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War.
Before his eyes, war incarnate raged, a million billion colors he could not even grasp wrestling and tearing and snuffing each-other out. He'd seen the Great Ocean disturbed before.
But never this.
What do I look upon now, Stormseer? What sacrilege defiles our eyes at this moment?
The image of his fellow warrior appeared near him, but in the blazing inferno of chaos around them, even the proximity of his soul did not prevent his manifestation from being blurred, almost dreamlike.
This before us Custodian is...the gates of Hell opening themselves.
The answer may have been vague, but looking at the state of the Immaterium before him, Kronos could not help but agree.
Macragge was perhaps a good metaphor for the state of the Imperium at large.
A once proud, mighty bulwark of humanity's future and enlightenment, now corroded, bastardized and on literal fire. It would've almost made Kronos laugh were it not for the dire situation.
"We've lost ten ships during the transit jump," one of the bridge officers piped up.
"How can that be? What are we, a clandestine operation?" one of the Doom Legion Veteran Sergeants on deck barked. The officer's head practically sunk to the floor in shame.
"Calm, cousin," Gan chimed in. "The Warp is a fickle mistress at the best of times, let alone when the galaxy is set ablaze with psychic energy, as the light of the Astronomican falters. This is a best case scenario, if anything."
They stood on the deck of the Ferrum Mortem. The Crescent Moon had sustained heavy damage in their transition to the system, courtesy of the amassed Chaos fleet that now plagued the entirety of space around Ultramar's capital.
The White Scar vessel was mostly evacuated, stowed away on a distant, hidden side of the system to undergo repairs under the supervision of mostly servitors and a skeleton crew of humans, along with the lone Space Marine left onboard, the Techmarine Chuulonbold. It was not the only ship they'd nearly lost in dealing with the initial blockade of traitor vessels.
"We are coming upon the second defensive wave," the acting Captain of the Doom Legion said, looking at the incoming wall of iron with burning contempt. Seeing their primogenitors in such plight, Kronos could tell that their blood was boiling. It would do no good for the coming battle, but he doubted he could get them to calm down in this situation.
The Captain suddenly moved, while the rest of his Command Squad followed. The Custodian put an arm on his pauldron, and in that instant knew his plan. Reckless, inefficient, potentially disastrous.
But he also recognized their need to do something to help their forefathers, as well as break the blockade as a spearhead. So as the other man turned his head, he merely nodded, before letting him go.
"And where are they off to?" Gan inquired.
"The Doom Legion will partake in a boarding action in order to eliminate the battle barge in front of us."
"I am no tactician but that seems considerably dangerous. How many is he taking with him?"
"The entire Company."
Gan arched an eyebrow, but seemed to judge against saying anything more critical. The situation pressed him to.
"Let us hope they are successful then. And we with them."
Kronos could only nod as he saw the first few flickers of light across the hulls of the enemy, and felt the thunderous impact of their own guns firing. The battle had begun.
Since the advent of space travel on Old Earth millennia ago, mankind had envisioned war across the void.
Mighty battlefleets of a thousand forms and shapes then had enraptured the minds of countless people. They had thought it to be glorious, thunderous and oh so magnificent, possessing of the brunt, the power and the impact of navies battling on the sea, but a thousand times more powerful and profound, along with being utterly unshackled from the restraints of gravity.
They could not be further from the truth.
There no booming sounds of gargantuan cannons, albeit they could easily be created were an atmosphere a factor existent in the mighty battlefield of the stars. They were rarely any dogged, close quarters fights, as weapons fired from millions of kilometers away. They were barely any great eruptions into flame, as compromised ships more often than not drifted out into the cold of space as hulking wrecks that would stain the stars for as long as they themselves burned bright, if the physical forces exerted on them allowed it.
Yet there was morbid beauty in it still. Great lances of blinding hot fire and wrath raced across the vast black nothingness. Rounds the size of buildings pounded across shimmering energy barriers at subluminal speeds. Rockets that could flatten whole mountain ranges and scour continents clean of life exploded in spectacular fashion on ironclad hulls.
