The ship lurched, blaring klaxons sounding throughout the vessel. The bodies of several mortal slaves lay strewn around the chamber. One of the blue clad new marines that Gulliman had brought forth with his new crusade was cast down before Phelgathon, his red helmet cracked and his armor awash with blood. He was missing one of his arms, torn off by the powerfist of one of the Anointed. His armor was of the new pattern and he was large for a marine.
Phelgathon studied him, noting the strangeness of this pattern, how it harkened back to the armor of the Great Crusade. Almost as if the so called Avenging Son was trying to recapture the past.
"You are all damned, for turning against the light of the Emperor, look what you make out of humanity. These wretches, it is mercy to end their torment."
Phelgathon gestured and one of the terminators ripped the helmet off the marine before staving in his skull with a power maul. He presented the helmet to Phelgathon.
Tol Bader's voice cut through Phelgathon's vox, delivering his report.
"The others are being put to the sword or being gathered for possession by the Neverborn. Our warpsmith is gathering much of the new equipment for study and soon this vessel will join our fleet."
"Well done Tol Bader, you have outdone yourself this day."
The battle had been swift, they had encountered a Strike Cruiser on its own doing a patrol of the system. Their attack had been swift and it had been overwhelmed quickly, their damaged ships not wishing a prolonged engagement. Mass boarding assaults had been used to subdue the vessel as undamaged as possible.
It had been a desperate battle and these new space marines had fought with more strength than the normal thin blooded Astartes could normally muster. Their Captain had been torn apart by a crazed Helbrute during his last stand. They had odd troops wearing armor which was grossly oversized versions of their regular armor, paired flamers attached to their powerfists which they used to deadly affect against those crazed mortals that had been thrown against them. They did not fare well when a pair of Helbrutes had come hurtling behind the Cultists.
The Secondborn had proven their worth over again in this ship, herding those crew that could be useful together, their control over their battlelust was exceptional and they would be rewarded as the enemy was made their brothers.
The ship would have to be scoured of iconography to the False God, and reconsecrated to the True Deities of the Warp.
Yet they were running low on ammunition in the wake of this battle, their war with the Machine Men and now with the Returned Primarch was leaving them in dire need of a refit. Several Decks had to be sealed after they had been exposed to the void.
Fortunately this vessel was well stocked with munitions that his brothers were using to replenish some of their diminishing stock piles. They had expended massive quantities in the invasion of Kursk and while losses amongst his brothers were light, they had only lost 24 Marines most of whom had been caught in the bombardment from the enemy's flagship and a few to enemy weapons, the losses among the human soldiers and slaves of his host were extensive, and they would need to find new bodies to fill their slave holds and troop transports.
"Niurta, guide us to the rest of our host, we have dalied here long enough. Send over crews to man this vessel with us, it will be a prize to present to the Host."
The transition to the Warp was odd, even for that realm. The warp which was so beautiful, so full of light and denizens grew darker and the Neverborn grew quieter as they approached the fleet. Niurta was under increasing strain to find a path, as the light from both the False Emperor and the Great Eye seemed to become obscured by a smog. Not unlike the Shadow of a Hive Fleet, but this was weaker, and the aura was different, not a smothering blanket, but the hush of fear. Those Daemons bound within Engines and to the various weapons of those exalted above their brothers could tell, their change, their almost reluctance to manifest, withdrawing.
A voice sounded, the ship's machine spirit's calm tones over the vox.
"Prepare for emergence into realspace, prepare for emergence into realspace."
They arrived, the battered ships emerging into the Legion muster ground.
The place was a discrete point where they had been able to construct an untethered dockyard. It had been salvaged from an abandoned Imperial station dating back to the Great Crusade. Such derelicts were common in the oldest sections of Imperial Space, relics to the past. This one would serve the true champions of humanity and would restore their battered ships.
The great fleet which had been anchored here last had departed, only a few token vessels at anchor points around the great dockyard, which was large enough to host several battleships. Several slave ships brought in hauls of metal and ore to serve its great foundries and armories that kept their host sustained. At the top rose a temple to the Dark Gods, awash in faith and it served the brothers of the host, sustaining their faith, their true blade.
Batteries began tracking them, massed lances ready to pulverise any hostiles. But they would not fire upon him. His ship Herald of the Primordial Truth broadcasted its hail.
"It is good to see you return First Acolyte, how did your expedition against the machines fare?" The voice was firm and solid, Samaur, one of the Chosen.
"Militarily it was less than successful, we managed to inflict damage to their slave population and destroy several of their vessels. Yet I was brought a revelation from one of the Dark Powers. I must speak with Adramelech, we know not what we brought with us."
"What do you mean, you should've seen the Neverborn bound that collar."
Phelgathon froze, staring at his brother's image.
"Adramelech told us that it was vindication of the Word, Lorgar's truth brought to us, and the might of the pantheon together."
"We must speak of this together brother,I shall hear of this in person."
They docked and the long process of repair and rearmament would begin. Several months would be required to return their vessels to front line state. Enough time to commune with the Daemon and acquire enough direction to show his brothers here their folly. The Word Bearers were strong because of their orthodoxy and the bonds of faith, shattering them in a brother war would only serve the False Emperor.
…
The dim lights of the exit chamber brightened as he arrived on station. His few Chosen and Tol Bedar behind him. Walking over was Samaur, with an honor guard of two dozen brothers of the host.
"It is joyous to be reunited with our First Acolyte, we have wondered what tales of conquest you would bring to us, have more of humanity joined the flock?"
