The Lord Inquisitor's troops were in the final processes of withdrawing from Leprus, seizing and requisitioning whatever assets that were still useful from the planet. The precious city that Guillaume had so desperately coveted was nothing but a fresh addition to the ruins that littered the world, a barren rock good for little more than as a potential candidate for colonization at some future date. Lord Inquisitor O'Neill, however, had far more pressing concerns. He and Anand were just finishing packing up the few things they had brought with them on-world when a throne agent rushed into his personal quarters.
"Lord Inquisitor sir, I have urgent news." The throne agent said.
"What is it?" O'Neill said.
"The troops in the north were scouring the ruins where the Death Guard had been previously stationed and… well, they found something. I think you had better take a look for yourself." The agent said.
Lord Inquisitor O'Neill rushed along with his assistant towards the source of the commotion, a squad of Tempestus Scions gathered in a circle around whatever they had found in the remains of the Death Guard's encampment. He pushed the soldiers aside and saw what appeared to be an unarmored space marine restrained in adamantium bindings.
"An… an Astartes?" O'Neill said. "I thought all of the loyal marines had perished at the hands of the plague marines. Did you run his biometrics?"
"We did sir… and you are right, he does not belong to the chapter that was stationed here. Their dead are all accounted for." The throne agent said.
"Then… who the hell is this?" O'Neill said.
The throne agents exchanged worried glances.
"Well come on, out with it!" O'Neill said.
The throne agent swallowed nervously.
"He… he is not…" The throne agent stammered. "He is not a loyalist. His gene-seed is Death Guard."
O'Neill looked at him incredulously.
"However… he is in our records." The throne agent said. "Specifically, his biometric data matches that of a marine registered roughly 10,000 standard Terran years ago. A marine recruited from the planet Barbarus by the name of… Calas Typhon."
Everyone, even the Tempestors went silent. The name of Calas Typhon was synonymous with death and destruction, a name on par with that of the daemon prince of plagues himself, Mortarion. O'Neill looked down at the bound marine with a stupefied expression.
"Anand, check those readings." O'Neill said, the throne agent handing a data slate to the Lord Inquisitor's assistant. She quickly swiped through the long list of biometric scans and markers, triple-checking each entry down to the finest of details. She lowered the dataslate and looked at the Lord Inquisitor.
"It's… it's true. I can find no errors in the dataset." She said, a tone of bewilderment creeping into her usually machine-like voice.
O'Neill ran his hand through his peppered hair.
"That's not possible." He muttered under his breath.
"It is the truth." The bound marine said, in a low and gravelly voice.
O'Neill stared at the marine like a caged animal.
"That's impossible." O'Neill asserted. "Typhus is-"
"A champion of Nurgle? An infested host of innumerable plagues and insects? An embodiment of disease and decay?" The bound marine said. "I was. I was all of those and more… and all of it was taken from me. By her." Typhon said.
"Who?" O'Neill said.
"You know of whom I speak, inquisitor." Typhon said. "The daemon. The one with the antlers of blue-green flame and the mane of orange-gold fire. Tadmushtum."
O'Neill stared at Typhon for several minutes, his mind trying to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing.
"You four, take him to my ship." the Lord Inquisitor said to the Tempestors. "Place him in the brig, maximum security. As for you…" He said, kneeling down to Typhon's level. "Once we begin the long journey back to Terra… I want you to tell me everything you know about this 'Tadmushtum'."
Deep within the immense expanse of the galaxy known as the Segmentum Ultima, hidden away in the far eastern fringes of the Milky Way, laid the pestilent realm known as the Scourge Stars. It was Nurgle's foothold in the Materium, an extension of his power, ruled over by the Primarch of the Death Guard. The planet of Vermioil in the Rottgrave system, a former shrine world dedicated to the Emperor of Mankind, served as his throne world. Yet, at this moment, it appeared almost like a warzone. No enemy had invaded this realm, and no invaders or saboteurs set foot upon Vermioil's surface. This destruction began when Mortarion himself descended upon his throne world and learned of the fate of his 1st Company after the wrecked hull of the Terminus Est finally arrived after several months of warp travel.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAT?" Mortarion screamed.
