~Wormwood Descends~
~796. M30~
~Segmentum Pacificus~
~Charnac's Pride~
~Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent~
It had been three years since they left Charnac, and they were making tremendous progress. Slightly more than halfway finished with all planned tasks and duties, and soon to reach another major milestone. The problem was what that milestone was.
Colchis, original homeworld of Lorgar, the Primarch most responsible for the Horus Heresy and the ruination of the dream of a golden Imperium. Perhaps not utopia, not with all the dangers of the galaxy at their doorsteps, but certainly better than all ages that came before, better than who they were the moment prior.
Lorgar had woven a song of ruin. A series of schemes and actions that brought all that to rubble. A plan that turned the Primarchs on each other, that turned legions onto legions, and brought ten-thousand years of suffering to the whole galaxy. It all came back to Lorgar, and his blasted, cursed, heretical symphony.
But it was likely that Lorgar would've never done such a thing, were it not for Roboute Guilliman. The brother that obeyed the Emperor's orders to raze Monachia, capital of the planet Khur and jewel of Lorgar's eyes, and force Lorgar to kneel. It's possible that Lorgar would've never acted to bring all things to destruction were it not for him. Of course, it's equally possible that the Emperor would've simply gotten another Primarch to humble their brother, but Guilliman did not live through that possibility. He lived through the possibility in which he had obeyed.
He couldn't find it in himself to ever forgive Lorgar, but neither could he reasonably forgive himself. He too, had a hand in their fall, he could not say that he was innocent in that. The guilt of that battle weighed on him like a heavy stone.
This was a chance to change all that. Guilliman was grabbing it with both hands.
Colchis was a massive, mostly barren world. Three point four times larger than Terra, an amount of gravity that crushed down like an omnipresent judgment. It had a long, slow year of four point eight Terran years and an even longer, slower day of one-hundred and seventy point four terran hours. It was a hot, dry, sunny world that bred very short, very stout, and very tanned humans.
Colchis was a feudal world, filled with the scraps of a once technologically adequate civilization that has since vanished under the sands. What was left behind was nothing more than a great religious covenant that dominated the planet's centers of agriculture and life, and the occasional band of wandering nomads scraping out meager lives between the dunes and seas of a world that could barely sustain life.
It was predicted by Imperial scholars that it would create a new variation of Squats, given enough time. That didn't happen originally, because Guilliman's Ultramarines had made sure to destroy it completely in 010. M31. It was a collapsed world by then, filled with collapsed industries and people barely clinging to life.
He did not begrudge that decision at the time, and he didn't even now.
Because the moment they entered the same system as Colchis, the Emperor's Sword set itself alight with hateful fire, and was nudging his arm towards the planet. Asarnil and all other Eldar present had recoiled once they got close enough, and their Dragons started to thrash in agitation.
The planet reeked of Chaos. It was an ever-present waft that Guilliman couldn't ignore. Indeed, he was baffled by the thought of the Emperor not feeling this crawling warp when he first came to Colchis to retrieve Lorgar.
Then again, the forces of Chaos had not revealed themselves yet. It was only his campaigns in the far future that made him so sensitive to its presence. It was possible that the Emperor had overlooked such, senses blinded by the presence of Lorgar all those years ago.
"Your sibling is here." The eldest seer present had spoken, barely keeping his disgust for the planet out of his voice. "They stand out as a golden candle in a sea of noxious pale."
"The only question is how thoroughly do we destroy this place." Asarnil growled out, ears flickering in predatory intent.
Guilliman could feel his own glare plastered to his face, even as he gently shook his head. "It's not the objective here. Retrieving my sibling and leaving immediately is. The Emperor will be here soon enough, and impose the Imperial Truth upon the world."
"...Not a perfect solution, but it will set the slate of this world clean, purging its twisted faith to bedrock like that." The seer contemplated aloud. "Ideally a more wholesome and efficacious cult would be established after three or so generations."
