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The dam had broken, and with it flooded an irrevocable stream of knowledge that spread throughout the stars.
On the side of those allied with the realm of man, the ringings of hope in an increasingly dying choir of dread and misfortune signified the beginning of the counterattack. On thousands of worlds, resistance ranging from walking god-engines to simple militia became rabid in their purpose. The news of a resurrected son of the God-Emperor toiled a bell that had been left untouched for millennia, perhaps, as men and supermen alike put aside petty grievances in their pursuit of vindication and vengeance.
On the side of the invader, the Great Enemy, the response was decidedly mixed. Some saw great loss to be suffered from the revival of such a potentially deadly asset, one that, should the circumstances align, could mobilize the forces of the Emperor like no other living soul could. Others saw opportunity, in a pawn that few others could match in power or intelligence, should he be guided right.
On top of his tower, the disgraced Lord of the Burnt World, the Red King, smiled and roared in laughter, genuinely happy to see one of his brothers once thought long gone return to the fold. And already, a million thoughts streamed through his nigh-infinite mind, manipulations laying in wait for the perfect alignment of fate to shape them into reality. This could prove a promising venture indeed.
In another such world, slaved to the whims of their patron god, the Plague Walker, Lord of the Pale Death, sat upon his throne of fetid corpses, received the message from a great bulbous worm. In contrast to his sibling, this one boiled with spiteful anger, as his breath turned to storm and that storm into a cloud of plague that would haunt several world for years to come.
These completely opposed responses were found plentiful across the myriad hordes of Chaos, though perhaps none as intense due to none sharing a blood bond with the resurrected demigod. Yet above all else was the response of a serpentine creature, a once-man serving in soul and body the purposes of the Dark Prince of Pleasure.
A joyous smile shone outwardly from his lips as he was pleasured by his daemonic concubines, though much like in his life before falling to heresy, these petty displays of a pleased man hid a deeper, more bitter demeanor.
His brother lived once more. That was great, for it added another pawn to the Great Game, and inevitably would shake things up in the upcoming centuries unlike anything had for a long time. Furthermore, his return provided a distinct possibility of, if not making him see reason, then breaking him entirely so as to join the Great Powers, as he was destined to.
But a more fundamental part of him, the hidden pompous arrogance that had been much of what the Laer Blade had fed in the past to drive Fulgrim through to the pit, found itself in a foul mood. The poisonous strike he had inflicted upon his brother should have left him incapacitated until the Imperium was dust, and the Dark Phoenix at last had the chance to disconnect his life support himself.
Yet now with the meddling of mere mortals, his lethal curse had been undone. His pride was found fouled, and Fulgrim already hatched machinations within his labyrinthine mind, his daemonic intellect working to, if not outright do some harm to the Primarch, then at least spite him. If there was one thing the Daemon Primarch knew well, it was spite.
And oh now did he grin, as his plan was set in motion, and he descended into debauchery once more as the seeds of his little game were planted firmly.
On the first day after the resurrection of the Primarch, the Arch-Consul of Macragge, Dioclos Platin found himself safe within a bunker hundreds of meters underground, in the comfort of his entire family being there. Curiously, a certain amulet arrived by uncertain hands right at his very desk that morning, and some strange thing compelled him to wear it.
In the coming weeks, thoughts of the amulet, or perhaps more accurately those seeded by it, infested his mind. He'd wake up each day to disgusting dreams, fantasies even his young and raw self had not even thought about having. His behavior shifted, first gradually, but then more and more, as the voices in his sleep became voices in his everyday life.
He became erratic. Enclosed. He spent hours merely pleasuring himself, as he felt each ounce of humanity leave him increasingly rapidly. His family became frightened. His security detailed scarcely cared, much like before. They still had the maw of the Despoiler barely away from their doorstep, and in the grand scheme of things, a lone man was only so important and irreplaceable.
At the full reclamation of Macragge, the Arch-Consul emerged from his chambers, much as he had always been. He had informed the little security detail that his family would be staying barricaded inside for a longer period of time. After all, the invasion had just been repelled, and there more than enough provisions within.
None would have noticed his now slightly swollen frame, where the remains of his children were still being broken down within his stomach. None would've paid heed to the amulet now around his neck, curiously not dangling around. It would be all but impossible to tell the thing was now fused into his chest.
Kronos was not surprised when he had found her tending to the wounded.
Celestine had been fighting as viciously as he had, repelling daemons, Traitor Marines and other such vile creatures for weeks on end now. But whereas his armor was scorched on every square centimetre, despite the warplate itself remaining basically untouched, she remained entirely unphased.
He had that beauty never being tarnished was a myth, a sappy ideal from ages past that scarcely survived in his day, and was likely even less prevalent in this new dark Imperium. War ravaged, war destroyed, and it did so unapologetically and without bias.
