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Upon the eyes of the Primarch, the Blackstone Fortress was clearly reflected on. Another battle awaits the Terran Crusade, and yet the scarred forces remained undaunted. They had recovered their strength, bolstered by the might of the Ravenguard flotilla and Corvus Corax's noble sons. They would finish their task here, and will continue their voyage to Holy Terra as planned. But even here, the palpable ebb of animosity could be felt amongst the three brothers, and it did not come as a surprise to the Lupercal. Although grateful for the timely rescue, he knew he had yet to answer for the many grievances he had wrought upon the Raven Lord. Again, the fault lay with the possession of his will, but it was still his hand as seen by all others. Corvus may likely never forgive him for that, but he can only hope...
"Horun Blackheart awaits." Corvus speaks, hand outstretched as if to crush the Blackstone Fortress between his fingers. "He expects the Greater Daemon Kairos to deliver Roboute in chains."
"And you shall bring me to his doorstep, with bolter and sword ready to strike down every traitor in that vile construct!" Guilliman growled, eager to get back into the fight after being incapacitated in the last bout.
"We shall in due time." Horus replied, "Brother Corax, signal and rally your ships together while the rift remains open." He takes note of the cold stare of the Raven Lord, obviously offended that he would assume command after all the transgressions he had suffered as a result of Horus' actions. At this he proceeds a little bit more cautiously, "I do not presume to hold command of your Legion, brother. I only-
"Cease in your apologies, I know what must be done." Corvus turned heel and walked off the deck without a parting word to his brothers, avoiding the still-warm corpses of the slain traitor astartes in his path towards the airlock.
"I must return to the Golgo's Respite." Horus told Roboute, "Preparations must be made before any assault on the Fortress can be done."
"Ah yes." The Perfect Son glanced around at the ruined state of his own fleet, "And I shall endeavor to rally what little I have left in this Crusade. Damnation, what a mess."
"My lords!" A shout rang out from the observatorium, "Look there! Another traitor armada approaches!"
"There shall be no respite for us, it would seem." Guilliman sighed, watching as the said enemy tears its way past the roiling waves of the Maelstrom and into the Blackstone's airspace. Dozens upon dozens of warships thundered toward the Blackstone Fortress, their hulls encrusted with gore and skulls. The rune of Khorne was branded upon these spiked battleships, and daemonic fires danced in their wake. Before the fleet blazed a monstrous, blood-red comet wreathed in furious black flame. A fanged maw yawned wide upon that hurtling fireball, and eyes swimming with insane fury stared from its depths. So came Skarbrand the Exiled One to the Blackstone Fortress, blazing through the void to crash with explosive force into the station's outer hull. Khornate warships sped in his wake, fanning out to hammer the battle station with firepower even as teeming swarms of landing craft spilled from their flanks.
The Red Corsairs, first surprised and then outraged at this sudden attack, rallied swiftly and fought back. Even as their fortifications were opened to the void and blasted to blazing scrap, the Corsairs' gun batteries cycled up and filled the void with fire. Havoc squads sent volleys of shots lancing out to blast landing craft from the air, while Obliterators directed withering fire into the Khornate hordes already spilling across the fortress' outer hull. A furious battle raged in the silence of space, thumping explosions plucking Khorne Berzerkers from the fortress' night-black skin and sending them tumbling away into the void.
Within the Blackstone, flashes of pale green luminescence danced along darkened corridors, the ancient structure warning its denizens of danger. Red Corsairs deployed in disciplined firing lines, then filled entire passageways with crashing Bolter fire as masses of Khornate warriors charged towards them. Chainaxes carved through armour and flesh, while bolt-riddled corpses crashed to the ground aflame.
"I am sorely tempted to let them have at each other while we make a speedy headway for Terra." Guilliman shared his thoughts to Horus, "The true battle is not here, it is in the very heart of the Imperium."
"If we leave now, we leave a grave threat in the galaxy to continue its bloodsoaked campaign against the Imperium of Man." Horus replied, "I will not back out and allow Huron Blackheart to remain at large, and with a Blackstone Fortress at his disposal. Think of the countless innocents we will save if we strike him down now."
"And it is the reason why our father created us in the first place." Guilliman agreed once he had reflected on his brother's words. "Very well, brother. If you are willing to face another Greater Daemon so soon, I will gladly back you."
Fights broke out as Red Corsairs let fly from higher walkways and Cannons of Khorne spat screaming skulls. Platforms as broad as parade grounds played host to crashing battles as packs of Daemon Engines clashed with squadrons of Ultramarine main battle tanks. The Loyalists fired as they moved, blasting paths through the massing foe. At the same time, the forces of Khorne and Tzeentch fell upon one another, Bloodletters hacking their way down ichor-slick stairways while Horrors scoured platforms clear with shimmering flame.
