Chapter Ten
….
"Let us sing then and let us sing together,
Of golden palaces and forests of winter gossamer.
Where weapons crack amid powers of Lightning and Thunder,
The Emperor of Mankind and the Hands of the World's Potter,"
-Snape Snivellus Severus, Royal Minstrel, Great Crusade
…..
Caliban, 40th Millenium, The Great Crusade
Lion El Johnson stares in awe at the great flying metal beasts above the sky. Their like is nothing he has ever seen before and it is something. He has seen something like them of course, over the great forests of Caliban during his tenure before he became a knight. There are scores of them littering all over the areas of the planet, cold steel that is unmoving and dead with weird buttons of different colors that do nothing.
Now as he stares at the flying behemoths looming over his castle, these are not the dead cold steel he had seen and touched, no. These are living and full of fire and life. From their very presence alone, he can feel strength emanating.
A smaller metal thing descends from one of the bigger monsters flying in the sky before heading to the courtyard of his castle. He can hear the Knights there, his honor guard mustering, their massive poleaxes at the ready as they nervously but bravely stand their ground as the fiery metal living thing makes a stop giving off a hissing noise.
Power Lion El Johnson immediately feels as the ramp opens and golden clad figures appear followed by a bigger figure clad in even more gold. He can feel it, the connection that has always been missing inside him, one that even his comrades from the Knightly Order fail to fill. It is present with this being.
Before he knows what he is doing, he is kneeling down on one knee to the confusion and the consternation of his brothers in the knighthood at their Grandmaster and ruler doing homage to the newcomers. As for the golden figured giant of a man, a smile simply touches his face before walking forward and placing a hand at the Lion's shoulders.
"I am glad to have found you my son," he simply says
"Son? So you are my father?" the Lion asks at that kind face looking down at him with fierce pride and the kindest chocolate brown eyes he has ever seen. Johnson has always resigned to himself that he would never meet his parents. It is a grim acceptance and a common thing actually at Caliban due to the beasts that threatens the human population that dwells here. He has always assumed his died off due to them. He never expects that this man with the most powerful aura he has ever felt would be his father.
"Yes, yes I am. And I want you to meet someone," he says before looking back at the metal flying thing that has landed.
Before Johnson has the time to look, a black blur slams into him nearly throwing off his feet. As it is he just finds his helmet being wrenched off before he sees the face of the most beautiful woman he has ever seen despite with her long black hair askew and her face full of tears as it grasps his.
"My boy, my baby boy you are okay!" she sobs peppering his face with kisses. Hesitatingly Lion El Johnson reaches a hand to push her back a little and stop the onslaught of affection.
"M-mom?" he asks earning him a ferocious nod. Blinking he turns towards the man who is his father who smiles in a fatherly way before also nodding.
"He is your mother son, don't have a doubt about it," he says simply.
Despite his initial reluctance, Johnson can feel his heart beating inside his heart rapidly as his mother hugs him fiercely. He has a family, he has a family and he is not alone. Despite himself, Johnson laughs much to the confusion of his knights around him. He is well-known for his serious and no-nonsense demeanor after all. Few have seen him smile and fewer have seen him even relax much less laugh. Yet today he laughs. He laughs at the realization that his life might be complete right now and everything is perfect.
The monsters that plague his home are gone, he has a father that is obviously powerful commanding what seems to be great forces beyond explanation. He has a mother who seems to love him at the very first sight and he is not alone. Sure he has questions that need answering like how in the world did he end up on this planet but such things can wait. What is the most important thing for him right now is that he has a family, a true family not a knightly brotherhood of oaths and promises, but one really made up of blood. Without ado he hugs back his mother returning the embrace which she is giving him.
For the first time in his life, Caliban truly feels like home.
…
Immaterium, Throne of Blood and Skulls
The Throne of Blood and Skulls is the seat of Khorne and where demons of the Warp in all forms and sizes recognize that it belongs to the Lord of Skull and Bones. Blood flows endlessly from it along with a rain of skulls of all shapes and sizes that ever pleases its seating Lord. Now said sitting Lord is frowning as he can hear the angry snarls of Tzeentch echoing from the realm. Together with it is the sad weeping of Nurgle that also can be heard from one end of the Immaterium.
Khorne just laughs.
He laughs at their misery, he laughs at their obvious failure at putting down the new Empress crowned by the Anathema. He can feel it, great powers of their factions falling as the corrupted sons of the accursed God Emperor of Mankind disappear entirely in the Warp. The Primarchs are like beacons who once corrupted are like blazing fires that follow whatever god that they mirror from. Already he can feel it, changes starting to appear in their territories. With a Primarch down on both Tzeentch and Nurgle, much of the territories that they claim in the Immaterium would be ever shifting as the forces of their neighbors invade and defend. It is all part of the great game of course that thhe Chaos gods play on one another. As for Khorne, he believes that it is time that he tries his hand on putting down the Empress and succeed where Tzeentch and Nurgle fails.
Unlike the two, Khorne is more straightforward with his plans and his ways. While he is indeed capable of cunning, he does not have the patience for the kind of planning that Tzeentch really enjoys whose plots wrangle like a spider's web that sometimes even the Lord of Change fails to comprehend. He does not have the hate-love relationship that Nurgle does, or whatever confusing balance that the bloated god tend to spout about. No, Khorne is more straightforward like the Eldar god, Khaine. What he needs is an enemy to face and an obstacle to overcome.
From there on out it would simply be a trial of strength where he would test himself on said enemy with all his might and overcome it or fail. It is a simple doctrine, tried and true where he can unleash all the ferociousness within himself in honest combat without turning left or right. Khorne after all doesn't care where the skull or the blood comes from, only that it comes. Now where is that Empress sulking? Ever since the Great Rift, the reach of the Chaos gods have increased and with it their oversight of the galaxy, especially with the Anathema's light dimming.
He grins as he espies her in that floating hunk of planetoid with another of the bright flames. Now that is an opportunity for more skulls and more blood. He might have to apply a little bit of cunning in this position though, he has no wish for his champion to end up like the ones of Tzeentch and Nurgle. No, as said above, Khorne delights in honest true combat and he just has an idea that might make him gain victory where his kin has failed.
"Angron, I have need of you," Khorne's voice booms through the warp calling the giant Daemon servant to his side, one of his aces.
