Like Father, Like Son
The Shrineworld of Sanlourd had stood for millennia as a beacon of faith. Soaring Cathedrals crowned the world, while Templums and chapels abounded. Thousands of years of artistic endeavour had created marvels, works of devotion that would bring a tear to the eye of the sternest man. Billions of pilgrims had passed through these vaulted wonders in better times and even in the haunted nightmare of the Noctis Aeterna, when darkness and death winnowed away the masses to a handful of dregs, the survivors had clung to their icons of faith. Sanlourd was once a testament to the Imperium's state religion, but now it burned.
From the stars above they had come, on steel wings and screaming meteoric descent of Drop-pod. Fire and steel were theirs to wield and their hearts knew no mercy. Giant killers in Ceramite, bearing dark icons and fearful aspects, they looked upon the weak and the helpless with contempt and made their displeasure known in blood. Through vaulted Cathedrals they stormed, decimating all they found with roaring chainswords. Chapels were painted red with vitae as bolters made short work of pleading wretches and bodies piled high under statues to forgotten heroes. Plazas were bombed by soaring Deathbird strike craft, spreading incendiary ruin far and wide. Laughing bike squads competed for kills as they raced through wide courtyards and long parade roads while silent hunters stalked the shadows under triumph arches and Centoaphs, rooting out any who sought to hide.
The flocks of faithful ran to their temples, pleading with their god for divine intervention. They wept and they prayed, they offered up blood and fealty, even their firstborn, if only he would bring his legions to save them. Great was the lamentation but it made no difference. Their god was silent and the killers were upon them. The Amber Vipers were under orders to leave no man alive, not that they would have regardless.
Chapter Master Coluber loomed over a kneeling priest, sword in hand. He stood proud in his burnish amber plate, marked with one black pauldron. His sharp features betrayed no hint of doubt as he glared down at the man. So pitiful, so twisted in body and soul. The fool held a holy icon before him, as if that would stay the wrath of a Space Marine, and recited prayers. The bleating vexed Coluber greatly and with a lip curled spat, "Cease your prattling and die with dignity!"
The priest clung to his talisman and recited, "Smite the unholy, oh divine one. Bring your divine wroth upon their heads."
"He isn't listening, he is no god!" Coluber barked.
"Your lies shall find no purchase in my soul! My faith is a bulwark against the darkness!"
"Deluded Heretic!"
"It is you who are the Heretic, his Angels will punish you for your sins!" the priest decried.
But Coluber snarled, "Fool, I am his angel and it is by his order we do this!"
With his left hand Coluber grabbed the icon from the priest, and with his right swept the curved edge of his relic blade through the priest's neck. The wretch died with a whimper, gushing blood from a vicious rent in the throat. Coluber paid it no mind as he lifted the talisman and examined it in detail. No Imperial Aquila, such as the Ministorum venerated, no righteous Imperial sigil, not even a decent skull. No, this supposedly holy icon was a bent piece of metal, hammered into a curve. Held from the bottom it resembled a crude 'U', the mark of Ultramar.
Coluber lifted his eyes and saw his Brothers driving a crowd before them. Two Brother-Exemplars made a slaughter, smiting men and women into ash with sweeping lashes of their Burst-lances. Meanwhile amber-hued giants raced back and forth along the perimeter on bikes, forcing masses of people into the doors of a cathedral. They ran, nothing else could be done before such power. Coluber's eyes lifted even higher and saw the changed nature of the Cathedral. Gone were the icons of the Ecclesiarchy, ripped down and replaced with a new creed. Single-headed eagles, looking only to the future, haloed fists and shining stars, and the holy 'U' rendered in scrap metal and paint. Even the statues of the Emperor on Terra were gone, pulled down to make way for lumpish attempts to make images of a giant in armour, holding a flaming sword or an open book. The implication was clear; these people had cast off their faith in one god and replaced it with another. Heresy, unspeakable Heresy.
A bike screeched to a halt beside him and a Sergeant with a crackling power spear reported, "Heretics corralled inside, Chapter Master."
"Excellent work Sergeant Reddam," Coluber hissed, "Bring up Phosphor cannons and we'll make a bonfire of these deviants."
Reddam nodded and signalled attack-bikes to flank the Cathedral. Yet he paused, "Coluber, is this really necessary?"
"These Heretics deserve no less," Coluber growled.
"Heresy must be punished, aye," Reddam acknowledged, "But why us, why not send the Unnumbered Sons to exterminate this cult?"
Coluber snarled, "Because he does not wish for this to be known! A cult worshipping the Imperial Regent as a god risks the delicate balance of power that arrogant tyrant has built. Troubles enough has he with the Adeptus Ministorum, without them accusing him of building his own cult to rival theirs."
Reddam sneered, "Self-righteous bastard, wouldn't surprise me if he tried to do exactly that."
Yet Coluber countered, "He barely stomachs the existence of a religion that worships the Emperor, the idea of people worshipping him is too much. I hate his guts but I'll give him this: he will not suffer worship of his own personage. That is where the gilded boot comes down."
Reddam sighed, "But still, this is an extreme response. The people are terrified, they seek any hope in this dark time. They are misguided yes, but give no praise to the Ruinous Powers. They call to a distant and uncaring god on Terra and get no response. Then they see a vital and living demi-god walking among them. Is it any surprise they turn to worship an active voice instead of a silent one?"
"Beware of idle thoughts," Coluber chided, "You stray dangerously close to questioning the authority of the Emperor."
"Never!" Reddam barked in outrage, "I serve the Emperor in all things; it's His arsehole of a son I doubt."
