AN : hello, dear readers. Here comes another chapter !

In this chapter, I set up the scene for the Battle for Asthenar and take care of a potential problem later on. It is somewhat shorter than previous chapters, and I am going to explain why.

I intend to show the battle for the last free hive-city of Parecxis Alpha through a series of short chapters, each depicting a single engagement in the larger conflict. This should enable me to write more action scenes, which is something I am not used to doing (so please forgive me if it takes me a while to get the hang of it). In exchange, I should be able to write these chapters more quickly.

In his review, Nemris asked if the Children of Woe (the cloned, abominably twisted Primarchs) would show traits of the Emperor's sons with no particular physical features. The answer to that question will come ... But not now. You will have to wait for their appearance 'on-screen'.

Also, I added a little something at the chapter's end (I think the term for that kind of thing is omake ? or perhaps it can only be used for anime-related stories ... someone please tell me). It is wholly unrelated to Warband of the Forsaken Sons, but enjoy it nonetheless.

That's all for now. If you like this chapter, have a suggestion for what you would like to see next, or see an inconsistency, please review or PM me !

Zahariel out.

I do not own the Warhammer 40000 universe nor any of its characters. They belong to Games Workshop.

All over Parecxis, the word of Arken had echoed. From the mighty captains of the Forsaken Sons to the lowly slaves that worked in the factories of conquered hives, all had heard the call of the Awakened One. The time had come, at long last, to march on the final bastion of resistance on the planet; to crush the loyalists once and for all and cast down all those who served the False Emperor. Asthenar would fall, and all who followed Chaos would take part in it.

From the south came the legions of pestilence and death. Talexorn opened its gates, and from the blighted hive-city came the most numerous of the armies that now converged upon the last redoubt of the Sons of Calth and their mortal allies. Half a billion Plague Zombies had left the walls of the fallen hive, and they advanced north like a tide of rotting, moaning flesh. Their numbers stretched out to the horizon, covering the plains as they staggered forward, pushed by the will of their dark masters. Small towns in the path of this tide were reduced to rubble in its wake, and while it left behind it thousands of broken corpses every day, such losses were but a drop in the ocean. Such was the sheer momentum of the undead horde that the remnants of hundreds of destroyed Plague Zombies were still advancing, trapped in the press of their comrades in damnation.

It was beautiful, mused Pharod the Reborn as he watched the march of his children. A great parade of plague, with maggots feasting on the entrails of the risen dead before growing too fat and falling to the ground, where they were crushed underfoot by the millions that came after their former host. In that way, the ground itself was infused with the touch of Grandfather Nurgle in the wake of the army. Little daemons rose from the pulped remains, and ran behind the horde with reckless glee, their small legs paining to keep up even with the slow gait of the Plague Zombies. Several dozens of his more blessed children followed behind the army to pick up the Nurglings that were too exhausted to carry on. They then put them into big bags that inevitably fell apart when one too many daemon was forced inside or the decay radiating from the Plague-Born damaged the fabric beyond the point where it could bear the strain. Then the Nurgling would run ahead again, rested, and their former carrier would laugh and search for a new bag.

It warmed Pharod's insides to watch them, although perhaps that was one of the new fevers with which his patron had rewarded him for his good work in Talexorn. He had so many different brains inside his body, some biological and some mechanical, that it was difficult to know. The blessings of Nurgle flowed through all of them, giving him glorious visions of the Garden that he had attempted to replicate on the moon. With a chuckle that translated through one of his vox-speakers as a blurt of scrap code, the former arch-magos shook his head. How naive he had been, to believe anyone could emulate the divine skill and eternal work of Grandfather. But Nurgle had been pleased by his attempt nonetheless, and had given him a chance to further his work on Parecxis. Talexorn had become a wonder, a single seed of disease that had bloomed into a true jungle of pestilence. This walk too was a show of devotion to Nurgle, the devastation left behind and the joy of both Nurglings and Plague-Born pleasing to the God of Life and Death.

Yet all of his work so far was only a prelude, a way for him to practice his craft for the true test of his worth. Even now, with hundreds of kilometers still to walk, he could see his goal on the horizon. Asthenar shone in his altered optics, burning with the fire of life and strength. Hope and defiance radiated from it, and the Reborn felt a shudder of anticipated joy as he imagined what wonders he could craft from such materials.

