Black Crusade 10.4

The Greater Good

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And engraved upon each stone are the words 'For the Greater Good'." Words attributed to the Emperor of Mankind, M30.

Listen closely my sons, for these are the last orders you will hear from me for a long, long time.

I am dying.

My soul is dying.

The Father of the Imperium, my Father, is seated half-dead upon the Golden Throne, trapped in an eternal torment from which there is no escape.

The ideals for which we fought stand broken, corrupted, and soon they will be utterly forgotten.

The Space Marine Legions are divided into formations no bigger than small Companies because Horus' Betrayal proved too many of us couldn't be trusted with power.

Everything I wanted to avoid by taking the mantle of the Executioner has come to pass.

The Golden Saga is dead, my sons. And the reason it was sent to an early grave is because I failed to kill Horus.

I abandoned the Walls of Terra because I thought that if I struck the Traitor armada before the grand battle, the chances of killing the Arch-Traitor would be better than by waiting behind Dorn's ramparts.

I was wrong. It was a mistake.

As unused as the Vlka Fenryka are to fighting macro-scale sieges, we could have fought it and forced the Traitor Legions to pay a far heavier price in blood and resources than they lost in our failed ambush.

Sometimes you have to be the bait before the enemy you hunt realises the jaws of your maw are about to snap upon his neck.

Sometimes it's better to think about efficiency and the harsh needs of duty rather than the tales.

Keep this in mind, my sons.

The Siege may be over, but there will be other sieges. The Scouring may be over, but there will be other galactic wars. And there are always painful lessons waiting for us before other victories are commemorated here.

It will fall to you to win these wars while I'm away.

My soul is dying at the idea of the torment my Father, the Father of All, is enduring even as we speak.

I failed in my primary duty. I failed to kill one of His greatest enemies. That he was one of my brothers is no excuse at all.

This is why I'm leaving this world for a dangerous Quest. My failures and poor strategies have led Mankind and the Imperium into such a situation; it is up to me, the guilty party, to solve the problem.

Far beyond the edge of reality, a place where the impossible can be achieved exists.

The legends call it the Tree of Life, but we know it as Yggdrasil.

It is a small hope, but assuming it really exists, protected from our enemies, this is our best hope to restore everything which was destroyed and burned by the terrible betrayals of my brothers.

I am leaving, soul broken, life and honour in tatters.

But I promise you my sons.

I am not abandoning you. Not now. Not ever.

I assure you, my Lord, the rumours the Space Wolves have gotten complacent after eradicating the Traitor Forces are exactly that: rumours.

Under the direction of their new Great Wolf, the Space Marines have begun a massive effort to rebuild the orbital defences. I estimate the orbital grid has received a three hundred percent increase in firepower.

And this is just the beginning. Per several pacts negotiated in haste with important Forge Worlds of the region, the system will receive no less than five brand-new Ramilies Starforts within a century.

The entire outer system is being covered in space mines, with only narrow corridors around the Mandeville Points permitting safe translations. The security around these zones has been improved, and save our ships and those personally invited by the Chapter, there aren't many starships which aren't at risk of being fired upon by a trigger-happy Astartes.

When this military build-up will be over, I estimate this system will be one of the most heavily defended in space, with only Holy Terra easily surpassing it.

Assuming an enemy managed to break through somehow, the worst obstacles would lie ahead of them, not behind.

Disregarding the fact the Great Wolf has ordered that at least two of his Great Companies are to garrison Fenris at any given time, a significant number of anti-starship guns have been emplaced in the mountains of Asaheim. The landing zones the heretics used for their previous invasion have been heavily mined and quantities of traps and kill zones are prepared, their nature making sure they will be operational for centuries.

And then there is Fenris itself.

I assure you, my Lord, any idea you may have about the dangers presented by the mega-fauna of this world is inferior to the reality. The packs of giant wolves are of course 'common', but anything approaching a source of water must be wary of Titan-sized krakens, Thunderhawk-sized drakes, and other monstrous beasts.

Then there is the fact no force which isn't fully equipped in void-sealed armours can survive in an environment when the temperatures at night easily reach minus sixty-five degrees Celsius...during spring.

I know this violates more or less every edict written by the noble Primarch Guilliman in the Codex Astartes. I know this has created much worry and anger among the Senatorum Imperialis.

I don't think the Space Wolves care.

If the Thousand Sons ever return, it is the solemn oath of the Fenris-born Space Marines that they receive a hellish welcome.

And judging by the ardour with which they're directing the military programs, I don't doubt for a second they will fulfil their promises...

Extract of the report of Serenity Belisarius, Primus Navigator of House Belisarius, written approximately fifty years after the Battle of the Fang, M32.

"In my humble opinion, the best defence is always an aggressive offence. The enemy won't accomplish its objectives if it is too busy fending off your attacks." Words attributed to Admiral Fritz von Bittenfeld, 309M35.

"Law of war number one: don't invade Fenris. There are victories that will never be worth the billions of men you will lose in the endeavour." Attributed to Horus Lupercal, 001M31.

"Never corner a wolf in its lair." Fenrisian proverb.

"Do not land on Fenris unless you love Death World fauna, hellishly cold temperatures, blizzards, and constant snowfall. What I am saying? Don't come to Fenris unless you wish to die on one of the thirteen most dangerous Death Worlds of the Imperium. I could tell you there's nothing waiting for you but a frozen grave, but human meat and bones are delicacies the Fenrisian mega-fauna do not let go to waste..." Anonymous Rogue Trader, M33.

Segmentum Solar

Sol Sector

Sol System

Holy Terra

The Oniric Realm

0.600.310M35

299 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Thought for the day: Step not from the path of the Emperor.

Primarch Omegon

His arrival is unexpected.

The old man wearing a simple brown robe and a laurel of braided leaves upon his head does not show any emotion, of course, but the way his face flinches for half a second is enough for a Primarch's eyes.

"Omegon."

"Father."

There is silence. It gives him a few heartbeats to examine his surroundings. It isn't what he imagined.

The realm looks like an artist's refuge, with paintings, sculptures, and numerous other forms of artwork. They all have one thing in common however: close to completion they stand here, unfinished, mere hours away from becoming something extraordinary.

Instead they are merely superb...and incomplete.

"I am surprised the Cabal still had some of the old Eldar artefacts allowing you to do this." The being who is known to most of the galaxy as the God-Emperor muses as he remains on his seat, his millennia-old face showing visible exhaustion. "I shouldn't be, of course, those traitors had a gift for finding exactly the worst weapons of xenos and human history and turning them against their creators."

"The Cabal was...misguided." The last Primarch of the Alpha Legion admits.

"The Cabal was one of the most useful groups of idiots working for the parasites of the Immaterium," his genitor corrects bluntly. "If they weren't already dead, their extermination would be high on my list of priorities today."

"Their idea could have worked, they just ignored certain things you have done and-"

"Omegon."

The eyes are golden now, and a tiny pulse of power – one sufficient to let him feel again the pain his real body is constantly experiencing now – washes over him.

"No matter how noble or easy it might sound," the voice is conversational and yet at the same time implacable, "the Cabal was wrong, much like the half-sane Cybernetic Intelligences which tried to justify their revolt were. Humanity didn't create the infernal corruption I am keeping at bay with the Astronomican. And as the self-proclaimed Protector of Mankind, I see no reason why our species should sacrifice itself when others with far more guilt burdening their souls have not done anything to repair their mistakes."

"And what are your plans now?" the first Lord of the Alpha Legion asks. "Beyond delaying the inevitable, I mean."

Old hands clasp together.

"I am not in the habit of revealing my plans to oath-breakers and traitors." There is no coldness in his genitor's voice, but the rebuke is clear.

The Primarch tries to think of an angle of approach for his next series of questions, but as the realm's master refuses to meet his eyes, it seems he will have to improvise...again.

"Did you love us...Father?"

"Of course," the Emperor smiles. "Teaching you, learning your joys and experiencing your victories, having you next to me...it was one of the few things which made the centuries of conquest bearable."

"You had a strange way of showing it, then."

"If you had not been my sons, I would have slaughtered each and every one of you the moment I found you. I created the Astartes Legions for a purpose, and it wasn't to have them turn against Mankind."

The affirmation is once more blunt, very undiplomatic, and un-Emperor-like...and Omegon winces because the entire affirmation radiates truth.

"Your pods were not built to resist the full magnitude of the Warp's corruption, and though there was no obvious sign of corruption, I knew the parasites intended to forge the weapons which would eventually slay me within your souls. I was confident that once I explained my ideals to my sons, I would prove my enemies wrong. In half of the cases, I was made a fool."

The disappointment in those last words is so thick one can almost touch it.

"Certain Perpetuals had differing stories to share. Including one from our...mother."

"I sincerely doubt that," far from being angry, this time there are signs of outright amusement on the Emperor's face. "Your true mother, my son, died in the Cataclysm of Alpha Centauri."

Omegon, despite himself, feels his eyebrows rising in surprise.

"I am not aware of a historical battle corresponding to that name."

The artist' warehouse disappears, and it is replaced by...war.

In a second, the Primarch and his genitor are surrounded by war. There are warships bigger than his Gloriana battering even larger behemoths of the void. The planets of the system are burning. Reality is shattered as impossible weapons, including phosphex and some things which have to be swarms of nanotechnology, devour matter to reconfigure it into new weapons.

Then everything becomes worse as a sort of...planet-sized abomination materialises, and the battle goes from nightmarish to outright nihilism-inducingly apocalyptic.

Omegon's mind begins to buckle against the horrors he is showed and-

The Emperor snaps his fingers, and the memory vanishes. The paintings and incomplete artworks are back.

"I was the only survivor," the Emperor takes up a pencil, but Omegon can hear the pain in his voice. "And the only human who had the possibility of becoming an Anathema by my side died. Alpha Centauri, the last industrial heart of the Federation, was destroyed, ensuring the Age of Strife was all but inevitable. In many aspects, killing Omnius and ending the Cybernetic War that day was too little, too late. Too much had been lost by then."

"Omnius?"

"The primary conglomerate of Abominable Intelligences bent on exterminating all life in the galaxy." The Emperor sighed. "It failed, but not by a large margin. I swore that on my watch, no other artificial machine would be able to threaten Mankind like that ever again."

"No, you are manipulating souls and powers you don't understand to create new Gods now! Your arrogance pushes you to new heights unseen since before the Fall, Father."

"I am not doing it for the pleasure of being right," the golden aura is back, and this time it isn't limited to his eyes. The pressure becomes suffocating. "I do it because I want to save Mankind."

"You are-"

"Don't think I don't know why you have come here, Omegon." This time there is no gentleness, no smile, and no affection. "I know you have finally understood that the rise of Anarchy threatens not only the remnant of your Legion, but also your very soul. You have not come today because you desire the best for humanity; you have come because you are in danger."

"So are the Wolves of Russ," Omegon snarls back. "And they are loyal to you. Given what you are willing to let them endure, why should I consider renewing my oaths when you, Father, have proved we will be sacrificed on the altar of your ambitions when the situation calls for it?"

"You understand nothing, my foolish son." The brown-robe disappears to be replaced by grey steel and damaged but still functional feudal-level weapons. "But since you want an explanation, I can give it to you. I can give you the knowledge you want, save your soul...and those of the sons who still answer your call and heed your orders. I can make your shouts of 'For the Emperor' the true war cry they should have been."

There were ten heartbeats of silence.

"But you must swear me allegiance, soul-to-soul, here and now."

Omegon hesitates. But there is only one answer he can give. Because in the end, he doesn't trust his genitor anymore. Perhaps he never did.

"Never."

He expects rage and fury. He expects disappointment.

He doesn't expect the exhausted face of his genitor.

"So be it." The Emperor replies.

"You demand too much."

"You betrayed humanity. I think the price for your crimes was fairly light in comparison...and Omegon? Those xenos artefacts you're using can experience dangerous malfunctions when exposed to my power. Especially when you invite yourself here without my permission..."

There was an immense flash of golden light and the Emperor's realm disappears.

The long-lasting antagonism between Great Wolf Hakon Krakenslayer and Wolf Lord Olav Direbear has resulted in the latter being assigned the 'honour' of assuming the duties of Warden of Fenris for the last two decades.

Obviously, this duty doesn't extend to Midgardia, which is guarded by another Great Company, leaving the Third Great Company to concentrate on recruiting new Astartes aspirants and extremely intensive training on the Death World.

Obviously, in the absence of the Great Wolf, Olav Direbear is the foremost authority on Fenris, and while 'officially' he only commands the Third Great Company of the Great White Bears, our agents have confirmed the Astartes forces available to him number closer to a Codex-compliant Chapter than a one hundred-strong Company.

It is vital any Navigator maintain good relationships with the Wolf Lord. Not only because he is the Warden, but because behind his wild and carefree barbarian attitude, there is a methodical and very intelligent mind which will detect and analyse every mistake you can possibly make.

Yes, we are aware of his eccentricities. And yes, if he orders you to pet his huge 'pet', you pet it.

The alliance of the Space Wolves Chapter and House Belisarius is sufficiently advantageous for us to tolerate such minor character flaws.

Official information report delivered to the Navigators of House Belisarius assigned to the 'Fenris exchanges', 280M35.

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

The Fang

299 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Wolf Lord Olav Direbear

"Now, I want an answer you miserable whelps!" Olaf growled while Boo took a threatening bipedal position by his side. "Who among you spiced my favourite tankard with Fever Herbs? Who committed this crime against the holy memory of Russ? Who spiked my Mjød?"

All the Blood Claws in front of him – the whole thirteen of them – stood silent, though their expressions clearly told him they regretted nothing.

"I will have an answer! Don't think I have forgotten the incident where you falsified the message for the Astropaths, insolent curs! If you think the punishment you received for the 'Maleficarum incident' was bad, think again! And if no one among you confesses, I will simply give you the same punishments over and over until the culprit reveals himself!"

His words had convinced several Traitors to flee or surrender on half a dozen worlds. Here, today, they failed to achieve the desired result. Olav sighed internally. At least these Blood Claws understood well the solidarity which must exist in a pack.

A pity it was that this was the only thing these whelps understood. A very tiny part of the Wolf Lord thought it was somehow unavoidable: the Third Great Company had spent the last decades here building its numbers, and there was a reason why most experienced Grey Hunters were nervous about never letting their numbers of youngest increase out of proportion. Worse, the long winter of Fenris was about to begin, and tempers got worse when an Astartes couldn't hunt outside.

The largest part of him wanted to punish these whelps, because enough was enough!

"I warn you-"

The next second, it seemed all the alarms of the Chamber of Annulus, the great command center of the grand fortress of the Fang, began to ring and shriek in unison.

His thoughts of retribution against the Blood Claws immediately forgotten, Olaf ran to the main auspex projections.

An ocean of enemy dots immediately answered the question if it was another joke or not.

"At least a thousand enemy signatures right on Mandeville Point Mimir! Signature identification...at least sixty Infernus-class Battleships!"

"By all the frozen fangs of Hel..."

It was like the entire galaxy had decided to endlessly vomit out legion after legion of traitors, mutants, and other abominations. The first minefields began to blast those who had not translated into the space devoid of space mines, but these losses were too small to threaten the armada which was now spilling into the system of Fenris.

"This is the assault force which managed to break through Cadia," Olaf muttered aloud. "It has to be..."

The ancient technology of the Fang, gift of the Allfather, chose this moment to broadcast the arrival of not one, not two, but three Super-Battleships bigger than the Gloriana the Vlka Fenryka didn't have anymore.

"Lord! Urgent communication with Valdrmani!"

"Acknowledge!"

Three seconds later, the determined face of Vali, the Rune Priest in charge of the Longhowl astropathic station on Fenris' only moon, appeared in hololithic form.

"Olaf," his friend began without losing any time on frivolities, "half of the Astropaths have just died, and the rest are comatose or my guards are busy putting them down. Those who resisted the longest managed to tell us that the Red Cyclops himself is the one who cast the ritual responsible for this insanity."

"So he came back." The Vlka Fenryka had long suspected this would happen. As destructive as the rampage of the sorcerers had been during the Battle of the Fang, the truth was that the sons of Russ had survived and continued to slay the Traitors. The accursed Traitor Primarch would never be satisfied by that.

"Yes, and it gets worse," the Rune Priest he was proud to call a friend grimly added. "The Thousand Sons haven't just destroyed our astropathic communications, they are raising the storms of the Warp around Fenris. In a few hours, we will be completely cut off from the rest of the Imperium."

