Time continues to pass. His sons continue to fight, continue to die. He continues to watch.
It's easier now in a way, he doesn't know any of these men personally. It doesn't hurt as much. He isn't as attached.
Still he endures, he has a duty and he will do it, his sons are counting on him.
Only in death does duty end. That is all.
So his half-life continues, watching as life in his halls moves on, and trying to fit the bits and pieces of overheard conversations into some semblance of continuity.
...
"Brothers! The Orks are massing at Ulannor, we shall soon be called to battle against their filth!"
"You're a fool, Vanius," a sergeant scoffs. 'The might of the Imperial Fists, not to mention the Astra Militarum, will be more than sufficient to deal with this so-called Beast."
He's inclined to agree, the orks haven't been a threat since the Triumph, and Rogal's sons won't take kindly to the Ultramarines, or any of his sons for that matter, butting in where they aren't needed. Not after the Iron Cage and their disagreement over the Codex.
Vanius it seems, will have to find his fight elsewhere.
…
"The Imperial Fists were destroyed almost to a man, and multiple crusade fleets decimated. Several sectors are under threat of collapse or invasion. Holy Terra is under siege, even here in Ultramar we are under attack. We were utterly blindsided! This can't be the work of a mere Warboss…" The Chapter Master paces as he speaks, radiating anger and worry.
"No, Sir. I doubt it, Sir."
Cold horror fills him. The Fists, the stalwart sons of Dorn have been slaughtered? It's a mercy at least that his brother is long dead, the loss of his sons would have broken Rogal beyond repair.
And Terra? Under siege? What has happened? How has that happened? Has the Imperial war effort fallen so far as to expose humanity's birthplace to the ravages of the xeno? What of his father? If the Emperor's psyche and the Astronomicon fail, the darkness of Old Night shall return. Humanity will be doomed to a slow extinction at the hands of xenos, chaos, and worse.
The unnamed Chapter Master is right, something far more dangerous than a mere Ork warboss is at work here. Whatever this thing is, it's far too organized and far too cunning to be another greenskin brute. It calls to mind the scattered, fragmentary, nearly mythic, records of the War in Heaven and the Xenos horrors known as Krorks.
He'd dismissed those accounts as wild exaggeration and fantasy when they'd first been told to him. After all, the tale was purported to be of a period before mankind had even evolved, and his only source, an Eldar Farseer of the craftworld Ulthwé, had had plenty of reason to lie to him. Now he isn't so sure.
…
"Is it true Sir? Has the Lord Vulcan returned?"
Vulcan? He lives? His brother is alive? The Lord of Drake had been assumed dead in the aftermath of the Heresy, but his brother had survived the impossible before, and perhaps he was too quick to assume Vulcan was gone.
"Aye lad, rejoice, a Primarch fights alongside us one more,"
He isn't the last. Vulkan truly lives. Perhaps there is a chance that Vulkan can...no he can't afford to think about that.
The scout makes a face, half excited, half something he cannot identify, envy perhaps. "I wish it was Father."
The sergeant cuffs him lightly about the ears, "We're blessed to have any loyal son of the Emperor. We have a chance now, and we didn't before. Remember that, and be grateful."
He is.
…
"He did it! The Lord Vulcan triumphed over the greenskin menace! The Beast is dead! Terra is free! The Siege is lifted!"
The cheers are loud and joyous, but he can see not all partake in the celebrations.
"It's not over," the new Chapter Master, a man he thinks is named Agnatho, mutters, "Not until Ullanor is destroyed, the xenos culled, and the Imperium stabilized and our losses restored."
"No, not until Lord Vulcan's sacrifice is avenged," a Captain agrees.
He wonders what Vulcan sacrificed; hopes it wasn't his life, but considering this is Vulcan, his soft-hearted, valiant brother, it probably was.
At least Vulcan took the Beast out with him; at least their people are safe from the foul xenos once more. That alone makes his brother's death worth something, if only just.
…
"Sarge, What do you mean by, 'There's six more of them?" a battle brother asks.
He wonders briefly what there are six more of, then decides he probably doesn't want to know. …
"The latest decree from Terra, Lord Agnathio."
The Chapter Master takes the proffered dataslate and scans it, eyebrows rising as he does. "Is this accurate?" he asks the serf.
