AN : Hello everyone ! It has been a long time since this fic was last updated, but I hope what I have written here (and what I have planned for the future) will make it worth the wait.
Twenty reviews for last chapter ? I really ought to give my readers a choice in the direction of the story more often. Anyway, after reading your commentaries, I have decided to go for the option where we see how the Forsaken Sons conquer the rest of the worlds trapped within the Wailing Storm. In order to keep some tension, these stories will be from the point of view of characters native to these worlds. I will also try to introduce new "units" in each chapter, with the backstory of the planet playing into their abilities.
If you have an idea for a cool daemon world, or a type of units or other asset you would like to see in that story, tell me ! I already have a list, and I am reading Imperial Armour and other lore books for more ideas, but I can always use more inspiration. Remember, the idea is that the Forsaken Sons are scouring the Warp Storm for anything that could be useful to them : ships, war engines, troops, relics, allies ... If you doubt whether or not your idea fits, just give it to me (either through reviews or PMs) and I will see. This is an arc dedicated to taking the core of the Forsaken Sons, forged in the Parecxisian Campain, and building an army capable of making the Imperium tremble before it !
And while we are on that subject : in the reviews for the last chapter, several of you said that you were happy to see that the warband had a chance of making a real impact on the Warhammer 40000 universe, with someone even mentionning that Arken was better than Abaddon. To clarify : I am trying to make this story compatible with the canon universe. That means that when and if the Forsaken Sons launch a Black Crusade, it won't be one of the Thirteenth Black Crusades, nor will it be aimed at destroying the Imperium. It will be like the Black Crusades that players of the eponyme Tabletop RPG can launch, and that Chaos Lords other than Abaddon have launched in the mainstream 40k universe. I.e. something with a particular objective, that may or may not be completed successfully before the Imperium gathers enough forces or those under the control of the warband turn on each other.
Oh, and a word of warning : starting with this chapter, I am going to stop indicating scene changes with the separation bar. Instead, I am going to do like they do in the 40k novels and in many other works : write the first word of every scene in ALL CAPS. Tell me what you think of the change in your reviews (if you prefer the separation bar, I will return to that in the next chapter). Also, you will find an updated Dramatis Personae at the end of this chapter.
That's all for now. See you next time (probably for another chapter of this fic), please follow, favorite, and review.
Zahariel out.
IMPERIAL RECORD 684W5-6ADG55 +++
+++ SYSTEM DELENDA +++
+++ WORLD : THERESSAR – KNIGHT-WORLD+++
+++ POPULATION : APPROXIMATELY 500,000,000 +++
+++ NOTABLE ASSETS : CASTLE OF HOUSE LYROK – QUESTORIS FAMILIA +++
+++ ACCESS TO THIS REPORT IS RESERVED TO THOSE WITH A VERMILLION-LEVEL CLEARANCE ONLY +++
+++ THE EMPEROR PROTECTS +++
THE TWO ARMIES faced each other on the plains beyond the walls of Aurouk, capital of the Lyrokian Empire. Soldiers on guard duty stared at the enemy lines, holding their weapons tight, ready to shout if the foe decided to launch a surprise attack. On the horizon, the sun was rising : a circle of white light among crimson skies. On both sides, soldiers emerged from their tents and began their morning rituals. They ate around their campfires, checked their weapons and armor, and spoke prayers for the souls of those who had fallen before – as well as their own. Theressar wasn't a kind world to its dead : their shades more often than not fell prey to the beasts that lurked in the underworld.
As the preparations went on, the captive witches of both armies started to stir in their iron cages, scattered around the camps to draw the dark spirits to them and spare the soldiers their torments. They sensed the daemons' agitation as the bloodshed drew near. Soon, the time would come, they screamed and wept, red tears flowing from their eyes. Soon, the carnage would begin.
This battle had been long in the making : ever since the first cities had risen in rebellion against the Emperor, it had been inevitable. The Emperor had claimed that the rebels to his rule would be crushed long before things came to this – long before he was forced to leave his palace and lead his own forces to war – but he had been wrong. City after city had fallen to the rebellion, either through force of arms or, far more often, by joining its ranks. Now, after years of hiding behind those of his subjects who had remained loyal, the Emperor would finally meet those who rejected his tyranny in person.
In mere numbers, the rebels surpassed the loyalists greatly. Only the most elite and indoctrinated troops – those whose cruel actions had guaranteed them execution at the rebels' hands – had elected to stand at their Emperor's side, and fear of their wrath had forced others to do the same. In all, they numbered a few thousands, armed with a mix of swords, spears, shields and bows, constructed in the forges and workshops of the Empire. Those among them with access to the Emperor's vaults were equipped with the handful of ancient, priceless relics of Theressar's past that remained – laser pistols, plasma cannons, and powered weapons.
However, the battle wouldn't be decided by mortal men and women armed with mortal weapons killing each other, either for their cause or for their overlord. That had been the case of those which had come before, but this one would be different. On this battlefield, mortals would fight alongside demigods, whose fall or triumph would decide the course of the battle – and through it, that of the war.
Imperial Knights, they were called. Ten meters high, shaped in the form of a man in armor and carrying weapons that could tear cities apart, they were the tools through which the Emperor's ancestors had established their absolute rule over Theressar three hundred years ago. In the old stories, passed over from parents to children for generations, the Knights were noble protectors, mighty heroes that defended the weak from evil monsters. In service to the lords of the past, they had kept the people of Theressar safe through the horrors of a war of such terrible scale, it made the current rebellion pale into insignificance.
But that had been a long time ago, and many things had changed since the infamous day when the skies of Theressar had turned crimson, and madness and hatred had rained from the heavens. On that day, the Knights had led the charge against the legions of nightmares, and claimed victory – or so it had seemed. While outwardly defeated, darkness had crept inside the mechanical hearts of the Knights, and slowly, over the course of generations, twisted them into monsters and all those who wielded their might into tyrants and slavers, ruling over the population of Theressar through fear, strength of arm, and unholy pacts. Now, daemons stalked the land unopposed, allowed by the Knights to prey upon their people so long as they remained far from their strongholds.