The towering giant of pestilence carved a path of destruction through the fetid shrines and temples dedicated to him and his Plaguefather, tearing through metal and stone with his mighty scythe as his tattered insect-like wings billowed behind him. His toxin-filled rebreather sputtered and coughed with rage, his pale, deadened eyes filled with a fury he had not known in centuries. If any mortals had witnessed this burst of outrage, they may have even mistaken him for his brother Angron.
"First… my victory over my despicable golden boy of a brother Guilliman and his precious Realm of Ultramar is stolen away from me by my wretched father…" Mortarion said, wheezing in frustration. "Then… I return to find that not only has my capital ship returned to me in pieces… but my entire 1st Company is in shambles! …AND THAT BASTARD TYPHUS IS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN!"
Mortarion's screams shook the very foundations of the planet, creating tremors in the earth and driving cracks all across its surface. He huffed heavily through his rebreather, blowing out clouds of noxious air with his infuriated rasping.
Eventually, his thoroughly shaken retinue of Deathshrouds managed to calm him down enough for their Primarch to stop mindlessly wrecking his own home. He impaled his scythe upon the ground and collapsed into his throne fashioned from the dead and fungus-infested stump of a previously mighty tree. He raised his hand to the side of his head and rubbed his temple, attempting to accept the myriad of failures and misfortunes that had befallen him as of late. Now that the Primarch was pacified, he allowed the survivors of his 1st company to brief him on what had happened.
"...a single warrior and a greater daemon? Two combatants managed to cripple some of my best troops!?" Mortarion said, almost more confused than furious. "A warrior in artificer power armor wielding weapons blessed by Chaos… and with the power to move in and out of the Immaterium at will…"
Mortarion racked his mind, attempting to come up with a potential candidate for who the mystery attacker could be.
Abaddon…? He wondered. No… that upstart is cocky, but even he isn't foolish enough to do something like this and jeopardize Nurgle's support of his plans. Wanton slaughter is not the hallmark of Ahriman, yet it was too smart and coordinated for it to have been Kharn… and Lucius would have died at least once just for the fun of it. Who could possibly have…
He abandoned his speculation and moved on to the next topic.
"The daemon. Who was it? Which of the powers were they affiliated with?" Mortarion said.
"The daemon only identified herself as 'Tadmushtum'..." The plague marine said. "... and referred to herself as the… 'Daughter of Nurgle'."
Mortarion's eyes widened.
"That's… that's absurd." Mortarion said. "Why would Grandfather sabotage his own works? And for a daemon to take up such a lofty title… not even the mightiest of greater daemons would dare to impune the name of one of the Four like that!"
Mortarion rubbed his forehead in confusion. The more he learned about this situation the less angry he was and the more he simply felt like he had no idea what was going on - a feeling that unnerved him.
"And you searched the records for any mention of this… Tadmushtum?" Mortarion said.
"Indeed, sire. Our searches came up with nothing. We even sacrificed hundreds of thralls to summon the wisdom of several greater daemons of Nurgle, however not a single one of them recognized the name." The plague marine said.
"This is troubling indeed." Mortarion said.
His eyes narrowed in contemplation. Who else could possess more knowledge about this daemon? His mind was immediately drawn to his brother Magnus, seeker of all knowledge related to warpcraft and sorcery, however he quickly dispelled this notion. The animosity between their patron gods made all but the most distant cooperation nearly impossible. He doubted that he would even be able to set foot upon the Planet of the Sorcerers without causing an all-out war, something he was simply too mentally exhausted to deal with right now. However, there was one other person… someone with a more intuitive knowledge of gods and daemons, beyond what was written in ancient books and tomes. Mortarion soon made up his mind and determined to take action.
"Ready my personal transport fleet and send an envoy to the Dark Council of the Word Bearers." Mortarion said, rising from his throne with a firm resolve. "I will seek an audience with their lord upon Sicarus."
On the opposite side of the galaxy, in a remote and uncharted corner of the Segmentum Obscurus, the massive fortress-monastery of the Dark Angels known only as 'The Rock' drifted through a pocket of empty space nestled within a nebula. The Supreme Grand Master of the 1st Legion, Commander Azrael, stood in front of a vast viewscreen and watched the churning currents of plasma and dust that swirled outside of their mobile fortress. He was deep in contemplation with his arms crossed behind him, ruminating and planning carefully what his next moves would be.
