The bridge of the Terminus Est hustled and bustled with activity. To allay suspicion from the other members of the Legion, they had continued on their standard patrol route; but there were others aboard the vessel, and she was not alone. The Tempus Fugite, the vessel of the Third Company and of Captain Devlain Maragos was alongside, as was the Eternal Scythe, the vessel of the
Second Company and their captain Ignatius Grulgor.

The two captains and their retinue were already aboard, but thus far Typhon remained in solitude. Deep within the Terminus Est was a chapel, and if Mortarion had known about it he would have punished the entire First Company; fortunately, Typhon was smarter than his Primarch. The chapel remained hidden from view, not even being on the ship's deck plans. If anyone saw it, they would assume it was a training room or storage area. None of his company spoke about it, nor did the crew; they all knew better.

There was a shrine to the Emperor in the corner of the chapel, but it was not that shrine that Typhon was knelt before with his head bowed. The fixation of Typhon's adoration was a strange three ringed symbol with three arrows pointing in different directions. He had always known about this god, long before the Emperor had returned from his journey into the warp. He had already made his pact and sold his soul. He had done all that was expected from him; and now, he felt that his reward was drawing near.

He remained in silent prayer, mouthing the litanies that he had known, somewhere inside him, long before the Word Bearers had formally taught him. When Erebus had come to him and discussed Typhon's plans, he had told the Death Guard that Nurgle already had his eye on the Fourteenth Legion, but if all the Death Guard did not want to follow in the faith of Papa Nurgle, Typhon was to choose those who would follow him.

He rose from his kneeling position and stretched his neck muscles, let the doors close behind him, and only then was he informed of the arrival of the second and third captains. He turned to Sergeant Refax, the cold smile barely touching his eyes.

"It is time, my friend. Mortarion will learn that nothing escapes the demands of the gods, especially the one we serve."


The war for Castelios Alpha had begun.

The first salvo came from the bastion and landed short of the Iron Warriors' first trench line. Some of the Baranians cheered at that; to the observing Warsmith, it was obvious that they were ranging their weapons. It would not be long before they hit home, and he did not want that, not yet. He turned as the figure loomed beside him and bowed his head.

"You said they would fire first, brother." Jasiera sighed. "It used to be so much easier when they surrendered after Perturabo offered his peace terms."

The sound that came from the ancient Dreadnought was a cross between an irritated hiss and a sigh. "Brother, times have changed since I walked amongst you all with my true form."

Isolder had been one of the original warriors that Perturabo had brought from Olympia to join with the Terran Iron Warriors. Perturabo had not had a pleasant time as a youth, but Isolder had been one of his friends, if such a thing had been possible for the young Primarch to have. When the Primarch had declared war on his adoptive father, Isolder had been there beside him and had been the first elevated into the Legion after Perturabo took command. He could have become First Captain, given time, but for a time he became Perturabo's equerry.

Yet his star had not remained ascendant for long. Isolder had been horrendously crippled in battle against the Orks, but whilst his body was broken his mind was still as sharp as ever, and Perturabo, not wanting to lose his old friend, allowed him to be interred into a Dreadnought. Jasiera knew that the honoured brothers in the Dreadnoughts generally lost their lucidity - such was the way of things for those venerable brothers - but Isolder still had his sharp mind and wit, enough to keep what remained of the man inside still a man of today and not to slip back into his previous life's memories.

"Did you take my advice, Jasiera?"

"I did, old friend." Jasiera nodded. "I have sent Bellicose Squad to meet up with the scouts that are watching the bastion."

"Good; this would be their induction into the full Astarte ranks. I suspect father will need as many as he can get before this is over." Isolder sighed "What will you do in the meantime?"

"Do what we always do." Jasiera grinned. "I already know the trajectory needed for our guns, and if there is a company of Dark Angels in there, I shall bring them to us. The sons of the Lion will wish they had found another field for us to meet on."

"Confidence is a good thing, Jasiera, but we are Iron Warriors. Iron within…."

"Iron without," Jasiera concluded, acknowledging his friend's hidden meaning. "I am confident in our abilities and know that we are not misguided by irrational beliefs."

