed, did he really dare to turn down its offer, at the risk of alienating the Architect of Fate to his warband ? They already had too many enemies, could they bear the wrath of one of the Dark Gods as well ? Magnus had tried to get out of a bargain with him, and he had almost lost his entire Legion for it.

Then he remembered the tales he had heard of Prospero's fall. The Thousand Sons had been betrayed there, but they hadn't been the only ones. The Architect of Fate had sent another of his greater daemons to ensure that the Space Wolves and the Thousand Sons destroyed each other. Asim had heard about it from Ahriman himself, and had told it to Arken when he had been readying for the planetfall. The psyker had thought that he would need to know everything he could about the way daemons behaved.

The daemon on Prospero had been destroyed, and the events hadn't followed the course it had planned. Perhaps …

At this moment, considering all things from a purely logical, pragmatic point of view, Arken felt a sensation of clarity he had never known before, and he saw the plan of the Dark God clearly. He understood exactly why Serixithar was here. This was no divine revelation, no gift from the Warp. It was simply a sudden stroke of genius, a thousand pieces gathered during their journey coming together to form a clear image.

The Commander laughed. It was an horrible sound, devoid of any humour. This was the laughter of a man who understand that he is in the position of power and knows that he alone realizes it. Serixithar looked at him, uncertainty filling its gaze. The daemon hadn't expected him to react that way. That was good. It confirmed what he was already sure of.

'Why are you laughing, Arken ?'

'Because, warp-spawn, I just realized what all of this is really about.'

'What are you saying ? Of course you do. I just told you. It is about you and your band of renegades and traitors bending knee before me as the representative of the Architect of Fate,' spat the daemon.

'No. You weren't send here as an emissary, Serixithar.'

Arken smiled, and raised his power sword, pointing the blade at the daemon.

'You were sent here as a gift. Asim, do it !'

'What is thiissss ?!'

Serixithar screamed as the Librarian and his coven unleashed their power on him. Arken had given them orders before they had left the Hand of Ruin – hand-written orders, so that the daemon would not be able to intercept them on the vox – about what they were to do if their meeting with the warp-born turned into a fight. They couldn't directly assault it without opening their minds to it and risking being possessed, but they could user their power to cut the greater daemon from the Warp. Not completely, of course, but enough that they wouldn't take as many losses.

With the power of the daemon restrained, Arken ran toward it. Behind him, a thousand Astartes opened fire on Serixithar, carefully aiming so as not to it their leader. The size of the target made that easy. Most of the bolts crashed on the shield of blue lighting that the creature had managed to rise, but even one bolt on a hundred hurt when thousand upon thousand was being shot.

Serixithar's wings were torn apart, the blue feathers vanishing as soon as they left the daemon's body. Countless other bolts hit his body, bursting out in flames and making it scream. The sound was pleasing to Arken's ears.

As he closed in, the daemon noticed his charge. With a panicked shriek, it materialised a staff that it swung at him. Arken blocked it with his free hand, focusing all the strength of his Astartes physiology enhanced by his power armor, and stayed on his feet. If Asim and the others hadn't been weakening the daemon, or if the rest of the warband hadn't been constantly draining its forces with their relentless assault, no doubt he would have been swept aside like an insect. As it was, Arken merely faltered in his course before starting running again.

'What do you think you are doing, you fool ?! Are you denying the will of the Architect of Fate ?! You will be destroyed for that ! Even if you take me down, the wrath of my Lord shall consign you and all your brothers to an eternity of torments, and I shall watch every moment of it !'

'You still do not understand !'

Arken jumped high, dodging another sweep of the staff, and planted his sword through the creature's torso. The daemon screamed in agony, and sent the claw that wasn't holding the staff to catch the Space Marine.

Arken felt the claws press on his armor, trying to gut him like he was gutting the daemon. At the same time, he felt Serixithar trying to crush his mind with its power.

'I will rip your soul from your pathetic flesh ! I will make you suffer so much, you will wish you had been left to rot on your backwater world as an infant !'

The psychic pressure broke through Arken's defenses, and reached straight to his soul. The Son of Horus groaned in pain, his brain about to burst …

Then Serixithar's assault met the frozen wasteland that was Arken's soul. There was such hatred in the Space Marine, even though it was contained and kept under careful control. The Son of Horus despised almost everything in the universe, and his hatred burnt the daemon like acid.

Squealing, Serixithar jerked its claw away, but too late : already it was burning with a black fire that was the psychic reflection of Arken's cold rage. The pain shattered the daemon's focus, and he took the next volley of bolts directly. With a last scream of pain, Serixithar collapsed, Arken's blade still embedded in its chest.

The Commander stood up above the daemon's pitiful form, his face devoid of expression once more.

