Writer's block's a bitch, sorry it took two months to update this, guys. I'll try to push on in spite of it.
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The sentry turrets felt the presence of the intruders as they crossed the threshold, and so they did their designated work as they've done countless times before. Their maws opened up, spitting ordnance of ancient and equally deadly make, with a singular purpose. The skitarii vanguard could not withstand the hail of fire with their kinetic shielding for too long, and soon dozens were cut down in the ensuing barrage. Rockets flew from the towers that rose up from the walls and floor, detonating at pinpoint positions that halted the advance of the expeditionary force. Their attacks upon Horus' coterie were too organized, and too well practiced. Swift and terrible, the machinations of mankind's long dead former civilization continued the unending battle of the Men of Iron.
One thing was different out of this particular circumstance, however. The machines were dealing with a Primarch, the finest of them all.
Horus would have what he required, and he would not let a few piles of aging scrap metal deter him from his quest. "Stand behind me!" The Lupercal raised his spear and cast a powerful golden barrier to protect the convoy, allowing the skitarii automata to move forward so they could reduce the number of sentry turrets barring their progression into the halls of the Librarius Omnis. The powerful guns of the spider-like tanks rent the towers to shreds of glowing hot steel and glass, the Bannerless Brethren leaped out of their transports to cut a swath that the path may be cleared. For when the towers fell, the hordes of the forbidden zone spilled forth into the narrow corridor.
"They do not attack out of mere animosity!" Otho made his suspicions known, "Primarch! They're protecting something!"
"Something of great value, a boon to the cause?" Alduin seconded.
Horus glanced about for the source, and found it. Beyond the clamoring masses, he could see a glowing pedestal amidst stacks of data packets. Like an ancient tomb of dead kings, saturated with lights of gold and green, ready for the mighty to claim it. "I see it." Soulrender struck true, tearing apart hundreds of its wielder's foes in one powerful beam of golden light. Bodies were separated from middle and groin, and some were reduced to ash. Horus marched forward as the bullets of lesser guns bounced harmlessly off his armor. He allowed his allies to deal with the rabble, eyes fixed on the prize before him.
He cocked his head to the side curiously as he neared the artifact. It was a gauntlet, aged with innumerable years, turning its once silver coat into a stony texture.
"All that blood for this?" Horus muttered, picking up the thing from its place on the pedestal.
"Be careful, my lord." Otho cautioned, "One may never know what the artifacts of that terrible Age can do these days."
Horus tapped at the pedestal and brought up the hologram that explained in perfect detail what the artifact was and what it was for. After a minute of absorbing all the knowledge therein, Horus donned the gauntlet and smiled. "I am cautious, and I am grateful."
"Why?" Thavos asked as he lumbered over, heavy bolter hoisted above his shoulders. "Is it of any use to us?"
Horus shrugged, "I guess you can say it fits that category."
"A powerful fist to bludgeon your foes to a bloody pulp, I assume?" Graves offered.
Horus chuckled, "No. It's a construction tool of the Golden Age, designed to move asteroids to form palaces among the stars. It holds the gravity-force of a young star, and it is capable of doing exactly as described." The Primarch clenched his fist, awakening the ancient tool for the first time in a millennia. "It can build palaces..."
"And it can break worlds." Galio finished for him.
Horus nodded, "Precisely."
"Well then..." Otho declared, "Perhaps our enemies' ambushes should prove less taxing in the future?"
"If they shall serve any use to us, they shall provide adequate targets for you to practice on, my lord." Galio suggested unto Horus.
"I like your thinking, Brother Galio." Horus acknowledged, turning back to the convoy. "Onward! We still have a lot of ground to cover!"
Guilliman didn't like what he heard and it showed on his otherwise passive face.
"So my father wants to give Horus his old Legion?" The Lord of Ultramar rested his chin upon his fist, "At least that part he did not keep a secret."
"He's already on Mars." The Raven Lord's eyes pierced the screen like dagger points, "He plans on restoring not just the Luna Wolves, but every Legion there is."
This news should have brought elation to the two Primarchs, but strangely it did the exact opposite. "Hmph, clearly there's something wrong with the both of us."
"You've lost me."
"You know what I speak of, Corvus. Don't play the fool, it does not suit you." Guilliman grumbled, "Whatever thoughts you have of ill nature against our brother, say it now and bury it."
"It is too soon for Horus to be rewarded, too soon for even one of this rate." The Raven Lord spat.
"What father wants to do is his business, and his wisdom surpasses the two of us combined- never forget that." Guilliman reminded, "I know of what our brother, in that time he was possessed by our enemies, has done against you in that past life- how he transformed your sons into those abominations. You cannot help but dislike it, but leave it at that. To assume beyond it is treason at its youth, nip it at the bud lest you fall to Chaos as our less prudent siblings have."
Corvus sighed, knowing the wisdom in his brother's words. The Raven Lord held little pride, and he knew when to back down. "Very well. On to our tasks, then?"