"These are very true, but remember this, brother: with a belief that strong, fanaticism is a powerful tool of war. Remember Thealla and the Devevenescii?"

Jasiera acknowledged the former Warsmith's words. Fanaticism led to poor strategic decisions, but as in the Thealla campaign, it could also give baseline humans the strength of will to charge the Iron Warriors' lines with some success despite monstrous casualties. Nevertheless, Jasiera trusted that in the end, seeing the universe as it truly was would win out - as it had on Thealla, in the end.

The Warsmith opened his vox to the gunners. ++Fire++ he growled, and as one the roars of the Iron Warriors' heavy weapons exploded against the bastion walls.


The walls of the Castello Quae, Bello Deorum shook as the shells from the Iron Warriors' heavy weapons barrage struck home with precision and accuracy that few other Legions could attain. The screams of those who had been manning the walls were crushed under the falling battlements, and frantic vox-traffic was drowned out in the sound of concrete crashing to the floor.

In the midst of the carnage being inflicted upon the curtain wall of the fortress, a squad of Iron Warriors under the command of Sergeant Lennax, alongside a few scouts and two humans, made their way through the tree line. They coordinated their moves with the timing of the shells striking the walls to mask their movements. Even so, and despite their armour, they still moved with a stealth that belayed their size.

"Were it that we had our cousins of the Raven Lord with us, Brother-Sergeant," brother Artenena whispered to his sergeant.

Despite the futility of would-have-beens, Lennax grunted his agreement. Despite the relations between their Legions, the Iron Warriors could admit that when it came to stealth there were none better than the Raven Guard and the Alpha Legion (especially now that the Night Lords were not an option anymore), and of the two Lennax would still prefer to do with the Raven Guard. If rumours were to be believed, Corax was still shocked at the Emperors sudden turnaround and the losses the Raven Guard had taken in the chaos of the war's first month. No one knew what the Lord of Deliverance would do next, but his Primarch was almost certain that he would do something.

Coronus came before him and bowed her head. "My Lords," she quietly spoke, "I believe Terax and I have found an old tunnel that leads into the interior."

Behind his helm, Lennax smiled despite himself. This human female was one of the best scouts he had ever seen, and he had not even been aware they were following their own path until now. Ordinarily that would have been a reprimand for disobeying orders, but on this occasion, he settled for the fact they had used their initiative.

He moved his left hand and two brothers stepped forward. He then told Coronus to lead them to the entrance; they made their way slowly, watching all the time not so much for human patrols, but for patrols of another kind. Lord Isolder had made it plain that they were to try a different tactic in dealing with the sons of the Lion, so as to surprise an enemy that understood their Legion. Subterfuge was not their normal path, but then again, times were changing, and Lennax wondered if the sons of Perturabo might find a new approach they were talented at.


Typhon met his fellow Captains in his strategium. He did not care, one way or the other, that he had kept them waiting for almost an hour; devotions to his god came first. He waited until they were alone and turned to face them. The eerie glow of the Terminus Est bathed his handsome features in ominous light, and his armor seemed to flicker, a low-level exertion of his secret psychic talents. Grulgor folded his arms across his chest.

"Are you in the habit of keeping your senior brothers waiting, Calas?" Grulgor was not happy and he did nothing to hide his irritation: he did not like being kept in the dark about what the famous First Captain was planning.

Typhon was aware of that fact. Indeed, he was happy for it, because it made it easy to manipulate Grulgor, a brutal and brave commander but one who on occasions was a sycophant to whatever star was rising in the eyes of the Primarch or the First Captain. Typhon was also aware that the hatred Grulgor had for any Death Guard who was Terran-born blinded him somewhat to the opportunities before him. His rivalry with the Seventh's beloved Battle-Captain, a symbol of that hatred, moreover reflected an occasional recklessness.

Typhon needed his plan to work, and that could mean finally getting Nathaniel Garro on side. Despite his deep loyalty for Mortarion, Garro was also Terran, and surely that meant that he still had a seed of loyalty to the Golden Throne, a seed Typhon had already been watering. It would soon be time to make it sprout, and Grulgor would not stand in the way of that - because for all of Grulgor's might, he was no Garro.