…
Lhorne System, Indomitus Crusade
The System once belongs to the Imperium of Man hosting four Hive Worlds and a Forge World. However with the coming of the Cicatrix Maledictum, that all changed. In the original canon, the worlds might have all been corrupted by the Chaos warband known as the Brass Irons. With low food, overpopulation and bad treatment of the planetary governors, it might have been ridiculously easy to turn the populace into cultists of Khorne raging and rampaging against their rulers. However with the arrival of the Empress and the dissemination of the blessings of the Empress to the day to day human being, everything changes. The old Planetary Governors have been sacked beforehand with nearly two generations of heirs and heiresses executed by the Inquisition and the next one swearing fealty that they act for the common good and not for themselves, life becomes better for everyone involved. With properly timed shipments of food and supplies, the people are more happy and tolerant with the Imperium.
Thus when the Brass Irons arrived to "colonize" the system in the name of Khorne, they found not a ripe and ready populace to turn to Chaos but a loyal population dedicated and blessing the Empress' name. That doesn't change the fact that they assaulted the three Hive Worlds with all their might though. Dozens of Brass Marines with millions of cultists assembled from the outlying villages forcibly joint to Chaos against the Planetary Defense Forces, Imperial Guard, and of course the millions of militia called into action to defend their homes. It is a grinding battle to say the least for the Brass Irons. The Planetary Defense Forces and the Arbites heavily supplemented by militia are simply too numerous and too many for the Chaos Space Marines to overcome all. It is like fighting a hydra where you cut one head off only for two to sprout out in return. They are losing cultists faster than they can convert them. On the other hand, the Chaos Space Marines are too powerful and too experienced to be taken down by simple militia. Sure there are close shaves, but they are not enough to kill any of them. It is a bloody stalemate that stalls the Brass Irons entire campaign. Still in honor of their god, they continue their fight even through rivers of blood.
Then the skies darkened and the Indomitus Crusade blazes forth into the system.
Whatever Chaos ships hovering above the ruined Planetary Defense satellites are easily dealt with as the powerful Cruisers and Venators turn to slag the orbital superiority of the Brass Irons. Those that are wise enough to see a losing battle abandoned their corrupted Astartes Masters below the planet with their slaves and hightailed it back to the Warp.
Then the real fighting begins. Black Templars under the lead of Rogal Dorn and nearly a legion strong (their lack of adherent to the Codex Astartes forgiven by Gulliman) lands on the planets crushing the traitor and the cultists under their boots. Yet it is not the Astartes loyalists or even the Primarch that the traitors are afraid most of all, no. Rather it is the Aeldari Mercenary which seems to be half mad with all the laughing she is doing as she bisects them in the most painful way possible. Worse when she bisects them, she makes sure that they are alive and not dead, only too badly incapacitated that they are still alive when the militia gets to them. The result is a lot of armless, legless, and toothless astartes being pinned to the sides of a mountain as an effigy and warning to any traitor that dares enter the worlds in this system. As for the rest, the Indomitus Crusade continue to blaze through any obstacle that the Brass Irons put into their way.
The Black Templars galvanized by the founding of their Primarch seems to be acting as if they are high. Not wanting to disappoint their father, they are the first in every engagement and the last to leave on every battlefield. They also make heroic charges that might have been worthy of the annals of the Imperium if not for the Aeldari Mercenary who whoops at the competiveness of the Space Marines. Normally they might have just shot her for good measure for being Eldar, but explicit and extremely detailed strict orders from their Primarch and from Gulliman not to touch, or even say a bad word to their new ally, allays such desires. The pleasing of their gene-father through obedience is more important to them after all than the death of one Xeno which many of their brothers would admit quite good at putting the Chaos traitors in their place.
Besides, for the Veteran swordmasters of the Black Templars, it is a good thing to have someone to measure themselves at who outclasses them when it comes to hand in hand combat. The Matriarch Luna is also as dense as an Orc happily not noticing the snide comments and the rather scathing replies that the Black Templars do when she engages them in conversation. Everything is going well for the Indomitus Crusade, the Brass Irons are eliminated to the last man with the efforts of everyone involved and there is great boasting and sharing of tales when they return to their ships and the Crusade goes off to the next set of worlds that are needing their help.
While his sons, are celebrating, Rogal just shares his notes with Gulliman about the abilities and strengths of their newfound sister. It is important after all should they fight alongside her or better, when their mother asks them. The last thing they want is a blank answer to give her.
Shouts of anger and dismay can be heard suddenly below though from his sons. Dorn just sighs as he realizes the banner bearers being chastised by their Chapter Master. Apparently someone stole the banners of the Black Templars without one of them ever seeing who it is.
…..
The Rock, Personal Chambers of The Lion
"Easy, easy ouch! Mom that hurts! Just apply it a little gently but-Ouch! Don't be so hard when putting it on my delicates Mom-Ouch! Ouch! Ouuuuuch!"
"Oh stop crying you big baby. It barely hurts," chides Helaena rolling her eyes as her scruffy son is lying on his stomach while she applies a gauze of antiseptic on his backside. Apparently she has slipper-slapped his backside a little to hard resulting to the rather cherry red backside she is now putting some antiseptic on. Problem is the Lion is being a big baby about it.
"It hurts, mom what did you put in those slippers, spikes?" he is rewarded for his cheekiness with a slap on his buttcheeks making him hiss.
"Don't talk to me like that young man. Remember I take no cheekiness from any of you and I am your mother, do you understand?" she lectures cowing the Primarch who nods quickly, a pair of lion ears appearing on his head comically.
"Now stay still while I apply all this and finish. Or do you prefer the Saints Celestine and Josephine put it on you Johnson?" she half-asks half-threatens making thePrimarch balk at the threat of anyone else seeing him exposed in his butt-cheeks other than his mother. If there is one thing that the Primarchs have in spades, it is their pride. She blames it all on John who is their father and has an ego the size of Terra. Also it might just be because despite their great beauty, the Saints are not in anyway gentle. In fact they might have slapped the ointment directly uncaring for his soreness if she has given them the command on applying them.
"No need Mom, you doing it is alright-Ouch!" groans the Lion as another cotton swap is applied to his sore behind. "No need to include the saints or anyone else for that matter,"
"Well you could ask the Grandmaster Azrael if he wants to volunteer Johnson. They are your sons after all," points out Helaena enjoying very much the sour look that appears on her son's face.
"Joking is unbecoming of you Mom, there is no way that I should-,"
BOOM! A powerful explosions shakes the entire Rock making Helaena drop the entire bowl of Antiseptic directly into Johnson's sore butt.
"That sounds like an explosion," she comments immediately standing up and ignoring the shrieks of agony of the Lion who is holding his behind quite babyishly. Tapping her comms, she immediately speaks to it: "Kitten what the hell is going on?!" she demands.
"We are under attack my Empress. Traitor Warships are appearing, an entire fleet of them and are bearing down on the Rock and it's escort," reports the Custodes back. "Is that screaming I hear my Empress?" he asks making Helaena wince at the shrilling that the Lion is indeed now doing. Snapping her fingers to throw a freezing charm to his now inflamed behind, she focuses back on her mic, disregarding the sighs of relief from her boy.