"Yes." Guilliman concurred, grateful for the change of subject. "I've begun my work whipping the Imperial Guard into shape, starting with Segmentum Solar. It's been only a week, and I've hadn't stopped a single day for rest. Amazingly, none of my subordinates have either. I'll admit, the enthusiastic atmosphere has rendered me quite...overwhelmed."
"Has your work been successful?"
"I'd had better progress bombarding worlds into compliance than getting things organized around here!" Guilliman snorted, "The state of things is shameful, to say the least! If I hadn't known better, this task would be just a practical joke played on my expense by the Emperor."
The corner of Corvus' lip twitched ever so slightly, but as always, he hid his amusement so masterfully that the perceptive Lord of Ultramar did not notice. "You still have the matter concerning the Orks."
"Yes, that too. Something to look forward to when all this sorting is done." Guilliman agreed, "One that caught my attention, though, was the unceasing war on Armageddon. You remember that ork 'Prophet' named Ghazgkhull Uruk Thraka?"
"They're all greenskinned xenos, nothing worth remembering to me. Is this one that special?"
"Brother, really now?" Guilliman chided, "Underestimating the xenos is not something even you can do. I'll let that slide off as a poor excuse for a joke. Anyway, I've made it my goal to put down the ork warlord so that the greenskin alliance would fracture completely, so that the world might finally be released from its endless war. Ghazgkhull fancies himself as the chosen of his gods and has waged a long campaign against the Imperium that has lasted far longer than most, that makes him a real enough threat to me."
"Sounds like you've got your hands full. I'll leave you to it, then. My fleet's approaching the threshold of the Damocles gulf now. I must remain vigilant lest the Tau get the drop on me. Be cautious and fare you well, Guilliman."
Celestine's lips fluttered ever so slightly as she whispered a prayer of protection over her friends and allies scattered across the Imperium, but there was one in particular that she prayed the hardest for. Horus was on his way to reclaiming his former title of Warmaster, leader of the Imperium's armed forces and herald to the Emperor's greatness. Things were looking steadily up for mankind, and at a pace so dangerous that it would take the slightest lapse in judgement or vigilance to dash all hope for their species.
"Holy Emperor, guide my friend's hands and lead him through the darkness. Bind the hands of the Enemy, that your sons and daughters may aid the helpless and innocent unabated."
The Ecclesiarchy Chapel-Cruiser arrived on Sephariele, a sort of gathering of convents upon a carved out asteroid sitting in the Giant's Belt orbiting the red star of Baal. Here, most of the pious Blood Angels astartes made pilgrimage to honor the sacred relics stored at the conclaves. Celestine had chosen this place of all sacred sites to begin her work for the Emperor due in no small part to the veneration all of the faithful held for Sephariele. She remembered, in her days of youth while she was yet fully human and but a child, when the sisters took her in to witness the sanctification of the weapon relics of slain battlesister martyrs. Laying her eyes upon them had awakened her desires to serve the Emperor in battle early on, and that's what drove her to enter the initiations of battlesister, later into Repentia and then a Saint.
It worked quite well on her end, much better than her peers, but Celestine did not dare see herself above any of them lest her pride cause her to fall again.
Grand Abbots, missionaries, priests and servitors, they all welcomed the Saint upon Sephariele. They prostrated themselves before her, crying out hymns of praise and adoration to the avatar of the Emperor's divinity. At this greeting, Celestine swiftly bid them rise, telling them she was a servant of the Emperor same as them and no more. Once that was done, she revealed her reasons for her visit. "Gather all those of authority, I pray. For I bring a message of correction from the Emperor."
"At once, noble Saint." They moved to obey.
It was almost ready. By almost, it should mean a few more hours of chucking the gretchins into the machine's burning maw just to test its limitations. Orkimedes barked orders for the goffboyz under his command to start herding the runts over for another go. His master was not one for patience, unlike him, and it was always a matter of time before the warlord snapped and planted a bullet into his head. So far, the old Mek hadn't failed Thraka just yet.
Orkimedes muttered to himself as the machine sparked and fizzed from the biomatter being thrusted deep into its belly, "Tellyporta tekanology is a tricky fing, but it ain't imposble." The Mek's large, meaty hands closed down on the levers and he pulled them down to send the machines on overdrive. Once the indicators glared red and the klaxons blared loud into his half-deaf ears, Orkimedes grabbed his walkie-talkie and yelled at the ork holding to the other end. "Oi! Tellyporta's on the go! Does dem runts pourin' out da other end yet?"
The receiver crackled with static for a moment, then a voice barked back. "Noffin goin' out of 'ere Orkimedes! Are ya sure yooz got it goin' on the right way?"
Half a system away, Statikkluvva put one hand on his hip and the other the scratch the back of his over-sized head as he stared at the unresponsive twin of the crude teleporter engine. "Cuz noffin but ashiz an' dust be pourin' on ova' 'ere!"
Aboard the Backhunder rokkitship, Orkimedes growled in annoyance, "Did ya' think to flip da switch 'fore we got started?"
"Um..." A full minute passed before Statikkluvva responded, "It is now, boss."