Kairos was taken out of the equation, only to be replaced by the Exiled One, an event that changed little to nothing in the intensity of the struggle.
Long, bloody solar minutes of battle followed, gunfire flashing back and forth in the gloom. Though both sides raced as fast as they could to beat the other to the prize, Guilliman and his army reached the heart of the Blackstone Fortress at the same time as their foes. The chamber itself was vast, easily a hundred Terran miles across. Both its ceiling and its floor were lost in shadow. Entrancing patterns of shimmering lights crawled across the walls, and flickered up and down the titanic black column that rose at the chamber's heart. Out from that column, like the distorted branches of some dark arboreal deity, radiated hundreds of bridges, stairways, platforms and gantries, all shimmering with the same, vaguely bioluminescent lights that danced across the walls.
Countless dark doorways opened onto the Blackstone Fortress' heart, huge portals that seemed wrought for giants. From some spilled daemons of Tzeentch, fires flaring amidst the darkness. Others vomited the daemons of Khorne, loping in snarling packs across soaring bridges wide enough for Titans to cross.
Many of the massing daemons were still distant, small figures rendered insectile by the scale of the chamber, but great hosts of them would still intercept Guilliman's forces before they could reach the heart of the chamber.
Huron Blackheart was not amused by the assault on his fortress. Likened unto a bear whose hibernation had been disturbed, the Master of the Red Corsairs bellowed forth his challenge and waded into the thick of the battle. Nothing had gone according to plan as of late, and it infuriated Blackheart to know that Kyros was no longer around to aid him. Three Primarchs were at his very doorstep, all clamoring for his death, and worse still was the arrival of Khorne's lapdog! Hacking his way through a gaping portal in the chamber's wall, the Bloodthirster blazed like a furious pyre. His bellows echoed through the cavernous space, primal roars of bloodlust that infected the minds of all who heard them. Under Skarbrand's influence, Guilliman's Battle-Brothers became more reckless and aggressive by the moment. Contaminated by the daemon's psychic fury, Marius Amalrich and the last of the Black Templars turned aside from their route and hurled themselves into an onrushing mass of Khornate daemons. Blood sprayed as a savage melee broke out. For a moment the Primarch considered diverting his own forces to help Amalrich's, but with Skarbrand storming closer and daemons swarming on every front, there was no time. With a heavy heart, Guilliman barked orders through the Vox, steadying the Ultramarines and their Primogenitor allies with the sheer force of his will.
As was his nature, the Raven Lord appeared when he was least expected to, and he descended from the heights of the dark citadel with a host of chainsword-wielding Ravernguard assault-marines at his wake to stem the tide of Chaos as they threatened to wash away the loyalists pressing for entry. Claws extended like the talons of his namesake, Corvus Corax swept through the mob of khornate berserkers with the grace of an eagle snatching a trout out of water. Torsos, limbs and heads fell apart as the razor-sharp blades ignored rustic armor and enchanted runes. Blood slickened the decks as the enemy death toll rose, spurred on further as Skarbrand indiscriminately cut down all that was in his path- be it ally or otherwise.
His maddened gaze searched for the Raven Lord, who suddenly disappeared into thin air as quickly as he had come. The Bloodthirster's cries of frustration thundered through the wide halls of the walkway, driving the Red Corsairs back in fear. And then suddenly, Corvus struck out from the darkness. His claws rake across the Greater Daemon's unprotected back, drawing red ichor from a hideous scar reopened by the Primarch's sharp talons.
The First Axiom of Victory is to be other than where the enemy desires you to be.
The roaring daemonaxes in the Bloodthirster's hands dug deep into the bloodstained floor where he thought the Primarch would be, then found to his anger that the Raven Lord disappeared once again! The flames within the Daemon's heart burned a thousand times hotter, and he belches forth the hellfire like a furnace threatening to blow. Skarbrand swiveled twice over both ways, his bestial howls giving voice to his anger for the deception. "Come out and fight me you coward!"
The First Axiom of Stealth is to be other than where the enemy believes you to be.
