Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k or The Fate Series and will not make any monetary claim or infringe on their respective right.
Chapter 1
Alpharius battered the blow aside with his spear and retaliated with a horizontal slash. An event thought impossible at the Great Crusade was occurring at this moment. Primarchs duelling to the death. The bonds of brotherhood sundered by betrayal. The last primarch laughed at Guillman's fury, enraging the Ultramarine to greater heights. The perfectionist that wrote dreary treatises was forced to defy every single letter he penned to carry out this strike. The irony was delicious.
Around the pair, their sons did furious battle over the command centre of the Alpha Legion's presence on Eskador. The Ultramarines had established a breach in the walls using a rapid insertion attack with drop pods and Thunderhawks. Invictarii and Fulmentari formed a cordon around their lord, preventing any Alpha Legionnaires from interfering with the duel. Not that any would, Alpharius had left specific orders to not assist him in any form. However, there was still a dense fusillade of bolter fire that staggered even Terminators.
Guillman commanded authority, demanding it from everyone. The blue panoply had always been subconsciously linked to calmness and reason, contradicted by the pure rage that contorted Guillman features. The Armour of Reason was bathed in arterial red as emergency lumens flickered around the command hall. A lone Alpha Legionnaire dropped from the banners above onto a Terminator, using gravity to force his power-sword through the boxy armour. A squad of Invictarii executed a perfect 180 degree turn to riddle the warrior with bolts as the Terminator collapsed. More Alpha Legionnaires joined the ambush as they jumped from the banner poles onto the Ultramarines with power weapons.
The Hand of Dominion had an oily sheen on is surface as it crackled past Alpharius in a brutal swipe. Alpharius darted into the opening whilst Guillman was briefly distracted by the death of sons that lasted mere microseconds.
The Gladius Incandor blocked the Pale Spear's edge, but every strike was riposte, a pivot for another attack. All it took was one cut from the spear to cripple Guillman's body forever. Alpharius did not want that at all. The Alpha Legion took the long view, unlike other Legions, and primarchs were the paragons to their Legions. Except Angron, Alpharius pitied him. Torn from his homeworld and forced to watch his rebellion die, the Emperor was wrong to do so when he had the capacity to provide support his son's uprising. Yet He did not. Alpharius had often thought about the Emperor, yet even his mind was unable to comprehend the actions of Him. It would be like a promethium flame trying to match a plasma reaction in brightness.
"I must admit Guillman, I thought you would have known that nothing in this room is superfluous. It was quite elementary, my dear brother. I was prepared for your arrival. Your strike does nothing but prove my superiority."
Another hit stalled itself onto his spear. Even slightly distracted, Alpharius was the better combatant than Guillman. The look of raw hatred on Roboute's face was fascinating. Guillman had always been one of the more rational Primarchs with an intellect that was unmatched for statesmanship. Other primarchs were made to destroy, Guillman was made to preserve.
Their combat techniques would have stunned anyone who called themselves experts in the blade. Guillman fought in textbook manner at speeds beyond even his sons. Every pose was perfect, refined over countless battles to its utilitarian form that was efficient as it was effective. Alpharius doubted anyone could have bested it except for another primarch or an Ork Warboss of immense proportions.
Yet Alpharius was another primarch. Not just any primarch but the Final Configuration. After all, the last one is always the best as flaws could be refined during the creation. Even the Emperor made mistakes after all. Alpharius had spent his lifetime devoted to the study of everything and had formulated a contingency to deal with each threat, present and future. Guillman was just another one.
"Taken Father's mantle, I hear. Lord Commander, must be a fine title to add to your epithet."
"Thanks to you, Alpharius, Humanity's only chance for peace has been ruined and left vulnerable to the xenos that encroach our borders whilst the Emperor is left writhing in pain on the Golden Throne. Why, brother? Why did you betray us? Was it my fault, Alpharius? Tell me! I demand an answer!"
Alpharius snickered as he deflected another thrust. "I am loyal to our Father, just in a manner that would never come across your organised mind." He swayed away from a swipe from the Hand of Dominion before tearing out a section of Guillman's chest plate. The rift enlarged as layers of ceramite dissolved to inky darkness that faded in the air. Guillman pulled out of the duel, tentatively touching the wound that crumbled under his fingers. He looked incredulously at Alpharius.
