Cadia has fallen, the galaxy has been split in twain and chaos reigns. The Imperium is beset on all sides by the forces of Chaos, the cruelties of the Drukhari, the bottomless hunger of the Tyranids, and numerous other threats. Warp Storms leave numerous systems alone and divided and the forces of mankind prepare to fight to the last for survival.
The Barssus sector is but one of these numerous and severed fiefdoms forced to face the new millennium and all its horrors. They are protected by Iron Skulls, a young but vigorous chapter of Adeptus Astartes who are feared more than venerated by those they protect. For the sons of Manus have ever looked down on those they deem weak, but it is this hubris that could destroy them. For in the time of ending, all must stand as one or they will die alone.
The forces of Tzeentch have set their eyes on the world of Barssus primus, seeking hidden treasures lying beneath the sands and seeking to forge their new utopia over the broken bodies and minds of all who stand in their way. But they are not the only foes seeking conquest, for the Orks have come to slate their lust for violence and destruction.
The feudal world of Fayoris, M38.
He didn't mean to do this.
That was all he could think of as lay trembling, curled on the floor of own house. He didn't mean for any of this to happen, in truth he didn't know what he did. Tears poured down his face as he recalled the horrified looks on his parents' faces. Faces that were once filled with terror and sorrow.
But he didn't mean to do it. Hoping that was some dream, a persistent nightmare but deep down he knew it wasn't.
It had all happened so fast. Some men had come to harass his family for some money. His father tried to defuse the situation since he knew that everyone was struggling to get by these days. Droughts, wars, and disease left supplies to go around so tensions were always high. Try as he might, the men wouldn't stop. Threats were made, curses spoken, and weapons brandished, and then….
He didn't know why, but the sight of his parents in danger awakened something inside of him. A fire burned in his chest, his wingers twinged as sparks of lightning forked between them. He could still see the confusion on the faces of those thugs as they turned their attention to him. Confusion turned to horror as the lightning jolted from the child's hands, shifting through the air and striking them. Screams echoed throughout the town as the smell of burnt flesh wafted through his nostrils.
It didn't take long for word to spread, and soon mobs formed out of terror and prejudice. He had been blamed for the recent hardships even though he had nothing to do with them. They were spurred on by the hateful rhetoric by the local priest. He tried to explain himself, but they wouldn't listen to you. So he fled here, to your room, his last bastion.
The shouts grow louder as the mob breaks down the doors. He hears his parents scream as they are cut down by the frothing mob. The thumps of footsteps echo throughout the house as they ascend the stairs, their hateful curses burning deeper and deeper into his mind and psyche. He turns as the door is bashed down and unleashes the damned power one last time.
His world of senses descends into madness, a cacophony of screams, fire and other sounds of carnage he has no understanding of. Darkness then descends upon him as his mind is filled with terror and confusion and the death that would surely follow.
But death did not follow. Instead he awoke, surrounded by burnt corpses and fire, but still alive. He then felt a massive presence beside him, like a demigod of ancient myth. The giant of blue and gold clad in robes and holding a bronze staff spoke to him.
"Be calm child, I mean you no harm" it spoke, it's voice regal and proud. The boy hesitantly turned to face the giant, nearly stumbling over corpses, nausea and exhaustion taking its toll on the child.
"My name is Itzhak and I am here to offer you a choice, a chance to use your gifts. You have no future here, the hateful and ignorant will never until they destroy you or enslave you. I will give you power, a new home, and a purpose" the giant said, offering the boy a hand.
The boy looked at the remains of the mob, their curses still fresh in his mind. He had known many of them, he had befriended some even, and yet they were so willing to kill him and his family. Why? Because he was different, because he was a threat?
He somehow knew even back then that Itzhak was right, he would never know peace again. The weak and ignorant would always fear and hate what they could not or would not understand. He nodded and took Itzhak's hand
M42. On board the battleship "veil of shadows"
Shad Ikraam awoke from his trance, his minding having drifted back to his childhood so many years ago. It had been over a thousand years, a practical eternity by mortal standards yet it still felt so fresh. A small bead of sweat fell down his face, his dark brown features exposed bereft of his helmet which laid mag locked to his thigh. He found it easier to be attuned to the sea of souls with natural senses, an attitude that he heard was commonplace.
The whine of servo motors sang softly as he rose to his feet from his kneeling position. His dark blue armor lit up once more as power routed itself once more and his mind returned to the present. A faint bluish purple aura hung through the air, cackling with electricity. Wards and ancient scripts, written in thousands of long dead tongues also began to glow a faint eldritch blue as he grasped his staff infused with the power of the great mutator.