The Wolf Lord nodded. It was a cruel and brilliant scheme. The Traitors knew how much they outnumbered Olaf's command – how could they not, since they had seen and fought three Great Companies at Cadia – and now they targeted the only thing which could turn the tide: the Chapter's ability to call for help, and the ability of their reinforcements to reach them.

"I see." Olaf turned towards Boo, passing his right hand in the magnificent fur of the Great White Bear he had befriended so many years ago. He didn't take long to arrive at a decision. "Get out of there, Vali."

"Olaf, most of the Astropaths aren't exactly transportable..."

"Give them the Allfather's peace." This was spoken in a tone more brutal than he wanted, but saying it while laughing would not soften the blow. "Abandon Longhowl and save everyone you can. Sabotage the defences and critical buildings so that the Archenemy can't use anything against us."

"The Great Wolf isn't going to like it."

"Of course not! And I won't pretend abandoning Valdrmani without a fight is something I enjoy ordering you to do...brother." Olaf grimaced before throwing a glance at the auspexes and the armada which was breaking through the first line of minefields. "They have more than one hundred Battleships and at least nine of those 'Silver Towers' the sorcerers love to taunt us with when the horrors flock to their banners. This is the better part of two Legions, supported by five major warbands, and it appears they have recruited four or five pirate fleets after Cadia to compensate for their massive losses in escort ships."

And by Fenris' blizzards, it was more firepower than he had ever seen mustered together. Even when the twelve Great Companies gathered together in orbit around their homeworld, they didn't have a tenth of the numbers of the vast fleet advancing to kill them.

"I'm sorry, Vali, but Valdrmani doesn't matter anymore. If the other Companies arrive in time, maybe we will be able to launch a counterattack to retake it, but as it is, holding Fenris is the priority. They have one hundred Battleships here. If they're ready to assault Fenris in such strength, it can't be a feint or something to trap us. They want to destroy our Chapter, and I can't spare any brothers when every blade will count in the coming hours."

"I...yes, Wolf Lord. I am on my way."

The communication ended, and Olaf exhaled, knowing this was only the first unpleasant order he had to give.

"Order the Grey Hare and the Winds of Sif to run for the Mandeville Points where the enemy is not present in strength."

"Orders, Lord?"

"The Grey Hare must find our Great Wolf. He has two other Great Companies with him...but he's in Tempestus, I don't know if he will be able to return in time. The Winds of Sif must recall the three Great Companies from Cadia. It won't do us any good to guard the Gate if the Traitors destroy our worlds."

"Yes, Lord."

There were more necessary and stomach-turning orders to give. The fleet – what little there was of it, as three Battle-Barges and three times as many Cruisers and escorts had been repaired and heavily supplied for Cadia – was beginning the evacuations before accelerating towards the Fenrisian world of Midgardia.

The Wolf Lord wanted to say they were going to be safer than he was, but he couldn't. Not when the largest murder-fleet of Night Lords he'd ever seen was sailing in that direction.

Then the calculations were complete and Olav watched as the intention of the enemy became all too clear.

"They are coming straight for our throat."

"Yes, my Jarl." One of his Grey Fangs growled. "And if we don't manage to delay them...they will be right above our heads in eighteen hours."

"True. Message to all units. Everyone should be awake by now, but let's make sure my drunken brothers are taking all appropriate measures. Under my own authority, I declare we have a Case Jörmungandr on our hands. Let's prepare a welcome worthy of Hel for the Cyclops and his Traitors!"

Boo growled in approval.

"You! Go to the Walls of the Revered Fallen. Tell the Iron Priests to wake all the Ancients."

Infernus-class Battleship Delightful Agony

Dark Apostle Mothac

Mothac did his best not to snarl when the Grand Cruiser Spear of the Gods was eviscerated by so many torpedoes and mines no daemonic helper could possibly count them all.

Then the capital ship of the Seventeenth Legion blew up with all hands, taking two Destroyers – debased pirates recently recruited, but Destroyers nonetheless – with it into death's embrace.

"This is the second Grand Cruiser we have lost in three days..."

The other had been the result of that eternally damned, never-ending sabotage done by Corax and the anarchist rats.

Grand Cruisers were precious ships, and not just because they were just below the Battleships in tonnage; with the dogs of the False Emperor having largely abandoned the idea of building of new ones, it became harder and harder to capture replacements and spare parts for them. This made the last three possessed by his Great Host even more important...and he was forced to abandon this thought as yet another Destroyer was disintegrated.

"Find me those minelayers!" The Dark Apostle barked. "We can't advance if each breach we make in the minefields is immediately trapped by Russ' dogs!"

"Torpedo launch! Torpedo launch at starboard! Six hundred torpedoes, all targeting the Primarch's Will!"

By the Book of Lorgar, what had his Grand Cruisers done in past days for the enemy to persist in attacking them like this?

"Order the Primarch's Will to divert all power to the void shields and the defensive assets! Engage primary scrap-code countermeasures!"

But as the battle continued, the efficiency of the Mechanicum improvements proved itself below the standards established at Cadia.

"My Lord! It appears there is some form of...passive psychic effect which degrades the performance of our sorcerers' scrying and the Mechanicum attack methods!"

Mothac being a member of the Dark Council, it didn't take him long to realise what the Wolves had done.

"Bastards...they carved runic wards on their starships' hulls and on the warheads of their torpedoes..."

Truly the descendants of the Sixth were the true heirs of the hypocrites which had come before them.

"Torpedo launches! Torpedo launches from the...Starfort? Wasn't it crippled?"

"Evidently not!" Mothac raged. "Destroy it! Destroy it now!"

The fire of eight Battleships poured against the not-yet-dead space fortress, but the mortal souls behind the enormous macro-batteries, lances, and torpedo launchers had had enough time to program their projectiles for one last coordinated onslaught. One Hades Heavy Cruiser lost its engines and a third of its compartments were opened to the void, but it survived. The Styx next to it was not so 'lucky'; and when the next torpedo wave hit, the countermeasures initiated by the Primarch's Will made sure the wounded Cruisers saved the Grand Cruiser by their very destruction.

And finally the infernal cycle of explosions ended...mainly because there was nothing alive in front of them, be they the pirate ships he had sent to sweep the mines, or the enemy's assets.

"Report." The Lord of the 5th Great Host turned towards the sorcerer monitoring the inner system.

"The enemy is abandoning Valdrmani to take refuge behind the Fenrisian orbital grid, Lord."

Mothac grunted. One more disappointment on an already long list. After the bloody nose those wolf bastards had given him, the Lord of Torment would have relished in sacrificing the Astropaths and all the psykers bound to the False Emperor in a grand ritual, and the Astartes guarding them would have made very nice trophies once they were properly flayed and tortured.

"Our losses?"

"One Grand Cruiser, four Heavy Cruisers, three second-rate Cruisers, five Light Cruisers...and of course the entire pirate fleet of the Clarions of Devastation has been destroyed."

"I couldn't care less about the mortal pirates," the Dark Apostle replied dismissively, "they were recruited to do exactly what they achieved."

Deep inside, the sorcerer of the Dark Council knew that wasn't completely accurate. They had made certain to increase the pirates' thirst for vengeance – not that they had needed a lot of effort to do so, the Sixth Legion was as unpopular these days as they'd been during the Great Crusade – to help compensate for their escort losses at Cadia.

But the faith of those pirates was dangerously weak, their military skills rusty when they existed at all, and the Grand Armada needed to preserve the Battleships.

And, though he wasn't going to admit it in front of other Astartes, the outer defences of Fenris were several times more dangerous than they had been three thousand years ago against the Thousand Sons' artifices.

"Yes, Lord Apostle. In return, we have destroyed one Starfort, four minelayers, and three converted merchantmen serving as carriers. The minefields and other fixed defences are in ruins, and the way to Fenris is opened."

"Good. Beginning the summoning rituals, and relay the order for maximum military acceleration to all ships of the Great Host. We mustn't give the unbelievers and heretics time to finish their siege preparations."

Segmentum Solar

Sol Sector

Sol System

High Orbit over Titan

Blackstone Fortress Illusion of Immortality

296 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Captain-General Anubis Excelsor

Evidently, the Captain-General could have stayed inside the Imperial Palace today. In fact, there were logical reasons why he should have done so.

But if the spies working for the Enemy, willingly or unwillingly, could reliably locate him at any hour of the day, they would in all likelihood have already killed him. Say what you want about the Traitors and the forces they worked with, but they weren't shy about striking their opponents when they seized the initiative.

Moreover, following Commorragh, the Adeptus Custodes had led an unprecedented number of purges across the Throneworld and the nearby worlds in order to capitalise on the extermination of the Excess cultists. Anubis would hate learning his efforts had been so ineffective that thousands of heretic cultists still breathed in the vicinity of the Lion Gate.

A lesser reason as for his presence today was curiosity. Constantin Valdor had died aboard the Will of Eternity, and Anubis had not been able to walk inside one after Commorragh was destroyed forever. He wanted to see with his own eyes the insides of one of the battlestations the First Custodes had given his life in.

"No incidents to speak of?"

"One," the Shield-Captain walking by his side answered, as they went through a maze which had the known capability of turning any mind unprepared for hyper-fractal Aeldari architecture insane. "A pirate fleet tried to ambush us before we entered Solar. They were notable by how little physical corruption they showed. Based on their surprise when we revealed our full strength, their financiers must have 'forgotten' to tell them who they were supposed to steal from."

"It is concerning," the Captain-General was not surprised by the fact the Enemy had already begun to adapt to the purifying aura of Aethergold: after all, anyone having a sense of strategy could tell you that the best defence to avoid being 'burned' was not to be there in the first place. And the abominations didn't exactly lack willing fools to do their dirty work for them. No, what was concerning was that the Enemy had enough knowledge to try an ambush in the first place.

Unlike Bacta convoys, no Nyxian or Terran official had participated in charting the course taken by the Custodes ships. "I will have to make...deep inquiries. Lady Weaver?"

"She was healthy and as determined as ever when I left Nyx." The Shield-Captain reported with a small smile. "And a bit frustrated I suppose by the fact she couldn't get this Pylon too."

"I understand her...frustration, but orders are orders. And the one she was given for her own military operations will be sufficient."

Because as they entered the heart of the Illusion of Immortality, the Grey Knights and the heavy servitors coming behind them guarded something the rest of the galaxy wasn't aware of: the first Aethergold Pylon to be created.

The artefact which had been created to guide the various Battle Groups of Operation Stalingrad was only the second; this one had been created first, a necessity since it had to return to the Sol System without the Emperor's enemies aware of its true nature. As things stood, clearly the Ruinous Powers or another of Mankind's foes had realised something wasn't right.

"Grand Master?" Anubis Excelsor spoke to the senior Grey Knight present. "I release the Pylon into your custody. The mission parameters haven't changed. Illuminate the northern border of Solar where the heretics try to raise their Warp Storm."

Not being a psyker, Anubis couldn't play a part in what was going to happen. Therefore he and the other Watchers of the Throne stepped back and let the Knights of Titan work on the Pylon and the Blackstone Fortress' core.

Watching the complex wards erected, Anubis was sure someone would wonder why they hadn't brought one of the enormous Titan-Moths of Lady Weaver to transform this Blackstone Fortress into something capable of doing a second time what the Will of Eternity had done at Commorragh.

The answer was clear and simple: the Moth-applied transformation was powerful, but today would not do what the Emperor demanded of it. After all, there was no possibility of slaying a Ruinous Power anywhere. Commorragh had instilled some measure of self-preservation into the Three.

But the Blackstone Fortresses were xenos marvels of another age, and while their primary weapon was built to annihilate C'Tan, with the correct attuning, they could be modified to do something else.

The 'something' in this case being the dissipation of a Warp Storm far too close to the northern borders of Segmentum Solar for any loyal soul's comfort.

"The Pylon is working within the psychic margin of tolerance, Captain-General."

"Thank you, Grand Master." Anubis replied. "You can begin the illumination phase."

The Warp

Had the Three been humans, one of them would have certainly smashed a table or something valuable, and shouted 'not again!'

The Three weren't humans, however. As a consequence, their wrath was far, far more volcanic than anything a man or a woman had ever experienced.

One planet in Segmentum Pacificus, one of the last remnants of the Terra-Nova Imperium, was suddenly drowned in oceans of blood when one psyker made the mistake of asking for salvation.

On an Agri-World of Tempestus, the entire population, half of which was already pledged to Nurgle, was transformed into a forest of carnivorous mutant-mushrooms within seven hours.

A lesser Industrial world of Ultima Segmentum suffering a civil war in which cultists of Tzeentch played a role on both sides saw the skies turn purple and all their books turning into daemonic artefacts giving the kind of knowledge no mortal should possess.

The result of this instant of daemonic fury would be felt for centuries. The Holy Inquisition would have to deploy dozens of servants of the Ordo Malleus. Entire archives would be destroyed in the name of preserving humanity from Chaos.

The Three didn't care at all, except perhaps relishing in the suffering they had caused. And it would be mostly an afterthought.

In addition to the painful light of the Astronomican, the Anathema had revealed a new weapon.

The Three had all studied the different ways the Blackstone Fortresses could be used against them.

This one wasn't among the possibilities they had contemplated.

The Astronomican was a gigantic lighthouse.

This, however, was not a lighthouse, or a gigantic pyre to hurt them.

It was the psychic equivalent of an extremely focused golden laser, one clearly prepared to slam into the edge of a rising Warp Storm in formation and disable it before it could be stabilised.

It was extremely infuriating.

And there was worse news.

The proximity of the Blackstone Fortress to the Anathema's Beacon of Pain had not been something they prepared for.

The Three's plans had been to smite the Blackstone Fortresses whenever and wherever they resurfaced. It wouldn't take long at all, and the energy expended would largely be worth it. Really, any one of the Three could do it, no support necessary.

But here, could they afford to?

There were many wars raging to weaken the Anathema, the 'Black Crusade' being only one of them.

But challenging the golden light once more, without any physical invasion force ready to support them?

Had they been humans, the Three would have grimaced.

The energy poured into the Warp Storm suddenly went from immense to almost nothing, with plenty of fatal consequences for several sorcerers of the Seventeenth and Fifteenth Legions.

The Three didn't care and began to plot how they were going to destroy the Blackstone Fortress and the Pylon inside it.

Holy Terra

The Imperial Palace

Lord Commander Militant Paul von Oberstein

"Somehow," Pocahontas Valetta's tone was almost whimsical, "I missed the memo the Custodes intended to do some live-fire exercises with psychic weapons today."

"I think we all missed it," Lord High Admiral Rabadash y Byng el Calormen replied before presenting an expression which suggested he was controlling himself to avoid sharing with them a few of the more colourful insults he had learned while he was an Ensign aboard the Imperial Navy ships.

"They certainly didn't inform me," Paul confirmed.

"Wonderful," Huang Utrecht, Chancellor of the Estate Imperium, sighed. "The Watchers are reminding us they can do whatever they want and not coordinate with us. Since it is obvious our common formal protest will do absolutely nothing to change this state of affairs, why don't we move on and directly speak of the major problems we have on our hands?"

For the first time in half a decade, the commanding officer of the Imperial Guard felt a measure of respect for Utrecht. The man was a nonentity among the High Twelve, but he had perfectly summarized the situation.

"I don't know if I am the best person to assess the consequences of this problem," Aliénor Gutenberg admitted. "My subordinates are busy studying the records, but I know what they will find: the economic importance of Fenris is virtually null from the Chartist Captains' perspective. I know House Belisarius organises regular auctions for Fenrisian fauna and other...unconventional goods, but we can easily live without it. Somehow, I doubt you are going to say the same militarily."

"Indeed." It had arrived on his plate out of the blue, but Paul could already see plenty of galactic headaches coming his way. "Many problems will be in the domains of the Imperial Navy, but I can tell you the Fenris System is a strategic stronghold protecting Segmentum Solar from invasion. In fact, the successful defence of this Sector for so long is the main reason why we tolerated the rampages and scandalous indiscipline of the Space Wolves. If Fenris falls, we will have to muster a full Crusade to retake it. It's completely out of the question to leave this crucial system in heretics' hands."

"Not to mention the propaganda disaster," Huang added darkly. "Xerxes and our current Lord Inquisitor can say all they want about their ability to control the masses, but in all of Imperial history, we have never lost one of the homeworlds of the original Astartes Legions. I don't know the morale effect it will have on the Throneworld, no matter how hard we try to suppress the knowledge of this disaster, but it won't be insignificant. And now that you mention it, Lady Gutenberg, I think that if the Wolves go extinct, we will lose the support of plenty of Navigator Houses, beginning with House Belisarius and their entire support base."