Yet in recent years, a new legend had begun to form. A tale of one Knight that had returned to his duties of old, who defied the corruption that afflicted the rest of his House. His armor painted black and his heraldry obscured, the identity of that Knight's pilot was shrouded in mystery, but his deeds echoed across all of Theressar's free lands. He was the champion of the rebellion, harbinger of the Empire's downfall. He had broken the walls of the Crossroad Fortress, and brought low Ulthar the Cruel, Regent of Merendor. In the Aresto Canyon, he had battled three Lyrokian Knights sent by the Emperor to slay him, and emerged triumphant.
These tales and many more circulated freely across the lands liberated by the rebellion, and in secret within those it had yet to reach. To the oppressed, the Black Knight, as he was known, was a symbol of hope, the promise of a better future. More than that, he was the symbol of human nobility, remaining pure in the front of Theressar's corruption. There were some who claimed he was an ancient Knight of the times before the madness, who had spent centuries slumbering after a great battle and had been awakened by the clamor of rebellion. Others were certain that he had descended from the heavens, drawn by the infamy of House Lyrok. Still more thought that he was one of the first rebels, who had slain a Knight and claimed the armor as his own. There were a hundred rumors and theories, constantly evolving with each retelling.
But the truth is always more complex and less pristine than the legends the living make out of it ...
THE MAN WHO EMERGED from the tent near the center of the camp was tall, and walked with a distinct nobility clear in his every motion. Though he was clad in a simple tunic, his bearing exuded the confidence and strength of one born to power. His dark hair was cut short, barely long enough to hide the sockets implanted in his skull. His face could have been called handsome, if it had not been marred by so many lines of worry and long-suffering pain. Eyes that were of the color the skies had once possessed stared straight ahead of him, seeming to pierce through all they saw. A plain sword hang from his belt, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice despite the fact that he was among allies.
As he walked through the camp toward his mount, kept away from the rest of the army, Prince Erik could feel the gaze of his comrades on him. They at least had the courtesy of not whispering where he could hear them, though he knew the talks started the moment he left hearing range. In truth, he wasn't certain it was courtesy that held their tongues : it was just as likely fear that kept them from talking, fear of him and the power he wielded. It had been like that all of his life, though he had only started to notice it after the beginning of the war.
One did not simply leave behind one's past as the only son of Emperor Augustus Lyrok. Before he had undergone the Ritual of Becoming, others had already feared him because of his father's shadow. Even now, after all that he had done for them, when the soldiers of the rebellion looked at him, they saw a member of House Lyrok. No matter how many battles he fought at their side, he was still one of the dread lords that had ruled Theressar with an iron fist for three hundred years – fear of him was not just ingrained, it had become a survival necessity generations ago. Those who had never laid eyes upon him, who had only heard tales of the Black Knight's deeds, idolized him. But the moment they saw him, a terror so profound it transcended conscious thought shattered their delusions.
Erik knew that the soldiers that guarded his tent every night were there as much for his own protection from enemy assassins as from members of his own army that wanted him dead. He told himself that it didn't matter. He had known what the consequences of his choice would be from the very beginning. He had chosen to honor his oaths, even if it were to cost him everything and give him nothing in return but a clear conscience when he died.
After several minutes, he reached his Knight. The soldiers guarding it looked nervous, and seemed both relieved and afraid to see him arrive. He passed them with a nod, and stood before Indomitable. A handful of Sacristans were working on the Knight, making last-minute repairs and checks. Once, that task would have been performed by dozens of them, but now there were less than a tenth of that number. Some of them had been servants of House Lyrok, who had followed their prince in his rebellion, while others had been captured by the rebels and escaped lynching long enough for Erik to conscript them into his service. Their loyalty was guaranteed by the fact that, without Erik's protection, they would be dead before the sun had set twice. They too scattered at his approach, not wanting to be nearby when the synchronization between mount and rider began. Only two of them remained, masking their nervousness : they were those who would guide Erik through the union.
As always, the sight of Indomitable caused Erik's heart to speed up. His relationship with the Knight was complicated, but it was still a magnificent beast, worthy of legends. It was roughly humanoid in shape and covered in plates of a metal no living blacksmith could forge. It was painted in the blue of the rebellion, but with the prince's personal heraldry inscribed on its blazon : a hawk, holding a crown in its talons. The image of the crown had been altered after Erik had passed to the rebellion : now a crack ran through it. The fact that it had appeared on its own was seen as an omen by many, though none agreed on its significance.
Indomitable was currently on its knees, its skull-faced helm open to reveal the pilot's seat. Erik climbed and sat inside. The two Sacristans cautiously approached and lowered the restraining bars that would keep the prince from being tossed around once the Knight started to move. They then each took one of the serpent-like cables, and, on Erik's signal, simultaneously plugged them into the two holes in the back of his skull.
A surge of pain blackened Erik's vision, blinding him to the sight of the two Sacristans jumping back before the cockpit closed in. The physical pain of the connection was short-lived, however, and swiftly replaced by the mental agony of Indomitable's presence in his very thoughts.
The Knight's spirit was a swirl of pure, undiluted rage. It hungered for destruction, and craved the spilling of blood. But it was also dimly aware that such was not its natural state. From what Erik had gathered in ancient texts, the Knights' spirits were supposed to be like pack animals, fiercely dedicated to the protection of their flock. Indomitable knew that it was being driven mad by the corruption that held all of Theressar in its grip, and this fueled its rage to a level that far surpassed that of any human emotion.
The fury flowed through Erik's mind like lava, tainting his vision red, and for a terrible moment the prince wanted nothing more than to lash out, to unleash the full power at his disposal until everything around him was ash and ruin. He heard, in the far distance, the screams of tortured souls – echoes of the Knight's previous pilots, trapped forevermore in its corrupted mechanical brain. The screams reminded Erik that when he died and another was bound to Indomitable, there would be one more voice added to the choir. That knowledge only increased his fear, and for a few seconds, he teetered on the brink of the abyss, almost falling over and giving in to the Knight's rage.