The wings of the Raven Lord's pinions swept the towering slaughterer from beneath the knees, tearing apart crucial tendons and driving the Greater Daemon low. Skarbrand bellowed out in pain, struggling to regain his composure as the forces of Roboute Guilliman interrupted the duel with a storm of bolter-fire. The structure flexed and shuddered beneath the wrathful Daemon's weight, Skarbrand had come for Guilliman's skull that he might offer it to Khorne, but now there were three Primarchs present. Why settle for one skull, when you can take three? Although strategy was far from the Bloodthirster's turbulent thoughts, Skarbrand had a singular goal in mind that would not be shaken. The Raven Lord was swift, but he cannot hope that would save him from his wrath. No quarry of his had any hope of escape.
The First Axiom of Freedom is that justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyranny.
Unlike Guilliman, whose mind was filled with unreasoning fury from the Daemon's influence, Corvus remained true to his plan and executed it with brutal efficiency. He unleashed a thousand cuts that severely impaired Skarbrand's actions, further driving the Bloodthirster to smite with reckless abandon, causing him to lash out even at the khornate daemons rushing to help in the carnage.
Unable to stop himself, the Primarch of the Ultramarines bellowed a war cry and leapt to meet Skarbrand's charge. The Emperor's Sword met Slaughter with a dolorous clang, while Carnage whistled over the Primarch's head by a hair's breadth. Guilliman drove his shoulder guard into his opponent's midriff, then span on his heel and backfisted Skarbrand with the Hand of Dominion. The blow would have punched straight through a tank hull, yet the Bloodthirster merely rocked back on his heels before launching himself forward again. Hellforged axes hacked and lashed in huge, haymaker arcs, Guilliman barely blocking or evading each blow.
At this, Corvus let out a sigh of exasperation. The resolve and discipline in his brother was gone, reducing the Primarch to as low as a mere khornate berserker. In this act, he served the God of War, and Khorne smiled at the Perfect Son's shedding of blood. Skarbrand felt his master's approval of his opponent and this unhinged the last tether to his mind, turning him into the crazed killing machine that he was rebirthed for.
Corvus wielded the shadows like the master of deception that he was, aiding his brother in the battle by having at Skarbrand where his back was turned. The majority of the Daemon's attention was drawn to Guilliman, who was relentlessly hacking away with the flame-enwreathed blade in his hand.
Far from the chaos of the battle for the fortress corridors, the forces of Horus Lupercal had slipped past the Blackstone's defenses and arrived in due time to face Huron in the heart of the dark citadel. With most of his forces occupied with the khornate incursions and the assault of both Ravenguard legions and Ultramarine sub-chapters, the Tyrant of Badab was left with a meager sum of champions and the Chaos gods' attention. Horus had brought with him a small squad of terminators, meeting the Blood Reaver on equal ground.
"So, the Lupercal comes for my head." Huron leaned back on his throne casually, "This day was bound to come. Only a fool would think his reign would last forever. It would've been by the hand of an aspiring champion of one of the Chaos gods, an ambitious Imperial inquisitor, or perhaps a rival pirate lord. But no..." The Tyrant rose and picked up his axe, a weapon that had severed a thousand heads and inspired fear into the hearts of many upon the fringes of the Maelstrom. "The Primarch of the Luna Wolves." Huron forced out a chuckle, "Tell me, Lord Horus of Cthonia...how goes your new life as the Imperium's lapdog?"
"Cease this pointless prattle, Blackheart." Horus replied coldly, "Let us finish this." The terminators hefted their shields and readied their warhammers, poised to strike at their commander's word.
"For Khorne!" The dogs of war were unleashed, and the melee ensues. Unlike Horus, who waded into the thickest of the fight, Huron merely stood back and watched. The sight of a returned Primarch soiling his hands in battle amused him. Blackheart knew these were his last moments, but his end would not come solely with a fight. He would enjoy these final hours as best as he could.
The terminators met the champions of the Red Corsairs with equal fury, but stood out from the battle with contradicting maneuvers. Blessed with the rage of the Blood God, the Red Corsairs hurled themselves into the fray with the same reckless abandon displayed by the khornate berserkers below. The terminators, although hailing from separate chapters, met these savage strikes with patience. They bore the brunt of the assault with ceramite shields and only struck back when an opening was presented to them, retaliating with heavy blows from their power-mauls that could smash the hull of a Leman Russ battle-tank.
Over the din of the struggle, the laughter of the Blood Reaver could be heard, taunting the Lord of Cthonia to come at him prematurely. Horus did not accept the challenge just yet, he wanted to prove a point first. He would not set himself apart from the lesser spacemarines, he would fight at their side until the last Red Corsair has fallen. Glories are secondary, brotherhood was of utmost importance to him. It was this trait of the Emperor's favored Primarch that allowed him to forge an unbreakable bond with his legion, and even forge alliances with those deemed impossible to deal with.
