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Lieutenant Mercutio stood tall and rigid as an oak tree upon the platform of the colonel's Leviathan, awed and humbled by the rare honor of standing beside the officers of the Whiteshields in the Landing Parade.
For the first time in their lives, the youths of the Whiteshields regiment would bear witness to the arrival of the famed Volscani Cataphracts upon the fields of Tyrok outside the bastions of the hive cities. The hardened Cadian sector defenders were called upon by the Cadian High Command to assemble at Cadia Prime, their presence primarily to boost morale and ensure stability reigned above panic in both the Imperial Guard and the citizens under their protection.
With the increasing frequency and scale of Chaos activity within the sector, it was most wise that the Lord Castellan called for a mass mobilization of the sector defense forces. With the Astartes kept busy far from the Cadian Gate, it was up to the men and women of the Astra Militarum to maintain the security of the Segmentum Obscurus.
"Throne of Terra, I've never seen so many of them!" Mercutio breathed in proudly, taking in the thousands of battle-hardened guardsmen arriving in scores of Valkyrie dropships. The Volscani numbers were indeed many, so much that mobile landing pads were commissioned to accommodate the troops making landfall upon Tyrok. Though trained to endure days of standing still, the lieutenant hated the waiting as restlessness gnawed on him like a starved hound.
"Over there, LT." Sgt. Ekohr pointed at the regiment painted in distinctive dark green and bearing pauldrons of reinforced steel. The colors of their standard and the twin Titans standing tall above the formation were instantly recognizable, "That's Creed's 8th!"
"Eyes front, lads!" Mercutio's captain growled, "And keep your mouths shut! Don't embarrass me now!"
Mercutio's bootheels clack loudly in response as he straightened himself, eyes fixed upon the planetary governor's mobile command center. The legendary Ursarkar Creed was here, on Cadia! All thoughts of irreverence left the young man's mind as he stood upon that platform in the heat of Cadia's late afternoon air. He was among heroes! This was a day of celebration, a reprieve from the constant battles no matter how small. He would enjoy it as much as he could.
The massive construct's engines bellowed loud above the heavy thunder of the guardsmen's march as it made its way to the head of the parade. By the time men had assembled upon the fields, the sun had already begun dipping itself into the horizon.
Lord Castellan Marus Porelska stepped out of the massive doors of his gilded Leviathan with his entourage of high-ranking officials, composed mostly of decorated commissars and representatives of the Adeptus Mechanicus, ready to greet the Volscani regiments come to reinforce their brothers and sisters upon Cadia Prime. The klaxons magnified the governor's words above and beyond the massive fields of Tyrok as he began his speech, "Men and women of the Astra Militarum! Welcome back to Cadia Prime!"
Everyone's attention was fixed upon the Lord Castellan's words, everyone save for Mercutio, whose attention was ever wandering from one regiment to another as he scanned the field before him- much to the annoyance of his commanding officer.
Finally, the young man's keen eyes fell upon the Volscani Cataphracts. Awe gave way to suspicion, however, as he scrutinized the various additions to the guardsmen battle regalia. With the dizzying vision of a thousand bodies pressed together, it was easy to mistake the stains upon their weapons and armor for medals or some other battle-camo. How could anyone have missed that?
"Captain-
Before Mercutio could finish his sentence, gunfire erupted among the ranks of the assembled guardsmen! In a flash, standards of the Volscani regiment were cast down, replaced by banners made out of human skin adorned with heretic symbols and runic markings!
Only Creed, the colonel of the Cadian 8th regiment sprang into action where all else succumbed to confusion and disarray. "Heretics! Kill them!"
Bolter and lasfire shot out from all directions, bodies started piling upon the assembly field, and the planetary governor's personal transport got swarmed from all sides as the regiments surrounding the Leviathan fell to the traitors' assault.
Marus Porelska, after serving the Imperium for seventy solar years, met his end hacked to pieces by the maddened Volscani as they dragged him out of the tank and into the open ground. With his desecrated remains in hand, they raised it up for all to see, intent on shattering Imperial Guard morale as the Cadian High Command lay butchered upon Tyrok Fields.