The defenders of Asthenar had seen their world fall apart around them – the humans recently, the Space Marines years ago. They were trapped in Warp Storm, on a world overrun with scions of the Ruinous Powers, and had no way of escaping the planet whatsoever. Yet still they endured, and dared to challenge the odds stacked against them. Pharod admired such spirit. It was the reason he had let the last survivors of Talexorn escape. Nurgle grew strong on broken hope, but for despair and acceptance of the inevitable to be possible, there had to be hope in the first place. The Grandfather did not despise those who opposed him : their resistance was a natural part of the cycle of life and decay. Indeed, the more one fought against Nurgle's embrace before finally surrendering and accepting His love, the higher one was placed in His esteem. Strength was valued in Nurgle's court, though nowhere near as much as it was in the ranks of the other Dark Gods' servants, and those who endured the longest had proved their strength better than anyone else. Pharod knew this, just as he knew that none were higher in Nurgle's favor than grumpy, broody Mortarion himself, who had defied Grandfather's will for him and his sons for decades.

In his case, the Reborn had been saved by Nurgle, brought back from oblivion and then gifted with a new understanding of reality when he had despaired after the loss of his first garden. For this, he would repay his god a thousandfold, no matter what obstacles were put in his way. With his army, Pharod would crack open the walls of Asthenar and bring the blessings of Nurgle to those who cowed behind them. Their defiance would wither, they would join the children of the Plague God, and something wonderful would be created as a result.

The Reborn laughed at the prospect, the sound causing cracks to appear on the rock upon which he stood, and began to climb down to join the advancing army once more. He walked behind the tide of Plague Zombies and the Nurgling-gathering Plague-Born, with the most valuable forces under his command. Warriors of the Death Guard escorted several towering war-machines, dragged along by packs of undead leashed to them and urged forward by the command of the Plague-Born standing on the devices.

There were seven of the engines in all, each built by servants of Techno-Adept Merchurion on the other side of the ocean and brought over to help bring down the walls of Asthenar. Powerful daemons had been bound in the core of these huge cannons, their power fueling the might of their shots and preventing them from falling apart to the entropic aura of the Plague-Born. Although Pharod had denied them the chance to be tested and had little love for the brutal, tasteless weapons, he couldn't possibly have left them behind. Beyond the risk of enraging Arken – something which he still needed to be wary of – it would cost too many Plague Zombies to simply pile up corpses until the rest of his forces could climb over the walls.

Two circuits in his body suddenly made contact, and a spark of inspiration crackled into existence within one of his corrupted cogitators. Perhaps he could alter the engines, turning the daemons imprisoned within to Nurgle's side in the Great Game ? Right now, the bound Neverborn were neutral, mindless spirits of destruction and chaos. If he could alter or persuade them, then he would be able to change the nature of the daemon engines' projectiles into something more apt for Nurgle's chosen …

The renegade tech-priest began to think about this, bending almost all of his considerable intellect to the task, leaving just enough of his mind free to keep walking without slipping in a pool of gore. There was potential in this, he was sure of it.

'From the corruption of the Fallen, Emperor deliver us.

From the darkness of the beyond, Emperor shield us.

From the lies of the False Gods, Emperor protect us.

From the hells of the unfaithful, Emperor save us.'

The man bowed deeply before the icon as he finished his prayer. Behind him, the two other people in the dark room did the same, muttering their own canticles to the Master of Mankind. Each of the three was a survivor from Talexorn, handpicked by the Chapter Master Menelas and the Cardinal themselves. They had proven their courage, skill and devotion to the Throne in the siege of the lost Cathedral, and as a reward, they had been given the honor of striking a most powerful blow to the heretics who had taken their city and lives from them.

Adrien, the informal leader of the trio, had been a craftsman for the upper-hivers, building and maintaining intricate clocks for the nobility. He had lost his wife and daughter to the plague, but could at least take comfort in the knowledge that they had both been cremated. Their flesh had been purified by fire, so that the Adversary could not desecrate their corpses to serve his fell designs

Lucas wasn't so lucky. His three brothers had risen from their death beds just before they were taken away, and he had seen them tear his parents apart before he had managed to escape. For all that the young worker knew, his kin's bodies were still part of the unholy horde that approached them even now. He had sworn an oath to see the dead of Talexorn brought to rest, and his hatred for the foul heretics burned brightest of them all.