"You have a problem with me taking my time, Ignatius?" Typhus asked cordially. Maragos noticed that the sentiment did not touch the First's eyes and wisely kept his mouth shut. Grulgor did not.

"I have a problem with all this secrecy, Calas. Why can you not just bring us into whatever you have planned from the start?"

The next words that came from Grulgor's throat were interrupted by a sickening crunch as Calas lifted him off his feet and squeezed. Maragos moved quickly and placed his hand on Typhon's arm.

"Brother….we are here as you requested, do not do this -"

He stopped as Ignatius Grulgor fell to the floor, the choking having been accelerated by the First Captain's psychic powers. Typhon ignored Grulgor's arrogance towards others, but his disrespect towards him was intolerable.

"Is he dead?" the First Captain coldly asked.

Maragos checked the prone captain's neck and nodded. "His neck is broken, Calas…."

"Pick him up and follow me; he won't be dead for long."

Maragos, not wanting to be the next focus of the First Captain's ill humours, did as he was asked. Now was not the time for power struggles, and besides, soon he would know whether Typhon was as mad as he appeared or truly on the verge of great power. He did not know what Calas Typhon had in store for the dead Second Captain, but he was quite curious to find out, so long as he wasn't the dead one.

Nevertheless, as Maragos followed Typhon, he had to suppress a frown at the Legion's greatest Astarte killing his brother so easily, even if it wasn't permanent. For the first time since he had linked up with Typhon to renew his oaths to the God-Emperor, he felt like he had dug too deep, not knowing what he'd gotten into.

"The Emperor remembers you," he whispered to Grulgor's corpse. "May He watch over us all."


In his private quarters on the Destiny's Hand, the Black Cardinal and First Chaplain Erebus was implementing his father's orders. He had ensured that the information Lorgar wanted revealed was hidden, but not so deep that it would not be found. After all, he did not want to give them any easy track to find.

Erebus was also aware that Typhon had his own agenda. Like all his brothers, he worshipped Chaos Undivided with the Emperor as the main focus of their worship: as He had been before Monarchia, so it was again after the epiphany and the reconciliation. It irked him that not all of his cousins saw things the way the Word Bearers did, but it was not his place to question a Primarch, even though there were times he wanted to.

Typhon, however, had no interest in the Golden Throne, and from what Erebus had gleaned of his friend over the years was that he didn't much respect his Primarch either. That annoyed him: no matter what, the Primarchs were the fathers of the Astartes. Mortarion's own genome had been used to create the Death Guard, and he deserved, if not the respect of his sons, then at least their fear. Even the Death Guard who had returned to the side of the Emperor still spoke with love and honour of their father. More importantly, they did not underestimate him.

He had also learnt that Typhon had made a pact with the being they called Papa Nurgle, or the Grandfather, the great master of decay. It was this revelation that had made Lorgar's decision for him. The Death Guard were unique in that they had a higher resilience, such as to atmospheres that could cause any other Astartes problems after a while. It was perfectly understandable why the Plague God wanted them all to himself, and that was fine, for after all one did not upset the will of the gods.

What had annoyed Lorgar was that, all the time he had been preaching the Emperor's divinity in the times before, Typhon had made a point of mocking the Word Bearers for the same path he was now following.

With a sneer on his face, he set the wheels in motion. If Typhon wanted the favour of Grandfather Nurgle he would get it, and Erebus was not going to let his friend die, but he would be taught a lesson first, one that had been a long time in coming….


"So," Amon asked, turning to Garro. "Why did you not return to the side of the Emperor, Nathaniel?"

It was a direct question, but sometimes directness worked best. Amon was tired of not knowing whether he trusted Garro or not - the more he spoke about the subject that concerned him, the more chances he'd have to notice discrepancies.

Garro looked up from studying the reams of transcripts that he and Amon had spent the last day and a half looking through, Astarte and Custode both hoping to find that one lead that would tell them where the traitor was and who they were.

Garro was a tall man and large even for an Astartes. He bore the title Battle-Captain, an honour bestowed upon him by the Emperor long ago, in the time when the Death Guard were known as the Dusk Raiders. For reasons that escaped Amon, the Death Guard were made up of only seven Grand Companies. Typhon was the First Captain, Grulgor was also known as the Commander, and Garro was the Battle-Captain. Then again, the number of companies was but one sign of a broader pattern - there was something about the number seven that intrigued Mortarion and was one of the Primarch's own personal eccentricities.