This served to anger the surviving loyalists, however, and even more so in the case of the 8th Regiment. Ursarkar Creed, the highest ranking officer alive, took command of the remaining guardsmen and mounted a counter-assault to beat back the advancing tide. The cities lay within a mile of the assembly fields, and if they were to be defeated in this single attack, Cadia would fall and the whole sector will follow. Mercutio, duty-bound to protect his homeworld at all costs, felt his heart swell with righteous zeal. As a stray round struck his captain upon the cheek, the lieutenant was quick to take command and grabbed the fallen officer's chainsword. "Get the fucking Leman Russes in here!"
The Whiteshields' standards fly high as the hulking bricks of metal and hardened steel barrel inward to assist the vastly outnumbered loyalist regiments. Cannons roared as shells were discharged, man-made weaponry pitted against warp-twisted creature and monstrosities. With the shed of first blood, the tears into the hellish realm were opened up, innate psyker guardsmen were sacrificed every now and then to keep them open. Every hour that passed, the numbers of the heretics doubled as the daemons joined in the
It had been a while since the men and women of Cadia faced against the hordes of Chaos on the homeworld, dating back until the 12th Black Crusade of the dreaded Despoiler. Rumors had circulated that this was just the beginning of what seemed to be the 13th Black Crusade, rumors and speculations that Mercutio wished remained as such.
The engine of the captured Leviathan roars to life as the Volscani brought the ancient movile fortress to purpose, turning its massive guns upon the loyalists still reeling from the sudden attack. The Macro cannons showered the fields of Tyrok with a rain of steel and fire, shattering the resolve of the Imperial Guard and causing them to break formation.
Mercutio couldn't blame them, for the powerful weapons of the Leviathan were truly things to be feared, yet he must maintain their morale as commanding officer. He strode forward, donning the façade of courage as he moved to restore order amongst his men. "Get back in formation, you soldiers of Cadia! A little thunder won't hurt you! Pick up your lasguns and fight!"
As screaming shells impacted all around him, the young officer soon found himself face to face with a towering heretic, size doubled to monstrous proportions as the Warp infused him with ruinous energies. "It is not thunder you should fear, loyalist dog!" It raised its massive arms to strike the smaller man, "But the lightning that precedes it!"
Mercutio's chainsword revs up as he squeezed the trigger, he brings it up to block the possessed Volscani's weapon as it falls with incredible speed, sending him down on one knee as the force of the blow shakes his whole body. The lieutenant possessed no artificial augmentations of any kind, for he trusted himself to improve his own body naturally. This strength would do little when pitted against a warped man, but it offered a slight advantage in this case, for the heretic's mind was split into a thousand when he offered himself up to Chaos, whereas Mercutio was of one mind and body.
The teeth of the chainsword eats viciously against the flak-armor of the possessed guardsman and tears at his flesh as the lieutenant swiftly dove to the side from beneath the larger man. The boltpistol whips up and bores two holes in the back of the traitor's skull. Blood and viscera spill into the field, the possessed guardsman shudders as the life leaves him abruptly.
"Even with lightning, I shall know no fear!" Mercutio declared. The brief display coaxed a little bit of courage out of the onlooking loyalists. Seeing their commander deal with the possessed man and proving him vulnerable to conventional means as any mortal, they surged forward with raised lasguns and steeled hearts. The battle at Tyrok fields resumes with renewed vigor as the war hero Ursarkar Creed lead them straight into the heart of the rebellion, meeting the Volscani tide with their own in an unrelenting clash of sword and gun.
Terror gripped the hearts of the Imperial Guard as the greater daemon's roar drowned out the noise of battle, sending them cowering in the nearest bit of cover their bodies could huddle beside. Yet this was not the roar of a beast ready to close in for its kill, it was the roar of a wounded monster backed into a corner.
The bloodlust-addled mind of the daemon could not understand why its strength was all for naught in the face of this white-clad hero. Thousands of valiant warriors had fought against it only to be crushed beneath its mighty hooves, why not him? There was no room for the daemon to answer the questions plaguing its panicked thoughts, for its only response was to act upon its basest instinct- lashing out.