The last of those who had been chosen was called Taurus. Before the arrival of the Warp Storm, he had been a promising student of the local Mechanicus, an engineer considered for induction into the ranks of the tech-priests. He had confided to Adrien that he had dreamed of seeing Mars, and help restore the glory of the Red Planet that the Arch-Traitor and his cohorts had despoiled. That dream would now never come to pass, but Taurus was willing to sacrifice it along with his life to do his duty to the Emperor.

For each of them, mused Adrien, the divine Master of Mankind was the symbol of something different. To the clock-worker, He was a holy guardian, shepherding the souls of the faithful and protecting them forevermore in the afterlife. To Lucas, He was an avenging god, acting through His servants to smite the Slaves of Ruin and burn them in the fire of His wrath. And to Taurus … well, Adrien wasn't sure, but from what he had gathered in their few discussions, the engineer saw the God-Emperor as a facet of the Omnissiah, the Machine-God of the Martian Cult and source of all machine-spirits. Though he was no theologian, Adrian could tell that this view was going to cause some friction in the rest of the Imperium one day – but it wouldn't be his problem.

All of them had been explained what was expected of them, what it would do, and what the cost would be. None of them would survive – indeed, they wouldn't even know if they had actually succeeded. It did not bother them. They were broken men : ghosts that still walked the earth, echoes of lives destroyed by war and still clinging to existence. They had survived more to spite the forces of Chaos than any other reason, and a meaningful death was more than they had hoped for.

After being briefed, they had been brought by aircraft to this abandonned village that had been called Greenhaven by its former occupants, straight in the path of the undead horde. According to the intelligence they had been given, the village had been the theater of a small-scale battle between the Sons of Calth and a group of deranged cultists. While the victory of the Space Marines had been as crushing as could be expected, the town's surviving inhabitants had been evacuated to Asthenar weeks ago. To the outside eye, the Thunderhawk that had brought them here had looked like it was on a typical reconnaissance flight, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

More than the three men had left the aircraft in the cover of the night. They had taken refuge in a cave, set up what they needed to perform their task, and begun to wait. That had been a week ago, and now at last, the seismograph reconfigured by Taurus to detect the advance of the horde had started going off. The apparel was simple but effective : it recorded the vibrations caused by the undead's foot, and the value it indicated increased as more of them entered the ruins of Greenhaven. The three watchers stood up from their kneeling position and moved to their stations, eyes fixed on the number displayed by the screen. The moment it went down – just after the peak of the undead presence – they would activate the other device they had brought with them.

Theoretically, one man would have been enough. Even now, the three switches they had to flip could be manipulated by a single person, since the device would only activate once all three were flipped on. And yet, the commanders of the loyalist resistance had chosen to send three people to their death. The decision hadn't been made simply to throw away their lives, but because relying on a single individual in so important a matter would have been far too risked. Although all three had been screened for corruption by medics, priests and Librarians alike and proved their devotion to the Throne, there was no telling what several days alone could do to a person on a world within the throes of a Warp Storm. With a duo, a corrupted soul could overpower the other, but three people guaranteed that the device would be activated at the appropriate time.

Adrien fixed the number, his hand tightening around the handle of the switch. He could hear his heartbeat increasing its rhythm, the sound almost drowning out the device's constant humming now that it had been taken off standby. Sweat was flowing down his back as the moment inexorably approached. Despite everything, he was still afraid. His mind and soul may have accepted and embraced his fate, but his body still rebelled at the imminence of death. He thought of his wife and daughter, and took a deep breath. Soon. Soon he would be reunited with them. All he had to was watch the numbers go up …

Up …

Up …

Down.

'For the Emperor !' he shouted as he flipped down the switch, simultaneously with Lucas and Taurus.

In the end, despite their lords' fears, they had all remained true. As the atomic warhead – brought from the Sons of Calth's spaceship moments before its destruction – detonated and engulfed his body in fire, the last thought of Adrien Telerion was that he was proud of meeting his end alongside them.