That was why that which entered a warzone was made to be ugly. Giant bulky machines of death were not concerned with looking aesthetically pleasing. Neither were the people who toiled blood and sweat to win said wars, sacrificing eyes and limbs and faces in the struggle. Even the immortal Astartes and Custodes were not exempt from this attrition.
Yet she remained as if a statue had descended from one of the many gardens in the Imperial Palace. A downright heavenly light radiated from her. Kronos had not seen her sustain a single wound, and if she had, it was gone too quickly for any to notice. Her presence was downright contradictory to the vistas of filth, disease and gore she seemed to inhabit when the fighting had died down.
He approached her calmly, attempting to not disturb the circle of people who had gathered around the saint. Normally such a congregation would be terrified of his immense size and status, though at the moment they were too overcome by religious fervor to notice him stalking close. So he opted for announcing his presence with a simple, curt nod in her direction.
The sign was gotten as a hand that was bestowing stopped halfway, and the saint apologized for having to go away on a short notice. She made her way from the center of the mass to Kronos. The assembled crowd only now seemed to notice the golden giant close by, causing them to step back despite themselves. Kronos' humor was soured somewhat by these displays.
He'd found them increasingly common in recent weeks, and increasingly disturbing. The ignorance in this new age, even in comparison to some of the backwards isolated cultures they'd pacified during the Great Crusade, was truly astonishing. Of course, the rage of war dulled any surrounding sounds. And, having fought for sometimes days on end without stop in repelling the invasion at the heart of Ultramar, Kronos found himself deprived of the desire to even be regretful.
They walked seeming aimlessly for some time, though in truth were both searching for a place to discuss matters privately. It was only a few minutes in that Kronos remembered a distinct ability they both possessed, even if by different means. Thrusters emerged from the back of his armor, and he sent Celestine a knowing look.
A short time later they were standing on one of the Crow Mountain peaks. Kronos had learned the geography around the Magna Macragge Civitas by heart at this point, though the name of this particular peak escaped him for now.
Once he would've took a time to appreciate the convenience of having a portable flight pack, but like most things nowadays, even the experience of soaring through the skies had grown dull and blackened. His expression itself reflected this new mood that had gripped him now of all times, the reality of his situation made evident through the war they had had to wage for weeks now.
His face was a sunken scowl now, where serene neutrality had reigned before. No scars were present on it, sans those already accumulated in his previous life which was now over ten millennia in the past. Instead, deep lines like canyons had made their homes there. It did not diminish the inhuman beauty underneath the warplate, but it did make it all the more hostile.
"You are troubled, Golden One."
She had spoken before he had had the chance too, and that was surprising for whatever reason. Her pristine face was a mask of unknowable. The statue comparison became even more evident as one stared into that pale, perfectly carved vision, only illuminated by her glowing eyes bathed in holy white light.
"I find we are all to some extent or another, in this time, saint."
"You wished to speak to me," it was not a question. Rather a statement.
"I would not have had you follow me here if I did not," he disengaged his helm, drawing a sharp inhale of the freezing mountain air. Up here, a human might not have survived altitude sickness for long after not taking a climb to accustom themselves. He merely turned to face her nonchalantly. "How much do you know of my story?"
"Only what you have told us yourself, and what I had already seen, Golden One."
Kronos inclined an eyebrow.
"So you do have some measure of understanding on my presence here."
"Yes and no. I knew someone important would arrive here, one that was not the Emperor's son already located on this world," she said simply. "I had seen visions. Vague details, but not the whole truth. The Emperor works in mysterious ways, and I am but a humble servant. I am not privy to all His plans."
"I see. Then let me cut to the true purpose of this conversation. When I received this armor, my sire...no, a portion of him at the very least spoke to me. In that vision world he had created for us to converse, I saw a distinctive silhouette. One that could only be you, saint."
"I see. So you've spoken with Him directly?" she said, expression still remaining neutral. It only just struck Kronos he had rarely seen her with any other displays of emotion when she wasn't conversing with the faithful masses. Even in battle she was the epitome of tranquil fury.
"In a matter of speaking, yes. Unfortunately, like you, I am not beholden to all his secrets. I merely have my duty to uphold. But I suspect he does want something out of us both, in the long run. He would not have shown me you otherwise."
"So, what do you wish of me, Golden One?" she said, her porcelain face at least breaking somewhat, as true intrigue seemed to grasp at her.
"I wish for you to be sworn to me, saint. My certainty in this is nigh absolute. I will require your help, in the future. Will you do this for me?"
Her face was once more unreadable, and her surface thoughts were not knowable from the very beginning. It was as if some sort of protection was draped over her. Even her eyes, which were now met with his own, betrayed nothing, for they were pearly voids glistening even in the bright day.