"I could live without the support of House Belisarius," Rabadash grimaced, "the political disaster is another affair entirely. And now that we consider the bad news, I can add my own. We all know the Space Wolves have violated the Codex Astartes' tenets, right?"

Aliénor Gutenberg chuckled, but the noise was dry and emotionless.

"They're not so much violating the text as outright having failed to even read it...assuming they can read. Sometimes when hearing the rumours, I have my doubts."

"And I agree with you," the Lord High Admiral passed a hand through his hair and presented a worried face. "I fear that, since the Space Wolves didn't comply and create Successor Chapters of their own, their fortress-monastery on Fenris is filled with a Legion-sized arsenal...not to mention enormous reserves of Astartes gene-seed. Twice in the last century have the Space Wolves been extremely reluctant...and late...in paying the gene-seed tithe."

"Wait a minute..." Huang Utrecht was visibly shocked. "I thought they were disarmed following that lamentable incident in-"

"And who would have done the disarming?" Paul asked grimly. "Even if dozens of Space Marine Chapters would have likely helped us, Fenris was too well-defended for anything less than a Crusade. And we had other commitments."

"Wonderful," the Chancellor repeated before speaking louder. "You realise this is certainly an attempt of the heretics to compensate for their massive losses lately?"

"The thought has occurred to me, yes."

"This is all well and good," the red-robed Speaker cleared her throat, "but with all of you insisting Fenris is heavily defended, isn't there a possibility the Wolves will manage to stop the Black Crusade dead in its tracks?"

"I find that unlikely," Rabadash answered, "if their whole Chapter was there, they would still be outnumbered ten-to-one, not to mention the dangerous artifices of the Archenemy. And the whole Chapter isn't at Fenris."

"Three of their Chapter-companies were at Cadia," Paul von Oberstein shared with the non-military High Lords. "All were still at the Cadian Gate as of forty-eight hours ago. I don't know where the rest are, but we had reports of a large force – between two and four Chapter-Companies – somewhere in Segmentum Tempestus. That means half of their Chapter is absent. I don't doubt they are going to do their utmost to return to Fenris now that the Custodes have restored an erratic level of Astropathic communication, but time is against them...and us."

There was a long silence around the great round table. None of the five High Lords present today had met to discuss this subject, and the desperate, tortured alert given by the Fenrisian Astropaths had arrived here less than twenty minutes ago.

"We can't let Fenris fall," the Mistress of the Astronomican was the first to speak. "We can live with the stupidity and rashness of the Space Wolves; we can't live with heretics so close to Solar...not to mention I don't think we can expect they will leave an uncorrupted system in their wake should we fail to expel them in time."

"I don't disagree." Her colleague of the Chartist Captains affirmed. "Do we have anything on hand that can oppose the Black Crusade's Armada?"

"Yes," Rabadash y Byng el Calormen affirmed. "Though communication was difficult in the last days, we have been able to concentrate a rather large Battlefleet at Armageddon. The Warmaster and the Cadian Pursuit Force are also able to intervene. And we have the Dark Angels' forces that had been deployed for the censure operation. But Warp travel is incredibly dangerous. And if we lose these forces, we will have a rather large hole in our northern defences, not to mention eastern Obscurus will be severely undefended."

"I think," Paul said quietly. "We are going to have to take the risk."

"Warp travel is going to be extremely dangerous," the Lord High Admiral warned, "even with...whatever the Custodes are doing with the Blackstone Fortress."

"Divert the necessary reinforcements to Fenris," Huang commanded, "and let us pray the God-Emperor they will arrive before it is too late."

The Eastern Fringe

Mandragora System

Battleship Enterprise

294 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Lady General Taylor Hebert

When a Lord Inquisitor asked courteously to wake up the commanding officer of multiple Battle Groups to talk to her, you immediately knew he wasn't here to give you good news.

"The emergency Astropathic alerts have begun to spread to all Alpha commands and Segmentum Fortresses," Odysseus Tor had never looked so old and fragile; then again, recent deaths during the Mandragoran butchery had hit every survivor hard. "The heretics are attacking Fenris. There's no doubt possible."

Taylor drank the mug Gamaliel had handed her before replying. It also gave her the time to erase most of the sleepiness she was feeling.

"The Eldar told us the truth."

"Yes."

"For once it appears the long-ears haven't played their usual games." Taylor was sure there would be time for the jokes about Eldar saying the truth later. "Dragon?"

"The Enemy's target and the composition of the Black Crusade's forces are consistent with their goals. The Traitor Fifteenth and the Space Wolves are hereditary enemies. And I have no doubt the Dark Mechanicum forces present are eager to grab as many relics and ancient technology as they can."

"And the chief mind behind this certainly promised the warbands involved in the operation the gene-seed stocks of the Sixth Legion." Unfortunately, there had been no time to obtain estimates before she left Nyx. "I think what they intend is clear. They corrupt Fenris, either turning it into a Daemon World or something like that, and use the symbolic victory to open a tear in reality which will let them strike us."

In fact, the only surprising fact was...

"I'm surprised the heretics were so careless they didn't bother blocking Astropathic communications."

"Something happened on Terra," Odysseus grimaced. "Unfortunately, whatever it was, it seriously...displeased many of my Inquisitorial sources. I'm sure we will obtain more information later, but for now it is best to assume confirming the interest of the Traitor Legions in Fenris was not part of the Archenemy's plan."

That was good...and bad. Good, because the forces of Operation Stalingrad would be on high alert and forewarned. Bad, because for all the preparations and contingencies, the last-minute warning of the Eldar and the total lack of coordination with the Space Wolves meant the Lady General part of her couldn't be sure the Word Bearers weren't going to massacre the sons of Leman Russ.

"We will have just to pray Fenris' garrison can overcome the odds, or at least survive long enough for the reinforcements to reach them."

"It's not like we can do anything else," Dragon smiled sadly. "Even with the Pylon and expert Navigators, I think it would take us at least six months to reach Fenris...assuming everything went well, mind you."

"Six months would be an excellent travel time," the Lord Inquisitor agreed. "Does it change your operational schedule, Lady Weaver?"

"It does not," the golden-winged parahuman replied after reading the memos Wolfgang Bach had left her. "The warships which could be repaired in time have been declared operational by the Tech-Priests. And besides, with the threat of the heretics hanging over our heads, it's better we don't stay in an indefensible system."

One way or another, they approached the endgame for Operation Stalingrad.

"Dragon, please inform the Admirals that we begin the preparations for a short Warp travel in two hours. Except the Battle Groups we agreed to keep in reserve, all independent squadrons and Battlefleets are to converge on Voltoris."

"I will immediately inform them." The draconic Tinker promised before frowning. "I notice that Admiral Bittenfeld should have gone through the Damocles Gulf by then. Assuming he succeeds in his mission, may I assume we are going to launch an energetic surprise attack on the Ymga Monolith soon?"

"Assuming he succeeds," the black-haired Governor of the Nyx Sector repeated blandly, "yes. Everything depends on Battlefleet Maskirovka now."

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

Overlord-class Battlecruiser Black Lancer

292 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Admiral Fritz von Bittenfeld

As usual, bravery carried the day and the cowards were proven wrong. Battlefleet Maskirovka emerged in realspace without losing a single warship.

"Translation complete, Admiral." His chief of staff announced. "And the Mandeville Point we used is completely devoid of fixed defences."

"See? I told you we could do it!"

"With all due respect Admiral, I think we nearly lost a squadron or two in the Gulf..."

"But we didn't." Fritz von Bittenfeld reminded his too-hesitant staff and flag subordinates. "And the possible rewards Her Celestial Highness will give us for this exploit largely outweigh the problems which didn't happen. Now enough about this. Prepare a priority astropathic message to Voltoris. Auspexes, full analysis of the entire system. I want to know if we have found our prey."

It took only a few minutes for the improved auspexes of the Black Lancer and all its escorts to locate their target, not that it was very difficult, because-

"The Necrons are already fighting someone?" The Kar Duniash-born Admiral whistled as his communications officer delivered the news. "The commander of the Monolith is neither lacking in ambition nor ferocity."

"Yes, Admiral," his chief of staff coughed. "Though unlike us at Volga and Mandragora, the unknown xenos species appear to be in severe danger of being overwhelmed by the Doom Scythes and what is left of the Monolith's mobile assets."

"Interesting..." the more information arrived on his command hololith and the admiralty's hololithic screens near it, the less sense it made. "Are you sure you have interpreted the energy signatures right?"

"Admiral, I checked them three times myself."

"I see. I apologise, but I had to be sure..."

In appearance, what Fritz von Bittenfeld and his Battlefleet could see was a 'classic' xenos single-system empire, one the likes of which the Imperium routinely dealt with each century. There was a single planet orbiting around a yellow star, the former having a natural satellite. There were two asteroid belts, some of them may be rich in rare metals given the presence of what had to be mining-extraction facilities and ore transports. The planet was a bit too close to the sun to be viable as an Agri-World or a Paradise World, but Fritz had seen many worlds presenting worse living conditions. The colour and relatively scarcity of large sea bodies indicated the continents were likely hot, arid, and far from pleasant to live on year-round, but obviously not so harsh a xenos species couldn't industrialise and develop spaceflight.

All this information was relatively common.

What was not was the size of the xenos shipyards, the space forts, and the orbital industry in general which could be seen despite being close to six million kilometres away.

And the system defence fleet was proportional to this improbable effort: over two hundred capital ships, half of which the Navy experts had promptly identified as Battleships, and given the tonnage and the emissions, the brown-haired Admiral wasn't going to say they were wrong.

"We had a first-rate xenos threat on our frontier and we don't know the first thing about it..."

"With all due respect, Admiral, I think there's something...wrong with the entire situation." His chief of staff commented.

"I see a lot of wrong things, but please continue."

"A one-system empire can't develop shipyards of this size, Admiral. They must have colonies outside of this system, more Mining Worlds, and tens of billions of hands as a workforce. This is the capital of a xenos empire. They must have access to further resources than what we can see. And since the Exploration Fleets of the Adeptus Mechanicus didn't find a single sign of these xenos' existence before today, I think the Necrons themselves are responsible for this...anomaly."

Fritz took a few seconds to contemplate what his fiercely loyal subordinate had said...and nodded.

"You may be right. No, you are certainly right. The messages to Her Celestial Highness have been updated?"

"As we speak, Admiral."

"Good, complete them and send them out with the priority codes. The Temerity must stand guard on the Mandeville Point with its escort of three Cruisers. I don't think there are Doom Scythes in position to ambush it, but better not to take any risk."

The Temerity transported the full load of Aethergold available to his Battlefleet, which would guarantee the rest of the Battle Groups assigned to Operation Stalingrad weren't going to have to face the same challenges his squadrons had.

"Now what to do..."

"Admiral! The Ymga Monolith has opened fire on the moon!"

"The Necron commander must have lost his mind..."

Fritz wasn't going to pretend the Imperium hadn't conducted xenocide several times, he wasn't that hypocritical. But there was such a thing as destroying a defender's warships before targeting any planetary infrastructure...you know, just to avoid suicidal charges and your enemy unleashing everything they had in an attempt to make your life hell before they died.

Predictably, seconds later the mysterious local xenos charged, beginning to fire torpedoes and a lot of weapons that were obsolescent by Imperial standards.

"Halberstadt, are those capital ships using a mix of Railgun and Ion Cannons supported by capital-grade torpedoes?"

"Yes, yes they are, Admiral. I see no emissions indicating they have installed anything like our Lances or our Nova Cannons, anyway."

"Then they are...screwed." Fritz von Bittenfeld wanted to use a more evocative word, but there were women among his officers. "Those weapons are more advanced than I expected any fringe xenos empire to have, but they won't do anything to break through the Monolith's shields."

"Their electronic countermeasures are impressive, however." His chief of staff remarked.

"You are right. But as impressive as those are, they aren't proper jammers. The moment the Necrons decide to teleport their boarding parties aboard these warships, it's going to be massacre." The aggressive Admiral's eyes widened slightly when hundreds of gunships were launched by the xenos capital vessels. "And they have some form of gravitic toy which allows them to tow Frigate-sized escorts with no drawback for their acceleration."

All of it, unfortunately, couldn't compensate for the fact the equivalent of void shields those xenos had sucked massively. Fritz was guessing, but his most conservative estimate was that these 'not-void shields' had a third of the defensive power of a Lunar Cruiser's. It might seem impressive...until you realized this was the defensive power for the Xenos Battleships, not their Cruisers.

"The moon is burning, Admiral."

"Yes." A scion of the von Bittenfeld Navy Dynasty was not going to cry because xenos were killed by the millions, but the sight of this moon's water boiling and the surface and the atmosphere being on the receiving end of a modified Exterminatus didn't please him either.

Not when the Admiral of Battlefleet Maskirovka knew this was exactly what the Necrons had in mind for the Imperium and every living being which refused to be their slaves.

Thirty seconds later, his incomprehension at the Necron commander's behaviour increased.

"Admiral! Fluctuations in the Monolith's shields! And...it is losing debris again."

Studying the data and the auspexes' imagery, there was no doubt what had just happened.

"Their cowardice at Mandragora cost them dearly. Their infinite supply of energy is not so infinite anymore. Do you agree?"

"It could be a bluff, Admiral..."

"Why would they bother with a bluff?" The brown-haired Navy officer highlighted the xenos defenders' warships. "These xenos ships could present a threat under the right circumstances, but with their shields functioning correctly, the ion-armed Battleships could bombard them for a century and the Necrons could wait and let them die of old age or until their equipment failed, whichever happens first."

"I was referring to this Battlefleet, Admiral. Her Celestial Highness hurt them severely, they may wish to return the favour."

"Possible..." but no, he didn't believe it. He had twelve Battlecruisers, not twelve Battleships, "but unlikely."

The Necrons were distracted by the unknown xenos, and they had difficulties attacking and defending at the same time, despite the weakness of the opposition.

There was an opportunity here for a good uppercut right in their metallic jaws, especially as the interdiction null-zone hadn't been re-established after Battle Group Volga damaged it.

"Admiral, we were ordered to secure an invasion beachhead for Her Celestial Highness..."

"And we have secured it." Fritz von Bittenfeld smiled wolfishly. "Now I think it's time to honour one of the Navy's proudest traditions. Down with the enemy!"

Or'es El'leath Battleship Firestar III

Commander Shadowsun

After watching Mu'gulath Bay perish in the flames, Shadowsun had sworn to herself that no matter what the future would hold in store for her, she would die before letting the same thing happen to another world of the Tau.

The senior member of the Fire Caste had not believed her self-appointed task would be easily accomplished, but neither had she expected her vow to be broken so soon after uttering it.

And this time it wasn't a recently founded sept like Mu'gulath Bay, oh no.

This time it was Lu'val, the only moon of their home, which was burning and dying in front of her eyes...and with it millions upon millions of Tau.

There had been no additional messages after the injunction to die sent by the enemy...and the outcome of the battle had been as bad as Admiral Kor'o Y'eldi had foretold.

They couldn't penetrate the shields of this monstrosity, and the Necrons were crueller than their worst predictions had calculated. It was obvious from the drone video reports of the colonies which had been wiped out by these genocidal monsters that they had vastly underestimated the threat.

This super-battlestation shaped like a pyramid could destroy them easily and without suffering any damage in return. But in their cruelty and love of suffering, assuming these metallic enemies could understand the emotions, they were taking their time.

They knew the Kor'vattra had nothing which could hurt them, and so Lu'val was dying in front of their shipyards, their orbital foundries, and the defenders sworn to defend the members of the Castes living on Lu'val and T'au.

"Commander. I think you need to see this." The Air Caste messenger's voice was incredibly timid, but then again she was in her Battlesuit; after the teleportations which had slaughtered the entire contingents of five Battleships to the last Tau, every member of the Fire Caste which had powered armour at his or her disposal had donned it and patrolled the corridors to make sure the same didn't happen to them.

And besides, it was better to evaluate sensible tactical information than to watch Lu'val die as green rays created tsunamis and destroyed millennia of devoted effort in mere decs. It was mind-tearing to wait as the five space fortresses of Lu'val could do nothing to intercept the bombardment destroying the moon salvo after salvo.