But Erik had been riding in Indomitable for more than ten years, and the Knight's madness was as familiar to him as the machine's design. The sea of anger crashed on the walls of his iron will – not extinguished, but kept contained and sealed away from the rest of his thoughts. Soon, he promised the machine-spirit, trying to convey his message through emotions rather than words. Soon we will wage war upon those who serve the source of our pain.
Indomitable was far from appeased by the promise. In truth, it couldn't be appeased anymore than the skies of Theressar could be of any color besides red. But its anger receded slightly, enough for Erik's focus to turn outward.
His dominance over Indomitable asserted once more, Erik flexed his will, testing his control of each of the Knight's limbs. Its right "arm" was a fire lance, described in the ancient texts as a "thermal cannon". He could feel the heat trapped within the device's core, and once more marveled at the power that the creators of the Knights had possessed. The left arm was a more prosaic, but no less dreadful weapon : it was a chainblade the size of several men, and it roared to life as Erik's thoughts were directed to it.
His weapons appearing to be in functioning order, Erik began to move. The Knight's limbs felt like his own, the sensors mimicking the sensation of his own body as he advanced with ponderous steps. Indomitable could be quick when necessary, but battle hadn't begun yet. It wouldn't do for Erik to devastate half the encampment on his way to his position, at the very front of the army.
He passed before a portable shrine on a palanquin, held aloft by four devotees. A dozen warriors surrounded it, while the rest of the army gave it a wide berth. The shrine was a bloc of stone inscribed with emblems that mad oracles had seen in their nightmares, and a metallic eight-pointed star stood upon it, glowing with malevolent energy. That symbol was repeated on the warriors following the shrine, in tattoos and brands. Besides such marks, the devotees also bore more obvious signs of their faith, mutations bestowed by the dread powers to which they prayed and dedicated their kills.
Zealots, Erik thought with a mixture of contempt and pity. Even among the rebellion, they were those who embraced the power of the Warp, welcoming it into their flesh in return for the power it offered. An existence lived in the shadows of Knights pushed many in the Empire to seek power at any cost, hoping to free themselves of the constant terror. The prince could understand such sentiment, though his rank prevented him from experiencing it himself. But the idea of abandoning one's self to the beings that ruled over all daemons ... that, he couldn't understand – he didn't want to understand.
While not outright forbidden, the practice was frowned upon in the lands controlled by the rebellion, for it was thought that such worship had been the source of the Empire's corruption. But the army needed all the fighters it could find, and so they were allowed to continue their worship. Despite their tenuous grasp on sanity, the zealots were fierce fighters, their fear of death the first thing they lost to their faith. The dubious "gifts" they received in return for their devotion, while often crippling, also made them more dangerous on the battlefield.
Such worship, disgusting as Erik and others might find it, was nothing compared to that practiced by the Empire. On the other side of the field, the pre-battle human sacrifices had begun. Men and women covered in chains were dragged before the Knights, who crushed them beneath their boots, feeding their torment to the daemons inhabiting their frames. As Erik watched this through Indomitable's sensors, he sensed his mount's rising appetite at the spectacle. Though he had denied Indomitable such offerings long before he had turned against his father, the spirit of the machine still remembered it, and longed to know it anew. It was like a great hunger at the back of Erik's mind, as if he had not eaten in days and was presented with the smell of the most delicious of meals.
Erik forced the hunger back, and felt the familiar, burning pain in his skull in response. Indomitable, for all that it now fought against its brethren, was still marked by the corruption that afflicted House Lyrok. Every time Erik entered the war-machine, he feared that it would be the last time : that this time, he would lose the battle of wills against the Knight, and be consumed by the darkness that had found its way inside the once noble machine. He had sought the best sorcerers of the world, asking them to exorcise Indomitable, but all those who had been willing to try had failed, often meeting gruesome fates as the Knight rebelled against their attempts.
In the end, the fallen prince had resigned himself to having to fight Indomitable's spirit every time he linked with the machine. At least there was no daemon inside the Knight, as far as he was able to tell : the darkness inside it was purely the result of the original machine-spirit's corruption. That meant that if he lost and was consumed, all that would result into would be his brain being fried; his soul would be as safe as any on Theressar.
In the imperial camp, the sacrifices continued, dozens having already been offered to the daemonic Knights. The offerings would only stop once the bloodlust of the twisted machines had been temporarily sated, allowing their pilots to join with them without going through the same battle as Erik. In the last war council, the prince had risen the possibility of attacking before such sacrifices were complete. It took about an hour for the Knights' hunger to be sated, and if they attacked at that time, the machines wouldn't be under anyone's control. They would rampage, slaughtering friend and foe alike until they were brought down. Such incidents had happened many times in the bloody history of House Lyrok.
After several hours of heated debate, the proposal had been abandoned. Feral Knights were just as dangerous as those with a rider in it, and there was always the risk that the daemons possessing the Knights would break free of their bonds in the chaos. Only once had such a thing happened – but the city of Petrusca was still an empty graveyard, where the screams of the dead echoed forevermore.
Though he had been the one to suggest it, Erik was glad that the idea had been rejected. Duty had demanded that he make the rebel leaders aware of the possibility, but it had sat poorly with him. Honor demanded that they confront the Knights in battle, and defeat them to prove to the world that House Lyrok was no longer its master.
Duty and honor, he thought to himself as the Knight stopped in its final position, with the entire rebel army at its back. He felt Indomitable's spirit stir with something akin to recognition as the concepts passed through their bond. It had been for these things that he had turned on his House and joined the rebellion, for them that he endured the distrust of his comrades. And now, it was through them that the tyranny of the Lyrok would end.
COMMUNICATION had always been the keystone of any army in the galaxy's history. Without the ability to convey his instructions to the troops under his command, even the greatest general was powerless to alter the battle's outcome. Nowadays, the warlords of Theressar were forced to resort to runners and signals, but in the past, they had been able to talk to their subordinates directly, no matter the distance that separated them.
