Author's Note:

All Horus Heresy and Warhammer 40000 rights and such belong to Games Workshop. Mad kudos to Forge World for their amazing Horus Heresy series of hobby books. Kaedes Nex appears in the Extermination volume of their Isstvan trilogy.

Planetfall, Minus Seven Hours Terran Sidereal

"Blood-Crow."

They always called him that. Kaedes Nex acknowledged the remark with a fractional tilt of his head, walking past the Reconnaissance Squad. One of the Legionaries gave him an old-fashioned salute, clenched fist to breastplate. Nex ignored it, kept walking. He moved past an Assault Squad; they didn't acknowledge him besides one Legionary who made an old warding gesture from Deliverance towards him.

Nex stalked the corridors of the Shadow of the Emperor, flagship of the Raven Guard Legion. The sparse, dark corridors echoed with purposeful activity. Legionnaires clustered together in their squads, checked power armor and weapons ranging from bolters and combat blades to missile launchers and Volkite relic-guns. The XIXth Legion, already known for its taciturn nature, stayed mostly silent as they prepared for war.

Kaedes Nex knew why; the unthinkable had occurred. Horus, Warmaster of the Imperium's armies, had turned traitor. The Raven Guard was among the collected might of seven Astartes Legions powering towards the Isstvan system to bring judgment to the wayward Warmaster and his traitor Legions – just hours away now. The news had caused such distress among the few remembrancers attached to the Raven Guard fleet. Among many of the Astartes, too.

Nex knew why; he just didn't understand or care.

All it meant was he had more targets. Difficult ones, certainly; the prospect of hunting and killing other Astartes was... intriguing. He wondered which of the enemy Legions would pose the most challenge. The Sons of Horus, pride of the Warmaster? The Emperor's Children, with their flashy showmanship? Perhaps Mortarion's Legion or Angron's berserker sons?

Most of the others ignored or avoided him as the prowled through the corridors. He cared not. He knew how the others saw him; that was fine – it meant they usually stayed out of his way. Eventually he came to the segregated decks set aside for the Legion Moritat cadres and the Destroyer squads.

Dozens of Marines made their own war preparations. Bolt pistols were loaded, racked, and strapped into heavy holsters. Destroyers hefted missile launchers fitted with rotary drum magazines and humming suspensor webs. Moritats strapped rad grenades to harnesses alongside customized pistols and extra magazines.

"Huntsman." That was Thayon Melchar, Moritat-Secundus. He nodded to Nex as he snugged his modified plasma pistols into their cross-draw holsters. "You're late."

Nex returned the nod after a second. "There were meetings."

"Of course there were." Melchar looked like he wanted to say more for a second but tipped his head instead.

Nex walked silently towards the locker vault where his weapons waited. Annoyingly, Melchar followed him. Kaedes ignored him as he pressed his hand against the gene-reader surface and let the device verify his identity. He reached in once the doors ground open and picked up the first of his Fulcrum pistols.

The Fulcrum deployed and extended in his hands, going from its collapsed storage state to live and active. Ornate etchings ran along the barrel coil shroud, relics of the Kiavahr Tech Guilds. He remembered plucking this one from the hands of a Guild Overseer – after carving open the length of his spine with a jagged piece of sharpened metal. He checked the Fulcrum's action and ejected the magazine before slamming it back in. A repeat of the procedure verified the condition of his other Fulcrum and Nex slipped them into his holsters.

Magazines went into pouches on his hips, torso webbing, back webbing, and thigh slings. The dense metal slugs the Fulcrums fired lacked the propellant cases of bolter rounds, but given the sheer size of the slugs themselves he needed spare magazines.

Lots of them.

Nex brought out his long cameleoline cloak, slung it over one pauldrons. Only then did he turn to Melchar. "What?"

"You should say something to the cadre."

"Why?"

Melchar sighed. "We're about to bring war against other Legions – other Astartes."

"So?"

"By any measure, this is a… momentous occasion. A calamity, if you will. You are the Prime. You should say something."