"Are you sure these are the correct coordinates for the rendezvous, Fleet Master?" Azrael asked the Rock's captain.
"Our astropaths confirmed the coordinates with the Custodes 5 times, Grand Master." The Master of the Fleet replied.
Azrael remained on edge, the confirmation failing to make him any less disconcerted. The entire situation was altogether unsettling to him, however attempting to circumvent a direct order from the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes was tantamount to high treason and would only serve to draw even more unwanted attention upon them. Even still, the remote location of their meeting combined with the repeated advisement that they keep the meeting a secret from anyone outside of the Dark Angels' Inner Circle deeply disturbed him. Lord Commander Guilliman made no such requests when he arrived to bring them much needed primaris reinforcements, leading Azrael to believe that the purpose of this meeting would not be so benevolent.
"Grand Master, it appears the Custodes are arriving." the Fleet Master said.
Azrael could see the monstrous warp-tear opening in the distance, plumes of effluvial warp-dust and empyrean residue leaking out of the hole in reality. A gleaming golden vessel emerged, sleek and armed with some of the most advanced armaments in the entire Imperial Navy. However, the vessel emerged alone. Azrael was confused, wondering if maybe the ship's escort had been delayed or lost in transit, although given the extreme importance of the Custodes he found this unlikely-
"Grand Master, we're picking up multiple signatures emerging from the warp… in different locations." the Fleet Master said.
"Show me on the sensors." Azrael said with an urgent tone.
He looked over to a large holo-screen connected to the sensor array which displayed the Rock in the center and the emerging Custodes fleet. Ships were appearing at regular intervals all around the fortress, surrounding it in a web of firing cones. Both of Azrael's hearts skipped a beat.
"It's…" the Fleet Master said.
"It's an encirclement. They intend to surround us and prevent our escape." Azrael said, his voice gravely serious. "Raise the shields, put the crew on high alert, keep the weapons teams on standby."
"You… you intend to attack them?" The Fleet Master said with a shaky voice.
"No. If they came here with the intention of attacking us they would have done so as soon as they arrived, while our defenses were still down." Azrael said, his steady voice not betraying the dread building up inside of him.
It appears the games of cat and mouse may finally be coming to an end. Azrael thought. No matter. I will face whatever judgment comes with a dignity befitting of my legion. I will make you proud, father.
"Grand Master, one more ship is exiting the warp, dead ahead." The Fleet Master said.
Azrael looked to the viewscreen and saw an immense warp portal opening, far larger than the ones before. An entire fleet of bronze-coated Battle Barges and Strike Cruisers emerged, followed by a monstrously large and viciously armed Heavy Assault Carrier emblazoned with the infamous blood-red sigil of a bull - the Daedelos Krata. Azrael's blood ran cold.
"The Minotaurs." He muttered, with equal parts malice and trepidation.
Azrael paced back and forth in the large conference room chosen to serve as their meeting place with the Custodes. The far end of the room was dominated by a large, reinforced window that allowed the light of the nebula to seep in and give the room a faint fuchsia glow. He heard a buzzing noise at the door that signaled the Custodes' envoy had finally arrived. He moved to open the door and welcome them in, however the door opened before he could reach it. Through the doorway stepped a towering bronze Astartes in heavily customized terminator armor, standing roughly a head taller than Azrael.
"Asterion Moloch." Azrael said, with a hint of venom upon his tongue.
The imposing Chapter Master laughed with a deep and rumbling voice, looking down on the Dark Angel's Supreme Grand Master through the thin eye slits of his Corinthian helmet, slivers of red light emanating from within his visor.
"I am honored to be recognized by the Master of such an esteemed chapter." Moloch said, his voice dripping with mocking sadism.
Azrael chose to ignore the brute's prodding.
"Moloch! Behave yourself." Came a resounding and commanding voice from behind the bronze beast.
Asterion immediately straightened and stepped to the side. Azrael was shocked to see none other than Trajann Valoris, the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes himself, standing before him. He was flanked by a cadre of Custodian bodyguards, a white-robed Emissary Imperatus, and followed curiously by a small, unaugmented man in a grey coat.