It would've all seemed surreal to an outside observer. Watching brief blips on the bodies of vessels, signifying the firing of their weapons, before waiting minutes on end for the inevitable impact on the opposing side, and vice-versa. And in that, entirely without sound.
But Kronos had not the time to contemplate longer on such a matter, as he felt the ship rock around him once more.
"How many boarders?" he asked in a private vox-channel.
"Seven successful so far, squad size estimated between five and ten per," came the clipped reply from Batu.
They needed not exchange anymore words. They were terribly outnumbered in the department of Marines, and the traitors were conducting their boarding actions perfectly.
But with him there, it would do not good. Not one, not ten, not a million of them at once would fell him.
In truth, they had all been itching for a fight in the past several months. It was just in their nature. Augmented soldiers instilled with a sense of righteousness. Even Kronos had felt it.
Now he clutched his spear with purpose as they moved towards the site of the breach. The fragment of the Emperor had never told him of it's nature, not even it's name, only that of the armor he now possessed. But in the following months to his merger, two words burned itself into his mind each time he picked it up: Manifest Destiny.
Whether it was the actual name of the weapon or an ideal left past from it's forging, like the ghost of intent, he did not care. That was the name he used for it now, and it would be the name traitors would soon dread.
They emerged at last in the breached segment of the ship, which he was informed was mostly a series of maintenance tunnels. The area was dimly lit in the red glow of emergency lighting, and the thick smoke and vapor from the crashed assault ram cloaked much in the unknown.
To a mortal, or even an Astartes, this impairment of the visual senses could've been deadly. To him, it barely even registered. He could feel the stink of the Warp in the air, smell the taint emanating from wherever the traitors lay. In wordless vox clicks, he informed his entourage of all the presences he could discern, before taking one on himself, the largest contingent by far.
They were five of them in all, hidden behind rubble, walls, anything they could find which would fit their bulbous frames. A whiff of their signature, and he could tell from whom they came. Night Lords.
Another, and he could skim their surface thoughts. They were all vile, ugly little things, so pathetically single-minded in their contempt. He was overcome by disgust, and again without a word, gave the signal for attack.
All around him, muzzle flares lit up the darkened tunnels as Bolters barked, streaks of blue hot fire from Plasma Guns broke through the red, yet none of the traitors in his sights had time to react to them.
Without waiting a microsecond, Kronos rushed through one of the damaged walls, breaking through the material with no more difficulty than tearing wet paper, as he swung his spear and the first of the traitors was down, his head thrown clean off. He twisted his body, one arm bursting through a pile of rubble, while the other swung his spear.
Both hits connected, his arm meeting the brief resistance of ceramite before crushing a traitor helm as a squelching sound was heard, while his spear bisected the other, along with the Heavy Bolter he was carrying, causing the ammo to go off in explosion of fire and shrapnel.
Two remained now, as he settled from the motion which had barely taken a second. They at least popped out of cover to fire their weapons, though it would them no good, as with unnatural swiftness he was already upon them, slicing one in half vertically, and without missing beat, smashing the other with the butt of his spear in the head.
The last traitor fell to the ground, his helmet nearly crushed outright from the sheer force of the impact. Kronos executed him without missing a beat, splitting his head in two with his blade.
In the time it took the human heart to beat once, he had already ended five of one of the most dangerous breeds of warriors in the galaxy. And he was not even close to done.
He messaged his peers, not awaiting a response, as he progressed further into the ship. There was still much to be cleansed, much blood to be spilled. And it would take his mind off, however briefly, from the terror that still raged on elsewhere.
Captain Octavian was a man of action and instincts above all else. When a situation presented itself, he would act swiftly and without any hesitation, perhaps in direct contrast to a typical son of Guilliman.
Some questioned how he was even of such high stature inside his own Chapter. He wondered that himself regularly, not being very fond of doctrines and the like, though he did still read and regularly use the Codex Astartes.
His hot blood however made him anything but stupid, but in fact dangerously unpredictable like few of his peers could be. And so it was that when he saw that battle barge attacking the heart of the star empire of Ultramar, his skin boiled with anger and his hands itched for a fight.