Horus side-stepped the daemon's axe-swing as it came down; ignoring the tremor the weapon made as it buried itself deep into the bloodied street, then leaped forward, tackling the beast and driving it off-balance as they tumbled into the corpse-ridden cistern below.
The Blood Angels finished off the remaining cultists and heretic astartes before amassing at the edges of the waterway, looking on in grim anticipation as the Nameless Hero battled the daemon upon the muck-filled trench. There was no lasting defiance in the Bloodthirster's scrap with Horus, only the final breaths that heralded its approaching end.
The lightspear shone with the light of a newborn sun as Horus raised it high and kept its brilliance as he plunged it deep into the daemon's heart, burning it away from all existence. For the grizzled veterans of the Blood Angels, this was the first time they've seen a daemon truly die. Vengeful hearts were filled with joy at the sight, for the Blood God's servant wasn't spared another day to fight, while others looked on in suspicion at what had been done.
Numitor, the highest ranking Sanguinary officer amongst the Blood Angels, had no room for doubt at what his eyes had witnessed. His mind, like all his brothers of the cursed chapter, was so plagued with grief and the ceaseless cycle of the Black Rage that he welcomed the change this battle represented. The elder apothecary gripped the body of the holy chalice as he approached the man, armor sullied with the ichor and stains of battle.
They had but a moment to break words, for there was a war yet to be fought. "Brother! Welcome to Agripinaa!" Numitor greeted the Nameless Hero, "Would that circumstances have been favourable that I would greet you better. Come, there are more traitors to kill on this world."
"This greeting is all the kind I need." The Nameless Hero replied as he held up the strange spear. Numitor watched as the blade bursts into flames as it burned away the blood of the daemon still smeared upon it, "I bear good news. The battle above Agripinaa has been won, and the traitors left upon the forge-world are without reinforcements for the time being. If we push to regain control of this world, now is the hour to do so."
"Agreed, but will you be joining us?"
Horus took pause in this inquiry. This was not the purpose he felt he was called upon. Indeed, this assault on the worlds of the Segmentum Obscurus was the start of something bigger than a mere raid orchestrated by the forces of Chaos. His mind, though young in years, was filled with military experience from centuries of serving in the Imperium prior to his fall. Nothing was done in accident, all had a purpose, and he knew the Chaos gods' foul hands were at work here.
His personal crusade to release the Emperor from the Golden Throne will definitely have to wait. But before he could answer the priest's inquiry, Horus received a transmission from the Golgo's Respite bearing ill tidings. "Milord, you need to hear this."
"Give me a moment, brother." Horus politely withdrew from the conversation. Reports came in of overpopulated Hive Worlds as far apart as the Scarus and the Cadian Sectors erupting suddenly in violence, seemingly without cause. Even the higher echelons of Hive World Tabor and the naval base at Belis Corona proved to be riven with Chaos Cults.
Charismatic demagogues incited frenzied mobs to fight the ruthless, crushing oppression inherent in the Imperium's system of rule, and hundreds of thousands heeded their seditious ravings. Assassinations and poisonings heralded new eras of anarchy in key warzones, and whole supply fleets mysteriously vanished.
Nemesis Tessera, St. Josmane's Hope and Lelithar were all ravaged by insurrection. The worlds of the Belis Corona System underwent a massive recruitment drive for the Imperial Guard and the Imperial Navy, and priestly delegations stirred up the new Imperial conscripts into a fever of righteous anger.
Horus despaired at the flood of ill tidings that washed upon him, but he refused to allow it to hinder his quest of redemption. No matter how dark the days have become for the Imperium, the penitent Primarch felt it was his duty to bring back the dawn of days so that hope may never fade for mankind. "I'm sorry, my brother. I cannot tarry here, for my quest takes me elsewhere. Carry on your tasks here without me."