Pharod's scream was a mix of horror, consternation, rage and agony. A huge sphere of white light had swallowed his army as it crossed one more deserted village, reducing it to radioactive ash. Although he had been far enough from the detonation to not be caught in the blast, the radioactive winds were eating into his remaining flesh and playing havoc with his systems. He could feel Nurgle's gifts reacting, and knew that without them he would already be dead, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the soul-rending sense of loss that was filling him.

His children were gone. Whatever weapon the cursed loyalists had used, it had been powerful enough to incinerate almost five hundred millions Plague Zombies and the hundreds of Plague-Born who had followed or led them from within the horde. The ground was shaking as Parecxis reeled under the blow, and for a moment Pharod thought the planet was going to burst apart, its undermined structure too damaged to hold against the pressure of the Warp Storm. At the moment, the Gardener wasn't sure he would mind if that happened.

He had lost. No matter what he did now, he would not be able to fulfill his glorious vision for Asthenar. He still had three Plague Homunculii left, but they would never manage to infiltrate the hive now. He had failed Nurgle, and the idea of Grandfather's displeasure was more than the fractured mind of the fallen arch-magos could bear. Shame filled him as he imagined the disapproving frown on the Plague God's face.

Then thought of the Sons of Calth, watching the explosion from their stronghold. He saw them in his mind's eye, laughing at how they had so callously murdered his children. The shame faded, replaced with bitter hatred. With that hatred came purpose, and after one last mournful cry, Pharod turned to face the survivors of his decimated host.

They were either frozen in shock or struggling to overcome the effects of the radiation. Even the Plague Marines, who had witnessed such devastation countless times, knew not how to react to such a cataclysmic blow. The daemon engines had stopped when their riders had ceased to push forward the Plague Zombies pulling them, and the undead stared into the diminishing inferno, their melted eyes rivelling down their cheeks like tears shed for their lost kindred. The sight reminded Pharod of the damage his own mundane optics had taken from looking straight at the explosion. Already, the microscopic daemons within his tainted blood and oil were at work, repairing the damage as best they could. Color was returning, though only in shades of putrescent green. Perhaps this was how Nurgle saw the world, thought the Reborn. Was Grandfather trying to comfort him, even now ?

'Petronicus,' he growled toward the leader of the blessed Astartes in the group. 'I need to speak with Arken.'

For the first time since the end of the Siege of Terra, the Hand of Ruin's strategium was being used for its intended purpose. Dozens of mortal officers were busy on their consoles, relaying messages and information, ordering the delivery of troops and supplies alike. Tech-priests, some renegades from the Heresy and others fresh converts and inductees into the ranks of the Dark Mechanicum, were tending to great cogitators and other devices. Most of them were surrounding the daemonic constructs that enabled the Forsaken Sons' comms to both work perfectly well despite the Warp Storm and be utterly impossible for the loyalists to decrypt.

One silhouette stood above all others, its presence filling the room with cold, dreadful potency. Arken the Awakened One was looking at hololithic engine that had been placed upon the strategium's meeting table. Those who knew of the device's origins called it the Hindsight's Might, for its creator had first intended it to be a way of replaying the events of the Siege, torturing himself with possibilities that would never be true. At Arken's command, however, the former Iron Warrior had reprogrammed the capricious device to simulate any battle on which it was fed data.

Right now, it was displaying an image of Asthenar frozen in time, based on the most recent orbital picts, analyzed by Merchurion's data-engines, and reports on its defenses gathered from various sources. The hive-city was huge, second on Parecxis only to Santorius, the fallen capital itself. Its population had suffered heavily from the Warp Storm and the fall of fragments of the system's fleet, but had increased in number again with the arrival of the Sons of Calth. Desperate civilians had flocked to the protection offered by the shadow of the headquarters of the Thirteenth Legion's splinter. True to the skills they had displayed in the battle for Meridis, the Astartes and their human allies had done an admirable job both in welcoming them and fortifying the city. The rubble of destroyed and abandoned buildings had been gathered and compacted to form the blocks of which the wall was made, as well as simple but efficient shelter for the newcomers. By the estimation of Arken's intelligence network, about four hundred and thirty million humans lived in Asthenar, a fifth of which were refugees from various parts of he rest of the world.

A great wall surrounded the city, with a ruined urban area spreading beyond it for several kilometers. Arken knew that this zone had long been evacuated, and filled with deathtraps and ambush positions. Even should this be passed and the walls breached, the Sons of Calth had similarly turned the area behind the wall into a killing field. And after that, there would still be the hive proper to conquer. There were a few key structure that could be taken to throw the defenders into disarray, but no one among the commanding officers of the traitor forces thought this was going to be an easy fight.