Horus twirled Soulrender gracefully above his head and swept a wide arc that robbed three champions of their limbs, then of their heads. He came to the defense of his men when needed, and drove the Red Corsairs back into the throneroom until the last champion fell before him. Now, what was left was to deal with Huron and end the reign of the Red Corsairs upon the Maelstrom. It would not be an easy task, but it was far from impossible.
"Come at me, Favored Son!" Huron bellowed, a mad grin upon his lips as he unleashed a torrent of prometheum on the Lupercal. He cackled gleefully, absolutely lost in the madness of knowing the maw of despair was upon him. "Claim your glory at the tip of your spear!"
"Be silent, fool!" Horus growled, annoyed with the Tyrant's babbling. He rose against the flames unscathed, protected by the psychic aura surrounding his armor.
"Only in death will I be silenced!" Huron's eyes blazed with an unearthly fire, his mind touched by the Hamadrya- a creature of the Warp that has always been by his side. Through the creature, he could see all that swirled within the Lupercal's thoughts, his doubts and fears and ambitions laid bare as the flayed skins that adorned Blackheart's armor. Horus' cause was pure, and his intentions were fair. There was nothing to exploit, and this frustrated the madman to no end.
"So be it." Horus replied, falling upon the former Chapter-Master of the Astral Claws with Soulrender ablaze with holy fire. The Wolf wrestled with the Bear, lashing claw and teeth, drawing blood upon the Blackstone throneroom. Horus bore the pain of his wounds with steely resolve, never once backing down from the fight as Huron grew desperate with each passing second.
Below, the duel between the Primarchs and Skarbrand had reached its climax. The Greater Daemon of Khorne could not best either one of the Emperor's sons, and no matter the bloodshed that would have given him strength he still could not overcome the skillfully coordinated attacks of the Raven Lord nor the zealous fury of the Master of Ultramar. Soon, the Emperor's Sword cleaved through the battered cuirass that covered the hateful foe's chest. The Raven Lord's whip coils around the beast's neck, exposing him for the final strike as Corvus pulled on the Bloodthirster with all his might.
With one brutal shove, Guilliman pierced Skarbrand's heart and banished him back to the roiling depths of the Brass Domain. At the execution of his Exiled One, Khorne nodded with silent approval over the conclusion, then turned his attention to the other champions calling his name in some distant wartorn world.
"It is done." Roboute heaved.
"He'll be back, it's not over." Corvus replied, taking to the skies swiftly to search for his brother Horus.
Meanwhile, in the throneroom, the loyalist terminators stepped aside to let the Primarch deal with the Tyrant of Badab alone. Another feat was to be written down in history's vast page, another victory to add to Horus' account. But the battle was not for glory, it never was. Horus was frustrated, near broken with grief that he refused to show all this time. Although he saved Cadia and in effect the whole Imperium from Abaddon's conquest, he remained unwelcome in the eyes of many. He deserved it, this was true.
But knowing that was not enough to silence his inner demons. These thoughts suddenly resurfaced, and Huron read it as clear as an open book.
"Is it worth it, Lord Horus?" Huron taunted as he spun the Lupercal around and pinned him against his chest with his own spear, locking him in place with Soulrender's shaft upon his neck. "All that effort to redeem yourself in the eyes of these men, in the eyes of your father, for naught?" The talons of his claw raked across Horus' face, "They see you as the monster that you are, hidden beneath a veil of penitence!" His words were reminiscent of those spoken by Abaddon's champion Urkanthos.
They will never fully embrace him as an ally, and he knew it. The only difference in his case was that Horus had decided time and time again to swallow that bitter pill and move on. This was just another one of those times.
Gasping in pain over the cuts on his cheek and neck, Horus leaned forward and knocked Huron square in the face with the back of his head. Released from the Tyrant's hold, Horus spun around and struck a blow that shattered Blackheart's jaw and drove him back into the throne. Quickly, Horus retrieved Soulrender and planted a foot upon the seated Tyrant. He gazed one last time upon the fallen one's face, grimacing at the sight of that ghastly smirk on his ruined features, and drove the holy spear through his heart- robbing him of the chance of resurrection. Huron groaned, then laughed as the flames ate at his flesh. Pain wracked his body as every blood vessel boiled and burst, even more so as the psychic energies erased his soul from both realspace and the Warp. There was no going back, he knew this to be so, but he rejoiced in the coming oblivion. "Death to the False Emperor!"
Horus snarled at this insult and withdrew Soulrender, scattering Huron's ashes all over the pedestal and leaving the throne devoid of its king.
The Blackstone Fortress had fallen.
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