The news filtered through the Thousand Sons that their father was crippled, relayed by the Athanae whose powers were gradually returning to them; and the Space Wolves that were with them said nothing. They had, after all, no idea what to say. To lose a brother in battle was one thing; but now a Primarch had fallen, and that was in itself unthinkable. As the vessels began to move away to honour Magnus's request, a bright light engulfed the heavens. And as every head turned to the viewing screens across both the World Eater and the allied Fenrisian-Prosperine fleets, Prospero exploded.

The pinnacle of sorcery and knowledge, hope and solitude, was gone forever. The light of Tizca had gone out, and no power in the heavens could ignite it again.

Ahriman clenched his fists in anger and grief. Bjorn, who had boarded with him (holding a couple of children, whom he had sent with the human medics), stood beside the First Captain and Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons. He watched, like Ahriman, as Prospero became nothing more then a set of lights in the sky. The shockwave had knocked some of the combined fleet's vessels into silence, but their tech-priests and crews would get them working again. It was the line of World Eaters that bothered Bjorn; their vessels were blocking any exit to the jump point.

That and, of course, the end of an Astarte homeworld.

"We still have to deal with them, Ahzek." Bjorn used Ahriman's first name, pointing to the enemy vessels.

"The Photep will bring fire and destruction upon them, Bjorn." Ahriman's voice sounded distant, as if he was not completely there.

Magnus was still aboard the Hrankfel, being stabilised as best the Rout's Wolf Priests and the Thousand Sons' Pavoni under Hathor Maat could, with Russ supervising. Still, that did not mean that the Wolf King would not fight.

Ahriman turned to his human commander and snarled; Bjorn saw the incandescent fury of eternity spread across the First Captain's face, something beyond mere rage. It was something timeless, something vengeant, which he had never seen even on the faces of his own brothers, who were in the grasp of battle-fury so much more often. "I have the bridge. Bring all weapons to bear, shields raised. I will end them."

Bjorn smiled a wolfish smile; this was how he liked to see his cousins fight, with fire in their bellies and heart in their weapons. The World Eaters had killed many of their people, had at best crippled their beloved Primarch, and had utterly destroyed their homeworld. To the Thousand Sons, there would be no going back from this, not ever.

"I offer my services, First Librarian." Bjorn stood tall, a warrior of Tra, the Vlka Fenryka's Third Company, and one of Russ's closest sons. He wanted to be a part of this; he had lost some good brothers to those insane bastards, though that was far from the scale of Ahriman's loss.

"Offer accepted," Ahriman whispered and took to his throne. With Magnus incapacitated, this was his fight. He ordered all able-bodied ships to be prepared to fight their way through, gazing into the threads of the future to see optimal trajectories and sending them through the Athanae to his brethren. Raptora and Pyrae prepared to bolster the fleet's guns, and Ahriman thought back to Khalophis' heroics with the Canis Vertex. The Titan, like its commander, had escaped Prospero safely, destroying three Warhounds along the way; but in the end the Sixth Captain's defense of Tizca had been in vain, and the unfallen city had vanished in an instant. Athanae and Corvidae helped Ahriman coordinate the fleet's actions. Pavoni stood by, preparing to lead boarding defenses.

Magnus and Prospero would be avenged.

The Sphinx dodged away from the fire coming from the Rage of the Imperium, but a lucky broadside scored a successful strike. Down in the engine rooms, men and women flew through the air as the explosions struck. The medics were having a hard time keeping up with the casualties; no space battle was ever easy, and Magnus and Russ were greatly outnumbered.

Captain Ramasus of the 45th Fellowship, a member of the telekinetic Raptora cult, gripped the seat of his command throne. Like Ahriman, he was Terran-born, but like Ahriman, he had been beyond incensed at the death and destruction rained upon his adoptive world. He had taken out a couple of battle barges, the lances from his guns blowing them into the oblivion and the Warp; now he was up against a mere Strike Cruiser, but he knew the history of the Rage of the Imperium. When it came to space battles, she knew exactly what she was doing. It was no wonder that she was held in high regard by Angron himself.

"My lord, we have an incoming vox message," the commander of the vox, a woman by the name of Nephari, turned and said.