Orkimede's head grew hot as his rage built up like a pot full of boiling water, sparks flew out of his crude bionic implants as his small brain searched frantically for a means to get even with the dumb git. Chancing upon an idea, Orkimedes snatched up a stikbomb and primed it. Tossing it into the active teleporter, he called up Statikkluvva on the planet's surface. "Well? Somefing got through?"
"Ah'em, yes boss!" The sound of something metal clanking noisily against the ground reached the receiver, "Eh? Wut's dis?" The rest of Statikkluvva's reaction was drowned out in the roar of the resulting explosion.
The other end went silent and Orkimedes burst out with laughter, "Bwahahahahaha! Don't have ta worry 'bout dat git no more!"
"ORKIMEDES!"
"Yeah yeah, I'm almost done 'ere boss." Orkimedes waved off the baleful roar non-chalantly. He slapped on the last jagged piece of metal and sprayed yellow paint on the surface of his crude machination, "There, now yooz can telyporta a 'hole bunch of da boyz into anywhere ya please- so long az it's within a span of two systemz."
"Good enuff!" Ghazgkhull thundered, "Get started on da rest of da gunz, I want all of our Roks ta be dakkier than before! Twice da power- no- make it three! I feelz anoda message from da godz, and it feelz like a big 'un." The great ork warlord slammed a fist into his head as a massive ache clutched at his addled brain, "Gah! Oi, itz comin' sooner dan I thoughtz! FINISH UP 'ERE, I'Z GOTTA GO BACK UP TO DA CABIN!"
Ghazgkhull shoved his way into his room and thumped his forehead against the rusted metal wall in an attempt to clarify the deafening roar of Gork and Mork as the two gods made their will known from the roiling seas of the Empyrean. The voices of Gork and Mork had never been so strident, their bellowing still echoing in Ghazghkull's head. Yet, no matter how many times he readjusted his thinking parts by beating them against the bulwark of the ship, Ghazghkull could not clear his head, nor decipher what the guttural voices of the gods were saying to him. The pain of the visions was excruciating, and his good eye bulged as he roared in agony.
In such a case, however, deciphering was never the point of the visions. Rather, the Ork gods' message was quite simplistic and very much clear as any. Fortunately, the Ork Messiah had enough smarts to see through the agonizing haze and learn all that was needed from the visions.
He saw a good and proper Waagh, fought and won by the humies at the hot gates of Cadia. The spiky boy Abaddon had gathered his lot and threw everything at the fortress world, ultimately failing at the hands of none other than the bad boy of Ullanor. At this, Ghazgkhull scratched his aching head, wondering if there was something he missed.
Horus was supposed to be dead, killed when he rebelled against that big 'ol humie on the yellow throne. Or was he?
Horus was rounding up the disorganized humies together, rebuilding a proper Waagh much like what Ghazgkhull was doing. At this, the ancient warlord grinned. The challenges were mounting, and there was no better war to be fought than when legends clash. "Alrighty then!" Ghazgkhull roared, "I'm goin fer da big one this time! More 'an fifty million ork boyz at me back, getting bigger every day, will be more than enough for them humies! Ragnarork is comin' for them, and I'm bringin' da whole heap!"
"Oi!" Ghazgkhull announced to the bridge, "Set a course fer the Armageddon system! Time ta pick up our boyz on dat sorry lookin' mudball!"
"Aye boss!" The alarms blared, the boyz scrambled to get the engines up and running. One Nob pounded on a barrel full of munitions, setting the awkward tune for the popular shipmate's song.
"Fifteen Orks on a dead man's hulk,
Lookin' down the barrel of a gun,
Gruntin' to each other
through big, sharp teeth,
Sayin' "This one'll give us some fun!"
"More juice!" The captain roared, "Get this hunk 'o scrap movin', or I'll squish ya!"
"Fourteen Orks on a humie's ship,
Killin' anything that isn't green,
Gruntin' to each other
through big, sharp teeth,
Sayin' "Times be getting' lean!"
The massive spacehulk's engines blazed to life, killing the snotlings and gretchins working them on overtime and severely scalding the Meks overseeing their work. A large powerspike surged through the veins of the killing machine, driving out noisy white sparks all over the bridge.
"Thirteen Orks with the Captain's chest,
Hopin' to quench their greedy thirst,
Gruntin' to each other
through big, sharp teeth
Sayin' "I was da wun dat saw it first!"
Orkimedes hummed to himself as he scribbled a crude note on his blueprints, then boxed it all up once he was finished. One of the gretchins dropped a tankard of oil on the pile of wrinkled paper, earning himself the ire of his master and sealed his fate in an instant. The massive Mek's foot stomped the gretchin into a gooey pile of blood and squashed skin. The pounding was contagious, and soon every ship in the whole fleet sounded the song as the warp tears opened before them.
"One lone Ork left to steal the loot,
Wishin' it hadn't turned out so,
Gruntin' to itself
through big, sharp teeth
Sayin' "I shoulda let the pilot go!"
Ghazgkhull smirked evilly and crossed his arms, watching with gleeful eyes as the Warp swallowed them up and throttled them across the galaxy towards Armageddon.
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