Vestiges of that capability remained, however. Fragments of vox technology had survived the centuries of darkness that had followed the change of the skies. Every Knight of House Lyrok was equipped with a long-range transmitter and receiver, and a handful of other, more primitive devices were scattered across both armies. One of those was in the hands of the general of the rebellion, and it had been very useful during the campain, allowing Erik to coordinate with the rest of the army far more efficiently than his brothers and cousins had deigned do with their own troops.
'Are you ready for this, Erik ?' asked General Neria. 'There will be no second chances. Either we destroy the Empire today, or all that we have accomplished will be for naught.'
General Neria had never served the Lyrokian empire, unlike other officers of the rebellion who had turned against their masters. She had risen to her rank purely through skill, determination, and by climbing the corpses of her foes and fallen comrades. Now she was the supreme leader of the military arm of the rebellion, effectively the most powerful woman on the planet. Her tactical acumen far surpassed that of Erik, and every soldier in the army knew how valuable she was to their cause. In fact, they valued her so much that her own aides had forced her to renounce the idea of leading the battle herself. The prince knew that she was still angry about that, but it was for the best if she directed the battle from afar.
'I am ready, General,' he answered, knowing that his voice would be altered by Indomitable's systems. He had listened to recordings of his transmissions, and been shocked by the bestial tone of his own voice after it passed through the Knight's mechanisms.
'Alright, then. Let us ... '
The communication was interrupted by the interference of chatter on another frequency. Indomitable and Neria communicated with each other on private channels, the frequency of which was updated daily to prevent the foe from intercepting their messages. But when Erik read the display of his Knight's sensor suits, he immediately recognized the frequency, and a cold hand grasped his heart. This was the frequency employed by the emperor himself to give orders to the rest of his Knights.
Why would his father use it, though ? He had to know Erik could listen on whatever was said. Which meant ...
'It seems that the emperor wants to have a word with us,' said Neria, coming to the same conclusion as Erik. The General had interrogated Erik at length on all that he knew of the empire, and she too had recognized the frequency.
'We should listen to what he has to say,' suggested the prince. 'Even if it's doubtlessly going to be rantings, he might let slip something important.'
With a sigh, Neria agreed, and Erik sent a pulse through his Knight, commanding it to adapt to the emperor's vox-channel. It took several seconds for his sensor suite to adjust, and just like he had felt the activation of the emperor's vox system, his father knew exactly when Erik could hear him clearly.
'Emperor Augustus ?' asked Neria. 'I am General Neria, leader of the people of Theressar's uprising. In the interests of saving lives, I urge you to surrender …'
'Be silent, wench,' snarled Augustus, cutting the general off. The Emperor's voice was filled with hatred, but also strength – for all that he was an old man, Augustus had only managed to keep his throne by killing all those who dared to challenge him for it. 'I have no time to waste on low-borns such as you.'
His voice lost some of its bitterness when he addressed Erik, though it remained filled with anger :
'Your childish defiance has cost me enough, son. It is time for this foolishness to end. Return by my side now, and I will forgive all that you have done against the empire.'
'I shall protect the people of Theressar from all threats, no matter what it might cost me,' Erik recited, knowing the words by heart. 'Do you remember these words, father ? You must have heard them as I did, when you walked the Ancestors' Hall and confronted the spirit of your Knight. Even when so much of the Ritual of Becoming was corrupted over the years, these words endured. Amidst all the madness of the Ancestors' Hall, this kernel of truth remained, embodying all that the Knights were supposed to stand for. You swore that oath just like I did. And if House Lyrok is the threat, then I shall fight to destroy it, just like our ancestors fought against the legions of Hell three hundred years ago !'
'These people you claim to fight for only live because we fought,' replied the emperor, every syllable dripping with condescension and arrogance. 'Without House Lyrok, they would all have died at the daemons' claws hundreds of years ago ! We are the only reason this world isn't a graveyard, and as such, their lives belong to us, to do with as we see fit ! Such is the will of the Gods !'
Then, without warning, the skies darkened as a giant shadow blotted out the sun. A blanket of silence fell upon the two armies as thousands of heads were raised toward the heavens. Indomitable turned its attention toward the source of the sudden darkness, measuring its form and triangulating its distance. After a few heartbeats, the calculations were complete, and for a moment Erik doubted what the Knight's sensors were telling him.
The source of the shadow was a metallic object twelve kilometers long, hanging above the battlefield like a leviathan of ancient myths come to eat the sun. Smaller objects rained from it, cone-shaped meteors that left a trail of fire in their wake as they fell toward the ground. They hammered into Theressar's surface with the sound of the Gods' wrath, and from the craters they left silhouettes emerged.
Recognition dawned within Indomitable's machine-spirit as the forms resolved into the aspect of men in armor of black and gold, carrying chainswords and strange weapons that the Knight's ancient memory recognized as bolters. A name emerged from the depths of the Knight's spirit, filled with terrible might and echoing with legends : Astartes. A flow of images poured into Erik's consciousness, and he saw legions of such beings wage war against creatures he couldn't identify, and then against each other. He saw an army of such warriors, clad in dark blue and brass with lightning strikes, come to Theressar in the days before the heavens' madness. He felt Indomitable's rage as it and his pilot had fought to defend the world from them. He smelled the scent of burning flesh as the Knight walked through ruined cities, forcing the Astartes to abandon the planet and leave in search of easier prey.
Behind the meteors – drop-pods, the name flashed in his mind – came several flying contraptions of metal, howling as they descended and landed on the ground with far more care. From their own bellies came more warriors, as well as machines that, while smaller than the Knights, were still imposing and bristling with weapons.
Where it had taken both imperial and rebel armies hours to get into position, these new arrivals formed up in minutes of their landing, creating a new force to the east of both armies. The voices of both emperor and general faded away, and for a few seconds Erik was left alone on the vox-channel. Then, an impossibly deep voice reached him :
'Greetings, prince Erik. I am Arken, lord of the Forsaken Sons.'
'How do you know my name ?' asked Erik, trying not to let his tension show in his voice. The voice could belong to no other than the leader of the Astartes.
'I know many things, young prince. This one is of no interest to you, at least not compared to the rest of what I know. Aren't you curious as to why and how me and my brothers came here ?'