Guiliman's mouth twisted down as he considered that. "...I suppose that might have been Lorgar's purpose…" He didn't know what the Emperor intended for Lorgar, but if his purpose was to establish a cult that wouldn't feed Chaos in the cleansing aftermath of the Imperial Truth… It fit with what he now knew of the nature of gods, but he couldn't be sure.
The Emperor clearly didn't wish to be worshiped, especially if it would slave him to his eventual legend. But Guilliman had seen the corpse of his creator, in all of its agonizing prominence. Ten-thousand years of suffering to hold back the night was not insubstantial. Regardless of his creator's faults, Guilliman would defend his dedication to humanity to his dying breath. That sight had burned that truth into his mind well enough.
Ten thousand years of pain. Guilliman wasn't confident that he could do the same.
He was just going to ask some very pointed questions for his creator, when they met again. Such as why one of the Primarchs was clearly meant to codify and optimize systems of belief when the Great Crusade was supposedly to rid the galaxy of their superstitions and obsolete faiths.
"...And Lorgar was raised here, amongst worshippers of Chaos, their practices would taint the eventual new faith and simply feed Chaos again, undoing the cleansing and forcing a new purgation…" Asarnil continued the line of thought, before shaking his head. "A plot measured in the decades and woven from the very beginning. We best hope we have arrived before they sank their talons too deeply into your sibling, otherwise they'll simply be a trap waiting to be sprung."
"...Indeed." Guilliman muttered. "Same as Olympia then?"
"A sound decision." Asarnil agreed. "But I refuse to let you enter this place alone. At least a hundred in the initial arrival, and everyone else immediately ready to reinforce you. This could easily be another layer to the trap."
"Agreed." Guilliman muttered, turning to move towards the hangar bay. They would be over his sibling's current position soon enough. He would descend, and either come back with another sibling to raise, or pass a judgment for a crime that might not happen.
He was ready for either, truthfully. He's had a long time to consider this.
—
A ruined starship, half-sunk into the sands and dunes around it, served as the home of an outcast sect of the wider faith of Colchis. It was over this ruined starship that two ships of bone and woven night sky descended, swimming through the dry air above as a pair of oasis lobsters.
They approached closer and closer, rapidly filling more and more of the sky above the starship-temple until the long sun of Colchis itself was drowned out beneath their grand bulks. Two armored leviathans, each five kilometers in length, gently circled the sky directly above as sharks might surround an injured seal.
Far sooner than it should, night had descended around the outcasts, leaving a single glaring pillar of light directly over their relatively small shelter.
Guardians of this outcast faith emerged, carrying primitive weapons of steel and flintlock guns, dressed in robes of white and black, and shuddering with the sudden and unexpected sights overhead.
Should the ships circling them decide to unleash payloads, they would have no way to survive, not with the destruction of one of their few shelters from the long sun destroyed. A great clamor and quiet panic was building among them, and among them murmurs of invaders or worse.
Deep within the ad-hoc compound, a battered figure, curled in on herself and stained in unmentionable substances, slowly smiled. Golden eyes glowed in the darkness of the chamber, even through the throbbing pain throughout and within her flesh.
The cargo-hatch of one of the ships slowly opened, pulling itself apart like the mouth of some great beast, and the ship's slowed their rotations for a moment.
The defenders pre-emptively readied themselves for a destructive payload.
A great blur fell from the open port in the ship. Descending rapidly with the mountains in the distance framing its fall. A trail of fire followed behind it, and the sun glinted off a golden-blue body.
It disappeared behind a dune, and then impacted the sands with a great upheaval of dust and winds and sound. But there was no explosion, no sudden rush of heat and death. Just the sound of something extremely heavy crashing into the dry earth over the hill in front of their prepared defenses of stone and scrap.
A crown of gold emerged over the dune before them. Followed by a halo, and winged ears, and a mask of death. The figure in the distance slowly rose over the hill, before standing at the top and staring down at the defenders.
