While Tol Bader had held the line against the Droids, Phelgathon had not been idle.
He was in deep mediation, using his communion with the Dark Gods and foul rituals to weaken the border between the Material and the Blessed Realm.
Rivers of blood marked the spots where those who had refused to submit had been sacrificed to daemons.
Four Gal Vorbrak stood around him, sentinels against any intrusion. The chief of their number was absent for the moment, leading a cohort of these blessed sons against a nearby droid unit that had penetrated deep into their lines. He couldn't afford an interruption.
The secret of the Iron Collar would be revealed to him. This planet had an older war hidden in its soul, one that certain daemons could show him
The veil of reality could be parted, and if the slaughter continued at the gnashing pace it had for the past several weeks, Phelgation wouldn't even need to exert much of his own powers. This planet had been soaked in blood and the sacrifice of the cultists and the soldiers who fought against the Primordial truth.
A Daemon engine roared nearby. The hosted daemon sensing its brethren and anxious to have its kindred nearby.
He called out in the immaterium to an old counsellor of the Legion. A daemon of Tzeentch. It was powerful and dangerous to beseech but he was protected by his faith. A first acolyte was expected to commune with Daemons as potent as some Greater Heralds of the Gods. Only the Greater Daemons themselves were considered beyond their grasp. Dark fates befell those who idly invoked those forces.
His soul was beyond the petty temptations and dangers that a normal man's would be drowned in should they seek in the sea of souls. Yet contacting Qhu'dzol the Netherkeeper was difficult.
But the Daemon answered and appeared before them.
A sigil had been inscribed upon the ground, a profane sigil that would sustain the daemon outside their realm for the duration of this conversation. It was etched in the blood of the unwilling, and adorned with glyphs of endurance and chaotic designs.
Suddenly the room grew dark, save for the sigil which erupted in blue fire, flickering in hue and shape, ever shifting.
"YOU HAVE NEED OF A SERVANT OF THE GREAT CHANGER!" Qhu'dzol thundered.
"I need you to reveal the nature of an artifact I recovered here, it is connected to this world, its soul bares the scars of something, something ancient."
The daemon's form, a mass of mouths and flesh, shifting and undulating around a single black eye considered him. They had meet before, his master had summoned the Daemon to provide insight into a plot and had foiled an attempt by a chapter of Space Marines to disrupt the creation of a Daemon World.
"I know of this thing, if you knew what you had unearthed you would tremble priest. It is old, as old as the Soulless. It slumbers for now."
The creature raised an appendage, which rippled and flexed until Phelgathon could make out make out a trio of flaming spheres.
"Gaze into this and make a pact with me, I will show you what you seek and turn back time. Prepare yourself, for even one of the blessed will be shaken."
The appendage twisted towards him and halted exactly at the outermost line of the sigil of summoning.
"What is your price Daemon?"
"You will bring me its vessel, and heed my warning, do not answer its offers of power, or any offer of rescue when you are insufficient. It will consume you utterly."
The fires coalesced into an image of Kursk, but from an older era.
Phelgathon could see an ancient war raging upon its surface. Necrons fighting against Eldar who were lead by a trio of strange Xenos. They resembled an ancient Frog yet their soul fires burned like a sun, sweeping the soulless constructs aside. Yet even ones as mighty as them couldn't hold out against the silver sea of Necrons, many of them rising again to continue their war.
"The Iron Collar was forged long ago, it predates your race and is beyond your understanding of age."
The creature was almost alone, only a handful of Eldar standing between it and the necrons. It was in that moment when the Old One pulled forth the artifact. A strange energy crackled through it and something dark began to form there, defined not by anything it cast but by what it drew in.
No light escaped whatever was being called forth and as that darkness grew the souls of the Eldar began to wink out, one by one until the Old one was alone. Fire from Necron weapons attempted to kill it, an almost desperate quality to it. Yet no lance of exotic energy touched the creature.
He saw as the Old Ones too began to slowly waste away, their bodies aging rapidly and souls peeling away from their corpus. Something like agony appeared on its alien face, and soon unmistakable terror. Yet it couldn't stop.