"Radio the Orion to join the engagement and delay the traitor warships while the guns of the Rock come online, do you copy?"
"By your will my Empress it shall be done,"he replies before turning off. Tapping her comms again, Helaaena this time connects it with the vox of the Chapter Master of the Dark Angels.
"Grandson how long will it take for the defenses to come online?" she asks him.
"Fifteen minutes to online mother according to the tech priests and another five minutes for it to be heated up for battle,"he replies.
"You have ten minutes tops, make it happen while my ship delays the enemy. Have your escorts pull alongside the Rock. Don't make them engage in delaying measures. Leave that to the Orion,"
"Undrstood mother, by your will,"
"Do we go out and fight mom?" asks Johnson now holding a massive greatsword like a longsword.
"Yes, we will," Helaena suits up by pressing the Synth suit at her wrist made of nano technology which immediately crawl all over her body dissolving her current dress as it takes the shape of her bare form.
"Mom, you don't have to fight-," the Lion begins only to close his mouth as Helaena raises a hand.
"No need for your protest Johnson. I will fight as is my duty as the Empress. You on the other hand has the duty of leading your sons," she smiles wryly at them. "Many of them have been awaiting your return for thousands of years my son. Don't begrudge them the honor,"
"Very well I will Mom," grumbles the Lion unhappily hugging her once before running off to find and coordinate his sons and fleets in the defense of the Rock.
Now truly alone, Helaena immediately connects to the AI of the Orion which handles many of the systems of the ship in secret.
"Oddball do you copy?"
"Copy my lady, the Orion is engaging, all power is at maximum output,"
"Good, keep me appraised of shield sustainability. Once shield reaches ten percent disengage to the end of the column of the Rock and let it's defenses carry the brunt of the fighting," she orders.
"I understand my lady, glory to you and Sir John,"
…
The Orion, Outside of The Rock
Captain Alexandros would always be proud that he has been assigned as the one to Captain the Empress' personal ship. As a Custodes he has borne witness to some of the personal technology that the Empress and the Emperor hides for their own personal use. It isn't that surprising to see a ship that does not need an interface like any Imperial ship.
As it is the Orion zooms fast towards the twenty or so Chaos fleet led by an Emperor Class Battle Cruiser, all corrupted of course.
"Prepare to engage all drones, all power to forward shields," commands Alexandros to the crew who immediately goes into action as the entire room turns red. For a split second, the shields of the Orion comes visible as it redacts a new surge of power. Just in time too. Long range missiles from the bigger Chaos Warships are heading for the smaller vessel.
"Evasive Maneuvers!" the Orion's engines hums in responses as the limber ship avoids and evades the plethora of missiles coming its way as it easily bridges the distance between it and the Chaos warships. The moment it is in range, thousands of drones immediately left its hangar glowing like little squids as they charge headlong into the fray dodging Macro cannon fire and anti-air before slamming like a vengeance of the Emperor to their hulls. Two corrupted Luna class Cruisers immediately go up in flames as they explode. Cheers erupt from the bridge of the Orion as the crew of the vessel signals the two kills. However the victory is short-lived as the eighteen more vessels approach and there are no more drones.
"Shift to railgun fire and switch to missiles," orders Alexandros even as the Orion weaves like a snake through the underbellies of the bigger warships, its complement of missiles leaving trails of smoke as they crash point blank against the enemy warships causing secondary explosions.
All of them are mini-warheads and each hit scores a blinding light that tears off chunks of the Chaos warships. Any other vessel and they might have already be shut down from the EMP bursts of the direct hits. However these are Chaos warships and their hull is a combination of Imperial machinery and warp fuckery that defies the laws of physics. Each of them are missing large pieces effectively showing the guts of the enemy warships but they remain battle ready as they slug against the faster and more nimble ship from the Golden Age of Humanity.
"Another direct hit Captain, shields at thirty-eight percent," reports one of the officers making Alexandros growl even as the Orion weaves through the middle of the Chaos fleet making them even hit each other with wild abandon.
"Open up bays! All batteries! Focus fire on the launch chamber of that Emperor Class Battleship!" orders Alexandros as the rail guns of the second chamber shoots out millions of rounds at the side of the Chaos battleship. With its complement of fighters exploding, secondary damages can be seen trailing all over the warship.
"Sir, we are receiving transmission from the Rock, it is saying that their defenses are ready and we should fall back," reports one of the officers.
"That is the signal, Orion disengage and give notice to the Empress that we have done our duty," commands Alexandros relieved at seeing that the shield power is down now to twenty-two percent. They barely made it to the minimum requirement set by the Empress before disengaging.
…..
The Rock
Lion El Johnson immediately knows that the defenses of the Rock would be insufficient in fully preventing the World Eaters warships from boarding his beloved chapter house. Despite the staunch sacrifice of the Orion in delaying them, there are simply too many drop pods currently zoning towards the island Fortress Monastery floating in the void of space. Giant anti-aircraft guns of the Rock are already working overtime as they unload thousands of heavy munitions to the upcoming drop pods.
It seems that the World Eaters as usual are exchanging finesse for a more direct confrontation by sheer force of numbers. Their drop pods zoom through the void even as their ships engage the fleet stationed to defend the Rock. Hundreds are destroyed by the defense forces' shells but hundreds more get past and slam into different areas all over the fortress monastery.
The Lion has expected this of course and even now companies of his Dark Angels are roaming all over the Rock ready to intercept the enemy. A Venator starship has also managed to appear and unload its plethora of clones (which surprises the Lion even more) by the thousands before leaving to join the battle of the void.
His vox crackles and immediately he hears the familiar voice of his mother.
To say that Johnson is pleased would be the understatement of the century. Despite the rather rude and embarrassing way of awakening him from his long slumber, he is happy that his mother is present. He has been less than pleased before when their father declares that their mother has suddenly gone missing during the Heresy. It is like living without guidance forcing the Lion to lead with his wits and with his courage alone. He has no one to turn to, the Primarchs may be brothers but they put a great emphasis on pride. Exposing a weakeness to a brother, even if you trust said brother is the exact opposite of that. Thus he is forced to carry on alone. Then his father fell and his traitor brothers left leaving them without an Emperor, their mother lost and two brothers dead, including the best of them that might have led the Imperium to an era of gentleness and honor.