The hive-city was defended by about seven Companies worth of Space Marines, and tens of thousands of soldiers, each knowing perfectly well that there was nowhere left to run. And the Gods alone knew how many militiamen the Sons of Calth had been able to arm, with the productivity of an hive-city's Manufactorium at their disposal, damaged as it may have been. There were four gates in the wall, each facing one of the cardinal points, and it was toward these gates that four distinct armies were marching – at least, it had been four this morning.

Three minutes ago, a terrified vox officer had relayed an hail from the surface of Parecxis Alpha to Arken.

'I see,' murmured the lord of the Forsaken Sons as Pharod finished his rant. 'Did any of your children survive the blast ?'

'A few thousands managed to get through it with all their limbs intact,' came the reply, distorted by the distance between the dark magos and the Traitor Marine. It seemed that no matter what unholy technologies they used, armed forces' communications would never truly be free from static.

'That's some impressive resistance there,' mused Arken. 'Even an Astartes in Terminator plate wouldn't have survived the explosion.'

'They only resisted by random chance, or because their kindred shielded them with their flesh ! I am not sure they can even move without falling apart !'

'But the cannons are still functional, right ? And the warriors I sent to you were far enough to escape the blast. Although it will make it more difficult, you should still be able to play a role in the battle. Unless you want to turn back and return to Talexorn ?'

A stream of invectives and curses came from Pharod's end as the corrupt arch-magos swore to bring unprecedented agonies to those responsible for the destruction of his children.

'That's what I thought. Gather your forces, and make way to Asthenar. I am sending you another road to avoid the radioactive wasteland. Be more careful of ambushes in the future, Pharod.'

The vox-channel was shut without a reply – Arken suspected it had been Petronicus' decision, in order to avoid risking the Reborn angering him with another stream of complaints and curses. For all the cold-mindedness of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the apparent bonhomie of the disciples of the Plague God, their true nature was as vindictive as any of the God of Change's own chosen. They may preach of the acceptance of the inevitable, but when things didn't go their way, their fury was no lesser than that of the disciples of Khorne themselves. By the time they reached Asthenar, thought Arken, the rage of Pharod should have abated somewhat, turning from the raging inferno it was right now to cold, deep resentment. That was good. He could always do with his forces hating the enemy a bit more.

Besides, he no longer had to worry about Pharod getting ideas above his station among the Forsaken Sons' allies. He knew that the scions of Nurgle were obsessive in their pursuit of decay, and he had made several plans to deal with the Reborn in case he refused to follow his instructions and turned the considerable might of his now destroyed host against the Traitor Marines. Orbital bombardment had been one of the few solutions to that problem, but it would almost surely involve the destruction of Parecxis Alpha, so unstable was the planet. Now, though it had been a gamble whether or not the world would survive, the horde of Plague Zombies was reduced to a more manageable size. That almost made him want to thank the loyalist commanders, though he knew they would not appreciate it. It also made him respect them more. They had been willing to risk the destruction of the planet they were on, and the death of all those they were defending, in order to make sure they had a chance to survive the upcoming conflict.

The Hand of Ruin's scanners had picked up the tectonic upheaval that had followed the blast : mountains had been shattered as the world suffered, great canyons forming as far as the other side of the planet. Buildings had collapsed across all hive-cities held by forces under Arken's control, reports flowing into his center of command. Doubtlessly, there had been some damage in Asthenar too, but the explosion had still been a net benefit to the loyalists. Without the hordes of undead to swarm the defenders, the assault on Asthenar would be far more difficult.

Arken took a look at another screen, displaying a map of Parecxis Alpha and the current advance of the four armies. Quickly, his mind calculated the new path Pharod's remaining troops would have to follow, and the delay this would cause. He then lowered his gaze toward the rows of vox officers, not addressing any of them in particular :

'Send a message to the commanders of the northern, eastern and western armies. Tell them to slow down the advance of their troops to delay their arrival by five days. All must arrive at the same time, lest our enemy strike preemptively against them.'