The myriad of thoughts of less creatures soon filled his mind as well. Thousands of voices muttering their petty nonsense before he pushed those thoughts out. He had little need to know what his mortal crew thought and cared even less. In his mind only the truly gifted mattered, not the dregs of humanity that were only fit to serve.
Ikraam felt a tug inside his mind as he felt the familiar soul of his mentor Itzhak wash over him. His former mentor, now comrade, was an oddity amongst the throngs of vain transhumans Ikraam had the displeasure of meeting over the centuries. In a realm where your reputation was your first defense against aggression, he willfully submitted to Ikraam once Ikraam had formed his warband, called the Enlightened. When questioned on this, he only mysteriously replied that it was the will of Tzeentch to do so.
" War-Smith Boyan Svetomir has requested your presence" Itzhak spoke to him mentally, his deep and rich voice carrying over the distance via telepathy. Ikraam sent back an acknowledgement as he set out from his personal chambers and towards the command deck. Standing just outside his door stood two rubricae as sentries, motionless until he passed them and locking in step behind them as he advanced.
Unlike many of his elders, he held little regard for the rubricae. He had been born well after Prospero burned and the disastrous attempt of Ahriman to stop the flesh change. The fate of the rubricae simply reinforced his beliefs about the right of those who have power and the will to seize it. He had seen time and time again that the weak would only drag down the smart and strong, Fayoris had taught him that much, as had so many worlds since then.
The interior of the veil of shadows lacked much of the usual trappings of many of the vessels he had been forced to serve on throughout his time as a mercenary. Instead of rust, gore, flesh protruding from the walls, the halls looked much like any other former imperial vessel save for the occasional rune marking or symbol of Tzeentch. This suited his mood as such filth and perversion were beneath him and the new utopia they would build.
He soon arrived on the command deck, where he was greeted by his crew and attendants. He had gathered mutants and pyskers from across hundreds of worlds and walks of life. He had given them the same choice he had been given, to rise up and take power for themselves. He turned victims into avengers, and gave them a chance to shine against the wash of hatred and ignorance of the Imperium.
Ikraam nodded to the ship mistress Zeriel, who gave the order to establish the link between the veil of shadows and its sister ship the herald of change. After a few seconds of static, an Astartes giant clad in white and black with a gold cape and ancient mk two power armor supposedly from the the great crusade appeared.
"Greetings Ikraam" the giant spoke, sitting on an immaculate throne of polished marble in a relaxed position. He removed his helmet to show a tanned face rife with scars, but still retaining an air of nobility that was further enhanced by his short and maintained cut and piercing blue eyes.
"Same to you, Svetomir" Ikraam replied as he watched the war-smith grab and sip a glass of wine. The glass was comically small compared to the size of his gauntlets but the war-smith seemed to move with such poise and grace that I hardly mattered. Seeing a son of Perturabo exhibit such finesse was hard to picture despite their prolonged partnership. The Iron Warriors were usually so dour and serious, it was honestly refreshing to finally see something else from the get of the fourth.
The two were alike in their desire to be more than so many of their brothers were. Together they had formed the warband known as the Enlightened, gathering over the course of decades many hundreds of Astartes who longed to do more than merely raid and pillage. No, they had far grander plans that were coming to fruition because Ikraam's prophecies indicated that something monumental awaited them in the Barssus sector.
"Are you ready to depart?" Svetomir asked after he finished the glass.
"Yes, our destiny awaits us in the Barssus sector. In particular, Barssus Primus. Deep beneath that world lies powerful technology and dark secrets. An entire tomb of the Necrons that will not arise for centuries to come" Ikraam replied, the mere thought of claiming the hidden treasures of alluring.
"Taking that world won't be easy, the corpse worshippers can be rather persistent. But I suppose what is a grand vision without sacrifice" Svetomir replied, with no small bit of disdain in his voice.
Ikraam couldn't help but agree, his vision would take sacrifice but in a way that made the victory seem all the sweeter.
"The path to greatness is never easy my friend, in order to build our utopia, we must first burn this utter husk on a Imperium to ground" Ikraam replied, his face coiling into a smile. Svetomir nodded as both Chaos Lords dispatched their orders to the other ships in the chaos fleet and set course after their rituals, done in the bowls of their ships to appease the dark gods.
A great tear into the warp appeared in front of the fleet, like the mouth of the great monsters of Myth from eons long past and the large fleet disappeared into the warp.