"Put it through," he ordered, "and get me some more weapons. I need to keep that monster at bay!" His Raptora abilities were tired, both from heavy use and from the nearness of the power-dulling World Eaters. He needed a moment of rest.

"Perhaps, cousin, we can help." A gruff voice came over the vox; it was not in the harsh tones of a Space Wolf, more like -

His eyes widened a little. "Who are you?"

"This is Captain Jhal and Captain K'lun, of the World Eaters and Salamanders respectfully. I know you have no reason to trust us, cousin, but I assure you that we are not the same as our fallen brethren. Allow me to have the Heart of Truth and the Fires of Nocturne get you out of this mess."

Ramasus closed his eyes, a little thankful that he had heard what he had heard. So there were some loyal World Eaters and Salamanders alive; they must have escaped the cull of their Legions, which Mortarion had talked about. Still, he was wary, very much so.

Without waiting for his answer, the Heart of Truth and Fires of Nocturne rode in, both firing lances at the Rage of the Imperium; and as he stared at his screen, recovering his breath, parts of the vessel began exploding out. Gathering his strength, he roared to fire whatever he had left, guiding the missiles into weak points on the Rage of the Imperium's hull; the missiles streaked towards the near-crippled vessel. Then, he punched the air in delight, as she finally exploded.

"That's for my home," he whispered and stood up. "That's for Prospero, dogs." He clasped his hands behind his back and allowed the human captain to take his place in the command throne, focusing on dealing with the defectors.

"Cousin," K'lun spoke. "We seek asylum within the ranks of the true Astartes."

Ramasus nodded to himself. "Welcome back, cousins. We shall see that Lord Russ is informed, but I warn you that he may not be so accepting of what you say."

"Let the cards lay where they fall," Jhal answered. "We will remain to continue this battle until you are ready to leave."

"Your aid, cousin, is appreciated."

Jhal snorted a little. "We have nothing else to do, cousin; my father and brothers have – changed to something I want no part of. I am still a World Eater, but they are... I do not even know, anymore."

Ramasus nodded in understanding and ordered a message to be sent to Lord Russ informing him of this new development, although he had hesitated at first, so used to sending such missives to his own father. Like all in the Thousand Sons, he had been close to Magnus the Red; there was a bond between the Astartes of the Thousand Sons and their Primarch that not even the Luna Wolves or Blood Angels, or indeed the Space Wolves, could match. There had only been a thousand of them in the end-beginning that had been free of the flesh change. But, with his own powers and his own selflessness, Magnus had saved the Legion. He had brought the Thousand Sons back from the brink of extinction, which in itself was the truest reason to have such a close bond with him: no other Primarch had done quite so much for their Legion. It was not a perfect cure, and the flesh-change had claimed a few victims, but nowhere near as many as before Magnus's finding; indeed, Lord Ahriman's own genetic brother had succumbed to it, and so he, more than others, was fully aware of the damage such changes did. Ramasus, for his part, had barely held the change off with his own willpower, before Magnus had been found; he recalled the horror of nearly losing himself, and had infinite gratitude towards Magnus merely for rescuing the Legion from that.

It was more then that: Magnus was their father, their progenitor, and their teacher. He knew each and every Thousand Son by name, as well as each member of the Spireguard. He cherished all of them as part of Prospero's heart; and now, with their father in whatever state he was in and Prospero gone, they were - what?

A Legion without a father, a Legion without a home, and for the moment, a Legion without a soul.

The space battle raged for several days, and the losses incurred on both sides were great; but through Ahriman's strategies and foresight, the World Eaters were pushed back and away from Prospero. The greatest battle was forged by the Conqueror, Angron's flagship, the Hrankfel, Russ's flagship, and the Photep, Magnus's flagship, commanded by Ahriman. Skalds would later call it Ahriman's Cosmic Dance. As the Thousand Sons and Space Wolves left what had been Prosperine space towards the world of Kegara, the Photep and Hrankfel closed around the Conqueror to prevent it from following.