'The question had crossed my mind,' admitted Erik.
'Your father called for help,' the warlord explained. 'In the dark temples of Aurouk, he offered a thousand sacrifices to the Powers, sending a message across the void. My sorcerers heard that message, and I came here with my warriors to see for myself what had caused it.'
Erik gritted his teeth together. Though the new arrivals only numbered a few hundreds, each of them was a giant in armor, and the beasts of metals they had brought with them, while smaller than the Knights, were nonetheless threatening in aspect. This battle, which was always going to be a close thing, had just become desperate.
Unless ...
'Are you here to aid my father, then ? Have you really come to this world to help a corrupt tyrant clutch to his throne ?'
There was a strange sound over the vox, repetitive and inhumane, that made the spirit of Indomitable groan with unease. It took a few seconds for Erik to recognize it as what passed for the laughter of the one he was talking to. There was no joy in the sound, no amusement whatsoever. He had no idea what kind of emotion, if any, it was supposed to express.
'No,' said Arken at last, 'we have not. This little emperor might believe that we have come here in answer to his prayers, and is doubtlessly celebrating as we speak, but I have never talked with him as I now do with you. We have no alliance with him, no pact of any kind.'
'Then ...' Erik hesitated. He knew his next words would have consequences. But there was no other way. 'What would it cost me to secure your aid in this battle for the rebellion instead ?'
There was a moment of silence, then the chilling laugh again. It lasted longer this time, and contained something a little closer to joy than the last.
'I like you already, prince. Not asking whether or not an alliance is possible and straight to asking what the price would be ? You do not lack audacity, I will give you that. As for the price ... I want your oath, Erik of House Lyrok. When this battle is over and your rebellion is victorious, you will follow me and my brothers into the void, and fight alongside us in the wars that await us.'
'I swore an oath to defend the people of Theressar,' protested Erik. 'I cannot – I will not break this oath.'
'Come on, prince. You know what will happen after this battle is over. The people of Theressar might believe in the Black Knight, but the leaders of the rebellion won't tolerate your existence. They will consider you a threat to their power, a seed through which the Empire might regrow. They will kill you, and if they mess it up, your death might cause another war. That way, you will quietly remove yourself from the board, without them risking to alienate the population. Unless you plan to take over the rebellion and become emperor yourself ? If that is your goal, I am sure we can negotiate another deal ...'
'No,' snarled Erik. 'Such is not my intent. I ... accept your offer. If you help defeat my father's army, then, should I survive this battle, me and my Sacristans shall come with you and serve you faithfully till death takes us.'
'Very well,' accepted Arken. 'We will even take care of the other Knights' remains. After all, you wouldn't want someone else to use them, now would you ?'
And on these words, the warlord's voice was gone, and the interference disappeared. Erik quickly raised General Neria, his call answered immediately :
'Erik ! Who are these warriors ?!'
'Allies,' answered the prince, the taste of ash in his mouth as he spoke the word. 'I have made a deal with their leader. They will fight against the empire, and I will follow them into the void after that.'
'Follow them ? Erik, you ...'
'There was no choice, General,' he interrupted. 'These are Astartes – Indomitable knows their kind. If they fought against us, we would not stand a chance. Losing me would be worth it if only to get them to stay uninvolved – in return for their aid, it is practically a bargain.'
'You said it yourself : we cannot allow ourselves to lose this battle,' he continued, hammering his point in. 'Focus on the battle, General.'
' ... Very well.'
The audio communication ended on Neria's end, and a handful of seconds later, one last signal came through the channel – the order to advance. At Erik's command, Indomitable lurched forward, followed by the rest of the rebel army, a mighty roar of defiance rising from every throat. The arrival of the flying leviathan and the descent of the great warriors and their beasts of metal had shaken them, but they had been ready to die for their cause for years.
Halfway to the imperial army, it became obvious to all those present on the battlefield that the sky warriors were charging the empire's forces as well, and morale swelled among the rebels. Simultaneously, terror filled the hearts of the imperials, and fury those of the Knights at this betrayal from those they had thought had been sent to their aid by the Gods.
Then the three armies smashed together, and nothing mattered anymore, safe for the clashing of blades and the duels of giants.
THE ROAR OF WAR eclipsed everything. Almost lost in the rage of his mount, Erik had no time to pay attention to the wider battle. He knew Neria would take care of the tactical aspect of the fight, directing her troops with maximal efficiency – such was their long-standing arrangement. His task was to defeat the enemy Knights, and he waded through enemy hordes to confront them. Training, experience, and the instincts of centuries-dead pilots guided his every blow as he and Indomitable tore a path toward their fallen kindred.
Most of Erik's will was focused on keeping Indomitable from turning on the rebel soldiers and directing the Knight's rage toward the imperial army. His consciousness of the moment faded as his mind passed into a state of battle awareness. Only glimpses of what his Knight's sensors perceived made it through to the fog of Indomitable's and his fury.
He saw lances of lightning burst from the cannons of the Forsaken Sons' war-machines and ram into his cousin Adrien's Knight, Undying Lord. The bloated Knight exploded in a rain of corroded metal and pestilent growths, its ion shield overwhelmed by the combined fire. A chorus of sirens screamed the Emperor's ire, and half of the remaining Knights turned toward the oncoming Astartes, leaving only three for Erik and the rebellion to deal with. Indomitable's gaze directed toward each of them in turn, its pilot recognizing each of them instantly.
At the forefront of the charge was Decimator, the Knight of his brother Markus. Decimator had long fallen to the battle-madness, and its chest bore a stylized skull-rune that glared at the world before it with baleful eyes. It was covered in the dried blood of past victims and sacrifices – no Sacristan dared to approach it for something as mundane as cleaning, for the Knight was ever hungry for slaughter. Both of its arms had mutated into giant, two-headed axes, and it wielded them in savage sweeps that tore dozens of soldiers to bloody pieces.