Johnson has to watch one by one his brothers disappear from Roubutte being pierced on the neck by Fulgrim's blade and interred, Rogal Dorn disappearing without warning, Russ and the Khan also gone, simply like ghosts in the air. He is the last to fell, his regret eating him for leaving the Imperium leaderless. Now here he is strong and hale, once more clad in his full regalia ten thousand years later and the galaxy facing the same foes. It is good for he then would not be a relic of a bygone age.
The weapons might have evolved but the orders remain the same. Hunt down the traitors and kill them all. They would make a fine gift to be placed at the feet of his mother.
"I sense Sorcerers opening warp rifts my son," his mother speaks out. "Be mindful of demons all over,"
"I will mom, thanks for the heads up," replies Johnson before tapping the vox off again. He notices that the rest of his sons at the command center are looking at him.
"Sorcerers are making breaches into real space. Deons would be expected in the enemy invaders," make sure that the defending squads know of it," he barks out in order.
"Yes father!" they replied in unison before turning to their equipment to make sure that his orders are carried out correctly. Johnson does not fail to notice that they are rather more springy and strong in their steps as thy run through executing their tasks, especially if it is because of his order that needs to be carried out. It seems that his mother is right once more, his sons despite the danger in facing the chosens of Khorne are doing their best because he is here.
"Enemy breach at Sectors two, five and six!"
"Let me see, and send out squads to counter the boarding parties!" he barks out in order before turning to his screen to check where the first boarding pods are vomiting out traitor Astartes to his beloved home.
A company of white clones with a squad of Dark Angels are responding to the breach. Clones take cover in a stack of resupply crates while his Astartes remain in the open bolters firing out. Blue lasers from the guns of the clones can be seen hitting armor only to the laughter of their enemy who counter fires hitting the one who hits him in the chest making him explode from the bolt fire. Meanwhile his Astartes are making moderate success compared to their clone counter parts putting down five Traitor Marines with their own bolters At the back, he sees it, a sorcerer charging his staff.
"Look out!" he shouts through the vox too late as the Sorcerer flings the warp ball he is charging to the defending group sending them all flying as their insides turn to outsides, the camera feed is cut off immediately, their screams the last things heard before everything turns to a black screen.
"Damn it!" cursed Johnson before reaching for the vox. "Send squads to defend the hallways, I repeat, send squads to defend the hallways of sector two. Traitor Astartes are walking through them,"
"I will go and defend it Lord father. Have no fear," the sudden reply comes from Azrael assuring the Primarch that his commands would be done. He turns once more to the empty screen before flickering it to the next sector that needs his attention. If he might have stayed a second more longer, he might have seen it clear up and showing a giant figure of a daemon prince lumbering out of the escape pod and heading to the air ducts that lead to the core of the Rock, and the Primarch's personal chambers where his mother is.
….
Main Hallway, the Center Point of Battle
The sounds of heavy footfalls can be heard as Traitor Astartes ran through the empty hallway full of unmoving clones and Dark Angels Astartes that tried to stand in their way. Above the walkways, more of their group can be found taking positions readying for potshots below. Some take cover behind makeshift barricades and pillars of the Rock, the once grand paintings now covered in blood and bolter bullet holes. All of them are aimed at the singular giant metallic door at the far end of the hall. Three of the Iron Warriors try to approach it only to be sent flying when it explodes without warning from the outside.
Before anyone can recover, a couple of metallic clangs catch their attention. Too late are they to recognize it as flashbangs before it explodes blinding them for a second or two only. Yet it is enough for Azrael and the Second Company First and Second squad. Bolter fire erupts cutting through the head one of one World Eater immediately. More bolter fires follow forcing the ones with miniscule cover to try and make a break to anywhere else. That is their mistake as they are gunned down before they can even reach any sort of safety. Those at the walkways manage to fire off a blast or two before they are also cut down, their open areas making them easy pickings for the veterans of the Dark Angels. Those that have heavier cover manage to get a fire or two out before they are also overwhelmed by the sheer volume of firepower. By the time Azrael arrives to inspect the aftermath, only one World Eater remains crawling in his arms with half his body missing. The Dark Angel Chapter Master promptly finishes him off with a bolt pistol in the head.
"So many dead," Azrael mutters more to himself as he stares at the unmoving figures of the hallway, mostly clones and at least an entire company of Dark Angels that have given their lives to delay the enemy advance, or at least try to halt it.
"They are avenged Chapter Master. We should not mourn them for they are at the Emperor's side now," comments Mikael, the Captain of the Second Company.
Azrael simply hmms in response. Despite being a Chapter Master for such a long time, seeing the unmoving corpses of his brothers never fails to elicit a melancholic response from him. He's not a stranger to war, but still. It is never easy to see the fallen bodies of Dark Angels under his command.
He's just ready to call for the apothecaries to converge on his location and do the rituals of preservation on his fallen brethren when the opposite doors opened disgorging even more World Eaters to the fray.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULL FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" they roar with enough force to shake the hallway before charging their position.
The Dark Angels do not disappoint. They barely manage to finish their roars of adulation to their patron when bolter fire rips through them taking down one of their number while leaving the rest reeling from damage to their armor. These are Khornate berserkers however and compared to any Chaos marine, a lot meaner and nastier harder to kill. They reach the lines of the Loyalists with the strength of Daemons on their belt. One try bashing his bolter with a bayonet attached to it at his nearest prey. The Dark Angel however is faster and blocks it with his bolter forcing a stalemate. The Dark Angel at his side is not so lucky being impaled by the bolter bayonet of another Berserker. Around a melee starts as the Khornate Berserkers first wave come hand in hand against Dark Angels. One of the latter manages to fill a Berseker full of lead before his bolter is cut at the middle by a Chain-Axe. He hurriedly draws his knife but another bash of the axe cuts through the ceramite of his chest and into his twin hearts. Another bash of the Berserker finishes him off.
Azrael seeing the danger that the Khornate Berserkers possess levels his ornate chainsword at the ragtag bunch of traitors with righteous fury.
"In the name of the Emperor and the Empress! Kill them all!" he roars out in command. His marines are only too eager to obey it as they bull-rush the position of the traitors with even some firing wildly to them. The Traitor Astartes seeing their enemy rushing towards them are only too eager to counter charge.
The two forces meets with a sickening CRUNCH that echoes on the hallway. Pauldrons meet pauldrons in an effort to throw off their enemies off their feet. A power maul smashes to the chest of a traitor flattening him. A bayonet of a bolter pierces the soft underside of a Dark Angel's stomach. A bolter is used like a club to throw down a traitor before unleashing the rounds point blank. A knife wielding Dark Angel parries and slices before cutting through the gut of a Khornate Berserker. He is swiped off however before a counter swipe cuts off his head, courtesy of the Khornate's chain-axe.