"Chief Custodian…!" Azrael exclaimed. "I… did not expect you to arrive… in person."
"This is an exceptional situation." Trajann said, with a resolute stare that emanated absolute authority.
"Please… come and sit so that we may discuss… whatever it is you wish to inquire about." Azrael said.
They both pulled out chairs on opposite sides of the long table in the center of the room, with Moloch simply standing against the far wall with his arms crossed. Trajann rested his elbows on the table and wove his fingers together in a pyramid.
"Is this room secure?" The Chief Custodian said.
"Yes. Whatever secrets we share in this room will stay safe with us." Azrael said, crafting his words carefully to ensure that he was not actually lying to the Custodian.
Trajann looked to the side behind Azrael, towards a dark corner of the room.
"Master Fadix?" Trajann said, speaking past Azrael.
The Dark Angel commander spun around, towards the spot Trajann was speaking to. Out of the small patch of shadow, a lithe figure emerged. He was a spindly and androgynous-looking man with pale skin, white hair, and red eyes, wearing a tight uniform of synthskin underneath a cloak of red silk.
"I disabled the 15 hidden cameras and 32 listening devices scattered throughout the room. We should be alone now." He said, with an unnervingly smooth voice that reminded one of a snake slithering across sand in the dead of night.
Grandmaster Fadix!? Azrael thought. What is the master of the Assassinorum doing here!?
Azrael turned back to Trajann Valoris, whose expression betrayed no emotion or intent, merely an unwavering air of authority. Azrael looked down with a grave expression similar to that of a prisoner on death row. He steeled his resolve and straightened his back, meeting the Chief Custodian's gaze directly.
"Let us dispense with the pretenses, then." Azrael said.
If they had wished to destroy or imprison us, they would have done so… Azrael thought. There is more going on here. I do not know yet what they know, but they surely know *something*... Perhaps they know everything, perhaps only of the Fallen or of Luther's betrayal… or perhaps they know nothing, and this is simply a bluff…
Azrael knew that the Custodes would never bluff.
"What do you seek?" Azrael said directly.
Trajann took a deep breath and leaned back, his expression still unwavering.
"Many months ago, the Emperor had a vision. A vision so powerful that it shook the very foundations of Holy Terra. He foretold that another of his sons had returned." Trajann said.
"Another Primarch? Who?" Azrael said.
"The Wolf." Trajann said.
Azrael leaned back.
The Primarch of the Space Wolves… Azrael thought.
"This is momentous news…" Azrael said. "Having yet another son of the Emperor on our side could turn the tide agains-"
"Leman Russ has turned against the Emperor." Trajann said, with a blank and unmoved expression.
Azrael was struck speechless, his mouth left slightly agape.
"That… this cannot…" Azrael stammered.
Leman Russ? Turned traitor? Azrael thought. That's… that's impossible! Even amongst the sons of the Lion the name of Leman Russ is synonymous with unwavering loyalty.
"How do you know this?" Azrael said.
"In his vision, the Emperor foresaw that the Wolf had betrayed him, consorting with daemonic powers and plotting to overthrow the Imperium." Trajann said. "Inquisitor, the report."
The Lord Inquisitor handed the golden-armored custodian a dataslate, and Trajann placed it upon the table between them. He tapped a rune on the dataslate and brought up the Lord Inquisitor's report.
"Recently, an incident occurred on the planet Leprus in the Hansen sub-sector." Trajann said. "An inquisitorial task force accompanied by a contingent of Grey Knights was dispatched to this system to repel an invasion force led by the Nurglite champion Typhus and the Death Guard's 1st Plague Company. However, when one of the detachments arrived ahead of schedule, they found the 1st Company crippled and in full retreat. When the inquisitor leading this detachment descended onto the planet's surface, they were attacked by an exceptionally strong and previously unknown Greater Daemon. The Grey Knights fought this daemon to a standstill, until…"
Trajann tapped on the dataslate and summoned a blurry pict-capture of a towering warrior adorned in ornate armor. Azrael squinted his eyes, and despite the image seeming to be of a high quality, no matter how he looked at it the figure remained somewhat obscured. He could make out details of his appearance, but it was as if his eyes forbade him from piecing them together into a complete whole.