A shape appeared, it was like a heat haze, shimmering and no true features being distinguishable. He could make out no features, or even shape, save that a sense of cold dread radiated from a great darkness spread forth, centered around the creature, the Thing. It lacked even the bright soul of a daemon. Then the image itself began to blacken, and the last thing Phelgathon saw was Necrons scattering, beset by a foe far beyond their capacity to resist. Etheric energies encountering what he could only make sense as a void, passing through it.
"What was that?"
"That knowledge my friend carries a price higher than even one of your station could grant me or even bare on its own. I think I shall spare you that revelation. It is old and no child of the Great Four. It is an ancient thing born of the greatest war this plane has witnessed. That creature is a terror and should it awaken, great and wondrous change would occur."
"What did it do?" Asked Phelgathon, awe in his voice, as he sensed the barest hint of fear in the Daemon.
"I do not know its name or if it even has one, but it is known to us Neverborn as the Devourer in the Deepest Darkness. If you have truly unearthed its vessel, you would receive great favor from all the children of the Gods."
"Now for the other half of a pact. I demand a tribute from you, Alhazred the Phelgathon. Bind yourself to me, and I will enrich you beyond your wildest dreams. A true child of Favored Lorgar is a prized champion. Serve your Gods and destroy this threat to us. It will corrupt your master soon enough."
He took a step back, startled by its clairvoyance into his identity, none had used that name since he had earned the title of Phelgathon on Aerichilla XV.
"I accent to your terms Daemon, yet I will need your legion for the war on this planet, a form of soulless constructs currently stand in my way."
"They have their part to play, and will in their own way serve the pantheon, you will depart this planet, and leave behind brothers as an offering to Chaos undivided."
Phelgathon was shocked, it was one thing to sacrifice Mortals, use them in traps and whip them up into a frenzy to exhaust enemy positions or distract them for a cunning ruse. But sacrificing brothers of the Legion.
"This road will not be an easy one, you must be prepared to lose much and suffer a great deal, now honor this agreement, and I will assist you in this quest."
As Phelgathon stared at the shifting form of the Daemon, he resolved himself. If the Gods demanded that some fall then fall they would. Lorgar hadn't baulked when the Serrated Suns were remade into the First Gal Vorbak.
"May their will be done."
He then released the power that held the Daemon there and its form began to rapidly dissolve, its single eye never breaking gaze with him, until it too faded back into the warp.
But before the passageway completely closed, a voice spoke. Rich and potent, yet faint as if spoken far away.
"You will endure many perils in this charge but be warned, corruption and envy will stalk you. Do not waver or you will be lost. Seek the powers of the Four, only through the path of balance in the storm will you prevail. You must walk the narrow path of the most righteous, never falling too far to any well."
Then all light left the room, the sigil erased from the floor and only the corpses of the mortals, neatly stacked in a corner remained.
He found a potent Vox and found the channel used by Tol Bedar.
"Tol Bedar, prepare an evacuation, we must make for off world."
"First Acolyte we will comply but we will lose the bulk of our mortal engines and soldiers."
"We'll acquire more, the Gods demand our swiftness, events occur that now threatens the Legion and many of the designs of the Dark Council."
He knew that Tol Bedar, a true believer would react to that summons.
"We will make all haste. However…"
An explosion cut Tol Bedar off, but he regained his composure and continued.
"However, expect the Droids hot on our heels, these creatures are tireless."
….
Evacuating an army and its war machines from a war zone isn't easy. Fortunately they were aided by the simplest of calculus of war. The enemy had outrun its supply chain and had stopped their offensive. They had brought up artillery guns of numerous types and intermittent shells would rain down upon them, killing mortals when they struck but some stroke of divine favor seemed to spare the Word Bearers.
Fat bellied transports and a few thunderhawks began to evacuate as many as could board them, and when a few desperate souls had attempted to follow the Word Bearers onto one of their thunderhawks, they were gunned down by one of the Squads inside it.
"Take the Guardians over all others, and as many machines as you fit into their holds." said Tol Bedar. He was directing the evacuation efforts and given their shortage of lifters, he was giving priority ot those mortals who were experienced, and had been raised in the Faith of Ancient Colchis. In fact many traced some part of their blood to that planet.
The rest of the dregs that were now being used as trip wire against the Droid army would be lifted if possible, slaves always had uses, but if it could be helped, no Word Bearer would die to save them.
Nothing had been left to chance and everything that could be recovered was. Samples had been taken of the Droids, various models being placed in containers. So began the evacuation.