Was this another one of those integration exercises the Primarch always nudged him towards? "Fine."

Melchar's brow arched in surprise as Nex moved hesitantly towards a central point in the arming chamber. Kaedes halted outside the glare of one illumination panel; he'd always avoided such locations. They were open, vulnerable. Conversations halted as Destroyers and Moritats noticed the Blood-Crow waiting, as if to address them.

Nex stood silently for a minute, struggling with the unfamiliar task of oration. What had the Primarch said about situations like this? Just be your inspirational self, Kaedes.

He was fairly sure Corax had been jesting.

He raised his voice; it felt strange to be speaking this loud. "You all know what the Warmaster has done."

Silence. The others stared at him. Was that normal?

"The targets have changed. The mission has not. Locate. Mark. Execute."

They still stared at him. What else did they want? Oh.

"For the Raven. Victory or death."

"Victory or death!" Satisfied, the others saluted and returned to their preparations.

Nex slunk back from the light's edge. Melchar joined him – again – scarred face splitting into a grin. "Truly a speech to put the remembrancers to shame."

The Moritat-Prime headed for the ordnance halls, not looking at Melchar. "What did you expect?"

"Pretty much that, actually," Melchar admitted. "Have you been practicing your oratory skills?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You were multisyllabic at points there."

Nex turned his head to Melchar; his eyes solid fields of black.

Melchar shrugged. His own eyes, though also the distinctive solid black of the Nineteenth, glittered faintly with mirth. "Alright, alright. No need to go Sable Brand on me."

Nex said nothing as he signed into the ordnance hall. The space inside was brightly lit, uncomfortably so to his sensibilities. He didn't begrudge, it though. Only a fool handled such weapons as were stored here in the dark.

"Blood-Crow." The Destroyer sergeant on armorial duty nodded once at him stiffly, then looked past over his shoulder. "Secundus Melchar."

"Othan." Melchar returned the nod and clasped wrists with the veteran Destroyer.

Nex ignored them and headed deeper into the hall. He passed rows of mundane explosives, absentmindedly grabbing frags and kraks to clip to his belt. The exotic ordnance lay deeper in, many in sealed mini-vaults. Rad grenades, hallucinogen canisters, bio-crafted viral mixers: all manner of proscribed arms lay within these domains.

He took his customary set of shroud bombs from their rack, slipping the little disc-shaped charges into their pouch at his waist. He turned back towards the entrance – and remembered there was something else he'd meant to get.

Nex unlocked a sealed, isolated vault, then walked back towards the two at the entrance, extra payload in hand. Both their black eyes widened as they saw the cylindrical grenade he carried. Othan moved to block the door. "Blood-Crow, you know the Raven Lord's stance on you carrying those weapons."

"The Primarch authorized it."

Othan and Melchar exchanged glances. Nex was many things, all of them unpleasant, but he'd never been a liar. "Emperor's balls," Melchar said. "Corax let you have phosphex? He must be furious at Horus."

Othan sighed. "This is not a good-Don't do that!" he hissed as Nex tested the weight of the phosphex bomb by tossing it up and catching it.

Nex held the canister of ravenous chemicals lightly in his fingertips, looking over the top of it at Othan. "Why?"

"Why?! Do you even know what that- Never mind. Just take it and get out."

Nex did.

Melchar still followed him; the two moved like shadows through the corridors of the battle-barge. He didn't know why, and Melchar wasn't saying anything. Finally he looked over at the other Moritat again.

"What?"

Melchar stopped, but then hurried to keep up as Nex kept walking. "Did you ever expect to survive this long, Kaedes?"

What a curious question. "No."

"I figured you'd say that."

"Then why ask?"

Melchar's face did something Nex didn't quite recognize – was that… annoyance? Consternation? "This is unlike anything we've faced before, Huntsman. Not all of us will live through the battle."

"It's always like that."

Melchar put a hand on Nex's pauldrons. The Blood-Crow finally stopped, looked down at the hand in confusion. "I just have a feeling I won't be among those breathing after the blood dries. If I fall, Kaedes…" The hand left his shoulder, extended out for a warrior's handshake. "It has been an honor."