"...This man appeared. He defeated the Grey Knights with ease, rescuing the daemon and absconding with it. It appears he is surrounded by some kind of psychic aura that hides his identity, meaning it would be exceptionally difficult to identify or track him. However, with the information gleaned from the Emperor's visions combined with eyewitness testimony by the Grey Knights who faced him, we believe with a strong certainty that this… is Leman Russ." Trajann said.
Azrael blinked slowly, taking a few moments for his mind to catch up with all that he was hearing. He raised a hand to his temple and looked down in contemplation. Had the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes himself not been relaying this information to him directly, he would have not even believed it.
"We do not know yet if he has chosen willingly to turn against the Emperor, or if his time in the Immaterium has merely eroded his will to the point that he became irreversibly corrupted and fallen prey to the whims of the Ruinous Powers." Trajann said.
"What of the Space Wolves? We fought alongside them against the forces of the Thousand Sons and detected no sign of corruption…" Azrael said.
"We do not believe the Space Wolves know yet of their gene-father's treachery." Trajann said. "Ensuring that this remains a secret from them is amongst our highest priorities for obvious reasons."
"What has Lord Commander Guilliman said of this?" Azrael said.
Trajann was silent for a moment, his face solid like a statue of marble.
"The Emperor does not wish to distract the Lord Commander from the critical work of reuniting Humanity in the wake of the Noctis Aeterna. It is imperative that he remain focused on the task of rebuilding the Imperium… as such, it was decided that Leman Russ must be dealt with in secret." Trajann said.
The color drained from Azrael's face. The atmosphere of the entire room seemed to change instantly, as the gravity of the situation fell upon him. Azrael looked around at the four men in the room.
"You… you want us… to kill the Wolf without the Lord Commander's knowledge…?" Azrael said, his voice lowered to a whisper.
"With all due respect, Supreme Grand Master, I do not believe that even with all of your forces we would be able to stop Leman Russ." Trajann said.
Azrael looked confused.
"Then… why have you come? Why are you sharing this with me?" Azrael said, his suspicions rising.
Trajann rose from his seat, looking down upon the chapter master.
"We know that the Dark Angels have been keeping secrets from the Imperium. We tolerated your deception, because it was deemed that your loyalty and service to the Emperor outweighed any potential secrets you could have been hiding." Trajann said, folding his arms. "However, this has changed."
Azrael's heart pounded intensely as he focused all of his energy on maintaining his composure.
"There is a secret that we cannot allow you to keep from us any longer. The only thing that will allow us to put a stop to Leman Russ before he can bring the Imperium to ruin." Trajann said.
The Chief Custodian placed his hands upon the table and stared into the Grandmaster's eyes with an intensely grave expression.
"We need to awaken the Lion." Trajann said.
Azrael was silent. He had an indescribable expression upon his face, and for a moment it appeared as though the entire room had frozen still. Then, without a single hint of deception or shred of deceit, the Supreme Grandmaster of the Dark Angels spoke with absolute and unwavering honesty when he uttered the words:
"What are you talking about?"
Atop a grassy hill beneath the stone walls of a mighty fortress, a young knight watched the red-orange light of the morning sun rise over the horizon. His long, flaxen hair danced in the gentle morning breeze, his armor reflecting the multicolored hues of the dawn sky. His nostrils widened as he breathed in the crisp air, carried over the vast forests by sweeping tidal winds. His exhale created an ephemeral cloud of condensation, quickly fading back into the morning breeze from whence it came. The young knight heard the sound of clopping hooves coming up the hill behind him and turned to see a robed knight mounted atop a mighty black steed.
"Lion!" the older knight shouted, disembarking from his horse. "I didn't know you were already up. I was looking all over the castle for you!"
"I was merely watching the sunrise, Luther." Lion El'Jonson said, turning back to gaze at the rising sun. "Seeing the golden light of day banish the darkness of night, sending the shadows fleeing across the horizon… it reminds me of my duty, as a member of the Order."
"Well, don't spend all day staring at the clouds." Luther said, walking up behind the young knight and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've much more important things to be doing. We must get you prepared for tonight's festivities. After all, it's not every day that one has their betrothal ceremony!" He said, laughing and patting the young knight on the back.