'Treachery,' mewled the daemon. 'I am betrayed.'

'Yes,' said Arken while pulling his blade free. 'You are. Asim, if you please.'

The Thousand Sons and the rest of the coven surrounded the wounded daemon, bringing with them the black case. When Serixithar laid eyes upon it, the creature started to beg :

'No ! Please, not that ! Have mercy !'

'What mercy did you have for all our brothers who died because of you ?'

'I beg you ! I will serve you !'

'Yes, you will. Do it, Asim.'

At the psyker's command, the case stood upright and opened, revealing the body of an Ultramarine Librarian, captured during the assault on the Hand of Ruin and kept in stasis since then. Asim had captured the legionary himself, and Arken had ordered to keep him 'alive', if not conscious. The Son of Horus considered it deeply ironic, that the so vaunted Thirteenth Legion, so proud of its absolute obedience to the False Emperor, would not hesitate to break his edict as soon as following them became actually inconvenient. The prisonner was the ultimate proof of Guilliman's hypocrisy … and now, he was going to become much more.

Asim focused all of his mystical might, reciting the Greater Enumerations to keep himself from succumbing to the Warp's tentations. He could feel them, clawing at his defenses, trying to get in his mind. After Prospero, he had cast away his 'guardian spirit', realising that the creature had only been trying to manipulate him all along. It had hurt, and it had deprived him of a significant portion of his abilities. But he had honed his skills since then, in the fires of the civil war and during the exode. His will would not falter.

When they had left the Hand of Ruin, Arken had planned in detail for what was to come, laying out different courses of action depending on how the meeting went. They had brought the prisonner with them for one of these plans, and it was now time.

The stasis field that trapped the Ultramarine weakened and vanished, leaving the Librarian to slowly regain consciousness. Asim felt the horror that came from the warrior's mind as he began to realise where he was and what was happening. It was a small mercy that he wouldn't fully understand his situation until it was too late. The Thousand Son had no particular hatred for the sons of Guilliman; their master had been neutral at Nikea. But Asim's Legion had chosen a side in the Forever War that was to come, and he and his brothers would honor the bargain their Primarch had made, regardless of the consequences.

The coven forced Serixithar's essence down the Ultramarine's throat, binding daemon and Astartes into one entity. With old, blasphemous words that had been taught to them by the Word Bearers in their group, they merged the two, letting Serixithar consume the soul of the warrior they would once have called brother. They set sigils and wards of power on the body, and summoned chains forged of the very Aether to bind it to place. The torrents of psychic power they were unleashing caused the very rock around them to tremble, and for a moment Asim feared that the entire cavern was going to come down on them. But whatever power it was that kept the impossible structure intact still held, and the ritual of binding finally came to its term.

Serixithar, who had once been a sorcerer of an alien race long extinct, Daemon Prince of Tzeentch, was bound to the flesh of Brother Acamas, born on Ultramar and survivor of Calth. The noble soul of the Space Marine was crushed by the daemon's presence, shattered into tiny pieces. Then the mouth of the possessed Astartes opened, and the trapped Daemon Prince started to scream. It kept screaming until the stasis coffin closed back on it and muffled the horrendous sound. The group of renegade Librarians fixed seals on the confinement, and the ritual was finally over.

There was no cheer of victory, no congratulation delivered to those who had risked their souls to put down the daemon. What had they won, after all ? They were still renegades, lost inside the borders of an empire that hated them. Many looked at Arken, their faces hidden by their helmets, asking for answers. Whispers ran across the vox, questions being asked, concerns about the future shared. Why had the Awakened One done that ? Why had he renounced the alliance of one of the Immaterium's lords ?

What was his plan ?

Arken looked at his brothers, and he understood the doubts that ran through them. He picked up his helmet, and held it under his arm. Then, he walked up to the throne. The object was atop a small upheaval in the rock. Standing there, above his brothers, he raised his hands, and silence came.

For a few moments, the Commander simply looked at the thousand Space Marines before him. Then, he spoke, his voice spreading to all those gathered in the cavern.

'We have failed, brothers. The Legions have failed. The Imperium still stands. The cowards and the weak will continue to rule over the warriors that built the empire they are claiming for themselve.'

'But answer me this : why did we fail ?'

None of the warriors dared to try an answer. The pain of defeat was still too recent.

'Some may say that we lost because of my own Legion. Because we ran when our Primarch fell, instead of continuing fighting. But that is wrong. All the war depended on the confrontation between Horus and the False Emperor. With my father dead … there was no way we may have triumphed, not with Guilliman and the Lion striking at our back.'

Arken lowered his head, and continued talking.

'So why did we fail ? I have thought about this since we left Terra. I have thought about it during all our journey, even during the battles against the warp-born. That question had gnawed at my mind mercilessly for months … and I have finally found the answer.'