Nex stared. This was… unusual. Was he supposed to say something here? He blinked, and decided on, "If you fall, you fall. What else is there?"

"A good death, of course. To fall with purpose, make it count."

Purpose. There was that word again. Nex resumed walking. The Primarch liked that word, used it to justify the deeds the Raven Guard performed both on the field of battle and in the dark of night.

Purpose was what the Legion clung to, lived and died for.

Nex didn't get it at all.

Planetfall, Minus Nineteen Minutes Terran Sidereal

"All squads to transports! Board up!"

The embarkation deck was a hive of frenetic activity. Legionnaires marched into Stormbirds and Thunderhawks, climbed into drop pods of various models. Armored vehicles rolled into position for transports to clamp onto them. The Primarch stood near the center, surrounded by his chosen commanders and Shadow Captains.

Corvus Corax stood arrayed for war, resplendent in his sable plate. He towered over his gene-sons, looking down as he discussed final strategic minutiae. Energized claws sheathed his hands, inactive as he gestured. The dark metal wings of his jump pack spread out behind him. Nex admired the razor wings; they left the most fascinating trails of blood arching through the air when Corax lunged past a target with them.

Corax seemed to sense Nex's scrutiny. He looked up from the assembled commanders across the way towards where the Moritat lurked in the darkness beneath a Shadowhawk's wing. Corax gave the barest nod; the Primarch had always been able to pinpoint him in an instance, even in his cameleoline-modified armor.

Nex returned the acknowledgement. The Primarch was one of the few he felt respect – or anything – for. He watched and listened as Space Marines moved through the dance of deployment. Tactical and Support squads boarded transports first, followed by Assault squads. Veteran squads carried personalized gear into transports emblazoned with honors and kill markings. Terminator squads thudded across the deck, their heavy footfalls audible even over the roar of engines. The cacophony of preparations filled his ears, from sergeants shouting orders to the grinding crunch of tank treads upon the deck to the hydraulic squeal of missile racks being loaded.

Destroyers and Reconnaissance Marines prowled up the boarding ramp of the Shadowhawk he waited under. Nex waited motionlessly as they passed, then slipped on his Destroyer-variant Mk IV helm. Autosenses hummed to life, painting his vision with targeting information and tactical displays. He dismissed most of them with a mental twitch; he found them to be mere distractions. Ensuring his long cameleoline cloak was in place and covering his equipment, he walked up the Shadowhawk ramp.

Reconnaissance Marines recoiled as they saw his dark armor, covered with scratches and nocks. He heard the little clicks of intra-squad vox communication. Finally one of them stepped forward with a curt nod. "Blood-Crow." His retinal display showed the speaker as one Legionary Sallahn. "We have mission parameters to adhere to upon the surface."

"I need the ride."

Another nod. "Understood. We pursue our separate objectives upon arrival."

Nex stayed near the assault ramp as it ground shut. Astartes locked themselves into crash harnesses; he just held onto the long jump bar running overhead. He felt the stares of the others, Reconnaissance and Destroyer squads alike.

Ill-omened, they called him. Madman.

True enough.

The Shadowhawk shuddered; it wasn't taking off, he registered dimly. Another shudder. Ah. The Shadow was firing its main guns. Bombardment cannons mighty enough to level unprotected moons shook the battle-barge with each volley.

Nex waited silently. He knew the assembled fleet must be in position, if the Shadow was firing. He'd overheard some of the conversations about the retribution fleet. The gathered might of this many Astartes Legions was a sight to move a man to awe. The very idea of it had reduced remembrancers to tears. The order of the galaxy had been upended in one fell swoop, and nothing would ever be the same again.

Or so he'd heard.

As far as Nex was concerned, things hadn't changed much. Let the others worry about politics and rulership. Of terms like "Traitor" and "Loyalist." Of brother against brother, demigod against demigod. Of Heresy.

He had people to kill.