A chorus of fearful acknowledgments answered him as the humans began to relay his orders. Not paying them any further attention, knowing that his will would be done, Arken returned his focus on the Hindsight's Might, resetting the simulation with a single pulse of his armor's systems. With a few more manipulations, the size of the simulated horde of undead was reduced to what Pharod had reported, and a new strategy implemented. At once, the holographic forces besieging the virtual city began their approach anew. Projected casualties figures appeared as soon as the first units made contact, going up vertiginously fast as the most costly part of any siege – the first breach on the wall – unfolded. Coldly, Arken watched as images of his warriors died in droves, butchered by loyalist blades and guns. The Awakened One could almost feel the malign intelligence within the holographic device, and the pleasure it took in making him watch the devastation wrecked upon his followers.

'Restart simulation,' said Arken sharply as the numbers of dead passed the point beyond which conquering the city became a waste of troops. 'New parameters …'

Two weeks had passed since the loyalists' devastating blow against the legions of plague. Standing on the parapet of the hive-city's wall, Chapter Master Menelas Chiron watched as, at long last, the forces of Chaos reached the former border of the city. From the north, the south, the east and the west : the legions of the lost and the damned formed black stain on the horizon, with great engines of war towering above the rank and file.

The Chapter Master was fully clad in his armor. Since the arrival of the Chapter to Parecxis and his unexpected rise in the ranks after the ignominious death of his predecessor, the few Techmarines who had come to the hive-city with him had worked on his captain's battle-plate to make it something worthy of a Space Marine lord. Though Menelas had thought there were more pressing use of their skills, he had been convinced by his counselors to let them do so, on the grounds that the humans under their protection and command would take comfort in such a display, and that as commander of the loyalist forces on the planet, his life needed more protection than ever before.

His reforged armor was as much a work of art as a tool of war. Gems gifted by this world's spire-born had been arranged on his shoulder pad in the shape of the Sons of Calth's emblem, and gold filigrees had been used to engrave words of strength and fortitude. The armor's inner workings had been carefully maintained, allowing Menelas to move with a fluidity previously unknown to him. The crest of Chapter Master had been added to his helmet, marking him as a leader to ally and enemy alike – a necessary evil in prevision of the times when vox-communication was unavailable and orders could only be given face to face. The power sword Silversong hung at his hip, waiting to be drawn, while a plasma pistol was suspended on the other side of the Chapter Master's belt.

The sound of feet on the wall's stones made Menelas turn his gaze from the assembling Chaos armies. Next to him stood a man wearing a simple white robe, with a stylized I incrusted with a skull hanging from a pendant around his neck. In his hands, he held a staff that was as much a sign of his office as it was a walking aid. Forged in silver and gold, the staff contrasted greatly with the humble appearance of the man, and was crowned with the same sigil as the one on the man's pendant. There was Akarus Tranos, Cardinal of Parecxis Alpha, leader of the priestly order and thought by many to be the Emperor's voice on the planet. Behind him, staying some distance away from the Space Marine and the man, was a group of priests. Unlike their leader's, their robes were adorned with purity seals and scraps of parchment covered in prayers to the God-Emperor.

'Cardinal Tranos,' greeted the Chapter Master. 'Why have you come here ?'

'For the same reason as you, I would think,' answered the holy man with a little smile. 'To look upon the enemy with my own eyes, and give strength to those who stand with us in the Emperor's Light. Tell me, has the arch-heretic shown himself yet ?'

'No, he is not here,' said Menelas. 'The coward hides on his ship, refusing to face us himself.'

No,' replied Akarus, shaking his head. 'He will come soon. He needs to be here; his men must see him lead. These traitors only respect strength, Menelas. They have lost all other values.'

The Space Marine grunted noncommittally. For all that he trusted the man's fidelity to the Golden Throne, he still felt uneasy in the Cardinal's presence. Despite the loyalists' increasingly desperate situation, Akarus Tranos had maintained the appearance of absolute confidence, though whether it was in their victory or their salvation beyond death, Menelas could not say. Faith in Menelas' grand-sire radiated from him in infectious waves, making humans believe that the Emperor was watching over them still, despite the terrible wounds He had suffered at the hands of the Arch-Traitor Horus. Even the Space Marines, many of whom had seen the Master of Mankind in person during the Great Crusade, couldn't help but want to believe it when the man preached the word of the Lectitio Divinatus.