A shield of gold and a burning sword were clenched in its armored hands, and a long robe of purest white flowed in the eternal breeze of the desert. It stared at them for a time, before it began to move once more, approaching their compound.
"I AM MALUM CAEDO." The figure boomed, voice rumbling over them as thunder and truth. "I AM THE SON OF THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND. I SEEK MY SIBLING, THE AURELIAN."
The figure did not stop, even as half-hearted attempts to deter it with wide flintlock fire and brandished weapons were made by the defenders.
Their morale quaked once more, when the very world cracked open behind the figure, and rows of white-clad warriors with tall helmets and bearing jeweled weapons stepped out. A hundred in total, bearing cloaks of lizard hide and swords of bone, moved with perfect harmony.
The figure stopped once it reached the gates of their compound, and slowly turned its armored helm to the closest guardian.
"Open the gate." The figure rumbled an order. The guardian, jittering with nerves, dropped his weapon and raced to comply. The other guardians, shaken by the appearance of a hundred warriors, did nothing to stop this.
The rusted gates to their compound opened, and the figure strode into their receiving chamber without resistance. As he did so, another figure emerged from the doorway leading deeper into the compound. An older man, with a heavy brow and a gaunt face, attempted to smile at him.
Guilliman knew this face as Kor Phaeron, the adoptive father of Lorgar. He recognized it well enough, it was the face that was among the soldiers of the Word Bearers legion.
"Ah! An Angel from the empyrean! My lord, our humble house was not expecting your visitation!" The man attempted to flatter him. Unfortunately for his efforts, Guilliman had absolutely no interest in staying on his planet any longer than he absolutely had to.
"My sibling. They landed on this planet. Growing rapidly, learning quickly, and with superhuman body. I have come to bring them home. You will present them to me now." He rumbled out, staring down the man through his skull-helm and shifting his burning blade to emphasize his demand.
"Ah! Yes, of course my lord. But she has just finished her assigned chores, and should be made presentable first, allow us time for her to bathe and-"
Guilliman raised his sword in one rapid moment and brought it close enough for the man to feel the heat of the psychic flames dancing upon it. The shadows of the chamber recoiled in pain from its light. He staggered back and away from the blade suddenly filling his view.
"Her state is irrelevant. She will be here as soon as possible." He stated his demands quite clearly, leaving his threat unspoken. There was no need to say his intentions aloud.
"...of course lord Angel." The priest muttered out, fear filling his voice. Guilliman found that he quite loathed that title. He waved a hand to an attending servant, who looked like they were quite glad for the opportunity to flee the vicinity. Kor Phaeron swallowed his saliva and turned back to Guilliman, attempting a charming smile and opening his mouth to speak again.
"You will speak when you are addressed." Guilliman interrupted him, fixing his skull-helmet directly at the priest. The priest shuddered for a moment, before wisely keeping his mouth shut.
Guilliman began to count down one minute with the intention to start killing priests once he reached zero. He had absolutely no desire to be on this planet any longer than he had to.
Unfortunately he only reached twelve when two figures emerged from one of the side-paths. One was the guard, who was very careful to not look at him, and the other was what could only be his sister. Another sister, which reinforced the theory that…
Guilliman stared at her, narrowing his eyes and evaluating.
Short hair of pure white roughly cropped. Eyes that faintly glowed gold in the dim light of the ruined ship interior. Clad in bulky and concealing brown robes of rough and poor make.
She stood nearly seven feet tall. That spoke of particularly harsh conditions assuming she landed immediately after the scattering, which he knew wasn't true originally.
He stood still as she stepped forwards.
She stumbled once, and quickly rightened herself. Clasping her hands in a prayer-like fashion, she attempted to bow in a proper manner towards him.
She stumbled forwards again. Dropping his shield, he caught her.