Azrael himself is busy ripping through the jugular of a Berseker with the chain sword, the roaring weapon cutting through ceramite to flesh and bone. His bolt pistol whips out firing a couple of headshots before it is slapped away by a Khornate Berserker disappearing into the throng of fighting bodies. His enemy does not manage to celebrate his victory however as the Chapter Master holding with both hands the chain-axe swings it horizontally bisecting him in two. A bigger Khornate Berserker tries to capitalize on the attack at the Chapter Master. He is stopped dead on his tracks from spearing him though with his bolter bayonet when the Chainsword rips through his neck.
Azrael just grins beneath his helmet as the battle around him grows even thicker. So many more bodies to lay at the feet of his mother. So much glory to be have despite the audacity in the attacking of their homes.
Heaving his chainsword above his head, he gives off his cry of battle: "For the Emperor! For the Empress!" before diving into the fray once more.
…
The Central Core of The Rock Temperature 100 Degrees Celsius
Even before during the Great Crusade, it is well-known that other than Gulliman, Angron is the Empress' most favored son. Everyone also knows the reasoning behind it. A lot of people after all have seen the arguments of the Emperor and his Companion when he refused point blank to remove the Butcher's Nails from their son's head. Worse, he has also denied her from being the one to remove it citing something about Fate and Prophecy. The ignoble fall of the Emperor from the highest spire of his Golden Palace to the ground at least five times is a record of legend, courtesy of his companion of course.
As for Angron, he has always loved his mother since the first time they met. She is the only one who shared a care for him. Sure his brothers love him in their own way, but he can truly say that out of everyone he has ever met, it is his mother who truly loved him for who he is. Yet with that love comes a resentment, a resentment that he at the same time has to his father for not pulling the living torture devices out of his head. He resents her for acquiescing to the wishes of his father about the infernal things remaining at his skull. It is this resentment that the Chaos gods feed upon when Horus fell and started the Heresy.
Now Angron is a Daemon Prince, a chosen of Khorne, mightiest of his fallen brothers no matter how much they deny it. Whatever feelings he has for his mother when it comes to affection is now dust on the wind, turned to a desire for blood and skulls as his patron deems it. Whoever he was before died when he became what he was now, a chosen of Khorne assigned with the mission of dealing with the Empress where the weak servants of both Nurgle and Tzeentch failed. In a time long forgotten he might have even mourned the death of his brothers, Mortarion and the Cyclops, Magnus. Now he just scorns their untimely demise. Khorne has no need for weakness and defeat, only victory, skulls and blood of the defeated. Their blood joined countless others that fails in battle.
"So this is what you have become my beloved son," the sudden sound of the prey he is stalking sounds out making Angron snarl as he glares at the lithe form of his mother looking at him in sorrow. "You have exchanged everything, everything that you are for this monstrosity that you are now. Why?"
If Angron can still form correct syllables other than benedictions for the Blood God, he might have been cursing her by now mentioning her neglect, her abandonment of him to his fate and her failure as a mother. As it is, he just roars in animalistic anger, the snake like tongue gushing out fiery warp smoke from his elongated goat-like mouth.
"I am sorry my son, for what I have failed to do for you, and for what I am about to do you. At the very least, I can set you free from this madness that have turned you into this monstrosity," she says with tears in her eyes.
Angron has enough of it, the sight of tears in her eyes ticks him off. She has no right to cry, no right to shed tears for his suffering when she's the one who allows it and the cause of it when his father and her fail to protect them as babies. It is all her fault.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" he roars out hefting his giant axe, the goat like legs he has urging him forward towards her. He takes a second to see that they are in some kind of storehouse with crates on it and a giant open window that leads to a fall to the Core of the Rock.
His split second check is enough for the Saints Josephine and Celestine to appear with a flash slashing at him with their glowing blades. They are fast, ungodly fast in fact and against anyone else, they might have been sheared meat by now. Against Angron it is nothing. Their blades meet his axe and he roars in pain as his axe explodes due to the Saints' saturation of energy of the Emperor. The resounding boom however dissipates the two saints as the shards of the axe rips through them breaking armor, flesh and bone throwing the two back at the side of the Emperor in the Warp. It leaves Angron weaponless except for the corrupted slug thrower at his hip though, the giant shotgun bleeding and full of blood and skulls in design.
The trio of Custodes is the next to appear peppering him with their Guardian Spears. This of course sends Angron into a rage as he charges forward heedless of the wounds they are giving him. The moment he is in range, the spears pivot forwards piercing his red giant body only to break, the blessing of Khorne preventing any bladed weapon from piercing his Daemonic hide. Also unlike the Saints, their blades are not coated with the aura of the Anathema that might have shorn through the blessing of his patron.
One of the Custodes turn to gore when the shotgun of Angron blasts him into pieces. The other tries to draw a sword only to be grabbed by one of his arms and he squeezes. The pulp of red erupting from every orifice of his golden armor is testament to his death. The last one charges with a power sword who also breaks upon contact with his thigh. Angron only laughs before kicking him with such force that he explodes upon contact with the wall, bits and pieces of armor creating a giant dent on it. Fast as he can, he levels his shotgun at the Empress firing powerful slugs at her, not willing to give her the first steps in the dance of death they are about to commence. Angron is no fool. He knows that his mother is not one to be taken lightly with. She does not succeed on bringing down Two Primarchs in one fight based on her good looks alone.
Bullets ping too high then too much to the right and then bouncing off her a shimmering blue baririer as she suddenly closes in. Angron's own armor clinks and squeals as plasma bolts rip through them, courtesy of the Plasma gun his mother whips out of nowhere. As is inevitable given his much larger profile, he is forced to back off fast especially with no shield on himself. A red hot feeling tears into his chest as a plasma bolt hits home punching through the sides of his armor plates.
Then without warning the Empress appears out of nowhere in front of him before actually plowing right into him with her shoulder, knocking his daemonic frame back a step with the impact.
Angron's feet or rather hooves hit the ground and he quickly regains his balance, in time to see the Empress coming at him with the Plasma Gun again. It is steaming white and blue just enough of an indication to remind Angron of how dangerous it might be when fired point blank back in the day when he is still human. His mother aims with it right to his face and Angron jukes to the right, slamming his shoulder into a wall to avoid the incinerating heat of plasma that erupts from the dangerous weapon.
Plasma Weapons are dangerous and even with his blessing from Khorne can actually give him serious damage.
Despite her first shot being a miss, the Empress is undeterred in her zealousness and tries to take aim for another close in shot. Thinking quickly, Angron spins knocking the weapon aside with his fist and then bringing that same fist around to backhand the Empress. A vicious splash of superheated plasma scars a jagged line across the metal wall and half the ceiling, but the second blow rather than sending his mother sprawling merely knocks her back a step. Pulling away with her Plasma she tries to bring one of the guardian spears littered in the room to bear.