Akarus knew what precious few of the newly formed Ecclesiarchy did : that the book that claimed the divinity of the Emperor had been written by Lorgar, the first of the Primarchs to have turned from the Imperium and embraced the lies of the Dark Gods. That knowledge had destroyed many faithful, driven to insanity by the revelation that their holy text had come from the diseased mind of a heretic. But Akarus had borne it without trouble, reasoning that even though Lorgar had later been corrupted by the powers of Chaos, it did not mean that what he had accomplished before was equally tainted.

As for why the Emperor had denied being a god, the Cardinal claimed that the Master of Mankind had hoped for the human species to ascend beyond the need for even His guidance, but that this opportunity was now lost forever, reduced to ashes in the flames of the Horus Heresy. Menelas did not know if that was the case, but it allowed the man to keep his faith in the face of unwelcome truths. The fact that the Cardinal was actually able to perform 'miracles' without the Librarians being able to detect the taint of Chaos in him spoke of a higher power at work, and as long as Akarus stood against the Forsaken Sons, the Space Marines did not have the time or the resources to investigate the source of his mysterious powers further. Still, the Chapter Master couldn't help but be wary of what could very well be an unregistered psyker of untold power, if the worst case scenario was true.

'They will launch their attack soon,' spoke Tranos softly. 'Before they do, you should make sure that our forces are ready.'

'They are,' he immediately answered. 'You were here at the briefings. They have been ready for days.'

'I am not talking about their weapons, nor about their training. I am talking about their hearts. This enemy will test their faith and resolve as well as their strength at arms.'

Within the confines of his helmet, Menelas sighed. Unlike Patricus, his predecessor, he was no great orator. He had led his Company through his tactical acumen and the bonds of brotherhood that linked him with the other Astartes, but had had little experience dealing directly with humans before he had arrived on this besieged world. But Patricus had named him his heir, in the moments before his death, and he would do all he could to vindicate the man's choice.

'Look,' he said to all those within hearing range, while his armor's vox-systems transmitted his words to speakers arranged on the whole length of the battlements. 'The enemy is here, at long last. They come in numbers, greater than ours. They need to do so, and do you know why ? Because, in the darkest depths of their damned souls, they know they cannot match us in a fair fight. They know that their betrayals have made them weak, have tainted them forevermore and dragged them down into the galaxy's refuse. And so they come, driven by hatred for all those who still possess what they foolishly threw away for the false promises of the Warp. But you shall stand against them, under the Emperor's gaze … And you shall not do so alone !'

'Me and my brothers have come from far away to help you. We have marched for Maccrage,' declared the Chapter Master, 'and fought for Calth. We have waged war against the spawn of Chaos on a hundred worlds, and on each of them we have been triumphant. Today, we, the sons of Guilliman, stand at your side against the darkness, for Asthenar and Parecxis !'

A roar arose from the ranks of human soldiery in response, and Menelas felt his hearts tighten at the knowledge that very few of them, if any, would survive the coming battle. But they would fight with courage and honor, and to their very last breath. They would make the enemy pay for each meter of ground, for each breach in the walls. And though no price the traitors could pay would ever be enough for even a drop of faithful blood, it would still be a victory of sorts.

'Come on then,' he murmured toward the assembled hordes, too low for anyone to hear. 'If you want this world … Come and take it.'

AN : Here is the little extra I promised. I just finished reading Slayer, the conclusion of the Gotrek&Felix series in the Old World of Warhammer, and after that I read a bunch of Age of Sigmar stories. Afterwards, I thought : 'Well, since Games Workshop brought Mannfred Von Carstein back, and he was at frakking Ground Zero of the Apocalypse, surely Felix too could have survived'. So I started thinking about it, and soon enough I had the little text you see below. For a while, I thought about making Felix some incarnation of vengeance, an immortal spirit that would hunt the servants of Chaos until the end of eternity, but then I realized that it would cheapen the character. What makes Felix Jaeger such an enticing character is that he is only human, with no great power behind his every action, no burning conviction or religious belief that makes him immune to fear. He is only human, and yet he stood against the greatest enemies of all that is good, just because it was the right thing to do. His story deserved an ending, and the one written by David Guymer is really great, but I still think that he would be great in the Age of Sigmar.