"When I served in the Dusk Raiders, I followed the Emperor without question, Amon. I would have gone through the fires of nuclear war for him and back. He had preached that man did not need an invisible deity, one that neither cared about nor influenced mankind in any way. By his words, man was master of his own destiny. The Age of Technology had demonstrated as much, humanity ascending to become the greatest species of the galaxy. Science was the way forward, science and technology, not theology and magic."

Garro sat back and gazed over Amon's shoulder at some distant point that only he could see. "Terra was a beautiful world once. Oceans, seas, rivers, mountains, forests, animals that could not be found anywhere else. The Emperor has been trying to bring back nature on the Throneworld, but he quietly said that it was but an echo of the Terra that he had once known." He sighed heavily and turned his gaze onto the Last Lion, a name that had gotten attached to Amon like a deverea pod to a ship. "We got so clever that we reverted back to petty warlords, and wars fought with weapons we barely remember destroyed everything that was beautiful about Terra, everything that made her unique."

He stretched a little and ran his hand over his bald head. It was then that Amon saw the eagle - eagle, not aquila - engraved on his gauntlet. Garro followed his gaze and smiled a little.

"It is a symbol to remind me of my sworn Honour-Brother, Saul Tarvitz of the Emperors Children." Garro's brow creased a little. "I do not know what has become of him yet; I can only hope that he is well and fighting against all that we detest. And that, Amon, is why I cannot follow the Emperor. My company has the only few Terrans left in the Death Guard who opted to stay with Mortarion. The others returned to Terra, not that there were many of us left in the first place."

"It's always the way, isn't it," Amon murmured. He was hard-pressed to continue the conversation, in truth. The Emperor's Children were an Imperial Legion, and everything else that Garro had said only made the Battle-Captain seem more suspicious to the Custode's eyes.

"What is?"

"The Legions were incepted on Terra, and yet some of them, after being reunited with their Primarchs, suddenly started becoming more and more tied to their Primarchs' adopted home worlds. The Raven Guard were the worst, but there were others. The rumours before all this started was that the Terran-born Dark Angels were being sent to garrison Caliban and teach the new recruits. The Emperor was not concerned but Malcador was: he did not like the show of favouritism and believed that all Astartes, wherever they hailed from, should have been equal to the others."

Garro shook his head. "The point is, I could not see myself ever calling the Emperor a god. He had been so staunchly against it... He had burnt the last church himself. I was not there when he did it, but I have spoken to Thunder Warriors who were. He treated the old priest with respect, but in the end, the last church fell; and that, he had said, was the end of the age of religious fraud. Now all that he once taught has been siphoned into the void, all because he went into the Warp and came back enlightened and announced there were gods… oh, and that he was one of them. I can understand the Word Bearers suddenly flocking to his side at that announcement, after all, it is all they have preached and it vindicated everything that Lorgar mixed into them; but Dorn, Manus, Vulkan - I cannot believe that Rogal Dorn of all Primarchs would fall for it…."

Amon scratched his stubble and sat forward. "The Emperor chose those that would follow him without question and those that would follow him if they could get something in return. The Night Lords are the secret police of the Imperium now, their brand of justice accepted as the Imperial way. The World Eaters are more like the Space Wolves were. There was no way that Russ would to follow a god, but Angron would, if it meant he could prove his martial prowess as never before - or, perhaps, he simply does not care. Vulkan, for all the spirituality of his home world, was skeptical at first, but something occurred between him, Angron and the Emperor, on the world of Maragara. I do not know what, as I was not there, but Valdor was, and it changed him. Before, he had ordered us to follow the Emperor, for we were his Lions. The personal guard of the master of mankind, given meaning by our duty of service. Yet when he returned from witnessing Vulkan's conversion, he drew me to one side and told me that the only saviours mankind could have now were Horus and Sanguinius, followed by all those who refused to follow a living god."