Adraxxar, the mount of Erik's cousin Petrocius – though in truth he had never been certain which had been the master in their union – came next. In appearance, Adraxxar looked much similar to Indomitable, and carried the same array of weapons. But blue flames flickered over its armor, and Erik could sense a malevolent intelligence in the Knight's eye-shaped sensors. When the prince had turned against the rest of the House, Petrocius had already been inside the Knight for several months, refusing all appeals for him to leave it. Erik wasn't sure that his cousin had emerged from Adraxxar in the following months – indeed, he wasn't sure his cousin still existed at all within the corrupt Knight's pilot seat.
The Emperor's Knight was, as was only fitting, the most powerful of the entire Household. Its name, inscribed in golden letters upon its shoulder, was Nessus. Its face had been shaped by mortal artisans and daemonic influence into a horned skull that leered down on all those who came before it. Its right arm was a chainsword, identical to that carried by Erik's Knight, but its left upper limb had been replaced by a cluster of five-meters long tentacles that twisted in the air, picking up rebel and imperial soldiers alike and crushing them to pulp, absorbing the bloody remains with horrifying suction noises.
This trio of unholy giants charged into the rebel army with reckless abandon, uncaring of how many of their own troops they crushed underfoot. Decimator was the first to make contact with Erik, far ahead of the rest of the army, its axes dripping with gore. The two weapons came down on Indomitable, only to be blocked by the rebel Knight's chainsword. Erik groaned as Markus tried to overpower him, roaring his fury at him as he did so.
With a monumental effort that twisted the metal of Indomitable's joints, Erik forced the two axes aside. Decimator stumbled, its balance broken, and Erik seized the opportunity to run into his foe, forcing it to take a step back or fall to the ground. As Decimator restored its balance, Erik brought his own chainsword around in a sweeping arc, smashing the axes aside before bringing his weapon back. In a flurry that the side of the Knight would have made seem impossible, he brought the chainsword up and rammed it into Decimator's chest from below, impaling the pilot seat in a shower of sparks and blood that was entirely too red to belong to a machine. Decimator fell, its twin consciousness severed in a single blow, and Erik scanned his surroundings for his next foe.
Some distance away, Adraxxar was being dragged down by several squads of Knight-killers working together. These warriors were the bravest of the rebels, and were equipped with weapons capable of piercing the Knights' armor, and carried thick cables that could be used to topple the war-machines. Erik watched as Adraxxar collapsed, and was immediately set upon by fighters carrying long, sparkling spears. Like a great beast, the Knight was pierced over and over, screaming its pain and rage at every blow. Several of the slayers were caught in the blue fire that covered the Knight, and screamed briefly as their burnt flesh was stripped from blackened bones. But the survivors endured, and soon, Adraxxar wails turned to despair, before finally falling silent.
Now Nessus was the only Imperial Knight remaining standing, and it charged toward Indomitable while Augustus spat his hatred at his son. No longer did the Emperor use the vox-channel : instead, he roared through the vox-speakers of his Knight, letting all hear his words :
'Traitorous, unworthy bastard ! I will kill you, even should it be the last thing I ever do !'
Erik ignored his father's hateful declaration. The time for words had passed : now was the time for battle. History was rushing toward them : the confrontation of the prince and emperor would decided the fate of Theressar. Should he fall here, Erik would be unable to honor his bargain with the Forsaken Sons, and there was no telling what price Arken would exact upon the planet's population in return for his aid in toppling the Empire.
A volley of projectiles burst from Nessus' shoulder cannons, and Erik redirected his ion shield forward. The bullets smashed into the protective field, most of them failing to pierce through. The handful that made it did little more than scorch the paint of Indomitable and rise the ire of the Knight's machine-spirit even further.
The two Knights clashed, their chainswords coming together in a shower of sparks and metal fragments as they bit at each other.
'Unworthy,' growled Augustus. 'You are nothing but a colossal disappointment !'
Before Erik could react, Nessus brought up its swarm of tentacles, and the repugnant appendages hurled themselves at Indomitable, smashing across the Knight's top half and attaching themselves to the metal plates with suckers whose teeth bit through the venerable metal. Sympathetic pain surged through the prince's mind at these attacks, but it was as nothing compared to the assault on his mind. The tentacles generated some kind of unholy fluid that dripped into Indomitable's gears, instantly brought to ebullition by the machine's heat. Vapors filled the cockpit, and Erik choked on the smoke.
Horrific visions swarmed Erik's mind as the tentacles struggled to find a way into his cockpit and to his flesh. He felt the bites of countless snakes, and saw images of pale limbs and claws. Coming from beyond the veil of reality, these visions seared into his brain like white-hot coals, and he screamed in abject pain. Indomitable reacted to his distress with wild motions of its chainsword, trying to sever the tentacles and free itself from their hideous embrace, but in vain.
Deliverance came from a most unexpected quarter : one of the Forsaken Sons' tanks opened fire on Nessus, turrets from both of its sides focusing a cascade of laser fire on the Emperor's Knight. The rays of killing light blasted through Nessus' ion shield and melted its left leg to slag. With a terrifying scream of pain, the Knight vacillated, before its tentacles removed themselves from Indomitable with lightning speed and tensed toward the ground, preserving Nessus' balance.
As the embrace of the tentacles retired, so did the fog of nightmares clouding Erik's mind, receding before Indomitable's rage. This time, the prince did not attempt to contain his Knight's fury : he let it rage through his psyche, purifying him from the taint of the poisoned fumes. His vision cleared, his mind sharpened to a razor's edge, and he saw what he had to do to claim victory.
Though wounded, Nessus was still a nimble creature, its tentacles perhaps even swifter to react that its missing leg had been. The opening born from its pilot adjusting to the change in balance lasted only a fraction of a second. Guided by the ghosts of a score of previous pilots, pushed by the righteous rage he and his mount shared, Erik rammed his chainsword into the opening, feeling as if it were his own hand on the blade pushing it through his father's chest.