Aggregius, who was more familiar with the sector compared to his nameless companion, inquired of what he felt was of greater import. "Captain Maranda, what about Cadia Prime? I believe these attacks are mere noise sent to distract our forces from the true threat. Is there any report of an assault upon the Segmentum capital?"
"Your concern is not at all misguided, milord. I share it as well. Communications show nothing but static, and our astropaths are going mad to the point of death onboard the Golgo's Respite. I've coordinated our efforts with the rest of the fleet here on Battlegroup Agripinaa, they report the same."
"What do the astropaths say, Captain?" Horus asked, dreading the reply.
"It would be better if you heard it yourself, milord. I'm transmitting the feeds directly from the deciphering chambers of the astropaths that yet live."
Horus frowned upon hearing the feverish moans of the tormented psykers chained to the ancient machinery of the Golgo's Respite. In his day, psykers were tolerated as functioning members of society both military-wise and other, even as far as allowing them to guide or directly influence the armies of the Imperium. Seeing those unfortunate souls used as nothing more than flesh-automatons greatly disturbed the Primarch, for he knew such a need was unnecessary had he not allowed himself to fall in that Great Rebellion.
The telepathic choir was restrained as they soaked up the maddening visions and portents of the Warp, most of which were as useless as the noise one hears in the background of a vox-communique. "And lo, as the veil is drawn on the last age of Man, the Despoiler shall gather his hosts once more. Where twelve times before the Faithful have cast him out, now shall he prove their undoing. For Man has grown weak, despairing at the woes of the galaxy. Where are the Faithful now? Where are the men that stood beside our Lord the Immortal Emperor and at His side conquered all? Gone. They are less than ashes in the cold, cold earth. At the Thirteenth hour shall the Despoiler return. All Humanity shall tremble, for lo, his doom is upon him."
The Emperor's Tarot, a collection of divining cards was cast upon the decisive deck of the bridge. It did not bode well for the Segmentum as Cpt. Maranda witnessed the combination of the Eye of Horus with the Great Host, the Shattered World above the Emperor's Throne reversed, and the Galactic Lens reversed.
It signified the gathering of the powers of Chaos and the death of many worlds.
In the background, Tzeentch laughed, greatly amused at the slow pace the mortal minds had to comprehend the scale of the Despoiler's plot to at last shatter the gates of Cadia. The newborn Horus seemed competent enough to thwart the siege of Agripinaa, a world inconsequential compared to the others already falling to the violent unrest of the panicking Imperial citizens and the raids of other aspiring Chaos champions. Yet even with his commendable accomplishments, the Lord of Change felt that this venture of the penitent Primarch was reckless and a waste of potential.
Being the God of Plots, Tzeentch came up with another plan to sway the Primarch to his cause. But first thing's first, he had to back up Abaddon in his campaign to bring the Segmentum Obscurus to its knees.
"Our will falters!"
The last cry of the battle-sister rang through the timeless skies of the Warp before the daemon's talons dug deep into her throat, robbing her of voice and staining the rust-colored earth below with her blood. She fell, joining the hundred corpses piling upon the clump of earth plucked from the world swallowed up by the Empyrean.
Five companies of loyal warmaidens, that's how many of them started out in the voyage for the glorious crusade, led by the holy Confessor Alorios Telln. Time felt like hours as the rifts opened and took them into the roiling oceans of the Warp, but every sister knew that centuries had passed since they've left the safety of realspace.
Here they were now, crashed upon a daemon infested world deep within the recesses of the Warp and at the mercy of the hellish guardians stationed there. Khorne himself watched with what little amusement his ruinous mind could muster as the servants of the Imperium and his own daemonkin spilled blood in his honor upon the makeshift arena once known as Ororo V.
Confessor Telln had fallen easily, much to the Blood God's displeasure. The man, clothed in purity and piety that masked a nature mired in lechery and degeneracy, died pissing himself as a greater daemon cleaved him in two.
Inwardly, the sisters were glad to see him go, but focused their minds on repelling the daemon swarms pouring in from the depths of Ororo V. Day after day, they worked to keep the enemy off the backs of their servitors as they pieced together the vital components required to get their ships back online. Unfortunately, the battle-barges were so ancient that not even the fervent prayers could coax the machine-spirits to cooperate.