And as the Caestus Assault Ram crashed through into the bowels of the enemy ship, he found it.
"Kill every last of the bastards!" he roared, his vox-grill amplifying his voice to booming thunder. Torment and Defiance, his Power Swords cackled with energy as he tore through the initial wave of the enemy. His Command Squad was a well-oiled machine, nigh-unstoppable once in motion and especially so against unprepared foes.
All across the ship he received word of his brothers waging war like engines of destruction, shutting down the corrupted defenders throughout. The enemy had not been ready for boarding actions at such a dangerously large distance, where they could've easily lost much if they were all shot down.
And that betting on a conventional foe was what was going to damn them.
One of the Chaos Marines had broken through the gun line peppering his twisted kin, and took a wild swing at Octavian with his revving Chainaxe. He deflected the blow, and backhanded the vile vermin in the face. While assessing the damage, he also saw the full extent of the Marine's corruption.
Bloodshot red eyes stared at him from a mask of pure hate, cheeks pulled upwards by nails embedded into the flesh, trapping the muscles in their position, leaving him with a permanent bloody snarl. It was contemptible to simply look at the abomination before him, and with renewed wrath he worked to end it right there.
"Die, whore!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, as he blocked another blow with Torment, while Defiance ripped through the traitor's armor like a hot knife through butter. It started at his stomach and ended up on his right shoulder, before being pulled out of the body. He'd known he'd hit both hearts as the Heretic Astartes convulsed briefly before flopping on the ground.
Yet still his rage was not quelled, as he put one armored boot over the traitor's head, and pushed down. Eventually the satisfying crack of shattered bone and wet squelch of exploded brain matter met his ears, and he moved on, satisfied with the kill.
The battle barge was armored to the teeth, but it's insides were pathetically weak by comparison, most of the garrisoned forces of Chaos inside having dropped down to the planet below, waging war against the most holy grounds to one of the Ultramarines gene-seed.
He did not care in the end. Whether he'd face a thousand traitors here or down in the world below, he'd make each one bleed an ocean for what they'd done. But as it was, they still had a mission to accomplish, as he voxed his Command Squad to march forwards.
The creature squealed in his presence. He caused it pain. Good. That was the closest thing he'd come to joy this day.
He had found one of the foul Neverborn. One of the engine decks of the Ferrum Mortem had been entirely swept clean of life, though "clean" was perhaps not the best word for it. Corpses littered the floor, the walls, some even the ceiling, all twisted, turned and mauled unnaturally.
The thing before him was an ocean of limbs, a pitch black cephalopod-like creature, with misshapen and irregular tentacles sprouting and receding from every spot in it's amorphous blob body. It was large, standing as wide as he was tall, and in it's center a gaping circular maw of razor sharp rows of teeth, grinding like the those of a chain weapon.
But it felt discomfort, and most of all, fear in it's presence. That made killing it almost satisfying, something he'd never thought he'd experience in his life.
The hordes of Nurgle had never felt fear. The blood cults of Khorne had not either. They were too cohesive, too sunk into their relevant patron, too numerous. But this one: alone, freshly manifested, high on the euphoria of tasting human blood. This one did.
He slew the creature painfully, methodically. Something about it feeling fear made him want to cause as much suffering as he could. As if the daemon was painless so long that it decided it was painless. Given the subjective nature of the Warp, and the very existence of daemons as living ideas and concepts, he wouldn't have judged this thought all that strange even in a normal state.
But eventually, the creature did fizzle away and die, like he knew it would. It never stood a chance, and the moment that he delivered the fatal strike, he could tell it's soul would never grow back in the Aether.
Perhaps it was a quality of his armament, touched by the psychic power and technology of the Emperor's design. Perhaps it was the soul within him granting him this power. Whatever it was, it was the same as when he had felled the Great Unclean One on Sors. He inflicted permanent death upon the creatures.
And at that, a clipped vox-clip filtered into his helm. Immediately, without hesitation, he rushed to the destination demanded by the message. Several minutes of full blown running later, he found himself in a storage room, where a mix of Heretic Astartes and Neverborn wreaked havoc on the Marines of the Unbroken Squad.