She was thin. He could feel it through her robes.
She smelled of something noxious. His face went blank behind his helm. He recognized the stench.
She tried to speak. He cut her off with a question.
"How old are you?" He demanded. She smiled at him and replied.
"By Colchian count, this is my thirty-first day." He almost flinched at her voice. It sounded relieved, desperate.
His mind automatically converted the sum into Terran standard. Seven months, ten days. She was nearing seven feet tall. His sword almost shook as he raised it and let it flare once. The shadows screamed as they fled from it, and the psychic signal alerted the Eldar onboard Charnac's Pride.
A webway gate crashed into existence next to him, he locked gazes with the seers in the back.
They recoiled, before one nodded and approached. A squad of soldiers appeared at the edge of the gate, and he nodded at them. Turning his gaze back to his sister, he spoke in a gentle tone. "Go with them, I will follow soon, sister."
She shakily rose from his arm, and smiled. "Brother." She whispered, before falling into the gate. The seer emerged from it, and the gate closed behind them.
Guilliman rose to his full height once more, turning his gaze to Kor Phaeron, frozen in place by the psychic power of the seer next to him. Guilliman stepped forwards to loom over the priest, before speaking calmly.
"There is a safety mechanism in the genes of my siblings. It accelerates our growth in response to a hostile environment."
Kor Phaeron swallowed, but was unable to move. He attempted to speak. "Then your sister, dear Aurelia, was truly a gifted child!"
"I took ten years to reach adulthood. She is seven terran months old." His rage was buried under a titanic will. "What did you do to my sister?" His voice was carefully calm.
The Sword of the Emperor burned gold, heating the steel-floor of the ship beneath it to dangerous temperatures.
He opened his mouth. Guilliman cut him off. "Seer, rip everything from his mind."
The seer promptly obliged. Minutes of screaming ensured, all guards and servants who approached were deterred by the titanic heat of the blade he held. Finally, the priest slumped back in pain and exhaustion, and the seer swayed momentarily. Guilliman reached out a hand, stabilizing them, before commanding. "Don't speak. Show me."
The Seer hesitated, before complying with his demand.
Guilliman saw all Kor Phaeron had done to his sister, which he now knew the name of.
Aurelia.
He stood in place for a long moment, processing every scene that flashed before his eyes.
Eventually, he spoke. His gaze focused on the priest attempting to stagger up and crawl away. "Seer. Return to the ship. Tell Asarnil that this planet burns." The Seer vanished through a Webway gate immediately, sensing his black mood. His red-gauntlet vibrated with a boundless fury. His hands shook with a rage he could not contain.
So he did not.
The Sword of the Emperor came down before Guilliman. His rage fueled the psychic flames that wreathed the blade. The air burned as it flashed before him.
Death came down upon the fearful priest of Chaos.
Death came down upon the walls and floors behind him.
Death came down upon all living things that stood before him.
A wave of golden fire turned the world before him into ash and slag.
A cone stretching hundreds of feet before him was turned into molten metals and fresh glass.
Waves of golden wrath turned everything to cinder, material or immaterial.
Not even their souls were spared.
The first of ten-thousand swings of his sword.
Guilliman turned his head. His red-arm flashed. Another wave of all-consuming flame issued forth.
Then another.
Then another.
A giant of bone fell from the heavens, crashing into the sands. It's scale on par with towers and dragons, not with any living man. Reality shattered around the burning pit, and thousands of white-clad soldiers stepped forth, carrying swords and psychic fires of their own.
Guilliman reclaimed the shield of his father, a dreadful calm settled over his mind as the task of extermination ossified.
He turned his gaze in the direction of the next city, his sword tugging his arm in that direction.
He began to move, the warriors of the Eldar moved with him. The giant of bone began to rumble with ancient poems of war and death. The ships above began to move with dreadful intent, weaving as colossal predators among defenseless prey.
The Scouring of Colchis had begun.