Nevertheless, it felt like a good end for the sisters, for they would die fighting the enemies of the Imperium- a spit in the eye of Chaos.
"We will be martyrs!" Canonness Eleanor and Genevieve, twin sisters who stood by the side of the Confessor until his swift death, rallied the broken Adepta Sororitas to their raised banners. To keep their wavering morale ever true, the twins began singing battle hymns whilst pelting the advancing red tide with bolter-fire.
"A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing!
Our helper He, amid the flood of mortal ills prevailing!"
It came as great comfort to the pure maidens of the Martyred Lady order, their ears picking up the tune and lips forming the blessed words.
"For still our ancient foe doth seek to work us woe!
His craft and pow'r are great, and, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal!"
Daemonic fire rained down upon the entrenched sisters, who stood shoulder to shoulder at their approaching end. They no longer feared their impending doom, their faith in the Emperor ever strong.
"Dost ask who that may be? The Emperor, it is He!
Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,
And He must win the battle!"
The daemons were closing in, their fiery breaths filling the air with sulfur that assaulted the sisters' nostrils with their stench. The chatter of gunfire never let up, prometheum flames answering daemon-fire with the hatred of an oppressed people.
"And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us;
The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him!"
Suddenly, a bright light pierces the blood-red glow of the Warped skies. "His kingdom is forever!" All eyes turned to the divine intervention, hope springing in the eyes of the sisters as they beheld Saint Celestine coming to their rescue and hatred in the eyes of the khornate daemons upon seeing their dreaded enemy joining the battle.
The benevolent warmaiden descended upon the red tide, stemming its flow until it grounded to a halt. Daemon blood spilled upon the ground as her Ardent Blade cut a swath through their ranks, banishing them back to the Brass Realm where they came. Khorne frowned at the intervention but did nothing other than watch as Celestine reduced his army to ash.
The sisters, overjoyed that their prayers were answered, fell to their knees before their savior and sang praises to the God Emperor who never abandoned them in their darkest hour.
"Rise, my sisters." Celestine lowered herself until her feet touched the tainted ground. Her presence burned away the corruption, then coaxed life from the otherwise dead earth. Flowers sprang up from the cracked soil, much to the astonishment of all who bore witness to her return.
Even in the Warp, life blossoms. "Rise." Celestine beckoned once more, walking amongst the faithful servants of the Imperium. "The Imperium has need of us once more."
Awed by the living proof of the Emperor's holiness walking amongst them, the sisters gathered around Celestine and reached out to touch the hallowed Saint. They kissed her hands and feet and withdrew, muttering prayers of gratitude before addressing her command. "What would you have us do, glorious saint?"
Celestine knew they would not react as well as she did when the Emperor relayed his plan to her. "The Emperor has regained his strength and is present in the Warp. He has told me of his grand plan to save the Imperium from both the enemies pressing at its borders and from itself. Rally to me, I shall aid you in departing from this hellscape. Cadia calls for the faithful to aid in its defense."
"And so we shall." The sisters bowed, taking their leave to help in repairing the damaged transporters. Only the twin canonnesses Eleanor and Genevieve stayed to break words with the Saint.
"Holy Saint, forgive our insolence, but we must ask. There is more to this task, is there not?"
She would not hide it from them, so she revealed that one part of the plan that disturbed her the most. "The Emperor also brought back an unlikely ally as well. I ask that you save your hate for the enemies of the Imperium, not him. Or at least, until I have tested him myself."
"Who? Who is it that you speak of, milady?"
"I speak of the Wolf of Terra. I speak of Horus Lupercal."
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Dear readers, I apologize for taking a while. I had no idea you were expecting an update even with the holidays. It's been a busy couple of weeks, but I found the time to get this chapter up and running. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
As for you, Crom'Torak, thank you.
I was thinking about the details of the Wolves of Terra ( the armor, the look and everything ), then your suggestion came up. It'll be a good scheme, I think I'll use it- with your permission of course :)