And right in the thick of it, was found the source of the message. Gan, in contrast to his previous self from months past, now confidently strode into close quarters combat, assaulting two of the abominations before him. In less than a second, Kronos was by his side, and they both fought together, just as practiced.
Heretic after heretic, daemon after daemon, they all fell to their flawless flow. A piercing thrust by him, compounded by swinging strike from Gan's newly commissioned Power Saber. They moved in tandem, like two gears in the same machine.
Where one ducked, the other struck. Where one weaved, the other pressed. Though Gan was not yet on his level, his training had begun to shine, as soon the entire room was cleared by their effort.
No words needed to be exchanged then, as both warriors checked their communication logs for any further requests for assistance. When it appeared that all stragglers on the ship had been eliminated, they focused on getting back to the command deck.
In the long trek through the ship's never-ending corridors however, Kronos received an urgent update.
He was lucky his helmet concealed his facial features, for they would've seemed either unsettling or chucklesome. Nonetheless, his bark over the vox was heard the same.
"He's doing WHAT with the battle barge?"
The last traitor fell down.
Well, in a manner of speaking. It was more like his body feel down. In pieces. He had the air burst of a Bolt round to thank for that.
Once the Heretic Astartes and the occasional daemon had been dispatched by his numerically superior force, the barge was ripe for the taking. Human militia, even the immensely mutated ones, could only provide so much resistance to an unrelenting tide of green and grey-clad behemoths.
Now they stood on the command deck of the ship, the last of it's officers blasted apart. Like the majority of the corrupted vessel, ten thousand years of Warp-influence had bent it's shape into a twisted, bastardized joke of a true deck. Machines run on daemon souls were the least of atrocities committed inside this den of sin, and even he could smell that in the air.
But he would have use for the reigns of this ship. He had been very deliberate in informing his warriors to take out vox arrays as soon as they could, never allowing the brain of the ship to truly know what was happening. Now, as they had decapitated the operation, the outside did not know of their takeover either.
He may not have been the greatest tactician, but he worked with morbid efficiency and tenacity, and his plans, once in motion, were terrifying to behold. And now, he prepared for his final gamble.
"Destrudo," he barked, and his senior Librarian was with him. The entirety of his command staff had joined him on the deck. "I need you to make this ship still."
A beat passed as the psyker comprehended what his commander was asking.
"You want me to plunge my mind into this vile abomination in hopes of getting it to obey us?"
"Not your mind. You merely need to torture it with your psychic gifts enough for it to relent," the Captain said, as he sat in a command chair that inspired great disgust, but was nonetheless vital. "These ships may have the daemonic in them, but beyond that, they are still ships. Mechanisms, technologies tied cause and effect govern them all the same. I just need you to keep this vile thing in check for a little while as I work."
The Librarian still looked hesitant, yet did as he was told. His eyes cackled with energy as he swung his psychic hood over himself, engaging into the vast mind of the Warp predator all around them. Several minutes in, his nose began bleeding, while the walls around them seemed to contort, as a scream slowly made itself known, growing louder and louder until his helmet's sound buffers had to adjust.
It was a sound wholly inhuman, though he took it as his gamble working. With haste, he took command of the ship, ancient panels and buttons upon the derelict throne still recognizable to him, as he veered the battle barge off course and into the belly of the enemy fleet.
A voidship, especially one as big as a battle barge, was truly pathetic in it's maneuvering capabilities, though the other ships in the fleet were either too surprised or too slow to get out of the way of even it's lumbering bulk. So it was that after several minutes, the ship was gliding towards the others in it's formation, creating a perpendicular line with them.
And a bit after that, Octavian achieved first blood. A small escort stood in front of the barge, with it's engines too slow to start to get out of the way and it's Void Shields too weak to stop the gargantuan ship. So it was cleaved in two by the blow.