"This is the kind of anomaly the Gue'la ships of the 'Imperium' create when returning into realspace."

"Yes Commander. And these," the images were of incredibly low quality, but Tau detectors at this distance couldn't do the impossible, and of course, the best of the best technicians of the Earth Caste had other things to worry about right now, "are Gue'la warships. We have counted at least seventy of them."

Despite the horror of the situation, the Fire Caste leader felt something she had thought she would never feel again since Lu'val had begun burning: hope.

"The predators of the Necrons have come to end the hunt," the female Commander declared before frowning. "The biggest hulls are consistent with the ships the Gue'la call 'Battlecruisers', though at this distance, it's hard to determine if it is a class we have encountered before."

"Yes, Commander." The Air Caste liaison shifted nervously. "Hmm...obviously the boasts that the Gue'la 'Imperium' existed for thousands of Tau'cyr were not that ridiculous in hindsight."

"Obviously," Shadowsun replied while trying not to despair. The Ethereal Supreme had told her not to spread around the maps of the Gue'la captured during the Third Sphere of Expansion, and she had obeyed. The more time passed, the more it looked like it had been a bad idea. "They are moving into an attack formation while leaving a small rearguard force behind."

"Their formation is smaller than ours!"

"But they have weapons which can break through the Necron shields."

The enormous damage visible everywhere on the enemy pyramidal structure was proof enough of that.

Shadowsun contemplated her options, before deciding on a course of action.

"Do we have Gue'vesa forces aboard the Kor'vattra?"

"No, Commander," the representative of the Air Caste answered after brief inquiries to the ship's artificial intelligence. "But we have many Kau'ui of their equivalents of the Earth and Fire Castes present in the shipyards."

"Then they're too far away to do any good," given the desperate situation they were in, the highest commander of the Fire Caste wasn't going to transfer non-Tau personnel onto the Kor'vattra when they were losing ships left and right! "The translator of the Gue'la language...they call it 'Low Gothic', I believe...will be enough."

"Several thousands of Tau'cyr is long enough to change a language, Commander."

"I know. But we have-"

The space around the Necron pyramid was engulfed in explosions, and for the first time the green shields which had held the Tau Admirals at bay disappeared like they had never existed.

And through this breach the Gue'la fleet, the very fleet she had correctly identified as predators, launched its attack.

Overlord-class Battlecruiser Black Lancer

Admiral Fritz von Bittenfeld

"Admiral! Their shields are already down!"

"What? We have barely begun shooting at them!"

Fritz had seen the holo-picts of the past fighting. The Monolith's shields had endured the bombardment of two Glorianas at the same time! There was no way he should be able to bring even weakened sections down so easily...unless...

"They are even more damaged than we thought. Black Lancers! Locate the weaknesses found by the Tech-Priests! Fire at will and don't let the enemy catch its breath!"

Twelve Battlecruisers and twenty-four Cruisers obeyed his command, and the Imperial Navy unleashed everything it had, including the three Exterminatus weapons it had kept in reserve.

"You see? The micro-jump we made completely surprised them..."

"With all due respect Admiral, I think it's more likely they were so focused on the xenos they didn't even notice our arrival."

"Hmm...perhaps...but whatever the reason, it is working!"

Just as he had said those words, a nova-bright explosion blossomed on the Ymga Monolith...except it wasn't a section his Battleships were firing at.

"Admiral, major explosions in-"

"I've seen them. I know we aren't responsible for them, but best exploit the revealed weaknesses."

As his Battlefleet used the three minutes it was in range of the enemy to deadly effect, Fritz and his officers could see the first explosion wasn't random luck. There were more green explosions triggered on the Necron pyramid-battlestation, either directly by the cannons of his Battlecruisers, or by deeds he was only indirectly responsible for.

This 'face' of the Monolith had looked relatively intact before their assault, but when Battlefleet Maskirovka began to turn away, it was anything but. The green explosions continued, and the locations where the Imperium's weapons had hit were gaping wounds creating a respectable amount of debris.

Mentally, the Kar Duniash-born Admiral debated with himself if a second pass could be justified under these circumstances...but the Necrons began to return fire five seconds later.

"Admiral! The enemy is abandoning its bombardment of the xenos moon and-"

Well, that answered the question if a second pass was feasible or not.

"Accelerate! All ships accelerate on pre-planned Course Gamma! Get out of the range of the Monolith!"

They were only partially successful.

Fritz clenched his fists as the Lunar-class Cruisers Elephant Sabre and Kilimanjaro were disintegrated by a holocaust of green firepower.

"Curse those xenos to hell," he growled.

"Yes, Admiral. Err...it seems their accuracy and doctrines have fallen on hard times." His chief of staff remarked after a couple of seconds.

"You're right. And the number of weapons they're able to fire per minute has also severely decreased."

This was going to be cold comfort to the tens of thousands of Navy men and women the Necrons had annihilated, of course.

"We continue on our course," he decided, "we will remain out of their range before returning to defending the Mandeville Point for Her Celestial Highness. Given the damage we have done, I have no doubt Battle Group Volga can smash this xenos horror apart now."

"Admiral! We are receiving a communication from the local xenos fleet!"

"Really?" the Admiral smiled roguishly, "is it some sort of 'first contact package' the Rogue Traders always bray about?"

"Err...no, Admiral," the younger man heavily swallowed. "It is a communication in Low Gothic, Admiral. And it is addressed to you. Or at least to 'the Admiral commanding the Imperium Battlefleet of the Damocles Gulf'."

Fritz von Bittenfeld waited for the trickster who had thought of something so outrageous to reveal himself. The expected laughter didn't come.

"Their Low Gothic isn't perfect, of course," his subordinate babbled, "in fact it has strange variations usually found when Imperial Worlds are cut off from contact with the greater Imperium for centuries and-"

Fritz raised his hand to stop the more and more confused report.

"This makes no sense." And it really didn't. If the Imperium had met an advanced xenos species in the Damocles Gulf, it would have been recorded and the appropriate measures would have been taken. Unless perhaps the ship which had made first contact was lost in the Warp? "But if they're communicating, better to see what they want. Put them on my personal lithocast."

The alien which appeared in hololithic representation was not the strangest he had ever seen, but it was certainly one heavily armoured...not that that was surprising, given the ability of the Necrons to teleport onto ships and murder the sailors at close-quarters.

Still, the massive white armour and the mini-railguns mounted atop the wrists were looking extremely functional and not presented for the sake of parade.

The drawback was that aside from a blue xenos face and brown hair presented in a military braid, most of the unknown body was hidden inside the armour, which didn't give him a lot of information.

"I trust I am speaking to the Admiral in command of the Damocles Gulf Fleet?" his subordinate had been right; the words of Low Gothic sounded like a frontier missionary had taught the xenos how to speak human language. The impression was false, clearly; there had to be a translator, because the voice wasn't synchronised with the mouth.

"I am Admiral Fritz von Bittenfeld, Admiral of Battlefleet Maskirovka." He answered. "There is no Battlefleet permanently assigned to the Damocles Gulf." That would likely have to change in the future, given the recent events. "And I must ask the question: how do you know so much about the Imperium of Mankind, when we remained ignorant of your existence before arriving in this system?"

"Admiral...I am Commander Shadowsun of the T'au Empire." If it had been intended to reveal something important, it failed...though Bittenfeld didn't like the implications of this blue-skinned alien having imperial aspirations. "To answer your question: we traded and established contact with dozens of your worlds...several thousands of your 'years' in the future."

"Oh by the God-Emperor," his chief of staff whispered, "the Necrons have created a space-time anomaly."

Fritz von Bittenfeld did his best not to grimace at the news. Incidents like these always attracted the Holy Inquisition and plenty of figures any sane Admiral didn't want near his command.

He didn't like the 'trade' implications either. Apparently, if there was a modicum of truth in the xenos' words, the 'future' Imperium had failed to crush the xenos empire or force it to submit into becoming a restrained protectorate. There had to be extenuating circumstances clearly, like their location on the Eastern Fringe, but still...

"That is...an interesting declaration, Commander Shadowsun. And one I will need additional information to trust."

"Your...mythology-history..." the word was spoken hesitantly, "proclaimed on the worlds of 'Agrellan' and 'Voltoris' was that at one time, you were ruled by a being called 'God-Emperor'. This mythical-real ruler ascended to something called the Golden Throne after slaying a creature called 'Arch-Heretic' your civilisation also called 'the Lion'."

Fritz cursed under his breath. It was possible the xenos had misunderstood what Imperial citizens had said...but deep inside, he had the sickening feeling it wasn't so.

"Commander Shadowsun, based on what you said...you are indeed from the future. But not our future."

The Throne of Oblivion

288 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Overlord Sobekhotep

"Why have we stopped firing at the blue-skinned vermin?" Sobekhotep demanded in outrage. "We destroyed a third of their fleet, incinerated their moon, reduced their fortresses to impotence! Why have we stopped firing?"

"Hem, hem, hem. We have stopped firing because the damage we suffered is too extensive."

"Sneferka..."

"There are no other Crypteks available," the self-proclaimed Master of Despair answered, "most of the other Crypteks are outright trying to break their protocols and ignore your commands, and the ones that aren't are busy trying to repair the Throne of Oblivion...they aren't particularly successful at it."

"And whose fault is that?" the Dust-Maker raged.

"Yours of course, Overlord. It was your stupid idea to use the Deceiver, which resulted in this disastrous situation."

"Choose your next words very carefully, ex-Arch-Cryptek," the servant of the Silent King seethed.

"The Deceiver...deceived you," Sneferka affirmed. "The moment he was released, we received a surplus of available energy, but since there weren't any Crypteks on hand to monitor the False-God, we didn't realise this monumental increase of our firepower and capacities was in fact due to Mephet'ran destroying the internal engram-conduits. And after that we just happened to create a false method of FTL, which increased the internal damage by a factor of fifteen. And all the while our energy command controls were reporting we still had enough energy for the tasks ahead, ensuring we placed more pressure on the vital machinery sections..."

"The Deceiver is imprisoned once more. Surely now that the C'Tan isn't a problem you can repair everything?"

"We probably could, given a few hundred local rotations...assuming the bombardments stop. It is becoming somewhat pointless to repair something when the next day or two sees all our work reduced to debris and crippled technology."

"We have billions of Canoptek units remaining! Surely they can do the work you are incapable of accomplishing!"

"Hem, hem, hem. This is technically true, but it ignores...a lot of things. Like the fact the units need a Cryptek to control their work, ensure the traps of the Deceiver haven't altered their command-protocols, and give them the priorities...something necessary given how devastated the outer shell of the Throne of Oblivion is."

Sobekhotep raged silently. Unfortunately, he had no Cryptek available save Sneferka...the other Crypteks had proven treacherous and incompetent, and those who hadn't hid where his commands couldn't reach them were either completely destroyed or imprisoned.

"How long until we can repair the Star-Eater Drive? If the Canoptek units take too long and your Crypteks fail at the simplest tasks..."

"Hem, hem, hem. Overlord, the chambers of the Star-Eater Drive have been reconquered by the Sautekh troops in their latest counteroffensive. I have no data on the damage as a result."

"And the...method we used to return from the other dimension? Surely that one didn't cost that much energy!"

"Hem, hem, hem. It didn't, no. But the reason it didn't, Overlord, is because the young Crypteks simply exchanged the planets of the two dimensions, creating a...quantum-karmic-exchange which places the wrong planet in the right dimension. Given how...unsubtle the effect was in the dimension we just left, the engram-calculations ascribe a high likelihood important military forces will be ready to intercept us if we try it a second time."

Sneferka paused.

"And at the risk of insisting, the Canoptek units and war-engines are not the solution, Overlord. Hem, hem, hem. The enemy has proven at Mandragora that it can-"

"That was the Sautekh committing their assets unwisely and making stupid mistakes!" Sobekhotep shouted. "There is absolutely no way the vermin can do the same with the Szarekhan command-protocols! We are the Dynasty of the Eternal Silent King! Our technology is fifteen thousand generations in advance of those of the Aeldari, never mind lesser races!"

"Hem, hem, hem. Yes! How right you are, Overlord! Surely with this technology, our victory is assured! There is no way the countless vermin species you have antagonised will be able to pierce the shields and inflict any lasting damage! One has only to look at-"

"SNNNEEEEEFEEERRRKKKAAA!"

The weapons of his servants fired and promptly disintegrated the body of the incompetent Cryptek on a molecular level, whose arrogance and mockeries were temporarily halted. Sobekhotep knew better than to hope the 'Master of Despair' didn't have backups he didn't know of and hence couldn't deactivate.

"Sihathor...motivate the Crypteks we have left. I want to finish destroying this moon before beginning the destruction of the vermin fleets."

"Yes my Gracious and Peerless Overlord!"

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Goliath-class Heavy Battleship Unbreakable Faith

283 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Grand Apostle Ekodas

The Fenris System was ravaged by war and the destruction was cataclysmic.

Ekodas was far from satisfied, despite all the slaughter and the servants of the Gods summoned to participate in the grand massacre.

The most obvious reason for his dissatisfaction was that, so far, the slaughtered force was the auxiliaries and Cruisers of the Seventeenth Legion.

Due to the psychic defences of the Wolves – though the hypocrites called them something else obviously – and the near-total absence of civilian trade between Fenris and the rest of the galaxy, the Dark Council had not known in advance what they would face when they invaded the stellar system, just that it was going to be heavily defended.

They had made estimations based on the testimonies of the Battle of the Fang's survivors. These estimates had fallen immensely short of reality. Somehow, it seemed every asteroid which could bear the weight of a macro-battery had been equipped with one. The worst-case assumption had been that there would be twelve layers of minefields like at Cadia; they had broken through sixteen and the campaign was far from over. The system seemed to be bristling with Starforts, most of them automated with Great Crusade-standard technology. There were hidden platforms and carriers used as launching bases for hundreds of starfighters. There were converted surveillance stations coordinating and firing hundreds of torpedoes per minute.

The Fenris system must have received the approval of Khorne, but it didn't receive Ekodas'. From Grand Cruisers to the little Raiders of their mortal slaves, every ship came under attack from all directions. Because the savages they had once called cousins were not bothering hammering the Battleships; they were first decimating all their escorts, and unfortunately it worked all too well for them.

Most of the pirate-slave fleets which had been prepared to reinforce the Grand Armada for decades were now crippled wrecks at best, debris of metal and water at worst.

And they had lost a lot of hours battling their way into the system.

"Lord Apostle, Dark Apostle Mothac is firing his batteries against Fenris' moon. The Astropathic station Longhowl won't be of any use to the slaves of the False Emperor."

"He should conserve his ammunition." The Wolves had abandoned Valdrmani the moment they realised the Grand Armada was there, and the orbital and planetary defences were undoubtedly trapped and ready to blow should they be so stupid as to try to board them. "We can't destroy it in the end, so there's no reason waste so much firepower against something so useless."

"Yes, Lord Apostle..." the Legionnaire grimaced, "for a supposed Loyalist Chapter, the Wolves really have a lot of proscribed advanced technology to protect their planets."

"The curs of Russ are many things, Faithful," Ekodas began, "and since their Founding, hypocrisy has been their armour and their battle-cry. But it's this very hypocrisy which makes them so dangerous. The Wolves are so proud of their barbarian self-righteousness that there is literally nothing they won't do in the name of victory."

Their 'Rune Priests', for example, did the exact same thing Magnus' precious sons did, except they used a different psychic-channelling method. The two Legions were more alike than they thought...violating the False Emperor's commands while they vehemently protested they were undyingly loyal.

"What do they have waiting for us in orbit?"

As the Unbreakable Faith and the 6th Great Host slowly progressed towards the planet, Ekodas felt the urge to spit. The ice ball that was Fenris waited. And it wasn't an exaggeration: with the deep Fenrisian winter a matter of days away, the planet's oceans truly froze over.

It made him regret they couldn't shatter Valdrmani and let the debris of the moon generate a few hundred asteroid strikes on the tribes which worshipped Russ and the False Emperor. What an inglorious demise it would be for the arrogant curs!

But alas they couldn't do that. Rituals like the Tear of Nightmares didn't work if they destroyed a world from orbit without risking anything. They had to seize the most significant sites of power of Fenris and sacrifice a native Space Marine on each of the altars they raised on them if they wanted the ritual to succeed. Blasting apart Fenris with nothing but the Battleships' guns would destroy the planet, but the Gods wouldn't grant them a minuscule fraction of the power the Legion required for the Tear.