"That was a killing blow…"
Shrugging casually, Alpharius grinned as he held the Pale Spear, "As I said, brother, I am loyal to the Emperor. To slay you would be damaging to the Imperium. Now fight me, lest your sons grow suspicious of your loyalty."
Guillman spat, "Your duplicity shall be your end."
"Your predictability shall be yours. Tell me, famed tactician and master strategist, what will happen when you come across a foe who is a better general than yourself? Someone with a greater grasp of battle and logistics? What will you do? Continue to use your ineffective, repetitive dull ways to your death? Not every enemy will engage you in open warfare, ten Alpha Legionnaires with enough time could defeat an entire Chapter of yours. Oh, don't look at me like that. I know you are planning to break the Legions into Chapters. A worthwhile endeavour after Horus' betrayal but they will individually be defeated by a single Traitor legion, all they need is a charismatic enough figure to lead them. I suspect Abaddon shall do it. Mark my words, Ultramarine, you will regret your decision to sunder the Legions."
The Primarch of XIIIth Legion hesitated, undoubtably forming a rebuttal. Alpharius was not interested in the reply, instead raising the silvery spear in a salute. A sign that the duel should continue whilst the Ultramarines around them fought for their lives against the Alpha Legion insurgents that infiltrate their defensive positions using the manholes above. A Fulmentarus with a cyclone missile launcher unleash a barrage of krak missiles at the banners, tearing down roof panels that dropped indiscriminately upon the melee.
"You were good, Guillman," Alpharius admitted, "Good enough to break your own tenets when you knew that they would be a hinderance. But none of your sons shall leave this planet except for you. Consider it a worthy bargain for killing a Primarch."
Guillman shook his head," Why must you do this? Repent and swear your allegiance to the Imperium once more and I shall let you live. Please, I beg of you, we can discuss this rationally. I can tell that the touch of the Immaterium has not just affected you unlike the rest of my treacherous brothers. If you are so desperate to claim your loyalty to the Emperor, let us speak. I, Roboute Guillman, give you my solemn pledge that we will deal with each other frankly and fairly if the hostilities are suspended. It pains me to lose any one of my brothers, even Horus. If was the comments I laid against your conduct, I fully withdraw them. Just let us talk, Alpharius."
"Guillman," Alpharius laughed warmly, "You are so naïve. There will be a time when the primarchs loyal to the Emperor shall no longer bestride the galaxy. Baseline human instincts shall reign, ignorance, religion and so many other things that our Father fought against shall corrupt the Imperium. Your sons, without your guidance, will have no choice but to accept their predicament under the threat of being excommunicated. The Alpha Legion shall have no such boundaries, they will be the scalpel that cuts away the cancerous tumours of a rotten empire under the guise of traitors. I take the long view that you do not possess, that makes me better than you."
"I shall honour your sacrifice," Guillman nodded as he raised Gladius Incandor and charged. Alpharius tugged off his helmet and grinned. "Aye, brother, let this duel be one that you will never forget."
Guillman's gladius clashed against the spear as he drew back the Hand for a powerful blow. With a twirling flick, Alpharius threatened to disarm Guillman. The Avenging Son was forced to lean back, changing his precise punch into a wild swing. Alpharius slammed into Guillman with his shoulder. Guillman was left staggering as Alpharius continued to jab and thrust with the spear, each strike barely turned away by increasing desperate swipes. A praetorian of an Invictarus Suzerain squad noticed his lord's plight as he cut down an Alpha Legionnaire with his Legatine axe. His voice cut through the din of battle, added by his vox-emitter.
"Lord Guillman is in mortal danger! To our Primarch, Ultramarines! For Macragge!"
The Ultramarines immediately began to disengage from their battles, heedless of the danger behind them as they rushed to their primarch's side. Many were cut down as they turned away but a counter charge by an organised reserve squad of veterans prevented the front from collapses by the sudden exodus. Pleas began to fill Alpharius' vox from his sons, begging for him to withdraw. He adamantly refused.
"My sons, the galaxy is aflame. I shall depart, never again to see the Imperium. It pains my hearts and I mourn for what you shall experience. One of your hearts' beats for duty to the legion, the other weeps for those who you shall sacrifice for the greater good. We have many heads, but we act with one will – one Legion. You shall never wear the golden aquila or stand under the Emperor's light. Embrace the truth we are and lies we serve. Understand that our pain and blood shall save the very thing that seeks to eradicate us. One day, one golden day, we may stand together as a proud Legion like our brethren but for now, we shall be the smoky lies that the Imperium will hate. Hydra dominates, my sons. The Alpha Legion shall be your only master from now on."