Angron grabs at it and it discharges a hot quarter of rounds into the room blowing holes in a nearby crate. He yanks hard reeling the Empress in and greets her with a vicious headbutt, an Iron Warrior specialty. It has the effect of wrenching the spear out of her hands. Except it explodes the moment it leaves her hands.
It seems that Custodes would rather not have any of their weapons fell to any hands but their own.
Releasing the slag ruins of the Guardian Spear, he tries to return the favor. The Empress seems momentarily disoriented. Angron's own shotgun briefly acquires a bead on her except her plasma gun comes back into the game. Acidic white light blinds the Daemon Prince and scrambles his shotgun's innards and his hands. He has to throw it away in fear as the Demons trapped on it wails in agony from their death throes, courtesy of the plasma weaponry.
"Die already!" Angron roars swinging a brutal backhand at where he expects the Empress to be.
Instead he feels a blow to the midsection and then something grabbing onto his arm, trying to wrench it behind his back and immobilize him. The image of the plasma gun enters his mind again and just what it could do. Mind racing, Angron leans abruptly forward. He feels a weight hit his back, heavy and human sized as his opponent fell forward. He then kicks blindly back feeling his hooves connect with something hard that may have been the woman's pelvis. He repeats it three times till he feels something crack and a cry of pain before turning around. He charges blindly.
The blur rapidly leaves his eyes, he feels his shoulder slam into the stunned Empress but he grunts at her weight. She weighs too damn heavy for a regular human sized body. It has to be her personal augments or her synth suit armor which looks different and unique than anything that Angron has ever seen. It is like plowing into a wall or another Space Marine. He carries her into another container wall where her back finally arrests their momentum with a crunch. It should've been enough to put her down permanently. Even his other fellow Primarchs wouldn't have been able to take punishment like this.
Except the Empress growls something and Angron feels her fingers dig into his horns at the top of his head.
"Oh by Khorne! This is going to hurt!"
His head goes where his horns do and that is right into the same container wall he has slammed the Empress into.
He staggers blindly reaching for the blur of white. He actually manages to grab a hold of the Plasma Gun and pulls it free. Only thing is it hisses the moment it leaves Helaena's hands forcing Angron to throw it away as it explodes into a slag that breaks through the windows of the container room.
He reaches instead to his last weapon, a bolt pistol that is corrupted at his lower back as the Empress does the same. It might seem hard but he delights in the fight. It has been a very long while since someone gives him trouble this hard. After all Khorne doesn't care where the blood and skulls come only that it comes.
"Die Companion of the False Emperor!" he roars out.
A pair of heavy bolt pistols shots ricochet off a pair of equally strong defenses, one with a shield, the other with his armor.
Angron half-roars and half-laughs as he trades shots with the Empres. His bolt pistol barks as he fires coughing out round after round of comparatively heavy slugs. Along the way he bodily crashes from one ruined set of crates into another. His left hand brushes against the wall ripping out a storage locker to throw at the Empress. She bats it aside with contemptuous ease, and also pouring fire in his direction, slips her foot under a footlocker. With hardly any effort she kicks it up and into the air tumbling end over end. Not wanting to be outdone in a contest of strength, Angron backhands the makeshift projectiles never mind that it weighs as much as a human or two.
There is little to remain cover in the room and within seconds both armor and shield of the combatants fail.
"By the blessing Khorne," Angron hisses to himself, his body strengthening flaring as his muscles and bones become denser.
The air around the Empress also shimmers and shifts but rather then the previous solid shield, this barrier seems to curve his bullets away. Two that should have hit her in the chest instead punches into the wall behind to the left and the right. One punches a hole in what passes to be a picture of the Chapter Master of the Dark Angels plugging the poster between his two eyes. It looks like keeping at range isn't going to cut it.
Roaring a challenge with his daemon blood boiling, Angron bull rushes forward. Showing no fear, the Empress does the same, trying to shoot through his muscles even as his own inaccurate twisting shots bounce off her barrier. They meet in the middle of the room having thoroughly thrashed every square inch of it.
Her hand grabs his by the wrist and he does the same with hers. Stray shots punch holes in the ceiling above them as they fight for balance and position. Just as Angron secretly hopes it would, it comes to direct blows. She strikes first lashing out with a kick that feels as if it is meant to cave in the engine of a chimera or punt a Space Marine over a building. Angron feels his left leg buckle slightly but it is better to absorb the blow. Angling his body, he checks the Empress and in the brief interval of space that forms between them, nails her clean across her transparent helmet with first his fist and then with the butt of his Bolt Pistol.
The former strikes true enough, but the latter is expertly deflected as the Empress brings her arms up to defend her upper torso and face. A small but muscular arm blocks the strike and a comparatively tiny first strikes lightning fast jabbing without mercy or hesitation to put out his right eye. Only a last second duck of Angron causes the vicious little fist to deflect off his horns instead of turning his eyeball into much pulped mush. A damaged wall panel explodes as the pair fights edging around one another and trading blows.
"Come on Mother!" Angron growls landing another blow against the Empress' raised arms. "Come on! Is That all you've got?!"
The Empress responds with another set of lightning quick jabs pecking away at him to try and ccreate an opening for a more powerful but also more choreographed blow. Duking out of the way, rather than taking the hit to the jaw, Angron finds himself guarding his face against the onslaught of strikes. The Empress is mind boggingly fast to go with freakishly strong and for a few moments it is all he can do to protect his eyes and face. A half-dozn lighter blows strong enough to probably kill a lesser daemon or two pokes at his torso trying to bring down his arms.
Vicious, his mother is vicious and Angron loves the fight despite the hate he has for her.
Still, this isn't a fighting style Angron remembers seeing before. Not even among his brothers and sons. He has seen a lot of styles over the millennia and not among any race either. It only vaguely reminds him of some brute fighting style but without the reliance on strength alone where you mangle the other guy till he's dead. It isn't really new but it isn't also old. Then again Angron couldn't remember the last time he has run into an opponent this absurdly strong. As if the lithe body isn't enough of a give-away, his mother is a freak of nature.
Counterattacking and leaning in just a little too far, Angron curses as the Empress maneuvers around his blow, grabs hold of his wrist and elbow and turns. He can feel the pressure builds in his joint even before she gets the chance to break his arm at the elbow. Primarch bones are tough and so are their joints., but after trading blows with the powerhouse that is his mother, Angron holds no illusions about what she can do with sufficient leverage. His elbow screams in pain, he ducks and spins as he wrenches his way out of the hold.