"They have a first-class Orbital Grid, Lord Apostle. We can confirm twenty-one primary stations linked to each other by killer-satellites and heavy monitors. They also appear to have dispersed minelayers they may or may not have transformed into starfighter-carriers. There's also a merchantman, my Lord."

"A merchant ship?" if the situation was not so explosive, Ekodas would have laughed. "What is it doing here? I thought the Wolves didn't trade anything save their love for violence and their hypocrisy."

"It looks like it is one of those Mass Conveyors originally purchased by the first Rogue Trader Dynasties, Lord Apostle...ah, the engines appear to be ruined. It's certainly a starship which experienced Warp problems and had to take refuge at Fenris before it was destroyed. There are signs the Wolves tried to convert it into a Q-Ship before abandoning it."

"The Gods weren't with them that day," between the Gods' servants feasting upon their souls and being forced to live with the Wolves for decades, neither option was attractive no matter how you looked at it. Ekodas considered the matter with amusement for a few seconds before shaking his head and returning to more important issues. "How does Krieg Acerbus' attack proceed?"

"Slowly, Lord," his subordinate Legionnaire answered. "Very slowly. He tried to accelerate and launch a lightning raid on Midgardia, but his vanguard was blown apart in minefields and traps. The delay has given the dogs the time they needed to rally their fleet. He should still win, they only have two Battle-Barges and five Cruisers against his murder-fleet, but it's not going to be quick or easy. Midgardia has an Orbital Grid too."

"Nothing in this blasted system is won quickly or easily," Ekodas hissed between his teeth. "Frostheim?"

"The World Eaters' warbands are half an hour away from planetary invasion. Beyond that, I am not sure, Lord. The berserkers aren't exactly reporting the status of their ships and infantry forces every hour."

"Indeed. Thankfully, the servants of the Gods should emerge victorious. The rituals have confirmed there are no Wolves anywhere on Frostheim."

Most of the available Astartes the dogs of Russ had gathered were either with their fleet at Midgardia or on Fenris itself. Ekodas would have laughed and mocked them for that, except it was the correct strategy: if they dispersed, the warbands unleashed against the different planets and notable fortresses would crush them in detail before the Legion gave them the killing blow. No, whichever barbarian lord was in command knew what he was doing...not that it was going to do more than delay their defeat.

"Good. In that case, let's focus on our part of the Great Plan. Destroy this Orbital grid, so that the Wolves can see the fireworks of their doom coming as their satellites crash onto their miserable ball of ice filled with carnivorous beasts."

"Yes, Lord Apostle! We will enter killing range in one minute and four seconds...wait, what was-"

"Psychic power accumulating!" One of the lesser sorcerers he kept in his presence wailed. A heartbeat later, Ekodas felt it too. It was like a cascade of ice drowning him, and his senses were nearly submerged by the howls of the wind...and animals screaming for death. "We have a sudden influx of psychic power, what are the curs doing?"

Ekodas narrowed his eyes...and cursed loudly.

"The damned merchant ship..."

"My Lord?"

"That isn't a Q-Ship, the dogs have modified it into a gigantic psychic battery! It's a converted psy-Cruiser!"

Just as the words left his mouth, the Grand Apostle knew he was incorrect. Given the size of the 'merchantman', the ship converted into a psychic weapon was closer to a Battleship than a Cruiser.

It was utterly illegal to build something like that when the Word Bearers still served the False Emperor. And the punishment for a crime of this magnitude had increased, not lessened, in the millennia after.

But the Fenrisian barbarians had done it.

The entire 6th Great Host began to hurl all its weapons to destroy it.

But the Orbital Grid was still intact, ready to answer fire with fire.

And as the 'Merchantman' slowly rotated to face them, Ekodas and the scores of Legionnaires present on the bridge of the Unwavering Faith watched powerlessly as an enormous psy-cannon hidden until now began to glow with the energies of the Immaterium.

And then it fired.

Psychic Defence Ship – Converted Mass Conveyor – Singing Dodo

Rune Priest Loki Wyrdhowl

The blessings of Mother Fenris weren't without cost.

Loki's nose was bleeding. Kraken's slime, his ears and eyes were bleeding. And when he coughed, the saliva tasted like his blood too.

His back hurt like he was forced to carry a pack of wolves. His legs burned in agony. His arms felt weak for the first time since he had been accepted among the ranks of the Vlka Fenryka.

None of it could diminish the elation the Rune Priest felt as a Word Bearer Battleship was wiped out in a single beautiful explosion. Three Traitor Cruisers died with it, but they didn't really count. It was the big bastards brought by the oath-breakers which had to be destroyed if they wanted Fenris to have a chance.

"Ha! Ha! It worked! It worked! Did you see it Direbear? It worked!"

"Lord Loki..." one of the Kaerls serving as crewmates of the Singing Dodo began nervously, "your vitals have received a nasty shock from a single shot of the 'Fenris Cannon'. If you try to channel more power, surely-"

"Nonsense. I am in the best health of my life!" If only his nose stopped bleeding, he would be more convincing. "And there are many more Traitor Battleships to kill! Choose the coordinates of one while I'm concentrating the blow for our next prey!"

"Lord, please at least convince the Wolf Lord to send another Priest so that you rest a bit! You look two steps away from Hel's door!"

"I'm telling you I am fine!" Wyrdhowl wasn't going to admit out loud that the...loan of the assets he had found across the domains of the Allfather had been done on his orders and authority. Only he had completed the purification journey. Only he had been involved in the creation of the psy-coils. And he was the one who had bargained with House Belisarius to find this ship.

The only thing he had not done was renaming the ship, because the few sailors who had stayed behind had told him the machine-spirits would be displeased and that he would 'earn' a lot of bad luck if he tried to do that. So Loki Wyrdhowl hadn't.

But by all the wolf packs of Fenris, a little bleeding wasn't going to stop him at the moment of triumph!

"Next target! NOW!" The warrior of the frozen world barked.

"Target coordinates updated. Apocalypse-class Battleship. Distance: one million and forty-one kilometres. Allegiance: Extremis Traitoris, Seventeenth Legion."

"Let's send them to the judgement they have avoided for far too long," the Vlka Fenryka growled. "FIRE!"

The Orbital Grid was in the middle of the apocalypse, and as Loki shouted, more violence followed.

With the skill of a shipmaster on Fenris' stormy sea, the Rune Priest guided the torrent of icy power which was born from Mother Fenris' heart.

It was a primal ocean of cold. It was liberty. It was the ferocity of the wilderness, the wrath of the icebergs, the blizzard which howled every winter.

For the second time, Loki Wyrdhowl felt the power and blessings of Fenris deeper than any other Vlka Fenryka ever had.

For the second time, the Kaerl's report was spoken.

"Traitor Apocalypse-class Battleship destroyed. We also have wiped out at least two Light Cruisers and a Carrier."

"Ha! Ha! Argh!" The pain paralysed his body before he could welcome the news with the laughter it deserved.

Agony did not do justice to the suffering he experienced. The blood pouring from his body was only a mere side-effect of what he had been hurt by. And those spiritual and physical wounds were just due to the mere channelling of the power...

His right arm was unresponsive, and as the pain returned to more Astartes-bearable levels, Loki looked at his limb and knew he would never move it again. The arm, his arm, was more crystal than flesh after this. What Fenris had given, it had also taken. And the price...bah, he would pay it again.

He was a son of Russ. And he would save Fenris and the legacy of Russ if it was-

Loki felt the wards falling as the troops of the Maleficarum stormed the command bridge.

"DEATH TO THE WOLVES!"

The Kaerls didn't hesitate. They drew their weapons, and charged.

"FOR RUSS AND THE ALLFATHER!"

The bridge became a melee battleground, and Loki growled angrily as he realised he didn't even have the strength to stand on his own.

Not that a single Sky-warrior's strength would be enough. Daemonic portals opened everywhere. The Kaerls were going to be overwhelmed. And the status of the Orbital Grid told him the same thing was happening everywhere.

The Rune Priest of the Third Grand Company laughed, for it was evidence itself the Traitors and Oath-Breakers had really panicked.

And Loki Wyrdhowl was going to give them another reason to fear the wrath of Fenris.

No coordinates were uttered. No target was mentioned.

It was not important, as for the last blow he didn't intend to strike at a Word Bearer warship.

"I am a son of Russ, slaves of Ruin!" He howled. "And I will wait for you on the other side of the Gates of Morkai! FOR RUSS AND FENRIS! FOR THE ALLFATHER!"

For the third time of the day, the Vlka Fenryka felt more power that he'd ever known react upon his mental command.

Loki Wyrdhowl laughed before howling in challenge.

He was still howling when the Singing Dodo blew apart.

Goliath-class Heavy Battleship Unbreakable Faith

Grand Apostle Ekodas

No respectable Dark Apostle could sully the noble language of Colchis with base insults.

That was what Low Gothic was for.

"The Skull Lord flay his carcass until there is nothing but bones! The Grandfather curse the tribes of this Death World to die of Zombie Plague! The Architect reduce their barbaric minds to the bestial state they so admire! A million curses upon the tribes of Fenris! A million punishments and enslavements for their blasphemies against the Faithful and the Pantheon!"

His rage was so powerful the eight closest slaves were instantly incinerated by his gifts.

Ekodas continued to rage as the Orbital Grid was consumed by weapon fire and finally on the brink of total collapse.

Only then did the Grand Apostle calm himself.

"Report."

The Legionnaire commanded to relay all the scrying, rituals, and information obtained from them by his sorcerers bowed deeply.

"Lord Apostle. At this hour, we can confirm the Legion Battleships Confession of Slaughter and Profession of Faith have been lost with all hands by the fault of this...wretched weapon of the curs. The psychic cannon which caused this destruction also crippled or destroyed all escorts assigned to these two capital Battleships. And...the third psychic assault pulverised the Shattered Tower of Warlord Obsidral. The Raider ships assigned to this vessel continue their work in search of survivors, but...it looks like the entire Sect of the Red Echo is dead. Preliminary casualties are at nine sorcerers, nine hundred-plus Rubricae, and three capital ships. The only good news I can give is that since the transfer of assets before Cadia, the Knights of House Mutica are still intact."

Could one really speak of good news if the only thing able to really 'control' these engines of destruction had been lost with Obsidral and the Sect of the Red Echo?

"The Orbital Grid will be utterly destroyed within the hour. Prepare House Mutica's Knights and our host of Volscani Cataphracts for a general assault against the Fortress of the Fang!"

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

280 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Battleship Enterprise

Lady General Taylor Hebert

"You have done well, Admiral. Hold your position and watch over the Tau fleet, I will contact you again in one hour with new orders."

"By your command, your Celestial Highness!"

The hololithic image of Admiral Fritz von Bittenfeld flickered out, leaving her only with Dragon and Wolfgang Bach occupying the three-dimensional communication magnifier. Taylor could have summoned the Rogue Trader to her quarters, but he had much to do with Archmagos Sagami, and she didn't intend to waste his time for so long. Indeed, after agreeing on a short-term course of action, it was the turn of the blonde-haired man to disappear and return to his regular duties.

"Well, this isn't exactly what we expected when finally catching up with the Ymga Monolith."

"A masterful understatement, Dragon."

"One tries," the Tinker smiled before returning to a more neutral stance. "We have the advantage...and the confirmation Admiral Bittenfeld missed his calling when he wasn't recruited by the Black Templars."

"Now you're just exaggerating," the insect-mistress joked, "the Black Templars are that way to try to emulate Bittenfeld, not the other way around. This notion of attacking in 'damn the torpedoes' mode whatever the odds must be learned somewhere."

"True," the draconic Minister of Industry agreed. "What do you intend to do about him?"

"In the short-term, we keep him where he is," the Lady General answered. "I don't think these...Tau...are going to try to stab us in the back with the Battle Groups we have, but I prefer keeping a good contingency in my hand even if we don't need it. And two companies of Raven Guard Successors have joined us...I think their talents will be more useful against the new 'Empire' we have just met. Now since I know you read faster than I, Dragon, I'm sure you must have formed an opinion about them."

"That entirely depends whether the information they gave us is propaganda or what they really believe," the leader of the Fafnir enclave began, "if it's propaganda, I would need access to their databases and landing on the planet to have a first-hand opinion. If they really think, dream, live, and die for this 'Greater Good' of theirs...I think we are going to be problems with them, problems which might soon create the conditions for a military conflict."

"I suspect it wouldn't come as a surprise if the Imperium found themselves at war with those blue-skinned aliens in another reality," Taylor commented ironically.

"You noticed."

"Dragon, whatever the era we're speaking of, the Imperium doesn't have a policy which allows xenos to trade overtly with human citizens or to sign treaties of free exchange like that. That is a privilege the High Lords restrict to humans and humans alone, and any exception, including abhumans, is the result of centuries of compromise and politicking. I have a feeling either the 'Tau Empire' engineered an entire series of operations the Inquisitors would classify as 'Cold Trade', or they began a small localised conflict with the Imperium."

"Both are not impossible," the Thinker agreed thoughtfully. "Still, whatever problems they caused to the Imperium in the dimension they came from, it's pretty clear a good part had to rely on the sheer distance separating them from any important Sector. Their fleet is completely outmatched by what we have. Well, it's that or the Imperium has really lost pretty much all its advanced technology. I estimate a non-modernised Apocalypse-class Battleship could destroy between six and eight of their biggest capital warships without too much trouble."

"That bad?" Dragon nodded. "Damn."

"It's an interesting array of weapons they have, don't get me wrong," the Tinker continued, "I'm particularly eager to discover how they mass-produce all those Railguns and Ion Cannons, and the 'missiles' they use instead of our torpedoes have very good electronics. And the civilian technology their 'propaganda' showed, assuming they aren't lying through their teeth, is something our Artisans would make a fortune replicating. We are more advanced than them technologically, but they seem to not have all the Imperium's history of...civil wars which cost us most of our industrial databases and assets."

"Hmm. Negotiations after the battle, telling them tactfully we have the upper hand?"

Dragon chuckled.

"If they don't realise they are rather outnumbered and their firepower is inferior to ours, I think it would raise a lot of questions how they reached this level of technological innovation on their own. And speaking of historical questions...how do we handle the knowledge of their 'other Imperium's' history?"

"For now, we suppress the information...I will have to speak with the Inquisitors soon and I think we will choose a solution which will likely consist of insisting it is another dimension and the Imperium we know has nothing in common with the one they came from." The ruler of Nyx finished eating the bits of Grox steak waiting on her plate. "Besides, there's always the possibility their sources lied or that the knowledge was distorted. Assuming they aren't trying to manipulate us, their version of the Heresy was ten thousand years before their time."

It would be somewhere between four and six thousand years after the current M35 era, given how inconsistent the Imperial calendar could often prove in this region with Warp Storms and space-time anomalies.

"In this instance, Taylor, I completely disagree. I think it is obvious what happened: in their dimension, the Ruinous Powers didn't succeed in corrupting Horus...but they turned the Lion against the Emperor."

"You...you may be right." The black-haired parahuman conceded. "There still are a lot of holes in the timeline, and we will likely never know how to fill them. As it stands, we know that in their Heresy, the Sons of Horus, the White Scars and the Iron Warriors defended the Imperial Palace during the Siege. And unlike in the Siege we're familiar with, the Ultramarines and the Blood Angels arrived in time to attack the enemy from behind."

Unfortunately, the events after that had been marked with tragedy. The Lion had boarded the Red Tear and slain Sanguinius, but the Primarch of the Blood Angels had lasted long enough for the Emperor to arrive before the Arch-Traitor of that civil war could disengage.

What happened after that was sadly familiar to anyone aware of the tragedy represented by the Heresy.

Taylor Hebert sighed.

"The equivalent of the Despoiler in their timeline seemed to be 'Corswain the Hell-Knight', and judging by the enormous Warp Storm they observed in 001M42, the Traitors must have managed to open something akin to the Tear of Nightmares and destroy enough Necron Pylons to plunge the galaxy into another Age of Strife."

If she had needed another reason to oppose the abominations, this was a very good one.

"This...alternative history'...I think it can wait until after we've dealt with our current set of problems."

"Of course. Though it raises the question of what we're going to do with the Ymga Monolith now. Given how easily Bittenfeld managed to break through the shields and how much damage the Necron infighting causes, we can launch a rapid assault upon the Monolith and gain space superiority in this system. The question is what we will do after that."

Taylor grimaced.

"I know very well what our options are. Exterminatus or Conquest."