The dance had begun with Angron ordering all his guns to take them out piecemeal; but, with Russ commanding his vessel and Bjorn leading with his considerable knowledge the ship Ahriman was distracted from, it was not as easy as the Red Angel first thought. Angron cursed his laxness. If it had been any other commander, he might have been able to crush them; but he was against one of his brothers, and that was never to be underestimated. The Wolves and the Thousand Sons moved in synchronised harmony, whilst the World Eaters attempted to come close enough to dispense boarding parties.

++ Lord Russ, perhaps now would be a good time to leave the battle. My apologies, Lord, but you do have Lord Magnus aboard, and the Thousand Sons will need to know that he is still alive. I cannot risk Angron getting a lucky shot ++

The line was silent for a moment, and Bjorn thought for one moment he had offended the Great Wolf; so he was surprised when a dry booming chuckle came over the line.

++ Always trying to tell me what to do, aren't you, cub? ++

++ Maybe because my balls are big enough to do just that, Lord Russ. ++

Russ laughed. ++ Very well; we will head for the jump point, be sure to be behind us. I will not have my brother's flagship made into tiny atoms. ++
Bjorn glanced at Ahriman and nodded. ++ We will cover you, Lord, and we will not be far behind. ++

The battle seemed to be over; but as the Photep began to turn to cover the Hrankfel, the Conqueror took out her engines with one shot that sent the engineering teams rushing to aid the stricken engines and Ahriman screaming for a few instants, in sympathetic pain.

"Lord Ahriman, there are voided spaces on decks twenty through to twenty–five," one of the bridge crew alerted him.

"I can see that," Ahriman grimly replied.

Magos Yvelen bowed his head and leant in. "My Lord First Captain, we will not be able to repair her quick enough. We are dead in the water, to quote an old Terran phrase. Ingrea will need more time then we have."

Bjorn joined them and glanced at the readouts: it was true, and he could already see the launch bays open up with boarding tubes from the World Eaters vessel. The gunners took some out in mid flight, but they would not be able to take them all out, and what limited shields they had would not last long.

"I think we are in for a man-on-man shit kicking," he retorted, as easily as at a feast.

The Magos blanched at the blunt words of Bjorn, and Ahriman simply hid his smile and turned his attention to the crew. He knew that once those monsters got on board, there would be no escape; but all the same, he knew they still had a chance. He had won the battle, while goading Angron to send boarders rather than continuing to obliterate the Photep from a distance, where they would have been defenceless. He pressed the intra-ship vox.

"All Astartes, prepare to repel boarders!"

Bjorn walked alongside him, life boats being launched towards the Hrankfel as per the Librarian's orders that all civilians were to be off the vessel. He had already alerted the Wolf King, but had insisted that the Photep would stand her ground; it was important that their father got to his new world, so that he could begin to rebuild his Legion. Russ, who had never been one to walk away from a fight, had been quite admiring of the First Captain; he told them to send as many civilians as they could.

When Ahriman had seen the civilians' leader on the Photep, a woman by the name of Yasmin, she had said they would send the children over, with their parents, but that the rest of them would fight. It had taken him and Bjorn quite by surprise. So much so, in fact, that the grizzled Space Wolf started getting a little respect for the human Prosperons: they had lost their homes, their world, and more then likely loved ones, so they had decided to fight and gain some measure of self-respect back. So it was agreed that those who could fight would stay, while those who couldn't fight would go to the Primarch's flagship.

Ahriman also sent some Astartes from his company back with them as escort, as did Bjorn. There was another reason for it and the Sergeants that went back were silenced when it was explained to them: should the Photep fall, then someone needed to keep those civilians alive. With all that done and the bridge keeping them informed of where the boarding tubes were heading, they readied themselves.

Bjorn, set for battle, looked at Ahzek Ahriman's face, and was surprised to see a smile on it, though his counterpart's eyes still shone with stormlit fury.

"What is it?" he asked, and Ahriman chuckled in response.

"I have seen this," he stated. "This was the end I guided the battle to, from the very beginning of our clash. One way or another, it ends here, and the Prtimarchs survive. My powers are sputtering as the torpedoes approach, but nevertheless, Bjorn, I still know this: the butchers have paid a steep price indeed for the fate of Prospero."