With his good arm he strikes trying to grab her by the throat. His fingers just barely find her windpipe before she seizes him by the wrist, twists and squeezes. Angron growls pushing her back and trying to crush the bones of her windpipe. He can feel just a little give but then her right arm hammers down at the junction of his elbow that causes his grip to slack and his arm bow. He senses the losing the position a few seconds away. He faces an opponent both nimble and exceptionally strong, Angron lowers his beastial head and tries to bludgeon her with his horns.
The first blow definitely hits and hits hard because she lets go. The second fares less well as she instinctively brings her arms up to defend herself again. She rolls out of the way as he leans back for a third head-crash, Angron plows horn first into the wall with a thud. The walls of the container wall are hollow and thin to save space and to leave room for more crates and boxes.
Only a moment out of his sight, she goes right for his hamstrings. Angron grunts as he goes down to one knee bringing his hands up just in time to block a knee to his face. He reaches out to the battered wall and rips loose a sheet of metal and swings it like a club catching the Empress across an upraised arm and then coming back in the other direction across the stomach. She spins around and he hammers her again and then again. She finally grunts in pain, a feminine sound that immediately hardens into a guttural snarl. It feels good to know that the freak of nature that she is could still feel pain.
Throwing aside the now twisted and near-broken metal square, Angron forces himself up and into the Empress' exposed chest. She keeps her damned arms up to protect her face but Angron doesn't mind. It is time to return the favor from earlier.
He holds her upper body back with his still strained and hurting arm then pounds his fist into her midsection like a jackhammer. He can feel where is hitting soft skin and he can feel that there is something fleshy and living underneath it, but it isn't just giving . it just isn't breaking. He hits the same spot over and over what should've been a human's kidneys. She should have been screaming in agony. He barely gets a few pained grunts from her.
Instead back now to the wall, she tries to gouge out his eyes. Cursing does she always has to go for the eyes he has to call off his attack and grab hold of her slim wrists. She pushes off the wall, too and the pair go sprawling on the floor. In the confusion she sneaks a quick head-butt for good measure making Angron to lose his hold on her. Amazingly one of her hands finds its way to his own thick nec, less to try and strangle him and more to hold him down.
The other whips out a forward-curved knife.
It looks like something a particularly sadistic Catachan would've dreamed up, not so much to use but just to threaten. There is a serration or a notch along the bottom near the small hilt and the blade's body is shaped like a damned leaf. It looks like it is meant for hacking but the wickedly sharp tip is probably more than capable of working its way into a seam in an Astartes' armor. Straddling him, she flips the knife around and tries to plunge into his chest.
Rolling sharply to his left, he just barely avoids being impaled. A quick turn to his right does the same except this time she nicks his chest and cutting a sizeable piece of red demonic meat. The furious Empress dismisses the idea of stabbing him or a moment and instead draws back her arm for a slash, one he probably couldn't possible avoid and one that would probably spill his guts across half the oom
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!" Angron's fist snaps out hitting the Empress in the chest and also unleashing the full potential of a point blank blessing of Khorne.
The explosion expands red miasma fields knocks the pair apart. It also sends the Empress flying like none of his other blows have managed to. She bounces off the ceiling and then into a pair of heavy crates tearing them in half with her impact. Groaning as he struggles to get back up onto his feet, Angron sees the Empress smoking, the synth suit badly damaged with large tears on it showing pale flesh below.
Having no other weapon handy at the moment Angron takes an unsteady step towards the stuneed fallen Empress his right hand wreathed in dark red with the Blessing of Khorne, he hammers her once then twice, his muscle system still struggling to recover from the has dumped into his last strike. She shudders and convulses under the barrage, but stubbornly remains intact. Angron can feel his instincts screaming for him to run up to her to stomp her into the ground, to finish the fight up close.
Except she still has that knife in her hand which hasn't left her fingers.
"I know you're still alive," he growls in threat.
"You hit hard as ever my son," the Empress comments spitting out a wad of blood before her hands whip forward.
Green energy races across the room and into Angron's arm that shears his muscles.
"AAARRGGHHH!" Angron roars out as he clutches his arm. It feels like his nerves has been cut off and ruptured.
"That's a lot more effective than I expected seeing that Khorne's wards are protecting you from most spells," the Empress states as she struggles to get up amid the wreckage around her. "I'll have to remember that-,"
She is interrupted by several hundred pounds of badly hurt and pissed off Primarch plowing into her.
"DIE!" his fist buries into her midsection again and again eliciting pained gasps as he hammers like a madman feeling ribs give to his attacks. Then with the same fist, he strikes upwards to catch the Empress across her jaw shattering her orange transparent helmet. He could've sword he hears something give.
His small moment of victory however turns to a roar of pain as he feels a hand seize him by the groin. With a guttural snarl, the Empress pushes him back, one hand between his legs and the other grabbing him by his horn. She takes a thunderous step towards him pushing him back and to his astonishment Angron feels his feet leave the floor. Thousands of years fighting and this is the first time someone picks him up. Not since he is little fighting on the pits. The Empress screams in effort and finally lifts him over her head, spins him around one hundred and eighty degrees and slams him down at the direction of the floor.
Only to gasp in surprise as without warning a Dark Eldar wych appears out of thin air clad in no armor but a single shoulder cover. She levels her spear and Angron screams as he is speared through it upon impact, his weight making him go through the weapon, the Aeldari ornate spear piercing his heart. Normally he would just have laughed confident that his body and soul would be returned to Khorne. Normally he just would have laughed at his enemy knowing that he would return. However something is wrong with the spear as it seems to absorb his very essence. Angron screams as instead of going to Khorne, his soul is eaten and digested by the spear little by little until his entire body disintegrates leaving nothing but dust on its wake, until nothing of Angron remains.
Thus the end of Angron, the accursed Fallen Primarch, with little fanfare.
…
Command Center, The Rock
The first signs that show that everything is not alright is the main door blasting open like a piñata sending the iron debris flying that hit an orderly or two flattening them on the walls or in their stations. Before anyone can recover, Khornate demons, bloodletters storm in like an angry mass of insects hacking and biting anything or rather anyone that they can get their claws or teeth into. Men scream and fell and the Honor Guard jumps in, the massive terminators hacking and slashing in defense of their Primarch. In the matter of seconds, they stem the demon advance creating a cordon of safety for Lion El Johnson to recover his wits and charge in with his sword, Fealty and the Emperor's Shield at his left hand.
Like his name, the questing knight of Terra, he hacks and bashes aside demons like paper, the blazing power weapon cutting through sinew, muscle and bone. His sons seeing the valor of their father does not hesitate to hack in chopping and cutting their way through the fiery mass. So engrossed are they with the carnage that before they know it, the room is empty of demons, their broken bodies all that remains of them.