Every word, syllable and pause were filled with dead Ultramarines who flung themselves willing at the Pale Spear. He had allowed himself one sentimental dalliance with his gene-sons as he tore apart Legionnaires. A Fulmentarus barrelled into him with a swing of its chain fist. Bolts splattered against the Pythian scales as he lopped of the Terminator's head neatly, kicking its dissolving body as he scythed through shield of a charging Invictarus. The Ultramarine dropped its useless weight to grasp at the spear's haft to delay its deathblow. It was mere milliseconds for the primarch to overpower the legionnaire, but it was long enough for several Ultramarine to literally jump onto Alpharius. They hacked away at vulnerable seals with gladius blades. Alpharius felt every single one of them which stung his flesh. The potent alchemical scent of a primarch's blood seeped through the punctures of his armour as he fought against the sheer mass of bodies heaped onto him.
Without his helmet, Alpharius was treated to a sight of a raging Ultramarine that hammered his face with its fists. Despite possibly centuries of battle, the terror of losing their father undid everything the Ultramarines stood for. Alpharius reached for Hydra's Spite and swivelled the barrel. Pressing the trigger rune, an Ultramarine was blasted away with the fury of a sun. Another was impaled onto the Pale spear and launched across the command centre. With the weight lessening, Alpharius surged forth, shedding the veterans like petals off a flower. Undaunted, the Ultramarines got onto their feet and threw themselves back onto the primarch.
Each swipe slew scores of Guillman's sons yet they continued to rush to their deaths. Guillman himself was duelling with a Terminator with a spear eerily similar to Alpharius himself. The Ultramarines used a sacrificial ploy to delay Alpharius. A praetorian veteran rushed to slam into the primarch with its shield. Of course, Alpharius avoided the Ultramarine and his spear darted to carve apart its torso. Yet the time Alpharius needed to kill the praetorian was enough for another veteran to tackle the primarch from behind. Alpharius fought to stand up but hesitated when he saw the red smile underneath the shattered helm, mouthing words that he could read even during battle and the distracting shine of a melta bomb.
"For courage and honour, you motherless bastard."
At such a proximity, no primarch could escape unscathed. Correction, no normal primarch could. Alpharius held no illusions for the daemons that controlled his brother's flesh bodies. Even anti-tank weaponry was incapable of harming them. Within microseconds, Alpharius recognised the pattern and how the melta operated. There were two methods in the Imperium for melta weaponry, sub-atomic agitation or fusion reaction. The Ultramarine had not wasted any time on attaching the bomb onto the Pythian Scales, instead using itself as the fuel for the fusion reaction. It would still be devastating to Alpharius either way. Alpharius twisted, dislodging the suicide bomber slightly. Every centimetre of air between them would help as well as the angling. He rammed his shoulder plates onto the Ultramarine as the bomb detonated.
Ceramite was agitated to a critical energy level, starting an atomic chain reaction that converted matter into raw energy. With nowhere else to transfer its excessive energies to, they were forced to release explosively. The Pythian Scales were hard pressed to control the damage, coolant gases were vented whilst a conductive mesh embedded in the ceramite tried to evenly spread the heat across the armour. Yet for all its efforts, it failed. Shockwaves buffeted Alpharius as the armour melted into slag. His flesh burnt as he fought to get onto his feet. The pain was bearable. Primarchs could endure much worse. Yet it was the damage to his war-suit which was the most critical. Servos grinded themselves to worthlessness. His back-plates were bonded together, preventing him from any hope to fight with the same mobility he had done in the past. With dogged determination, his sons fought to securing him from the Ultramarines. The Terminator that held up Guillman so far was ruined, vitae oozing from cracks. Clearly Guillman had been forced to punch the Terminator into submission with the Hand of Dominion.
Alpharius felt the haft of the Pale Spear pressed in his hands, the light of loyalty burning brightly in the Alpha Legionnaires' eyes. Alpharius could not find any fault in his sons. He straightened himself up and called at Guillman.
"Face me brother! Do not send such vermin at me. You cower behind your sons, letting them take the blow for you. You wish to avenge Father when you cannot even deal with me? I laugh at your ideals."