Garro raised his eyebrows and smirked, but it was without humour. "Have you heard the rumours? Gulliman is apparently trying to fortify Ultramar into an Imperium Secundus. Horus does not believe they should be forging another empire, instead of working to save this one."

Amon shook his head. While he'd suspected something of the sort, he hadn't known the details - and could only hope that the lines of communication between Horus and Guilliman had not been broken. The last thing the renegades needed now was a schism. "I heard there was an argument, but I had no idea what it was about."

"I got that from the scuttlebutt flying around; how true it is, I cannot say."

Amon sighed a little. Trying to shift the blame, while speaking ill of the Coalition's unity. Another mark on the line of suspicions. "So you remained with Mortarion?"

"Mortarion is my gene-father. I would follow him until my death."

Amon returned his gaze to the transcripts, and silence fell between them once more, yet one even less comfortable than before. Amon couldn't be sure of anything, and now he knew that, despite the favor being shown by the Death Lord, he couldn't be sure of Garro's loyalty either.


Squad Bellicose silently made their way through the tunnel, each step taken with care. One look at the wet, moss-covered stonework around them revealed that a cave-in could be inevitable. An Iron Warrior's trained eye could tell that some stonework did not last forever, even in a fort as respectable as this one. Perhaps the original builders had, over time, forgotten about this hidden entrance. It might have once been used to smuggle food in at times of siege warfare, or troops out. But spiderweb-like cracks in the stone, only a few of which were recent enough to come from the current barrage, reflected the fact that such times had been long ago indeed.

As they moved around the corner, considering those things, a bolter shell took Scout Jeranu off his feet and sent him flying past the other Astartes, until his head cracked against a wall, leaving a bloody smear on the wall as his body finally slid to the ground. Apothecary Usezen immediately crouched by the body and touched his neck. He looked at the sergeant and shook his head: the shot had been precise, phenomenally so. Lennax cursed and moved his men behind him. They had been lax in the belief that none of the humans above them had remembered about this tunnel.

He motioned for two of his men to protect Usezen as he gathered the gene-seed from the dead scout. Usezen glanced down at the scout and closed his eyes. It was the way of things, but to lose a brother like that was a blow, especially a Scout. Still, even those that showed great promise sometimes faltered.

Lennax watched as Coronus removed a cube inscribed with serpentine designs from her belt and crouched down, moved and extended it until it just peeped round the corner, and peered through it. Brother Augustrix moved next to her and motioned at the tube. She moved back and let him peer through it.

Coronus nodded as he looked to her for clarification of what he had seen before handing her the snake-like camera back. Augustrix nodded his approval and turned to Lennax. "There are five Dark Angels, barricaded two hundred fifty meters ahead of us," he quietly spoke. "They were waiting for us."

"They knew we would find the tunnel, which is why it was so easy to get in. Bloody Calibanite bastards. I should have known that they would check for such entrances... fanatics or no, the First has never been stupid. What is that you used, sister?" Lennax knew of snake cameras, but he suspected that not all of the Scouts did.

Coronus stared as Lennax addressed her in a more familial way and straightened her posture.

"It is a snake camera, my lord, a Lannertian model - we use them in urban battles, though they are infrequent, as the countryside provides better use for our natural talents."

"Stick close by me," he whispered. "I will have need of your talents soon, but for the moment, remain here. We shall deal with the Dark Angels,"

"As you wish, Lord…."

"Brother," Lennax corrected quickly, for his rapport with Coronus was enough for him to call her an honour-sibling. "You can address me as brother, little sister."

Coronus smiled a little. "My name is Freada."

"And mine is Mattieus." He unhooked a smoke grenade from his belt, as anything else would bring the walls down. "Mark your targets and your shots well, brothers." He moved down the wall and rolled the grenade out, waiting until the smoke filled the area and ordering his squad to move to heat vision - the Dark Angels would do so too, of course, but reducing their accuracy would favor the Iron Warriors. They moved around the corner, firing at the heat signals ahead.

Two fell immediately, but the other three remained standing. The shots that had felled their brothers now turned on them. The smoke began to clear, and almost immediately the Iron Warriors compensated. Brother Calen went down as his knee was shattered by a shot from one of the Dark Angels that his visor identified as Sergeant Oslay.