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! "Excellent work as ever Johnson, it seems that your time sleeping has not dulled your skills in any way," a silken voice comes from the doorway making the Primarch glare at the figure he hates the most, and the reason all that is left of his beloved home is this heap of rock that serves as a remembrance of his great failure.
"Luther," he growls out as a figure steps out bald but wearing a Dark angel armor although the Aquila has been obviously clawed out from his front.
"Ever stating the obvious Johnson. What? Did you expect no one would rain hell on your day of wakening and parade?"
"TRAAAIIITOOOR!" the sudden voice of Azrael appears out of the doorway and the Chapter Master lunges forward aiming to impale the arch traitor at the back. Luther however sidesteps only grabbing the chain sword off the Chapter Master's hands and impales him with it through the chest. He is dead before he even hits the ground.
"MURDERER!" roars Johnson in anger and rage as he sees his son killed in such a way before charging in despite the sudden protests from his honor guard.
Fealty hits the pauldron of the Arch traitor which he uses to parry Fealty before punching the Emperor's Shield sending Johnson stumbling from the sheer force of it.
"You serve the same Corpse Emperor and failure as before Johnson. You still fight for the weak! That's why you lose!" and Sparta kicks the shield sending Johnson flying to a set of consoles that explodes upon impact of his large body.
"You will pay for that!" spits Johnson even as the honor guard flashes in around Luther, their thunder hammers bashing right and left aiming to take down the Arch traitor from sheer force of numbers. It is all for naught though as the Arch Traitor despite his astartes size easily weathers the attacks slowly turning into a demon of Khorne before clawing to bits the Terminators of the Dark Angels into reddish ribbons of gore.
"Sacrificing your sons for a few more seconds Johnson. How dishonorable you have become son of the-,"
"ACCIO MORON!"
"WHAT THE-," the changing demon flies at the hands of a bloody and panting Empress who raises her other hand before whispering.
"Sectusempra!"
"NOOOOOOO! NOT AGAIN! AND I AM SO HAPPY TO HAVE MENTAL FACULTIES AGAIN!" and just like that, Luther explodes into pieces of gore that splatters all over the room. Johnson himself has to flick a demonic eyeball off his armor before looking at disbelief to his mother who blows a hair that has fallen around her face.
"No one calls the most honorable of my sons dishonorable in my presence," she coughs out holding her midriff with one arm as she leans heavily to the Dark Eldar holding a black spear with a ruby as a pointy end?
"Who are you Xeno!?" roars Johnson quickly getting up and pointing Fealty at the Dark Eldar. "What have you done with my mother?!"
"Peace Mon-, ahem. I mean human," she raises a hand in peace before grinning in a way that wolves would do despite her beautiful obviously Eldar Alien features. "My name is Lelith Hesperax and I am your ally Mon-Human. My mistress Yvraine has sent me to make sure that your mother survives the fight with Angron, your brother. I finished what she would never have been able to do, as my mistress sees in her divination,"
"I won't thank you for that Dark Eldar," comments his mother glaring at the Wych who only sniffs.
"And here I am doing the hard work for you sweet one. Don't worry, Lelith will take care of you from now on,"
"And what do you mean by that exactly witch?!" hisses Lion El' Johnson, his ears tingling from the purr he obviously hears on the tone of the Dark Eldar Wych.
"It means Mon-, human that I plan to sleep with your mother as many times as I can to…remove her stress,"
"WHAT?!"
Is it any wonder that Johnson charges with a fierce battle cry?
….
The Indomitus Crusade, Omake
"Luna! Luna! Let the poor man go!" the Primarch of the Ultramarine half-begs, half-anime cries as he tries to pry the stubborn half-Eldar into letting go the poor Navigator which Luna mentions has an extra eye and it is wrong to have said extra eye, therefore she has to gouge out said extra eye. The result are two traumatized Navigators with the third one the two Primarchs barely manage to save as their fellow sister attempts to pluck out the extra anatomy with her bare hands.
"But brother it is unnatural and so wrong!" protests Luna even as Gulliman with Dorn try to drag her away from the Navigator hugging his chair as she clings to the man via underwear giving the man a severe case of wedgie. He doesn't let go though, he has seen what happens to the other Navigators and knows that the moment he lets go of the chair means it is goodbye eye. Thus he holds on for dear life.
"Luna, they are Navigators and it is normal for them to have an extra set of eyes. What are you even doing yanking off the damn turban off of his head?" asks Gulliman as he struggles to pull Luna off much to the amusement of his sons and nephews who are watching their fathers fight a losing battle against their female version.
"Nuh-uh. I've read in a book that it is wrong for humans to have mutations and such mutations might be the cause of Chaos. So nope, no Chaos while I'm around. Now lemme go brother so that I might pluck out his eye!" her words are only greeted by even more panicked sobbing from the Navigator as he redoubles his efforts on making sure that his hold on the chair remains strong.
"That book is wrong. Not all mutations are wrong and some even have great uses from the Imperium like this Navigator here. Without him, our ships would never be able to traverse the Empyrean, or the Warp,"
"So that's what his third eye is for?" asks a now understanding looking Luna making both Gulliman and Dorn nod fiercely.
"Okay," and with that she lets go of the Navigator who snaps like a slingshot back to his seat and locking the door behind him with a dull thunk. The sound of prayers of relief can be heard inside.
"You can let me go now brothers. Thank you for the information that you have just told me," she smiles at them who have fallen on the floor in an uneven heap patting each face before whistling to herself as she skips way past them with a spring in her step.
"She is weird," grumbles Dorn regaining his wits and his sense of pride as he scrambles up.
"You tell me," mumbles Gulliman before turning to his sons with a glare as they seized up as they realized that they have been caught laughing. "All of you purge every book mentioning the Imperial Faith in the ship. The last thing that we want is to have our resident Matriarch find it and turn into some senseless Emperor worshipping fanatic,"
…
Author's Note:
Okay so another chapter's done. Sorry for the long wait. I've been sick the past couple of days so I haven't been able to write. Okay so this is 12K words and for good reason. Yay! Angron is dead and we have two new characters joining in. How do you think the Imperials would react to Lelith Hesperax and Johnson's presence? Anyway I won't speak much, hope you enjoyed this chapter.
Now I'm throwing the ball to you guys' court. What do you want next Helaena to do? Bring back another loyalist Primarch or kill another Traitor? Anyway next two chapters would be slow and focus more on the Indomitus Crusade and their successes alongside Luna and the rest. Helaena would also join them since of course, she is Helaena.
Anyway please Review for your reviews are the fuels for this writer's imaginations.