Guillman waded through the command centre to Alpharius as the Ultramarines regrouped. Idly, Alpharius counted them and compared the number to the initial amount. Less than half of the strike force remained, their bodies littering the floor. The Alpha Legionnaires had reached an acceptable kill ratio considering that they were neophytes. His elites were scattered across the galaxy in insurgency cells where they could be the most effective in the distant future.
"For the Emperor." Guillman shouted as he increased his speed into a sprint that shook the floor of the command centre. His opponent mirrored his action silently, allowing his thunderous run to announce his intentions.
The two demigods collided in a maelstrom of violence born of mournful hatred. Guillman finally understood Alpharius, or at least what Alpharius wanted Guillman to understand. The Alpha Legion could have been most devastating if they had not openly declared for Horus. If they had been counted amongst the loyal Legions, they could have known every single plan and infiltrated every command node. When Horus laid siege onto Terra, they could have killed off Terran High Command in a heartbeat, paving the way to the Golden Throne with dead loyalists. Instead, they conducted a stunning yet ultimately ineffective campaign of uprisings and assassinations. Costly perhaps, but they were not the true capabilities that the Alpha Legion could perform to.
Alpharius twirled the spear above him, raining hammering blows onto Guillman's defence. The reach of the spear made it nigh impossible for Guillman to retaliate. Each time the legendary weapons collided, sparks of aethereal spat out. The banners of the Alpha Legion above them were aflame, leaking a hazy smoke into the room that flowed underneath the feet of the demigods.
The Ghost Legion was unbound by dogma or doctrines, instead using pragmatism to accomplish a goal in the most effective means possible. Yet for all the contingencies in the galaxy, they were still, at their core, transhumans who had been genetically bred for war. Fury had been etched into their minds by psych-indoctrination as well as experience. The Hydra, when corned, will fight with the rage worthy of legends, the death-throes as destructive as their existence.
Smashing the spear's edge aside whilst Alpharius delivered an overhead blow, the fused back-plates forced Alpharius to turn into Guillman's blow. The primarch immediately took advantage, entering within the spear's lethal reach. Alpharius dropped the Pale Spear, raising Hydra's Spite to deliver a double blast that ruined the Hand of Dominion. Undeterred, Guillman thrusted the Gladius Incandor into the soft armpit seals. The blade punctured a lung and Alpharius' primary heart. A roar tore itself from Alpharius, born of agony as the power field cauterised the wounds, delaying his healing abilities. Around them, the Alpha Legionnaires echoed their primarch's war cry and plunged into Ultramarine rank, uncaring of the barrage of bolt, missiles and shells that smashed into their wild charge. An armoured door opened. A second prong of attackers flowed through to out-flank the Ultramarine shield wall. Terminators stalked in their wake, finally providing an answer to the Fulmentarus. Blaring challenges to each other, Terminators lumbered across the floor in slow, weighty charges.
Alpharius glanced at Guillman steadily before giving a slight, nod that was imperceivable to anyone else but a primarch. Guillman hesitated for a fraction of a second, exposing his inner conflict that reigned in his mind. Even his vaunted logical thinking was vulnerable to the chaos of emotions that affected all humans. Primarchs were the pinnacle of mankind and thus inherited all the vices man had. Alpharius saw that Guillman would not do it before he knew it himself.
"Shame. I thought you would have more spine than this."
Alpharius grabbed Guillman's hand and pushed the gladius into his neck. He expected pain and prepared himself for it. After all, his physiology was incredibly sensitive when he wanted it to be. Yet for all his vaunted might, he did not predict the calming sense of relief. There were no more plans, no more contingencies. Everything was set out. Alea icata est would say. This was his fate that he controlled, not one of those fickle, false gods nor his Creator. Words gurgled softly through his torn throat, unlooked for yet not unwanted.
"So, how are you?"
Alpharius' brain, starved of its oxygen-rich blood from his hearts, began to shut itself down in an attempt at self-preservation, waiting for its fuel that would never arrive. Superfluous sense went numb, sight, feel and lastly hearing. Yet this did not stop Alpharius hearing the mournful tone of his brother as the battle raged on around them. Vision blackening as his body went limp, he processed the sounds into meaningful words.
"I am sorry, brother."
This is my first fanfic so do comment, I would welcome constructive criticism as I am not well versed in Fate Lore. I'll see you in the next Chapter.
Hydra Dominatus!