Phelgathon and Tol Bedar walked down the ranks of their brothers, who stood in salute of their officers, bolters raised to point their magazines at them. At the end stood Samaur who saluted with his blade, a massive power axe.
Beside him was an icon bearer, carrying aloft a bronze image of the Word Bearer's iconography, a snarling daemon's face emerging from flames atop a book.
The Icon Bearer was clad in an old suit of MK 2 plate as befitted his ceremonial role.
While such old patterns of armor were occasionally still in use by some, only a handful were still produced in forges hidden within the Eye and the Ruinstorm.
"Samaur, I would speak to you in private regarding the revelations of the Dark Apostle."
"I will reveal them to you then brother."
They marched through the fortress, past choirs of cultists singing praises to the Dark Gods, past the occasional stalking daemon. The could hear the screaming of daemon engines that had been chained in lower segments, echoing up through an elevator shaft.
The maze of the station's internal structure also allowed it to support the hundreds of millions of slaves, cultists and more professional soldiers that made up the bulk of their armies. Massive hydroponic sections had to maintained to feed the human populations and several smaller stations and several decks of the larger one had been given over to cultivation.
They arrived at the spartan quarters that Samaur had taken as his own. Several armor slaves and servant cultists milled about them ensuring proper order was maintained and the chamber kept its proper reverent aspect.
"Leave us." Barked Samaur.
"What did you wish to tell me, First Acolyte?"
"The creature inside that artifact is not of the Pantheon, it was a weapon created long before us, for the first Great Wars of the Necrons and their adversaries."
"You must forgive me First Acolyte but I am not learned in those ancient conflicts."
"It was a great war, the oldest that we know of, to hear the records speak of it, it dwarfed even Horus's Rebellion. The Necrons brought forth their Star Gods to win it and caged themselves within their metal bodies, forsaking their souls to win. This creature is a weapon or a warrior dating back to that war."
"So are you saying that it does not fulfill the Word, I will need more proof, it is your word against the Apostles, and he did show us its miracles."
"Gather sacrifices and prepare a summoning ritual, I will bring forth the Neverborn that brought me these tidings, a Divine Herald of the Changer of Ways. He will share with you the revelations that brought me to this."
"As you command, I will do this, but be careful First Acolyte, I may be your man, but there are those on this station who fully support the Apostle, and will not hear your words. The Coryphaus has left behind several Anointed and Chosen to ensure that heresy does not take root here. We will have to remove them if they are tainted by this false belief."
Samaur seemed shaken, doubt seething through his expression.
He would see the light and Samaur had always been loyal to Phelgathon, but should a brother war occur amongst the Host, the Dark Council would have those responsible on both sides censured, executed in all probability.
They prepared the rites of summoning, it took several hours, for here the veil was thin and easily pulled back. Summonings such as this were common place amongst the more senior members of the Legion. They sacrificed nine willing slaves, and in turn sacrificed nine who had been deceived as too their purpose here. Profane rites were conducted to entice the Herald.
Phelgathon built the summons to a peak, and began the final chant. The quartet of Gal Vorbak began to twitch, their bonded daemons sensing a far greater presence drawing close.
"I call forth the speaker of truth, child of the Changer of Ways, he of the truthful lie and the deceptive honesty. I call forth the Herald of the Cohort of the Everchanging Inferno, may you heed my cry and enlighten this wayward Son, bringing him closer to the Great Truth. Qhu'dzol Netherkeeper, come forth!"
Blue fire erupted from the center of the room, and a hand emerged from its center, lifting aloft a swirling stream of yellow, blac and blue sparks which coalesced into the form of the Daemon. The black eye at the center was its constant, the truth within the lie, staring at them, its vision casting shadows without light to create them that writhed at the edges of sight.
"Your wish is already known to me Alhazred, I shall bring forth enlightenment to this faithful son. It is the will of our masters that this thing be stopped.I also bring a warning. You must prepare, for the Dark Son is returning, he has taken your master, a student of the powers and corrupted his soul."
Images flashed through the room, starting with the scene of the first unleashing of the monster, and its loss for million of years. Its recovery by Imperial Agents, protected by their ignorance and wards of Faith in their God. Then appearing before him and Samaur was a vision of the beast now, it was locked in combat, its vast shadow hiding a form inside, its edges flickering and threatening as it battled a Bloodthirster in the Warp. The creature made a swiping motion and hordes of lesser daemons which rushed it were swept aside, the numberless hordes of daemons unable to close with it. It took far stronger warp borne monsters to face down this ancient enemy. A great presence appeared and Warp Lightning crackled around the monster, a Lord of Change striking it with blows of psychic force.
The image crackled and puffed like paper before a roaring fire.
"I cannot show much of this battle without being drawn into it myself. The champions of the Dark Gods do battle with this monster but its anchor in this realm gives it an advantage. You must break its hold, free your master and save the souls of your brothers. Time is growing short for them."
Samaur collapsed to the floor, the sights streaming through his mind bringing the Chosen to his knees. The Gal Vorbak were in their battle forms, the sheer strength of the Netherkeeper bringing their bonded Daemons to the fore.
Phelgathon alone of the wholly mortal in the room remained standing.
"You will not be alone in this quest, another has taken up the charge to halt this. Do this and earn the Favor of all Four of the Pantheon."
Phelgathon knelt before the daemon, accepting and renewing his charge. They had to slay this beast and he would brush all aside in his path to accomplish this aim.
"By the name of the Urizen, by the most Holy Primarch, may his glory know no end, it shall be done."