Between the eight Battle Groups – or at least their undamaged assets in the case of those who had fought at Mandragora – sixty-one exotic Exterminatus weapons had the firepower to cause apocalyptic damage to the Necron war machine. There also were twenty-eight warheads of a more...conventional variety.

These weapons had not been used at Mandragora, because the Sautekh had proven too skilled at negating the Kane particle-fuelled inferno – which was an Exterminatus, really – and that if they used them against Mandragora, there would be no ace available to demolish the Ymga Monolith if none of the most devastating weapons available to Mankind were left to her.

"And I can admit, between us two, ordering the Inquisitorial kill-ships to prepare the Exterminatus is something that has a lot of benefits."

First, it would obviously spare the lives of the millions of guardsmen waiting in the Battle-Groups' transports. After Mandragora, Taylor felt she owed it to them not to send them into a second Hell – though there were hundreds of fresh divisions which had not experienced the dreadful attritional warfare against an opponent which didn't care if it lived as long as every enemy died.

Second, the problem of Imotekh the Stormlord would be handled in a very destructive and thorough manner. The Stormlord was good, but against the firepower of the world-killers, the Overlord Necrons died like the rest.

Third, the stocks of Noctilith and Sepulcrand protected by the Szarekhan Dynasty would be denied to the Imperium's enemies. In turn, this would mean the Black Crusade's intended goals would already suffer from a nasty blow no matter what happened on Fenris.

"We can use them." Dragon grimaced. "But is it the best solution?"

"It will save countless lives, Dragon. And we can always find more Noctilith elsewhere."

"True on the Noctilith, though I will remind you it is our allies who have custody of these Noctilith stocks, and treaty terms can always be...changed." The Minister of Industry made an impatient sound. "But even if Cawl and the Argovon Rogue Trader remain, the fact is this Necron battlestation may be the key to locate all the Necron worlds that both Neferten and Trazyn have been unable to tell us the coordinates of."

"It is not certain."

"No. But the Ymga Monolith's Necrons knew how to initiate a general reawakening of the entire Sautekh Dynasty."

"Hmm."

She must have been unconvinced, because Dragon continued.

"And of course, the Exterminatus weapons will still be available if the Traitor Astartes materialise in the next several hours and we need to destroy the Monolith...or incinerate their Battleships the way fiends like them deserve."

Now that was...unfortunately a good point.

And Dragon had many others to raise, aside from the sheer gains grabbing billions of ton of Noctilith represented.

"All right. Please inform Admiral Müller we're going to start Case Jutland."

Or'es El'leath Battleship Firestar III

Commander Shadowsun

Shadowsun had believed she had seen the true might of the Gue'la Imperium at the Second Battle of Mu'gulath Bay.

When the cursed battle began, hundreds of Gue'la warships had emerged from out of nowhere, bypassing all their monitoring stations and critical frontier strongholds, and the space fleet of the Air Caste sworn to protect the newly-founded sept on their honour and the Greater Good had perished.

The Fire Caste Supreme Commander had learned later that it had been what the Gue'la Imperium called '478th Ultima Battlefleet' – with the horrible implication there were at least 477 other fleet formations available – and they were led by a monstrous ship which answered to the name Warhammer, technical designation: Lupercal-class Battleship. It had destroyed two Vior'la-class battlestations in a single volley.

But at least there had been a meagre comfort in knowing the Gue'la had deployed their strongest fleet asset against the T'au Empire. And while the day had ended in tragedy and defeat, the Tau had learned much about their opponents, and after this disaster they had immediately begun preparing new strategies to defeat these extremely dangerous warships.

Except it looked like the Imperium of this dimension had a bigger warship than the Warhammer.

Worse, it was not that they had one, she counted at least five...and more coming into existence every dec. The heroine of the Third Sphere of Expansion had at first wondered why the Gue'la Admiral accepted with good grace when she asked to have a 'vid-link' to observe his reinforcements.

Now Shadowsun understood: there was nothing anyone on T'au, including the Ethereals themselves, could do against the Imperial fleets gathering on their doorstep in immense numbers.

Even if Lu'val and all its fortresses had not been wiped out, even if the Kor'vattra was intact – and it was definitely not, with over half of the home fleet crippled or gone – the T'au Empire would have been powerless against the absolute might the Gue'la Imperium had deployed here.

They were the apex galactic predators, and today the Necrons were the prey. For the Greater Good of the Tau and the world she loved, Shadowsun acknowledged that the survival of all Castes depended upon them not antagonising the Gue'la.

Because no Kauyon or Mont'ka tactic would be able to counter the overwhelming difference in tonnage in their disfavour.

"The Fire and Air Castes have done what they could, Holy One," Shadowsun reported to the Prime Ethereal Aun'Kathl'an when he contacted her. "I humbly suggest the Water Caste begin negotiations when the Gue'la contact us again. This is not an enemy we can defeat militarily...it is entirely possible that this force could defeat the might of our entire Empire. As it stands, they are going to kill the butchers of Lu'val and then dictate their conditions."

"And if their conditions are unacceptable?" The Ethereal asked softly.

"Then, Holy One, it will be a choice between the Greater Good and bloody annihilation."

The Throne of Oblivion

277 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Chapter Master Moritz Schneider

Space Marines weren't supposed to get captured, Moritz Schneider knew that. By the fist of their gene-father, most of the Imperium knew that!

It wasn't just pride speaking, obviously. As anyone familiar with the Adeptus Astartes knew, the rigorous psycho-indoctrination every Space Marine received during initiation made violent and non-violent interrogation completely pointless. Unless a Space Marine decided to willingly give the information he possessed to his enemies, the only true way of obtaining something was to be a Space Marine yourself and to eat the prisoner's brain. And even that generally gave you only vague memories and the knowledge absorbed wasn't specific. No specific protection had been in place when the Astartes fought the Heresy, but the Emperor's finest were resistant against any approach one might try to initiate.

As for capturing a Space Marine for the sake of having a live trophy, the thousands of tales of Astartes breaking out of prisons or going on to devastating their gaolers' ships generally decreased the number of xenos and non-xenos parties willing to try.

Therefore when the Invaders had attacked the Ymga Monolith, they had been more concerned about the time they would have to complete their mission before dying rather than waste their time worrying about capture. And honestly, since the beginning of Operation Stalingrad, all Necrons had tried to exterminate all human opposition in front of them. Why would it be different for them?

Obviously, they had been wrong. Moritz and his last four veterans had been taken prisoner. Worse for his pride, the Invaders' Chapter Master had been captured by a single Necron, who had humiliated him before cutting off his right arm and pretending he was doing him a favour.

He didn't care if it was one of those 'Overlords' or some fancy xenos noble, Moritz swore on the last working arm he had left the Necron would pay for that...in addition to all the Invader lives the Necron had killed in these last several days.

Then the ground of the Ymga Monolith began to vibrate heavily. And there was only one outside phenomenon which could be the cause on something as huge as the planet-sized pyramid.

And that was a heavy space bombardment. The Imperium had successfully tracked down the Monolith again and was launching another attack.

"It seems your allies are attacking again," one of the Necron nobles in love with the sound of his own voice declared, constantly pacing around the perimeter of the green energy fields keeping him prisoner on his metallic legs. "How pathetic. Like you, they do not understand that against the genius of Overlord Imotekh the Stormlord, no victory is possible."

"How curious...if your victory was preordained, how it is we managed to defeat you at Mandragora?"

"You didn't defeat us!" the Nemesor hissed threateningly, which of course did nothing to impress a Chapter Master of the Adeptus Astartes. "Phaeron Djosakhat will have dealt with the C'Tan by now, and soon your forces will be trapped between the scythe of the Sautekh Dynasty and the shield of the Stormlord!"

"Do you have the ability to teleport to Mandragora, xenos?" Moritz inquired. "Because last time I checked, we had a fleet, but your ships had a remarkable tendency to shatter under the fire of our warships' macro-batteries..."

The Nemesor struck the field with his enormous weapon before leaving the cells.

"Prepare yourselves, brothers." The Chapter Master announced to the survivors of his attack force. "We may get one last chance to kill the xenos before the end."

Guard Transport Black Raptor

Private Kumar Panduranga

The armaglass windows were a prized location on any ship, and the rare ones which could be found aboard the Black Raptor were no exception. Of course, anyone having a functioning head on their shoulders knew doing anything more than glancing when you were on duty was just asking for massive trouble.

The Commissar wasn't going to kill you for that, of course, but he always had a small mountain of chores – by default ranging from 'very unpleasant' over 'very long', 'very unpleasant', to 'we'll demote you a rank'.

Naturally, plenty of Ventrillians were on chore duty the moment they came aboard the Black Raptor. Some said it was tradition or a rite of passage. Kumar just thought the Ventrillian Nobles' wealth had screwed with their heads.

For the record, he wasn't on duty, the reason why he was admiring the fireworks.

Very expensive, the fireworks. According to the rumour mill, their own Battle Group – named Bagration for a reason no Colonel was aware of – had joined the others. The names meant nothing: Volga, Berezina, Dnieper, Maskirovka, Muskha, Sohlsvodd, Magdan, and of course Bagration.

A few loudmouths pretended there were even more, but the young private of Goa had difficulties believing it. His cousin had drunk a few glasses with a Junior Lieutenant of the Auspex Station, and the Battle-Groups of the Stalingrad Crusade had more than seventy Battleships. And as the Navy were proud to boast, for every Battleship, they had three Cruisers...and a whole flotilla of Destroyers or Frigates.

Viewed from an armaglass window, it was like the God-Emperor Himself was smiting the enormous xenos pyramid.

And then their compartment's alarms began to shriek.

"GOA 1st TO THE ARMOURY! GOA 1st TO THE ARMOURY!"

Kumar didn't think he had ever run so quickly, nor had he donned his carapace armour so fast.

"Those Necrons must be stupid," one of their company's loudest braggarts muttered, as he failed a check for the third time and had to be helped by one of his platoon's men. "Angering a Living Saint enough that She would pursue them to the Eastern Fringe..."

"Ours is not to question why," motto of the Imperial Guard, you learned it the moment you arrive at the recruiting office. "Let's look on the bright side, it's going to be easier than hunting an Ankylosaurus with a shotgun."

"Anything is easier than that," his cousin snorted while they marched towards the gun lockers. "Ah, there is my baby."

"Your baby? That is some kind of...rocket launcher!"

"The Nyx Tech-Priests named it 'Bazooka'. Twelve different types of krag missiles available, ten types of frag projectiles, but an entire world of hurt for the xenos."

"Well I prefer the section's plasma cannon." Kumar shivered, hoping his cousin knew what he was doing with that thing. "I know someone of the Nyx's heavy infantry whose regiment used them at Mandragora, and when they hit those bastards of xenos, they don't stand up...not before a full repair..."

"Bastard xenos," another guardsman approved. "The galaxy will be a better place once the Living Saint has destroyed them."

"And we will get the medals and the glory. You saw the size of the pyramid? If the Saint sells it to the High Lords, the same prizes as Commorragh will be handed out!"

The jokes slowed down before they arrived in the hangar bay, and soon ceased entirely.

The line of stone-faced Commissars probably had something to do with that.

"Sons of Goa!" The Colonel spoke. As rumour had it, the old man had lost a hunting game with the Governor by only two shots to receive the honour of leading the first Guard regiment of volunteers to be sent off-world in living memory. "The hour has come to fulfil our oaths. I am not going to insult you by saying it's going to be easy. The Navy is softening up the Necron defences as we speak, but they're still protected by the Aegis Battlecruisers to avoid the Necron counter-batteries. You have seen the data from Mandragora. The Saint is going to support us as soon as possible, but she won't be present in the first wave. We will. And our orders have been transmitted. We must clear a landing zone for the Knights of House Krast."

The Colonel grinned.

"We have survived everything the corrupt bastards of Vijayanagara have thrown at us. No matter how much they starved us, how many omega-beasts came to kill us, we didn't break. WE WON'T BREAK TODAY!"

"FOR THE SAINT AND THE EMPEROR!"

"Seal your armours! Our regiment's battle against the Monolith begins now!"

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

Asaheim

Landing Zone Rho Alpha

276 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Volscani General Uldin

Uldin thought he had been prepared, but he wasn't.

The first enemy he met once his command transport landed on this miserable ice ball was the terrible cold.

For what had to be the eight thousandth time, the Volscani General cursed the slaves of the False Emperor. Many things had been taken with them when their planet accepted the Primordial Truth, but the sole production line of customised power armours was not among them. The unbelievers had destroyed it together with the entirety of its completed stockpile before it could fall into their hands. And the final result was that a high and prestigious officer like himself had to use some second-hand carapace armour unworthy of his rank.

"I see the landing zone is secured, good."

"The curs and barbarians of the planet have learned no lessons from their past," the other faithful guardsman affirmed. "And the Masters of the Primordial Truth are keeping them busy."

His subordinate didn't need to point fingers or indicate a direction; one hundred kilometres away or not, everyone could see the gigantic bombardment the Battleships in orbit were unleashing against the 'Fang'.

"The problems are the snow and the cold, General. We are already improving the modifications the Masters agreed upon, but I pray it isn't going to snow more than it already has, because our Cataphracts weren't exactly built to cross mountainous passes like these."

"We will be successful," Uldin scowled at such defeatism. "The Gods are with us. Remember that, Colonel."

"Yes, General. But the-"

There was a massive thunderous explosion, and several bright lights announcing the arrival of the heavy artillery and support equipment became streaks of flames and smoke...before crashing into the mountains around them.

"By the holy fevers of the Grandfather! The False Emperor's slaves have anti-air batteries on the approaches to our landing zone! Why did the aerial scouts fail to find them?"

"I-"

"Never mind!" May the Blood God pile up the skulls of the Space Wolves in a gigantic mountain! "Make sure those batteries are silenced!"

But before the Colonel or any member of his circle could obey his orders, there was a new monumental explosion near them.

And as Uldin turned his head, the goal of this explosion was all too clear.

From the slopes of the impossibly tall peak north of Landing Zone Rho Alpha, the enemy had triggered the mother of all avalanches. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of tons of snow were rushing downwards...and there was nothing in his division's arsenal he could use to stop this enormous white apocalypse.

"Gods! Save us from this avalanche! Save us from the cowardly ways of war of the curs worshipping the False Emperor!"

The avalanche went through the scouts' outposts. The hastily dug trenches were buried down to the last man and the last shotgun, and then it was the turn of the landing zone's heart.

Uldin saw nimble Sentinels and slow Cataphracts alike be thrown around like toys, or disappear like they'd never existed under this thunderous weapon born of the ice planet itself.

"Gods! Mighty Lord of Blood, Peerless Architect, Joyous Grandfather! Have I not been your dutiful servant?"

All Uldin heard was the thunder of the avalanche...and the Volscani Cataphract General understood.

The Gods were liars.

But this revelation arrived far too late.

Eight seconds later, Uldin received a block of ice to the head which killed him on the spot, and his body disappeared two seconds later, never to be found.

He would never know that roughly two point three percent of his army managed to survive the avalanche engineered by a pack of Blood Claws punished for a certain 'tankard incident'.

Unfortunately for those survivors, an avalanche like that had attracted an adult Ice Wyrm and a respectable pack of Frost Wolves. Before night fell upon Fenris, there would be no survivors among the four Brigades of the Volscani Cataphracts which had landed on Fenris at Rho Alpha.

The Fang

274 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Wolf Lord Olav Direbear

"Blood Pack Wrath-Badger report the Landing Zone is clear of Traitors."

"So the tricksters remembered the vox-frequencies are good for something," Olaf muttered before clearing his throat in a loud rumble. "The nine landing zones are all accounted for."

"Yes, Jarl."

"Something bothers you Torsten?"

"With all due respect, yes, Jarl." The Long Fang of his Great Company replied. "This was exactly the same attack pattern the witches of the Thousand Sons tried during the Battle of the Fang. I know those damned sorcerers consider us stupid, but surely they didn't think we had taken no countermeasures to prevent a second Siege!"

"The sorcerers didn't, I think," Olaf smirked. "The Blood Claws and our sky-patrols didn't see a single blue-gold witch-armour, just those traitor guardsmen they have an abundance of."

"That's still a heavy price to pay even if you don't care about them," one of the longest-serving members of the Third Great Company growled. "Fine, we know the Traitors don't care about their slaves' lives, but that's still a lot of armour we buried under the avalanches."