Satisfied that his makeshift battering ram had been successfully repurposed, he told Destrudo to cease the meddling with the ship's malign soul. Even if the daemon wanted to, it could not stop it's own momentum now, a fact made abundantly clear as another psychic scream, more potent than the one before, sounded around them, as the walls seemed to cave in.
He had his men grab the weakened and bloodied Librarian, and activated a rune on his helm display.
"Engage teleportation!" he barked, smiling despite himself. They could've easily done that from the start, but the risk of losing good brothers in the transit was too high then. It was almost too high for him now as well, but even if he was reckless, he had always been good at being just the right degree of reckless for success.
With a blink, the stowaways were off, propelled by powers they barely understood housed in their armored carapace into a realm of pure thought, and then back again in the safety of their own vessel. Some of them would not make it, but the sight of the traitor's own ship barreling through their ranks almost made it worth it.
Almost.
The White Scars and the Custodian witnessed the last remnants of the Chaos blockade falter and fall to pieces. Their larger fleet had been the hammer, though the rampaging, out of control battle barge had been the anvil upon which it had been broken.
They still did not have an idea of the full extent of the enemy's presence within and around the system, but for now at least, the pathway to Macragge was clear. They had also at this point been hailed by the Ultramar Defense Fleet, which before their arrival was facing dreadful odds in keeping the Chaos forces at bay. Even now, the battle hardly seemed won, but expertly, Bodol had directed their fleet to the areas of greatest importance, as they established a safe perimeter for landing on Macragge itself.
Eventually Octavian himself emerged in the command deck, having made his way from the teleportation bay. His armor was scorched and battered, though his stride exuded confidence. He seemed to not be a fan of removing his helm.
"Captain," he acknowledged, as the master of the Ferrum Mortem moved alongside him, his veterans not far behind.
"Lord Kronos," he said gruffly, though the smile could be heard in his voice. Battle satisfaction was still within him.
"That was one of the most reckless maneuvers I have ever observed," Kronos commented, deciding to zero in on business. "I have yet to decide whether it falls under outstandingly brave or terribly stupid."
"Either or works lord. I am merely happy to have done my service."
Kronos gave him a once-over, thinking on his response, before nodding. His actions may have been less than considered, but he had given results. And results were all he cared for. Whether the Captain's intuition or luck, whichever it happened to be, would hold was yet to be tested on the world below.
"We have secured a vantage point on the ground," Nergui's voice drew their attention to a holomap approximating the assaulted world. "With good fortune, we land in the Valley of Laponis, and make for the Fortress of Hera, where the fighting will be thickest."
"What have the Ultramarines said about our presence?" Kronos asked.
"We have no idea if they even know we are here," the Stormseer admitted. "Macragge is burning and each loyal soul upon it is overtaxed with keeping it from being reduced to cinders. Even the Ultramar Defense Auxilia forces we've already contacted have rarely voxxed in the last few days."
"They are too overencumbered to even speak," Gan mused, quietly.
By his side, Kronos saw Octavian's fist clench. His aura spiked. Seeing his gene-forebearers in such a state was not doing wonders for his calm, and Kronos had to sympathize. Such sacrilege against one of the most advanced worlds in the Imperium could not be tolerated further.
"We launch as soon as we are able. Prepare yourselves, everyone. The Ultramarines, and especially the pawns of Chaos, will not find us wanting," Kronos said, and ensured the order did not go merely for those assembled on the deck, or even all those present on the ship, but for the entire fleet within his command.
Soon the deck itself was emptied of warriors, sans himself, Octavian, Gan, Nergui and Bodol. They soon began to develop the strategy with which they would strike down at the enemy below.
"What about simply launching a Drop Pod assault into their heart?" Octavian suggested.
"Not possible," Kronos said. "The area around the Fortress has been mired in all manner of traps, from what scouts report. Hundreds of death mechanisms, hidden bombs, even summoning runes to spill daemons into the Materium. I suspect the Iron Warriors are behind that one."
"They're trying to starve Hera of any assistance, while they bullrush it, hoping that loyalist relief cannot arrive in time," Octavian realized, disgusted and enraged. "Damned Chaos whoresons. It'll take weeks to stutter through this defensive line."