"A smug and pompous arsehole you mean, one who let this cult form under his very nose," Coluber snorted, "As usual he has the Amber Vipers cleaning up his dirty messes. Still. no point wasting time, we have to complete this cleansing and be away."
"You might want to hold off on that!" a fierce growl erupted. Both turned and saw a gaggle of Space Marines approaching. At the lead was Battle-Captain Ferrac, his fierce demeanour evident in the blood-splatters across his plate and axe-rake. Thrusters on his back shimmered with heat and the iron-mask over his face was scored badly. He strode at the head of a squad but Coluber's eyes were on one being alone. Dragged between two warriors was a figure in plate of a different hue. Crimson red, marked with intricate script and eight-pointed stars. This one's armour was heavy with foul icons, unholy scrolls detailing horrors and talismans of woe. Both hands were missing, truncated at the wrists and his face was battered badly, yet he grinned with evil intent. Coluber's hypno-indoctrination named him instantly, along with a primal surge of hatred: Traitor Marine, demagogue of Chaos, Word Bearer.
"What is this filth?!" Coluber snarled.
"We ran into him while cleaning the catacombs," Ferrac snarled, "Took five of Primus Cohort down before I got there."
"Your wastrels are weak and thin-blooded," the Traitor Marine sneered, "They wouldn't last five minutes in the blessed hells of the Warp."
Ferrac's fist lashed out, striking the cur across the face and sending him sprawling, "Shut your mouth Traitor scum!"
"Ferrac…" Coluber growled.
"I know, I know, don't beat the prisoners."
"Actually, I was going to say hit him harder next time," Coluber retorted, "But you didn't think to vox this in?"
"You want reports of Traitor presence on this mission, over an open channel?"
"Good point," Coluber agreed, "This mission is shameful enough already. But you, your presence is yet to be explained. Speak quickly, or suffer unspeakable agony."
The Traitor grinned from the ground, "Your tortures are feeble, compared to the touch of Neverborn. But it suits my purpose to tell you I am Goarox of the Crooked Path and I am here by the will of the Brass Tyrant."
"A mission to spread corruption!" Reddam interjected, "I see it now, this cult is your doing! You plan to spread the lies of Chaos under the false flag of another!"
But Goarox laughed, "Not this time, not this world! The blessings of Chaos are beyond these deluded wretches, but they serve as a beautiful insult to that condescending martinet you bow and scrape before."
Coluber's arm yearned to end this filth, his sword begging to strike, but he needed to know more, "You lie."
"No lies, only truth!" Goarox jeered, "We did not inspire this cult, but we learned of it and helped it grow. Nurtured it and protected it."
"He confesses, kill him," Ferrac snarled.
Coluber wanted to but pressed, "Why, for what purpose would the Traitors wish to foster a cult worshipping Roboute Guilliman?!"
Goarox crowed, "To repay him for Monarchia! Once we too showed our love to a false idol and were punished for it, now we repay the insult. The hypocrite Guilliman burned our greatest city to the ground, but he did it under orders, under protest. The False Emperor commanded and the Ultramarines obeyed, absolving themselves of responsibility. Guilliman hid behind orders, but now he must confront his own hypocrisy."
"You are insane!" Reddam snapped.
"We are the Word Bearers!" Goarox cried, "We hear all, we hear him. He leads a new Crusade, as his faithless father did, but he holds himself better. Your supercilious commander tells himself he will not repeat the mistake of the False Emperor, that he will learn from history and be a better leader than his father. We hear his self-justifications and laugh at them! So here he must face the truth of his heart. He sees the love of his people and responds with fury. No gentle corrections, no re-education, only fire and wroth. He strikes down innocents for no crime other than believing!"
"That's your plan?!" Ferrac sneered, "You are pathetic."
"I plan to force that self-righteous blowhard to confront the truth that he is no better than the False Emperor! He thinks himself better than his father, but they share the same spirit of cruelty. The truth of self-revelation will be a wound unto his soul. My death is nothing compared to the chance to hurt him, even for one moment!. I alone among the Crooked Path volunteered to give my life to make him suffer."
Coluber drew in a breath as if confirming something, "So… you are here alone, good. That's all I needed to know." A nod to Ferrac and the chainaxe rose and fell, smiting the Traitor's head and splitting it wide open. The filth collapsed with a thud, black blood oozing from the demolished skull. The corpse was picked up and dragged away, as Ferrac shook tainted vitae from his weapon.
"Good riddance," Reddam snarled, "But was there anything to what he said?"
"Forget it, he was insane and raving," Ferrac grunted, "Give no heed to the madness of Chaos."
"And the Heretics?" Reddam pressed.
Coluber lifted his head, "We have our orders: expunge this rot utterly, make it as if the cult of the Primarch never existed. No survivors, no exceptions." Reddam turned to the waiting attack bikes and signalled them to fire. Wide-bored cannons were pointed high and discharged spinning rounds. The shots struck high stained-glass windows and erupted into brilliant flame, disgorging an inferno of broiling fire within. The Cathedral blazed with light as it became a cauldron of incandescent flames, such a conflagration nothing could survive. Screams arose but they were brief, the people within were immolated into ashes in mere moments. Coluber stood still as he watched the flames consume the temple and all within, unwilling to look away.
"Come Brothers, there are more Heretics hiding in the undercroft," Ferrac urged.
"You handle that, I'll sweep the mausoleums," Reddam declared, "By your will Chapter Master?"
Coluber nodded in consent but did not follow. The rest took off, heading to complete the cleansing but he stood still. He waited until he was alone and the flames died down, leaving the Cathedral a charnel house of ash and bone. So many dead, all for being misguided, for believing in someone who held their devotion in contempt. The Regent could lie to himself all he liked but the parallels were undeniable and so Coluber whispered, "Like father, like son."