Then a graceful smile lit up her lips, small though radiant enough to seemingly light up the atmosphere around her by several gradients.
"I would be honored to assist you Golden One. Yes, I will do whatever you require of me."
"Good," Kronos said, suddenly wanting to cut the encounter short. His job was done, and for some reason he couldn't stand to look at her in the eyes anymore. "There is a perilous journey ahead. For all of us."
"And we will walk it as always, guided by the Emperor's light."
He paused briefly, before nodding. Retrieving his helm and putting it on, his boosters roared to life with a thought as he took off, leaving Celestine to the cold mountain air.
Hulking transports barged through the air. Heavy tanks shook the ground, as their engines churned and rumbled like hungry beasts. Capital ships skimmed the edges of the atmosphere, their massive forms insurance of protection from above. Massive orbital turned in mock demonstrations of their full capability, as millions of humans, soldier and civilian alike strode.
Above all else, the steps of over two thousand warriors of the Astartes rent all sounds moot as they marched at the forefront of the procession. Ultramarine blue was accented by a rainbow of other colors, as hundreds of Marines had arrived on Macragge, some even before the news, but most specifically to swear their allegiance to the reborn Primarch.
Kronos found the sentimentality charming at the very least. When mankind was lost it always looked to the grandeur of the past for answers. Finer times of prosperity were preserved as well as they could be, and looked back upon when mankind needed an ideal. Here, the glories of the Great Crusade were emulated, and the effect of a living, breathing demigod general of the past coming back to life certainly only helped add fire to the already fervently burning masses.
Alongside him were all of their newfound allies, right down to even the xenos inhabiting a spot atop the moving platform the Primarch was on. Kronos' patience was beginning to run thin. While he understood the purpose and value of the alliance, something about the Eldar unnerved him ever since he had laid eyes upon them again. As if staring into an unstable bomb, is how he'd best describe it.
But regardless, he tolerated them. He had not had much interaction with the rest of the assembled since the last several days. Guilliman was busy almost every second of every day, and so he rarely did more than submit quick updates. Most of his time was spent in the company of Gan, who accompanied him even here, where persons by all rights superior in rank even to him were forced to all treat him as an equal, by merit of his honorbound duty to the Custodian.
Rounding out the unusual group was the Arch-Consul of Macragge, who had been the mastermind behind the whole parade. Kronos did not know what to think of the man. His aura was truly a mystery. He had been told the Consul had changed much since the invasion. Potential signs of cowardice were not what he expected of one of Ultramar's retainers, though he hoped the man would be shifted for the better rather than the worse from the experience.
And so it was that the procession moved ahead completely normally. Almost to a tee truly. Something was flaring up in the back of his head in regards to this, though he ignored it. Caution was a necessary part of his duty, though paranoia hardly did anyone good. Killing a leader surrounded by his armies would be a brilliant, morale shattering move by the opposing side, though this was no mere lesser man whom the procession was made for.
And the people guarding him, his closest retainers were no lesser men and women either. He struggled to believe even an enraged Warlord Titan would think lightly on engaging such a fearsome group, and that was the contents of the moving platform alone. In a way, it was the closest to relaxed he could've been. There was truly no way the enemy could attack here in any significant way.
So why then was he so tense?
Several hours of rotating around the capital of Macragge, and providing enough pict-feed to be broadcast for generations to the masses, the crescendo of the procession had arrived. The words of tens of priests, commanders and men of character blared from speakers, all building to the Primarch himself addressing the public. The Marines marched on, tireless and emotionless within their death masks of war, yet with hearts swelled similarly to the humans.
All knew they were witnessing the beginning of something grand. Something beyond what had been seen in the last several millennia. Kronos could not fault them for the excitement. Yet for all the cheer, he could not shake the foreboding feeling within him. In general, Guilliman's direct council looked hardly in a celebratory mood. Few words were exchanged and most faces were solemn, save for Celestine, who had the same gracious smile she always did when she was servicing the masses.
He knew why they were on edge. They all realized this was but a beginning. A beginning to a long and arduous task that could see most of them dead by the end, if they made it at all. The Primarch himself was not quite enthralled either, though as a leader of men and an extremely intelligent one, he kept that to himself, remaining regal and resplendent in his full armor. Few would ever know he could not take it off.
To top off the parade, the Consul himself motioned for servants of his to bring forwards a majestic finecast gold laurel, fit exactly for Guilliman's head. And this was where Kronos' strange feeling went from an annoyance in his head to a booming in his chest. Something was truly wrong with this, but he had no idea what it was.
He looked to the others, only to see them all oblivious. Was his mind tricking him? Why now of all times?