"Can we not simply carpet bomb the area?" Gan piped up.
"Impractical. The enemy is nothing if not pragmatic, they can and most likely have looted and repurposed any anti-air guns in the area, and that's not taking into account the danger of their own fliers and daemon engines. We don't possess a significant enough fighter wing to brute force it," Bodol countered.
Throughout the procession, Nergui had remained almost utterly silent, save for updates he received from the rest of the fleet's Astropaths, which he shared with them. He was a warrior, though not a strategist necessarily.
So it was surprising when he did argue at last for a choice.
"We could send a heavily armored, lightly manned speartip to brave the confines of the entrapped area first, then march our main force through."
"Astra Militarum tanks, and even our own are too slow. They'll also be bogged down in Macragge's mountainous terrain, along with being huge targets," Bodol said.
"I doubt that armor could even make it through what awaits us down there," Octavian mused.
"Then what do you propose, Captain?"
"Simple, Chaplain: Terminators."
"Are you serious?"
"They possess the armor, the maneuverability, and the firepower to clean through that field."
"We do not have enough to break through however," Kronos interrupted. "Think Captain: how many suits are in our possessions right now? A dozen, at most? That will not break the defensive cordon and deal with the defenders. A Terminator is formidable, but against Chaos Marines, that number is poultry."
"Why not Centurions?"
The assembled turned to look at Gan.
"They possess the necessary armor and firepower, even more so than Terminators. We have more of them than said suits, and they do not require a veteran with a Crux Terminatus to pilot. We can deploy them alongside our Venerable Fallen to blast through the enemy's defenses."
"You would have us wake the Dreadnoughts?" Octavian asked, surprised.
"The homeworld of your Primarch burns beneath our feet Doom Legionary. His holy fortress is besieged. Chaos knocks at the door of one of the greatest symbols of Imperial might and prosperity," the Stormseer responded then. "I agree with Gan. If there ever was any time to wake our ancient brothers, it is now."
The Captain could not contest such reasoning, so he did not raise any objection beyond that.
"We will need warriors," Bodol began. "Those fully engrossed within the fighting styles of their respective Centurion units. In absence of our specialist Companies, we must pick from Assault and Devastator Squad members we have on hand."
"I believe we must break convention on this occasion, honorable Chaplain," Gan said. "We can only pick the most experienced of us. Ones who have been engrossed in the ways the Centurions reflect, but have now passed that."
"Are you nominating yourself as well Gan?"
"Perhaps I am. I do not see why not. I was once one of the elite Devastators, and never fully moved past until recently. I believe I am more than qualified to go to war down there."
Before the argument could continue, Kronos put a stop to it.
"Gan's idea is not a bad one. I think we have all seen how much good convention has done in situations of crisis far lesser than this. Furthermore, it will be helpful to have my equerry by my side."
"Custodian, then are you...?"
"Yes. I have stood on the sidelines for far too long. I will be there on the Primarch's side, and that is final," he turned to both Nergui and Octavian. "You, Stormseer, will accompany us, as well as you, and any Librarians you can spare, Captain. Their gifts will be invaluable in the battle to come. You may also have any Terminators you can provide down there with us."
A beat passed, and both warriors nodded.
"It will be done."
"Aye."
He gave the assembled Marines one more look, before turning his gaze to the windows which showed the world below.
"You have much to do. Go. And may he on the Throne guide us."
Slowly, they began moving, as the preparations for the operation began, his vox already cackling with activity. He heard a chorus of something relating to the Emperor from them all, but tuned it out, already entirely focused on the subject of his quest.
Author's notes: Also known as the chapter where shit actually starts happening again.
Yeah, it's been quite a break from the action hasn't it? Well, I'm happy to announce for those who like that it is back and will likely not stop for some time. In the meanwhile, the giant teddy bears will begin their attack on the HAIRETICS.
Right, what else? Notes, notes...Oh yeah, go read Watchers of the Throne, you nerds. Great book, much better than this shit, takes less to get to the point too.
Anyway, this has been all from me. Have a good one. This has been Dome of Bones signing off.