He moved behind a wall panel and carried on firing, whispering the Unbreakable Litany as he did so. Brother Hendran took a shot that went through his neck and then on through his visor, shattering his skull - Usezen pulled him back behind the corner immediately, hoping to stabilize him. Brother Artenena placed a well-aimed shot at the Dark Angel named as Brother Zendar, sending him sprawling.

Lennax, Artenena, and Scout Yves charged the remaining two Dark Angels. Yves ducked out of the way as Brother Vanguaria unleashed a torrent of bolter fire in their direction. Incensed and searching for revenge for the death of his friend, he threw his combat knife straight into Vanguaria's neck and followed up with a shot to the temple. Lennax moved him to one side, keyed his chainsword, and took the Dark Angel sergeant's head off with a swipe that cauterised the neck where it cut through. The blood soaked the rocky ground that they stood on, and as the sound of battle cleared, Artenena shook his head; he had much of their father's anger inside him, and it showed on his face now.

Before he could say anything, they heard the reductor work its business on Brother Hendran, and Artenena mouthed a few words of respect for Hendran's sacrifice. He also vowed revenge. Kolax Hendran had been his closest battle brother, and they had come up through the ranks together. Lennax, knowing this, told him to bring the body.

He told Yves to collect Jeranu and watched the scout do as he was told. That boy had earnt the carapace today, that was certain. He moved to where Calen was being treated by Usezen.

"How are you doing, Johan?"

"I have another knee, Mattieus. Apothecary Usezen has assured me I'll be able to compensate for it."

"I will see to it that the knee is replaced when we return to the Olympian system." Usezen stood up. "For the moment I suggest rest, Sergeant."

Lennax got to his feet and walked over to where Coronus was kneeling by the body of her protégé, by the ruin that was left of Terax's chest. It looked like he had come too close to the corner of the fight and taken a shot to the chest. A human body was not built to withstand the force of a bolter shell. His ribcage stuck up through the body, as if his corpse had been half-devoured by some savage predator. Blood pooled around the body, and the look on the dead young man's face said it all - no horror, no fear, because he had not had the time to even realize that he was dead. Lennax looked at Coronus, who had her eyes closed and was muttering something beyond even his hearing. He reached over and gently shut the eyes.

"Blood of a warrior. Perturabo will know your name, Terax of Barania, and you will be remembered."

He went to carry the body, but Coronus shook her head. "It is an empty husk; his soul resides in our ancient forests as a guide to the younger generation. There is no use for his body now." She got to her feet and composed herself.

Lennax, always one to learn new things, resolved to find out more about Coronus' traditions, even if they had their base in superstition. He walked with her to the others and handed her some
rations. They would rest for a moment, snack, and gather supplies such as bolter ammunition. Taking from the dead was not beyond him, for he knew they might need every piece of ammo they could get their hands on, whereas the dead did not.

Coronus stopped eating as she heard something. It was like a groan, seated deep within the wall, and her head darted to the side wall, calling the sergeant's attention to it, as great cracks began to spiral out of control. The bolter fire must have shaken the foundations, for it was not the quietest of weapons.

"RUN" Lennax yelled, perhaps unnecessarily, as masonry began to fall.

The remaining brothers and their scouts began to run, Usezen aiding Calen, as behind them the tunnel collapsed in on itself, leaving their dead behind buried under the rubble. They emerged into a vast corridor as the sound of a tunnel collapse cascaded around them and finally settled, throwing enough dust up into the air to coat the armour of the Iron Warriors in a fine ash-colored coating. Coronus, by the time the rumbling had stopped, looked like a ghost.

The Iron Warriors were not superstitious, if anything they were as close as possible to the opposite, but they looked to the human with them and subconsciously saw her as, perhaps, a charm of good luck. They would not admit so even to themselves, of course. But even those, such as Yves, who didn't attach any subconscious meaning to it would have admitted that having Coronus around was improving morale. Of course, as the veterans in the group would have told him, Perturabo's more relaxed grip did even more for that - for once, the Iron Warriors felt like they were doing what they had been born to do, and not merely the aspect of it they were most skilled at.

Lennax pointed. "That way," he growled, and they walked north, knowing that the way out would be more hazardous than the way they came in.