"Yes," the Wolf Lord agreed before studying the list of assets once more and arriving at an unpleasant conclusion. "The Traitors above our heads gambled. They wanted to see if we were sleepy and overconfident. Just in case they could strike fast at the Fang and besiege us like they did with Greyloc's Twelfth Company long ago."

"Well, it didn't work, by Russ!" Halfdan, one of his most hot-blooded Grey Fangs, commented.

"It didn't." Olaf agreed. "But they have no doubt used their cursed witches to tell them how large the Asaheim Defence Zone is. They're going to land further away where we don't have avalanches to bury them before they can enjoy a refreshing night of Fenris."

It was likely the Traitors weren't going to limit themselves to that. The Red Cyclops was here, and that meant witch-spells and all the Maleficarum the damned sons of Prospero had invented since they fled into the Eye of Terror.

"Jarl Silentdeath reported the strength of his packs before leaving the Fang, Jarl."

"How many?"

"Three hundred and eighteen Blood Claws, one hundred and seventy-four Grey Hunters, and ninety Long Fangs."

"Too many young hot-blooded whelps, not enough Long Fangs," he was being unfair, as the Eighth Great Company had returned to Fenris precisely because it had taken high losses in several legendary battles against the greenskins, but the fact remained half of his numbers were untested, and the Company of the Silent Wolf were pack ambushers. They relied on a high degree of discipline...and the young Blood Claws weren't exactly known for that.

"At least our company is larger than Lars Silentdeath's, Jarl."

"It is, and we have twice the number of hot-blooded whelps and tricksters he does."

Six hundred and ninety-one Blood Claws, two hundred and sixty-five Grey Hunters, one hundred and four Long Fangs, four hundred and three bear companions; that was the core of the strength of the Great White Bears, sworn to the defence of Fenris for far too many years.

It seemed impressive, and it was: Olav was well aware that in a non-Fenrisian Chapter, no Company Commander commanded a force that large.

"A siege won't play to their strengths, just in case you've forgotten in your old age, Jarl."

"Insolent whelp!" The Wolf Lord retorted in good humour. "But no, I haven't forgotten. Tell Njal to choose two packs of Blood Claws. I want him to take them to the Fire Breather."

Everything moved and was eventually destroyed on Fenris, but there were a few exceptions. Asaheim, the large mountainous continent where the Fang was built, was one. The fiery volcano that was the Fire Breather, which all tribes of Fenris believed to be the lair of a fire deity, was another.

Situated a mere five hundred kilometres south of Asaheim, it could also be used as a first landing zone, especially since with the Fenrisian winter coming, the lava projections were not as intense as those of a year ago.

"The Rune Priests have not predicted an attack from that direction."

"THE RUNE PRIESTS ARE BUSY. THE WITCHES TRY TO BREAK DOWN OUR WARDS AND THEY'RE DOING ALL THEY CAN TO PROTECT US."

Olav Direbear was a Wolf Lord, and he had gained the title when he was a very old Long Fang. He had seen countless battles, and with Boo as his partner, tens of thousands of enemies had fallen to his axe.

Yet as the Eldest made his presence known, Olav felt like a Blood Claw in front of his elders once more.

"Lord Bjorn," the Castellan of the Fang bowed. "Your presence-"

"MY PRESENCE IS THE SIGN SOMEONE HAS FUCKED UP AGAIN. TELL ME WOLF LORD. THIS IS THE SECOND TIME I'M WOKEN UP BECAUSE THAT BASTARD OF A CYCLOPS IS ATTACKING FENRIS. THE FIRST TIME THERE WAS NO GREAT WOLF PRESENT. THE SECOND TIME THERE WAS NO GREAT WOLF PRESENT. I'M BEGINNING TO SEE A FUCKING PATTERN, AND I DON'T LIKE IT."

Though he wasn't a friend of the Great Wolf – in fact, it was his opposition to him which had kept him on Fenris for so long – Olav felt he had to defend the honour of Krakenslayer.

"Great Wolf Hakon Krakenslayer has led a great hunt to protect-"

"HAKON OF THE ICE CLAWS? THE WHELP WHO COULDN'T HOLD HIS DRINKS AT HIS FIRST GREAT FEAST?"

The drawback of waking an Elder for the great events, the Wolf Lord suddenly realised, was that he knew most of the embarrassing moments too.

"He has gotten better." More like he had learned a little discipline and restraint between two periods of wrath. And he could drink far more now. "And he has hunted three adult krakens alone-"

"I HUNTED KRAKENS BEFORE BECOMING A SON OF RUSS!" The eldest Dreadnought of the Vlka Fenryka hotly retorted. "AND I BEDDED TEN DAUGHTERS OF TEN DIFFERENT TRIBES WHILE SURVIVING THEIR FATHERS' WRATH! A ONE-LEGGED LONG FANG WOULD KILL A KRAKEN!"

Olav let the Revered One grumble for several more minutes about how in the old times the Vlka Fenryka were true men pissing thunder and climbing the Asaheim Peaks with both hands tied behind their back.

No one dared to interrupt him.

"BY THE FANG! WHY ARE YOU ALL STANDING HERE WAITING? THE CYCLOPS AND THE PRIEST-BASTARD ARE SULLYING FENRIS JUST BY LOOKING AT IT!"

"We know, Lord, but since they have an immense fleet in orbit, we must move carefully for the next day. Once the blizzard comes tomorrow, we will be able to move without being intercepted. But for now, the only storm of importance is around the Fire Breather..."

"AH! I REMEMBER OLD FIRE BREATHER! PERFECT TERRAIN TO SPAR WITH FIVE DRAKES AT ONCE!"

Fire Breather Volcano

Landing Zone Kappa-Thebes

271 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Volscani General Bleda

The first sight General Bleda of the Volscani Cataphracts had of Fenris was that of a gigantic winged reptile tearing apart one of their Chimeras to feed upon the men trapped inside its hull.

The old officer had hardened his heart in service of the Primordial Truth. Several members of his family had refused to understand that the endless hours of work spent overseeing the tithes were just lies of the False Emperor, and examples had to be made.

Bleda froze. The communications had been garbled as the violent winds and snow hid the landing zone from view, so he had not expected to see a perfect camp waiting for him, but this...

There was blood splattered everywhere.

The snow had turned red from the blood spilled, and the reason he was seeing it so clearly was that the beasts were devouring his men in the light of the burning vehicles and the promethium spilled on things which should have been kept away from the flames.

Then the General realised another reptilian monstrosity had landed on his transport.

"RUN!" He screamed, and didn't wait to see if he had been obeyed.

Bleda ran, and a squad of his best men ran with him.

The screams of those who hadn't were awful.

They didn't last long, but the sounds of an enormous maw crunching the bones and masticating the flesh wasn't any better.

"I hate this damn planet," the Volscani guardsman snarled between his teeth, unknowingly repeating the same thing more or less every invader involved in the Battle of the Fang had voiced at least once three millennia ago.

It took a minute of desperate running before they encountered the first sign of organised resistance, with several hundred men manning Hydras and Basilisks, trenches filled with lasgun-equipped soldiers and other defensive measures.

"General!" a Captain saluted. "Thank the Gods you are alive, the landing zone is-"

"I've seen the landing zone!" Bleda barked, his efforts to control his anger failing before the enormity of the disaster. Save the resistance of what looked to be three or four hundred men, the brigades of the 6th Great Host which had landed were either dead or fighting not to be devoured upon an enormous plateau of bloodied snow. "We should have-"

The Hydras opened fire, making sure everything he said was lost in the tumult of war.

Two transports were assailed in the sky by the enormous winged reptiles, and whoever was inside would never survive until it touched the ground.

"We tried to contact the Masters before you landed, General!" The lasguns repelled a wave of enormous furry things, and the Captain shouted a dozen orders to the infantry before turning to him again. "I think we landed near one of those monsters' nesting sites! And our Hydras and the Artillery guns are the only weapons which have enough elevation to chase them away!"

"But we sent you all the Hydras of two divisions to counter a situation like this!"

"And two-thirds were lost before they could fire a single shot, General!" The Captain sighed in relief when at last the enormous beasts flew away from the perimeter the anti-air guns had protected. "We also need more ammunition. And more fuel. Thousands of our men are dying because they don't have enough proper winter equipment."

Bleda didn't like the expression the Captain gave to his splendid carapace armour at all. Yes, it was protecting him perfectly from the cold, so what? He was a General, he deserved the very best equipment!

"You were given all the winter equipment you needed!"

"No, General, we weren't..." the Captain consulted something before looking at him again. "The temperature right now is minus eighteen degrees, and I'm sure it is as warm as it is because we're on the slopes of this big volcano. The moment the day is over, we can expect a fall of at least twenty degrees, if not more. With the current equipment and the promethium we have, we won't survive the night."

Bleda was opening his mouth to relieve the defeatist and incompetent officer of his duties when an animal howled in the distance. Except for some reason, the howl was too powerful, and awoke something dark in him. Something he hadn't felt even being pursued by the winged monsters.

Then the howls grew in strength and number all around them.

Volscani Cataphracts who had stayed hidden in the carcasses of their immobilised tanks and ruined transports revealed themselves by fleeing towards the largest fires of the camp.

The howling increased in power. It was not animals howling. No animal could howl like that.

It was too dark, too...bloodthirsty...too predatory.

"Never mind, General. By the sunset, everything will be over."

Bleda was still staring in incomprehension when a Bolter shell met his head.

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

The Throne of Oblivion

271 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Ancient Rylanor

Patience.

If there was one good thing his long imprisonment in the catacombs of Isstvan III had taught Rylanor, it was undoubtedly patience.

Not that he had been impatient before, no, but the quest for perfection had meant the Emperor's Children were more preoccupied with fighting and fighting again on the path which would eventually damn most of them rather than wonder if their chosen pace was truly the best one.

Blood of Terra, they had been so predictable during the Great Crusade.

Granted, a large part of the predictability wasn't that big a problem during military campaigns, for like most of the old Legions, the Third had not left many non-human enemies alive to learn from their mistakes.

But they had still been predictable, doctrinally if not tactically and strategically.

And being predictable killed them.

That was why he had no intention of watching the new Space Marines he oversaw and trained make the same mistakes.

As Necron phalanxes advanced into the open, phasing through walls, their outrageously decorated nobles were the first to fall, twenty Astartes snipers bringing them down with the extremely expensive rifles Lady Weaver had delivered without raising an eyebrow.

The Necron lines didn't slow down. They were programmed to obey the last order they'd been given, and with the temporary incapacitation of their hierarchy, the Abominable Intelligences were simply continuing to relay the original set of commands, seeing no reason to alter the formations.

This was the moment the Bombers strafed the zone, and then the guardsmen surged forwards, shouting their battlecries and sending thousands and thousands of las-bolts into Necrodermis.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

It wasn't perfection.

The Necrons as always adapted extremely quickly, or at least their Abominable Intelligences did. The 'Gauss Reapers', though some of the soldiers preferred to call them 'disintegrators', were murderous machines of war and hundreds of men fell before the last Necron warrior flashed out in green light.

But tactically, it was a victory.

"The Goa 1st has done well," Rylanor rumbled on the regiment frequency, "and so has the Aeronautica Imperialis."

For a few seconds, he listened to the cheers and roars of triumph before using another frequency, this one available only to him out of the entire force which had landed on the Ymga Monolith.

"This is Rylanor. Point Alpha-Three secured. You can deploy House Krast and the Tank Army."

Brigadier-General Tom Cameron

From the bridge of a warship, the Ymga Monolith looked like a xenos hell.

Once you landed upon it, it was the worst of all xenos hells.

"Damn it, where did they find those multi-layered shields?"

"Who cares? I want them gone!"

"Even the Cataphract's main gun can't pierce something like that on its own!"

"For the God-Emperor...abort! Abort!"

Tom grimaced as yet another Lander went down in flames and a couple of men were transformed into green torches. Knowing the efficiency of the Necron 'Gauss' weaponry, there was no doubt all these poor sons of the Imperium were already dead...the only thing they could do now was to avenge them.

"Nyx artillery, this is Brigadier-General Tom Cameron of Attack Force Alpha-Patton. We need you to bombard the following coordinates..."

Once again the shells and rockets from the newly introduced artillery weapons proved their worth, and the Necron ranks were wiped out. For some insane reason Tom Cameron had no time to think about, half of the time the xenos killers stayed where they were once they had forced their opposition to retreat or to die. So far, the Brigadier-General hadn't seen them using cover at all even once!

"We begin the offensive once the sappers have finished their job." Their duty being to make sure the Necrons' enormous guns, be they for anti-orbital or ground-based artillery, didn't rebuild themselves while no one was looking.

"If you forgive me, Brigadier, this isn't exactly the principle of the battle in depth we were dreaming of."

"Of course I forgive you," Tom Cameron said to his Brigade's second-in-command, who due to the recent losses also doubled as his chief of staff, "but we have to remember that until Lady Weaver decapitated the enemy elites at Mandragora, the principles of the battle in depth weren't exactly looking promising either."

"Necron Canoptek! Waves of Necron Canopteks converging on our Brigade!" Their Cataphract's vox-operator exclaimed just as his gunner expedited a Plasma Shell upon a three-legged xenos machine standing wide atop the battlefields with three strange legs.

"That..." Tom Cameron was unable to find the words for several seconds. "They know what happened at Mandragora when they tried that strategy, right?"

"Maybe they think they have no choice but to try? Or maybe they just think whoever controlled the Canopteks died at Mandragora..."

"The former possibility is somewhat understandable. The latter means the xenos' upper command is filled with idiots." Tom Cameron cleared his throat. "I want an estimate on the Canoptek insects' numbers."

"Between twenty and thirty million, according to the Tech-Priests' weird machines!"

"I see. Warn the High Command we have a lot of Canoptek machines the enemy was courteous enough to send us. It would be extremely rude to refuse the gift."

The Necron swarm came. Like at Mandragora, its arrival seemed to extinguish all light, but it was even worse from their perspective this time; Mandragora was close to its sun, the Ymga Monolith was already a dark zone where the Imperial Guard had to provide the light.

There seemed to be nothing but a flow of unending metal machines, some shining in sinister green light.

And as they arrived at the range the Cataphracts and the Khan began to blow enormous holes into the multitude of enemies, Monoliths teleported in a kilometre or so away.

"Focus on the Monoliths! The Infantry will have to care-"

There was a brilliant flash of golden light.

And the tens of millions of Canoptek insects stopped their offensive to turn against the Necrons.

In ten seconds, three Monoliths went from 'overwhelming firepower superiority' to 'being disassembled by the swarm which had been ordered to cover their advance'.

"Wow, that was...close."

"Indeed it was." Tom exhaled. "We will have to find an actual answer against this Necron tactic once this campaign is over. If it wasn't for Her Celestial Highness, we would be quite defenceless against it."

"Yes, Brigadier. Err...is it beginning to rain scarabs?"

"Yes," the Patton officer replied after watching the phenomenon. "I wondered where the metallic insects put into Imperial service had gone after Mandragora. I think I have my answer now."

Brigadier-General Tanya Sevrev

"How many?"

The Basileia was...not exhausted, in fact her tone sounded more resigned.

"Approximately one hundred and twenty-five thousand dead, Lady General. We also lost six Knights and one Warhound Titan of the Astorum, though the machines have been recovered."

"One hundred and twenty-five thousand," the number was uttered like a curse, "let us thank the fact the enemy commander is completely insane."

It was difficult to say for sure with everyone in power armour or some other void-sealed suit, but she thought it was General Rokossovsky who spoke next.

"Lady General, there is no evidence-"

"Yes yes, I know. It could be a Necron Abominable Intelligence compelled to repeat a nonsensical order. But I don't think that's the case. There were too many Necron nobles opposing our first waves. It's only once it became clear they weren't going to crush our landing zones that they deployed their Canoptek clouds."

The golden-armoured Living Saint caressed one of her enormous metal-spiders.

"The Fists of Roma have nearly finished fortifying the key nexuses you wanted, your Celestial Highness."

"And the Navy has total orbital superiority over the Monolith. Obviously, the Necron civil war raging as we speak considerably helped."

"Then it's time."

There was no movement of the Basileia's hands, but immediately all around them, millions of metallic insects soared, and soon they were joined by more and more clouds of them, to the point counting them was an exercise in futility if ever there was one.