'We failed, my brothers, because our fathers failed. The Primarchs failed in their mission. They were all flawed, all of them.'

He pointed at himself :

'Horus failed when he launched Isstvan too soon, when not all Legions that may have stood with us did. He failed to control the war he had launched, he allowed his forces to spread too thin across the galaxy.'

He pointed at Asim :

'Magnus failed when the Wolves attacked Prospero. He waited until the last moment to take the bargain that was offered to him, causing the death of thousands of his own sons and failing to destroy the Emperor's executionners.'

He kept speaking, his head now raised, pointing at members of each Legion in turn.

The Word Bearers : 'Lorgar failed when he spread the worship of the Emperor, strengthening our enemies in this war we lost. He failed further when he let his Legion be manipulated by Erebus and Kor Phaeron, letting it slip from his grasp and fall into petty disputs.'

The Death Guard : 'Mortarion failed to see the power of the Librarius, and feared the Warp, refusing to use it until he and all of his sons were forced to bow down to it. Even then he waited until it was almost too late before kneeling in front of the Lord of Corruption, losing many of his sons.'

The Emperor's Children : 'Fulgrim let his Legion be broken at Iydris, just after he had almost killed his own brother and ally. His egoism caused his sons to shatter across the galaxy, instead of being a united force at the Warmaster's back.'

The World Eaters : 'Angron forced his sons down the Eightfold Path, denying them the honor of choosing it for themselves. He sacrificed countless warriors in the shadow war, failing to use even the most basic of tactics. He turned his Legion to the Blood God but failed to control it, and many killed each other in a vain attempt to appease his thirst.'

The Alpha Legion : 'Alpharius pushed the Warmaster to use treachery and deceit when raw strength and power would have been enough. His passion for stratagems and his unwillingness to share his plans with his allies brought his Legion in opposition to the others who had joined the Warmaster's cause.'

The Night Lords : 'Konrad Curze sent his Legion in a war they weren't made to fight, forsaking his tactics of fear and terror to directly battle the Lion's monks, in an attempt to sacrifice the Legion he hated to some higher purpose. He let the madness consume him and failed to honor his oaths, and he let his Legion break down as well.'

The Iron Warriors : 'Perturabo caused his warriors to plot and scheme against each other with his brutish tactics, letting those under him die in the trenches rather than try to change his ways. Yet despite this, he failed to see Fulgrim's own trap, and was beaten by the Phoenician even though he survived the plot. He lost too many warriors to his pride ...'

Arken shook his head.

'All of our fathers lost too many warriors due to their pride. We lost that war because of it. Our fathers have failed us, my brothers. They are demigods, unfit to rule over men, be they mortal or ageless as we, their sons, are.'

His voice rose louder :

'They failed us, and now we stand alone, far from them, lost, at the mercy of those who hate us in their ignorance of the truth. But I promise this to you : we shall have our revenge ! We shall grow strong and prepare ourselves. We shall hide when needed and strike at every chance. We shall make the Imperium suffer for its betrayal and its weakness. And even if it takes ten thousand years,' roared the Son of Horus, 'I swear to you : we shall see it fall !'

A clamor rose from a thousand throats claiming their approval and their loyalty.

'From this moment, we shall no longer be bound by our blood. We shall not deny it, but we shall rise beyond it. We shall be known as the Forsaken Sons, and we will destroy all those who would stand against us !'

Author's notes:

So, here I am again. I told you I would explain a few things :

To all those who would have liked to see how the Traitor Legions lived in the Eye of Terror after the Heresy : sorry, but that wasn't possible. I wanted to make a story about a warband with warriors of different Legions, and there is no way that can happen in the Eye at the moment. I mean, every Legion is at each other's throat, and every one is ganging on the Sons of Horus for losing the war (remember, Abaddon hasn't replaced Horus yet). The Forsaken Sons will probably end up in the Eye of Terror at one point in time, but not until Abaddon has formed the Black Legion at least.

I understand that Serixithar looks more like a Duke of Change than a Daemon Prince, but Tzeentch has a lot of daemons at his service, and he is the master of change, so it makes sense that one his Daemon Princes would look like one of his Greater Demons. (I am telling you that it makes sense. Don't try to think about it, you may prove me wrong.)

Anyway, now that the warband has taken its new name, I have finished the first part of the story, the one about their origins. Now, I have a lots of idea about what to do next. It will probably take a little while to choose one, so the next chapter should come in a week or two.

If you have enjoyed this chapter, please review it. If you haven't liked it and have a specific reason for it (style, grammair, errors in the lore) please review it too, that I may correct such problems for the next chapters.

Thank you all for reading,

Zahariel out.