"Yes, my Lord," she replies. "A forgery of the High Lord's seal cannot possibly be so precise, this missive came from Terra, there can be no doubt. Why? Is something wrong?"
"Indeed,' is the growled response, "There has been a coup. Grand Master Vangorich has seized power and had the other reigning High Lord and other ranking members of the Senatorum Imperialis disposed of."
A coup? On Terra? Hasn't there been enough upheaval fighting the orks? Why hasn't anyone prevented such abuses?
Evidently the serf has the same question, "Disposed of? Surely Lord Commander Thane-"
"Maximus Thane seems to approve. Or at least, he's too busy rebuilding the Fists and overseeing the Crusade to stop the Grand Master from beheading the Imperium's entire civilian leadership. The fool, the Administratum, and the High Lords may be a pack of bureaucratic puppeteers and inbred politicians, but we need them to keep the Imperium stable. By giving in to his frustration, Vangorich just erased our best chance at rebuilding."
He can certainly sympathize with the desire to get rid of the High Lords. In his darker moments, before his entombment, he'd often contemplated how much easier it would be to rule and reform the Imperium without their interference. He'd never gone through with any of his ideas. He has no wish to become a tyrant, and even less desire to do so at the Imperium's expense. Vangorich has no such qualms.
"What are you going to do?" the serf asks.
Agnathio's reply is a bitter laugh, "I can't do anything." He says, "Not unless Thane decides to act against Vangorich. We can't afford to alienate both the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum and the Lord Commander of the Imperium. Not if we expect to live to tell of our defiance."
It would seem that Malcador's assassins are still causing problems, and they seem to have the tacit support of his successor. It's a powerful political block, and one that he knows from experience won't be broken by anything less than internal strife.
...
"Thane finally did it. Vangoritch is dead, as are four hundred Astartes from the Imperial Fist, Halo Brethren, and Sable Sword Chapters, as well as an unknown number of Eversor Assassins."
Four hundred Astartes dead in order to remove one human tyrant from power, what a waste.
"What do you think the Chapter Master will do?"
"I do not know. Prepare yourself, brother, you will be needed."
…
"What's the best way to get politicians to do their jobs?" a chapter serf jokes.
"I don't know, what is it?" his companion tiredly asks.
"Simple. You march to Terra, with an alliance of over fifty Chapter Masters to back you up. I guarantee by the time you leave there will be a working government instead of anarchy and twelve new High Lords of Terra."
"That's not a joke, Pullo. That's what Chapter Master Agnathio did."
It's a blunt and somewhat inelegant way of playing politics, and he's sure some would scoff at the crudeness of the power play, but he won't. What wins the fight wins the fight. If that means marching into the Senatorum Imperialis and putting an end to the infighting and backstabbing by force, that is what should be done.
With so much of the War of the Best spent on the defensive, teetering on the edge of a knife, there should be no time for anyone to notice the Primarch's attention, but they do. The Primarch's gaze seeks out those who are worthy, grants them hope and courage in the darkest of days, when the attack moons blot the sun from the skies above Maccragge and word comes that Terra is ready to fall. He is there. He is constant. He directs them onto the path of glory.
Author's Notes:
I think this might be the happiest chapter I've written, the Orks must be getting to me.
First off, Huge Thanks to everyone who's commented/faved/followed. You're all amazing and I love to see what you think about this thing I have made.
Secondly, as a warning, the next couple of chapters might be a bit delayed. School is going into overdrive in preparation for midterms and spring break, so the time I have to write is shrinking. I'll do my best to stay on schedule with a new chapter every Friday, but be warned, they may be a few days late. Whatever happens, I'm not giving up on Stasis, so at least you don't have to worry about that.
Thirdly, I have never read the War of the Beast Series and am relying on the Wiki and Lexicanium for information, hopefully, I didn't mess anything up too badly. If I did, please tell me so I can fix it.
As usual, please try to keep in mind that I'm still very much a novice when it comes to writing, so any constructive criticism/critique/lore correction is welcome (and let's be honest, desperately needed). Please don't be shy. I need all the help I can get!
Last but certainly not least, a massive thanks to my wonderful beta Spooky-Cadet!