A dark, oily liquid burst from the wound with the strength of arterial blood, covering Indomitable's front armor. Nessus struggled, both the Knight's corrupt machine-spirit and the cockpit's occupant refusing to accept their defeat. With a roar, Erik brought Indomitable's fire lance up, pointing it straight at the head of his father's mount. The cannon rested directly on the leering skull, and began its heating cycle – the characteristic humming a herald of the devastation that would come in mere seconds. Something that could only be described as a moan emerged from Nessus' damaged vox-speakers, and Erik fancied that, among the rage and the despair, he could hear a note of relief in his father's scream.
Then, the weapon fired. A ball of fire as bright as a newborn sun manifested, eating through Nessus' armor like paper. Within the Knight, Emperor Augustus Lyrok had no time to scream, or to suffer. His body was vaporized in a fraction of a second, his soul cast to the Underworld, where the beasts his many sins had spawned waited.
Nessus' headless body fell heavily to the ground, and Erik tore his chainsword free of the vanquished Knight. When he looked around him, he saw the crowds of the rebel army cheering as the last imperial regiments either dropped their weapons and surrendered, or tried to flee the field. The fall of their Emperor was the final blow to their morale, already damaged by the attacks of the Forsaken Sons and the death of every other Knight fighting for the Empire.
In the distance, the great gates of Aurouk were opening, and smoke rose from the city. Doubtlessly, with the sight of their masters' fall, the people of the capital had risen against what few guards remained. If order wasn't re-established soon, the city would burn to the ground, and many of those who had just been freed would die in the fires they themselves had started. But this was no longer his concern, Erik reminded himself. House Lyrok was no more – the people of Theressar ware now masters of their own fate. As for him, another destiny awaited him.
Indomitable turned, and Erik looked at where the forces of the Forsaken Sons stood. Already more flying machines were descending from their great ship, to bring them back aboard it, their part in the war over. Near the corpse of Avenger, his brother Ulcius' Knight, a hulking, bare-headed giant stared in the prince's direction. He knew without being told that this was Arken, the lord of this army that his father's pleas had brought to Theressar.
For an instant, the temptation to open fire on the Astartes nearly overwhelmed him. He could see the sigils many of them wore, the same emblems of the zealots. He knew that these warriors bore within them the same taint that had driven his family to madness and forced his hand against his own kin. But reason quickly reasserted itself. If he attacked the Forsaken Sons, the rest of the army would follow his lead, and they would all die. The vision of the midnight-clad warriors that had ravaged Theressar in centuries past was still present in his mind : with only one remaining Knight, there was no chance of victory. Even if the Astartes immediately left afterward, the population would be left defenseless against the daemonic predators.
There was only one path that duty allowed. With a heavy heart, the last scion of House Lyrok turned his back on the cheering rebels, and commanded his mount to advance toward its new masters.
THE FORSAKEN SONS stood alone among the dead, gathering their wounded and taking trophies from their defeated foes. None of their number had died in the battle, but those who had been harmed would be the subject of much mockery from their brothers : to have been wounded by primitives swords and arrows was shameful for any Space Marine. Transports were descending from orbit : troop carriers, and one heavy Mechanicus craft that would bring the Knight that had sworn loyalty to the warband to the ship.
For all that they had fought together, most of the local rebels didn't dare to come near the transhuman warriors. Only those who had fought under Chaos icons flocked to them, instinctively drawn by the favor of the Dark Gods. Already warriors who had once been Word Bearers were leaving their packs to talk with these lesser servants of Ruin. Before long, the mortals would have been introduced to the true glory of the Pantheon, and they would follow their transhuman lords into the stars. Though it hadn't been the purpose of their coming to this world, the Forsaken Sons could always use more fighters, and these had proven their worth already by surviving the war against House Lyrok. In the distance, the Knight of prince Erik was also marching toward them, a small group of attendants rushing to keep up with him.
Three hundred Astartes had come to Theressar, all of them having painted their armor to the colors of the warband, and led by Arken himself. They were those who had proven to be the most dedicated to the Awakened One, and formed almost the entirety of the Space Marine contingent aboard the Hand of Ruin. The ship hung in low orbit – on any conventional world, such proximity would have caused the vessel to be caught in the planet's gravity and send it crashing to the ground. But gravity, the force that held much of the physical universe together, was but another plaything to the powers of Chaos. Kodlak, the Hand of Ruin's shipmaster, had trusted the words of his auspex crew and obeyed the command of Arken, bringing the ship into position for optimal troop delivery and shock value.
After the victory at Parecxis, Arken had decreed that no force remained in the Wailing Storm that could oppose the warband. He had spent several days studying the data available on the worlds trapped within the Warp Storm, now stabilized by the Anchoring. Then, he had divided the warband into several forces. Each of these groups was led by one of his trusted lieutenants, and tasked with visiting a series of worlds in the Trebedius Sector, to take what resources and troops they could provide. Once all worlds had been brought under the Forsaken Sons' control, the warband would muster again – to what purpose, Arken hadn't said.
So far, the journey to Theressar had proven most profitable. At almost no cost, they had gained the services of a Knight-Errant, a few hundreds of foot soldiers, and the wreckage of the Knights which had fought for the empire. Damarion had seen the strength of the Knights during the Great Crusade and the Heresy : on Molech, a pack of them had brought low an Imperator-class Titan. Even the services of one such warmachine would have been worth the journey – the potential of having several of them fight for the warband, as well as Merchurion learning how to build more, was truly a gift from the Dark Gods.
'What do you think will happen to this world after we have left ?' asked Damarion. The Terminator-clad bodyguard stood near his master, near a fallen Knight that was being taken apart by servitors under the direction of a Warpsmith.
'This world has lost much of its technology, and is deeply permeated with the Warp,' replied Arken. 'The only reason the Neverborn haven't consumed the entire population long ago was the protection of the Knights, regardless of their own actions against the humans. Now ... I suppose it depends on how this rebellion handles matters. If they manage to gather enough troops in the aftermath, they might be able to keep their population relatively safe. Human worlds with less resources survived through Old Night, and the storms that raged then were much worse than the one we have unleashed. Mankind is more tenacious than we believe it to be, brother.'
There passed a moment of silence between Damarion and his master. Then, Arken said :
'You have something to say, brother ?'