Deciding to step forward, Kronos requested inspecting the laurel himself. The assembled all wore faces of slight surprise, with a few being uncaring whatsoever. Guilliman himself stayed silent, processing the exchange, while the Arch-Consul assured nothing was amiss.
"I am the Emperor's guardian. My job was and is still the security of his being above all others. With his orders, that security extends to his resurrected son as well," he said, quickly and inviting no more debate.
As he grabbed the laurel from the hands of the servant however, he dropped almost immediately. His hand felt like it had been burnt, even through the thick armor plating. Now he knew for certain that something was amiss, and the others noticed as well.
He attempted to detain both servants, but as he laid hands on them, both started convulsing as their flesh boiled and horrible deformities were revealed to him. Clothes falling off shrinking bodies, becoming more and more putrid as they were revealed in their entirety. The ones below the platform could not see, but all those on top of it mobilized, bringing weapons to bear.
Without having been told, a Grand Master of the Grey Knights, Voldus, attempted to stop the Arch-Consul himself, though was met with a similar result to Kronos' own as he witnessed a detestable mutant within the clothing and skin of man. In it's chest was ingrained a gemstone-amulet, whose connection to the body became readily more apparent as the misshapen husk of a creature was stripped of it's disguise.
From the direction of the cursed trinket, Kronos heard a hushed whisper, much like a snake rapidly moving it's tongue, feeling out the world, before it ceased altogether. Guilliman had already raised himself from his throne, and was looking at his supposed servant, now revealed for the monster it truly was with burning eyes. With a single thrust of his sword the creature was practically vaporized instantly, such was his fury.
He took his place upon the throne again, resting one armored hand against his head for several seconds, the only sign of tiredness he ever allowed himself to display. None spoke a word to him, and it was not long before he spoke for them.
"Grand Master, please see to it personally that that cursed thing is destroyed," he said, obviously referencing the object of false glory that had fallen from the Custodian's hands. Voldus confirmed it would be done so, and then all the assembled awaited Guilliman's answer. One simple word was it, and said word would inhabit their minds for days to come:
"Fulgrim."
As the Imperial war machine ramped itself up, the incident, already exclusive to the few present at the platform's top, was quickly forgotten. None had learned what traitorous whispers Guilliman had been imparted by his fallen brother, only that the man seemed more determined than ever to begin his mission.
Kronos himself oversaw the repurposing of the fleet he had initially stormed the besieged Macragge system with into a part of the unified, Terran Crusade fleet. The name of the expedition was only one among many remainders that they would have to sail now unknown territory, as the Great Rift threw Warp travel as they knew it into complete disarray.
Even without his psychic sense, the fragrance of nervousness was practically a physical constant across all the halls of the Crescent Moon, which had by now been repaired. Technicians, soldiers, servants and more all knew what was to come. They embraced their new mission, and for that they were to be commended, for the flight to Terra was going to be anything but easy. But they were all still painfully human in their response.
The warriors of the Astartes were a wholly different matter, as was to be expected. But they did not go unchanged either. They were definitely charged, an energy unlike before running through their ranks, whether they be the White Scars he was used to interacting with, or the myriad other Chapters partaking in some measure.
The Ultramarines out of all were the most obvious example, and the cause was not hard to identify. Having their gene-lord and sire return from his deathly slumber had reinvigorated a force that had been dealt a crushing blow by the Black Legion assault. They were ready to fight and die, more so than possibly anyone else in the newly assembled force.
"Our Captain regretfully informs he can not join us in this mission," Nergui's voice rang, snapping him out of the concentration on the fleet's assembly before him.
"Mundus Planus?" Kronos asked, knowingly.
"Chogoris," Nergui corrected, before continuing. "The majority force of the Chapter has been recalled there to defend it. It has been invaded quite extensively, from what I hear. We are only allowed to stay because of Lord Guilliman's direct order."
"I know it pains Stormseer. You may speak freely."
"It does Lord Kronos. It does, to all of us. No White Scar would desire anything more than to tear the throats of our enemies, assaulting our home. But we are honorbound. A great destiny awaits us too."
Kronos did not look at the Stormseer, instead focusing once more on the armada below, above and all around him.
"Let us hope so."
Author's notes: Well well well, a little under 2 months later and here we are. I hope you all forgive this truly massive break (for me at least), but I really could not summon the will to write this properly until recently. My creativity took quite a blow since a few shifting conditions played into my life. Nothing bad, just I no longer found myself enjoying this as much.
That being said, is this a proper return? I don't know. From now on however, I will tell you to not expect anything close to a schedule in regards to this. Chapters will be done when they are.
That being said, I do hope you enjoy this one. Like, share, comment, subscribe and donate to my paid subscription service, alrite, thas it, Dome of Bones out.