And since Games Workshop released a profile for most of their units with a model, and I remember that there was once a model for Felix Jaeger and Gotrek Gurnisson, here is a profile to use Felix Jaeger in Age of Sigmar games (if you want to try, only do that with friends who are aware you are doing it and fine with that). It is probably completely unbalanced, but I am no player of Age of Sigmar, so I can only apologize for that (I just used the free Warscrolls for the old factions as inspiration). Don't hesitate to correct what you think is faulty.

Warning : spoilers (duh)

Felix Jaeger

When the World-that-was fell, Felix Jaeger was sitting in a temple of the Old Dwarfish Gods, writing down the tale of how the Slayer Gotrek Gurnisson finally found his doom by defying the forces of Chaos and taking the place of his god in his endless fight to prevent the tides of Chaos from overwhelming all of creation. When the Chaos Gate in Middenheim opened and the planet was torn apart, he was protected, sealed in a small pocket of reality that drifted across the Realms of Chaos for untold millenia, shielded from the Dark Gods by the leftover power of Grimnir. Out of time and space, Felix was frozen in a single moment, not knowing that outside of the temple, the sacrifice of his companion was helping the creation of the Realms of Magic. For all the Age of Myth, the pocket of Order remained unviolate, even the efforts of Tzeentch failing to crack it open. But now, with the return of Sigmar and the reclaiming of Ghal Maraz, the balance of power in Chaos has been upset, and the temple has escaped the grasp of the Ruinous Powers, returning to Chamon, the Realm of Metal. The Stormcast Eternals Sigmar had sent to find the duardin found the temple at the bottom of a deep valley, and were amazed to meet a survivor of the World-that-was (although not as surprised as Felix Jaeger was when he learned how much time had passed since the End Times). Now, Felix is once more thrown into the war against Chaos. With the one he used to follow gone, and all those he loved long dead, there is nothing left to hold him back, and very little to lose. Let the servants of Chaos know fear, for an old enemy has returned …

Wounds 6

Move 8

Save 4+

Bravery 8

Melee Weapons Range Attacks To Hit To Wound Rend Damage

Kharaghul 1" 3 3+ 3+ -1 D3

Short dagger 1" 2 4+ 4+ 1

My name is Felix Jaeger. You killed my father. Prepare to die : Felix remembers all too well how his father died : as a defenceless old man, murdered in his bed by the knives of a skaven assassin. For all that his relationship with the rich merchant was strained, Felix is still thirsty for revenge, even though he knows that the killer has most likely been dead for millenia by now. You can re-roll the damage for Kharaghul if the target is a Skaven unit. You can also re-roll failed hit dices if the target is Thanquol.

Been there, lived through that : Felix Jaeger has fought almost every kind of enemy the World-that-was could offer, and survived to write the tale. With that kind of experience, there is very little that can hurt him. The first time Felix fails a save roll for a wound inflicted by a specific enemy, you can mention a past event in Felix' history when he faced one such creature and survived. If you do that, re-roll the save, and Felix can re-roll any failed save roll against a creature with the Keyword you used for the rest of the game (you can do this multiple times).

Kharaghul, the Dragon-Slayer : Kharaghul is a magic sword, enchanted to seek and kill the great drakes of old. When a Dragon is within 10", Felix' Bravery becomes 10, as the blade fills his mind with righteous rage and determination. Attacks with Kharaghul against Dragons have +1 to the To Wound rolls and the inflicted damage.

Scourge of Chaos : for decades before the fall of the old world, Felix Jaeger was one of the Dark Gods' greatest foes, casting down plan after plan alongside with Gotrek. Though their exploits went unnoticed by the mortal population, Gods and daemons alike saw the trail they left, and they remember it still. Felix may have been the lesser of the duo, but his reputation among the immortal children of Chaos remains legendary to this day. All Daemons attacking Felix Jaeger suffer a penalty of -1 to their hit dices.

Command Ability

Leader by exemple : for all his claim that he is no hero, Felix' mere presence is enough to give courage to even the most frightened men. He appears to fight as if it was effortless to him, concealing his fears with the practised ease of one with hundreds of life-threatening battles behind him. If Felix Jaeger uses this ability, all Free People units within 10" are considered to have a Bravery of 7 until your next Hero Phase.

Keywords : Order, Human, Free People, Hero, Felix Jaeger