The words of the Awakened One might have been phrased as a question, but Damarion knew that they were really an order for him to speak up. Even if Arken had lost access to the Oracle's predictions in the aftermath of the Parecxis campain, the Chaos Lord still possessed insight beyond the ken of most of the Gods' chosen. Some of it was the result of Warp alterations granted to him by the Powers, but most simply came from centuries of leading soldiers to war.
'The prince turned against his father because of his actions offended his sense of morality,' Damarion pointed. 'We aren't exactly stellar examples of that either, my lord. What prevents him from turning against us at the worst possible time ?'
Arken smiled, the sight sending a shiver down Damarion's spine despite his familiarity with his lord's facial expressions. The Awakened One's armor had been repaired, the emblem of the chained daemon head now emblazoned on his chest. His lightning claws dripped with blood – the Chaos Lord had fought at the side of his brothers for the first time since they had left Parecxis, and the mortals arrrayed against them had been no challenge. The Imperial Knights had been the only true threat, and the tanks the warband had brought with it had been able to defeat them before they had gotten too close. In truth, Damarion had been surprised at how easy the battle had been for the Astartes. Clearly, House Lyrok had devolved greatly since the coming of the Wailing Storm – such was always the fate of those too weak to withstand the power of Chaos. But the prince was clearly different, which was the cause for his unease.
'He has given us his oath, brother,' replied Arken. 'From what I gathered, it is quite important to him.'
Damarion stayed silent, simply staring at his master in disbelief. Arken chuckled, the sound as dry as the core of a sun, before admitting :
'Besides, his Knight was damaged in that battle. It will require maintenance once we bring it aboard the Hand of Ruin, and Merchurion is eager to work on it in person. If our dear prince chooses to turn on us, there will be contingencies in place. And we still have the other Knights to repair, and grant to pilots of our own choosing.'
'These things are more daemon than machine,' Damarion pointed out, gesturing toward the fallen Knight. As he did so, the giant jerked in motion for less than a second, tearing a handful of minions apart with its chainsword and causing the rest to scatter in terror. 'It will take time even for the Techno-Adept to unlock their secrets and fix them.'
'Oh, that won't be a problem. We will have plenty of time before we need these Knights, brother ...'
Dramatis Personae
Members of the warband of the Forsaken Sons
Arken : former Commander of the Sons of Horus, leader of the Forsaken Sons.
Asim : former Thousand Son, Chaos Sorcerer, leader of the Coven.
Balthazar : former hitman, dedicated to Khorne, servant of Asim of the Coven.
Cerurr : Navigator of the Hand of Ruin.
Damarion : former Captain of the Sons of Horus, leader of Arken's bodyguards.
Dekaros : the Lord of Shadows, former Alpha Legion Legionary.
Erik : former prince of House Lyrok, pilot of Imperial Knight Indomitable.
Hektor Heker'Arn : former battle-brother of the World Eaters, possessed by a daemon of Khorne, known as the Blood Champion.
Illarion Sertanov : spire-born Unbound of the Sixteenth Legion's gene-line, possessed by the Neverborn known as the Shadow of Horus.
Jikaerus : former Apothecary of the Alpha Legion, member of the Fleshmasters.
Kakios : former Iron Warrior, pack leader of Iron Warriors who lost their squad prior to the Heresy. Constructor of the Hindsight's Mind and pilot of the Land Raider Antipater's Wrath.
Karalet : the Lord of Ash, former Word Bearer Dark Apostle.
Koldak : mortal Shipmaster of the Hand of Ruin.
Larriman : former Death Guard, now fighting in Petronicus' pack.
Lucian : former sergeant of the Sons of Horus, assigned to leading the Unbound.
Maerk : former battle-brother of the Sons of Horus, now fighting in Lucian's pack.
Mahlone : Unbound native of Mulor Secundus, secretely of the Thirteenth Legion's gene-line.
Melakor : former Apothecary of the Emperor's Children, member of the Fleshmasters.
Merchurion : Techno-Adept, commander of all Dark Mechanicus members aboard the Hand of Ruin.
Mikail Korzhanenko : traitor of the Imperial Army devoted to Slaanesh, Astartes hybrid of the Third Legion's gene-line.
Nicas : former Death Guard, now fighting in Petronicus' pack.
Nikanor and Xenon : former Iron Warriors, now fighting in Kakios' pack, born-brothers.
Orpheus : former Emperor's Children Librarian, Chaos Sorcerer of Slaanesh, member of the Coven.
Parennefer : former Apothecary of the Thousand Sons, member of both the Fleshmasters and the Coven.
Pelagius : former Iron Warrior, now fighting in Kakios' pack. Disgraced Warmason.
Perseus Kilaiz : mortal pilot, attached to Arken and his guards.
Petronicus : former Death Guard Sergent, pack leader.
Praxiteles : former Iron Warrior, now fighting in Kakios' pack. Duellist owning a desecrated energy sword that once belonged to a Imperial Fist Champion.
Syphoras : Raptor of Slaanesh, formerly of the Third Legion.
Tenoch : former Apothecary of the World Eaters, member of the Fleshmasters.
Ygdal : Unbound native of Mulor Secundus.
Zarl Korak : former Legionary of the Night Lords, lost in the Warp.
Zosimus : former Iron Warrior Techmarine, now Warpsmith.
Others
Valemus Galeyard : former head of the Galeyard noble House on Parecxis Alpha, Regent of Parecxis and Guardian of the Accords.
Jar : mortal psyker, servant of Valemus Galeyard.
Amelia : mortal enhanced assassin, in service to Valemus Galeyard.
Tarox : former PDF Captain, turned to the worship of Khorne, signee of the Accords of Parecxis.
Poteleus : leader of the Puppeteers of Parecxis, signee of the Accords of Parecxis.
Pharod the Reborn : the Gardener, once Arch-Magos Biologis, master of the Plague-City of Talexorn.
Ezyrithn the Firstborn : first of the Sha'eilat to have been resurrected, leader of the corrupt Eldar in the Parecxis system.
Tarek : former captain of the naval ship Lady of the Three Seas, latent psyker, lost to the Warp with a crown of Eldar soulstones.