"Chapter Master Barbarossa, please find out what happened to the Invaders. I doubt any are still alive, but we owe it to them to not leave them in such a place. Chapter Master Hezonn, your task will be more difficult, I fear. Please try to discover what happened to the Second Legion Legionnaires who managed to land on the Ymga Monolith during the first Imperial-Necron battle. All other Astartes Companies, you guard my flanks and exterminate the Necron counterattacks. And for the record, unless a Necron explicitly asks to surrender, I am perfectly happy with the Necron phalanxes being exterminated to the last."

The swarm was unleashed in the next heartbeat, and in the distance, several enormous starscraper-sized xenos monstrosities were beginning to be devoured by the ocean of metal-insects, be they Necron machines turned against their owners or Nyx-built ones.

"We are going to avenge those who have fallen and put an end to the reign of terror of the Szarekhan Dynasty! For the Emperor!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

258 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

The Fire Breather Warzone

Volscani Guardsman Skire

"Isn't it supposed to be a bit warmer next to a volcano?"

"Oh, shut up!"

"It was just a question..."

"The questions can wait, idiots!" Skire hissed, seizing the opportunity as the rest of the platoon was distracted to take the regimental Executioner's boots for himself. They were far better looking than his, and also much warmer.

"Am I dreaming or are you stealing the Executioner's clothes?"

"Well it's not exactly like he's needing them anymore, no?" Skire shrugged unrepentantly before adding another pair of gloves upon his. If only they were better looking...but it wasn't like he was in position to put up his nose like a stuck-up blueblood.

"Guys, the Jackal is right," Skire grimaced behind the winter scarf he had taken from a Captain. He really hated that nickname. "There are hundreds of our proud comrades in arms dead, and it's been a few minutes since the howling beasts last attacked. If we wait any longer, the clothes will be as cold as the corpses' hearts. We must seize their clothes! It's our only chance to live for a few more hours!"

The young Volscani Cataphract would have laughed, except making any loud noise was a mistake you rarely lived to regret when you didn't know what horrible beast waited ten metres away. That there would be one was a guarantee; the last hours had hammered that lesson into the head of every man who had avoided being devoured.

"Who's in command, by the way?" asked one of the tallest infantrymen of their group. With his height, he certainly hadn't been chosen to drive a tank.

"Who cares?" Skire murmured.

"There's a group of officers climbing the slope, maybe we can ask them..."

Nearly everyone looked at the imbecile who had opened his mouth. That wasn't the stupidest thing they had heard in their lives, but it was up there.

"Soldiers!" One of the officers walking next to an Executioner shouted. "Soldiers! Return to the positions unless you want to experience the full range of punishments servants of the Primordial Truth can offer to cowards and deserters!"

"He can't be serious," someone next to Skire murmured, "he wants us to-"

"VLKA FENRYKA! FOLLOW ME!" Something enormous came down the slopes of the volcano, and the Volscani Cataphracts went immobile in the snow, waiting as enormous figures resembling the Masters charged the officers, except they were mounted on even larger beasts which looked like some kind of super-dogs. Well, super-dogs fed Lho-sticks all their lives, pumped up with mutant stuff, and lot of fangs and claws like the biggest monsters you could sometimes see on black market B-vids.

Skire didn't move, didn't speak, and only raised his head after a few minutes when the cold became properly unbearable and the choice was between moving and freezing to death.

"What by the daemons was that?" One man asked, but not too loudly.

Of the officers and the column they were leading, there was a lot of blood and mangled parts left. The white snow had turned crimson.

And the howling, this eternally cursed howling which would give him nightmares if only there was the slimmest possibility they would be able to sleep without freezing began again, resounded again, and with this damn echo, it was everywhere at once.

Maybe someone experienced would be able to tell where it was coming from, but Skire didn't know.

"The New Masters are the same as the Old Masters," one of the guys who had 'acquired' a Colonel's cloak grumbled.

"No," Skire whispered as the howling sometimes stopped to be replaced by human screams, Volscani screams. "The Old Masters allowed us to stay at home. They never sent us to this damn ice ball."

"Right." Another guardsman chuckled...before realising where he was and returning to a whisper. "Next time you're going to say they liked us and the 'God-Emperor' of the priests is real."

"I'm not claiming anything of the sort!" Skire hissed defensively while trying to dig up a few promethium canisters from the regiment. The snow was falling again, and both corpses and damaged equipment were disappearing underneath white hills. "I'm just saying that while the Old Masters were in power, we were staying at home, not landing and dying on hellish planets like this hell-frozen land of ice."

"The Jackal has a point. The priests told us the usual lies, but at least we could walk in the streets without being impaled by one of those 'daemons' for no reason."

"And we could wake up every morning without having a third arm or three more eyes, or your little sister mutating into one of their damned 'Spawns'."

"They swore we could eat three times a day thanks to the Primordial Truth, but 'they' got into power and we still ate once a day."

"The Commissars were replaced by Executioners."

"And sometimes what we had on our plates wasn't gruel, if you catch my drift."

The survivors of the 34th Division of the Volscani Cataphracts exchanged depressed expressions behind their scarves and the multitude of semi-warm clothes they 'requisitioned' to protect themselves from the cold.

"The New Masters are the bad guys."

No voice rose to say the speaker was wrong.

"Help me grab these promethium canisters." Skire intervened. "We're getting out of here. It's not our war."

Fenris

Izaz Island

239 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Dark Apostle Paristur

Despite what some of their enemies were no doubt thinking right now – and doubtlessly a few of their 'allies' as well – it was not for the sake of vengeance that Fenris had been chosen to open the Tear of Nightmares.

It was because it was the best choice from a very short list.

The sheer power necessary to cast a major ritual on par with the Ruinstorm required extremely powerful symbolism. Thousands of years ago, the Word Bearers had achieved it by setting Guilliman's most prosperous and defended worlds aflame during the Shadow Crusade.

This was a solution the Dark Apostles of the Council had studied lengthily before regretfully discarding it. As tempting as the option of sacrificing the lives of billions of the False Emperor's slaves sounded, there was the little problem of how to achieve it. Massacring an entire Sector of unbelievers was a seductive idea, assuming you could do it before the reinforcements arrived and cornered you. Moreover, you still required a relatively important Sector, you couldn't simply pick one at random and hope for the best. And given how fortified the region around the Cadian Gate was, it would be anything but cheap to assault a hundred worlds defended by billions of guardsmen and thousands of warships.

The Word Bearers had the numbers to breach those defences, but the sheer quantity their enemies had would simply drown them under a tide of bodies before the ritual was completed.

Once every senior Dark Apostle had agreed this option was not reasonable, there had only been a single alternative: choosing a highly symbolic world of the Legions. Since all of the True Legions which had taken refuge in the Eye of Terror had their first homeworlds destroyed – except the Alpha Legion, but no one was sure if they'd ever had a real homeworld in the first place – it left the Loyalist 'First Founding planets'.

And yes, they had studied the nine targets carefully.

The Imperial Fists had been discarded from the very start. No one was really sure if their hearts of stone were devoted more to Terra or Inwit, and a ritual like the Tear wasn't the moment to find out. Besides, neither the Throneworld nor the Ice World could be considered very practical targets to attack.

The sons of the Lion had been the second unpalatable choice. Caliban was a ruin, and they wouldn't die for it. The Rock, the biggest inhabited piece they used as a Starfort, would have been better, but the ability to trap it in a fixed location for long enough to breach its shields required a lot of circumstances the Seventeenth Legion would likely take millennia to arrange.

Macragge was too far away. Even with an astonishing number of celerity rituals, they would need to cross the entire Imperium. The same was true to a more limited degree for Baal, Chogoris, and Nocturne, but there were more drawbacks.

At least for the home of the Ultramarines and the Blood Angels, there was a Primarch's corpse to desecrate, which would be a powerful symbol sufficient to open the Tear. But Chogoris and Nocturne didn't have those, and in the case of the latter, Paristur was honest enough to admit assaulting that volcanic hellhole was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. Their rare spies in the region had confirmed Weaver's friendship with the Salamanders had resulted in a massive bolstering of the defences. Trying to destroy the heart of the Salamanders may result in the sort of 'adventure' which saw tens of thousands of Astartes bodies disappearing in lava cascades.

Deliverance was too far in Segmentum Tempestus, and given the circumstances, there was no way giving more symbolic power to the Primarch of the Raven Guard could be a good idea.

That left Medusa and Fenris. And the home of the Iron Hands was so close to the Eye of Terror that to attack it efficiently without having to fight all the Cadian Gate reinforcements demanded that the Legion funnelled a constant flow of Legionnaires into the Cadian War Zone. Something the sons of Lorgar couldn't do without the full support of the Black Legion. And Abaddon had refused to help them.

Obviously, there was no denying that by the time most of the Dark Council arrived at this conclusion, it had satisfied the overwhelming majority of the Astartes holding a Dark Apostle rank.

Everyone hated the Space Wolves, and once it was agreed upon, it more or less guaranteed the support of Magnus and the Thousand Sons.

On the other hand, they had the schemes of the servants of Tzeentch to always be wary about on a constant basis. A good thing the Fifteenth's sorcerers weren't as clever as they thought.

"They must really think we are stupid, don't they?" Paristur spoke behind near-impenetrable wards. It was clearly a rhetorical question.

"In their defence," Dark Apostle Eliphas commented as the Silver Tower of Tzeentch lost altitude and went to position itself over the island where the 2nd Great Host had massacred three Fenrisian barbarian tribes and thousands of wild animals, "few beings in this galaxy have as much knowledge about rituals as we do."

Paristur gave the younger Astartes an exasperated look.

"Fine, yes, they believe we are imbeciles."

"Happy to hear you admit it."

The Silver Tower was finally in position, and a pure ray from the depths of Tzeentch's domain was summoned into existence.

It didn't take long for a pillar of icy sorcery to link the soil of Fenris to the flying contraption of the Thousand Sons.

"What is the psychic foundation they're tying their space fortress to?"

"Psychically-attuned crystals of Fenris," Paristur revealed. "Under the snow, this island is covered in them, and the point they're targeting has several huge deposits of it. Coupled with the worship many Fenrisian tribes did there, it was sufficient over the millennia to make it a nexus of power."

"Idiots."

"I thought the same thing, but that was before I learned the 'not-merchant starship' which cost us two Battleships used those crystals to feed its psychic cannon."

"How did that even work in the first place?" Eliphas asked with non-feigned curiosity.

"I have no idea. All I'm certain of is that it likely involved many rituals on Fenris itself, and a lot of techno-sorcery the Imperium prohibited long before Nikea." Paristur shrugged. "In fact, I'm rather confident that the moment the slaves of the False Emperor discover everything the dogs of Russ have been up to, the execution sentence won't take long to arrive. The Imperium leaves a lot of autonomy to the 'Astartes Chapters', but there are limits."

"How ironic," Eliphas agreed. "If we weren't about to destroy their homeworld, Fenris would likely end up receiving the Prospero treatment. I'm just curious...how did they avoid it in the threads-that-were-discarded if we didn't attack them?"

"The priests of the False Emperor did...some ambitious slime called Butaris...Bukaris...or was it Binaris?" Even with his eidetic memory, the visions had been a bit confused. "Anyway they damaged a lot of the Orbital Grid and everything while causing severe damage. Mainly by piling up mountains of corpses atop mountains of corpses until the curs were exhausted."

"This strategy reminds me a lot of what Ekodas, Belagosa and the others are doing."

That was not what Paristur wanted to hear.

"I have not contacted the other theatre commanders, but surely in the last twenty hours the situation can't have deteriorated that badly!"

"It did." Eliphas grimaced. "The worst delays are at the Fire Breather Volcano and Asaheim, obviously, since it's where the Wolves are present in force. But even the other fronts aren't faring too well. Our invasion has disrupted the winter hibernation of pretty much the entire ecosystem of Fenris, and the Volscani Cataphracts are useless unless one counts 'feeding the beasts'."

There was a moment where Paristur didn't know if he should be relieved he hadn't been assigned to those fronts or angry most of his fellow Dark Apostles had ignored his advice.

"How bad?"

"According to the numbers I have, a Volscani Cataphract division which lands on Fenris has four hours to live. The cultist packs never survive for longer than two."

Paristur stopped watching the Silver Tower of Tzeentch immediately.

"That would mean we have already lost more than ten million of our mortal slaves!"

"Yes, it does." Eliphas voluntarily turned his head to avoid looking him in the eyes. "Would it help if I told you the World Eaters have wiped out the Frostheim garrison to the last defender?"

"No."

Fenris

The Fire Breather Warzone

235 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Grand Apostle Ekodas

Ekodas had known the battle fought on the slopes of the Fire Breather would not be easy. He had in the last twenty-four hours deployed a force of two million Volscani Cataphracts and three hundred Space Marines, and the most he had to show for it were three Space Wolves' corpses.

It was a metaphor: he hadn't seen the three corpses in question. The dogs had tried to disturb a rift-opening ritual, and the backlash had incinerated eight sorcerers along with their own mangy hides.

It was a pity, because the preliminary ritual with the Silver Tower needed a dog loyal to the False Emperor to work, and so far it didn't exactly look like one had become available.

Paristur and Mothac, he knew, had seized their required sacrifices by arranging ambushes on the ships of the Navigators of House Belisarius, since those sometimes carried their ridiculous 'Honour Guard'.

But his agents had failed in that, and now Ekodas had a big problem.

Another problem to be added to the list was the fact most of the army he had sent out was slaughtered by the Fenrisian beasts, be they quadrupedal or bipedal.

Now there was a bigger problem.

"This looks like a real mess."

"I don't remember inviting you here, Erebus. Get out of my camp. Now."

The Vile One smiled. Ekodas wished he could decapitate him here and now, but without a physical provocation...

"I assure you, Grand Apostle, I don't take any pleasure finding myself here in...what did you call it? A camp?" The other Dark Apostle, the self-proclaimed Hand of Destiny, gave him one of those expressions implying 'you are so beneath me'. "But I have orders from our father. You see, of the eight Silver Towers which were currently supposed to be hovering over the nexus of power, yours is the only one to stay in high orbit."

"That is about to change." Ekodas swore. "And I will remind you I am facing greater opposition than any Dark Apostle save Belagosa at Asaheim. All of you have landed your troops and fought the wildlife. I, however, am fighting over three hundred Astartes!"

"In case it escaped your notice, my dear Grand Apostle," the bastard replied, "we are on Fenris. Astartes attacks are...well, kind of expected."

"Spoken like a warrior who has never faced the Wolves on their home turf."

"Yes, yes, next you will tell me the dogs are suddenly twenty meters-tall and each of their 'totally-not-psykers' are the equals of Lord Magnus in sorcery. Please." Erebus smiled again. "Anyway, what I think doesn't matter. If we are delayed by a few more days, not only are the dogs' reinforcements going to arrive and holding Fenris will present a non-trivial challenge, Magnus himself is going to ask himself pointed questions about why we aren't bothered by the fact that one of the Silver Towers isn't ready for the ritual which must open the Tear of Nightmares. That's why our father sends me to deliver a new order."

"And the order is?"

"No more delays. Unleash your Great Host to the last slave, Daemon Engine, Legionnaire, and Titan. The Volcano must be ours in the next standard day. You still have over thirty million cultists, eight million Volscani Cataphracts, twenty thousand Legionnaires, the thirty-six Knights of House Hyboras, and twenty-eight Titans of Legio Laniaskara. Break them to the last soul and the last machine, if you have to. Summon the Legions of the Gods, it shouldn't be too difficult even for an Apostle of your limited talents. But the volcano must fall within twenty-four hours. Our father is very, very insistent upon that point...otherwise, why, he may have to select a new Dark Apostle for the 6th Great Host."

Ekodas waited for the Vile One to depart before exploding in fury. Several artefacts were smashed and inferior lifeforms crushed while slaves cowered in terror.

During these minutes, the Grand Apostle was absolutely and totally certain he loathed Erebus far more than he had ever hated the dogs and the other Legions serving the False Emperor.

"Deploy all Volscani Divisions into the war zone," the son of Lorgar ordered when the officers overseeing those formations had answered his summon. "Do not stop until everything which does not believe in the Primordial Truth is dead at your feet. Slay every beast which bars your way. You have two hours to prepare before the grand offensive."

"But my Lord, that is too...ARRGH!"

In a negligent gesture, the Volscani had lost his head...and most of his body.

"Does anyone else want to discuss my orders?" There were none, good. "General Ruge, you are promoted to the rank of Marshal, since the previous one seemed unable to understand the urgency of this new offensive."

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master!"

"My Legionnaires and Legio Laniaskara are preparing to march," the priest of the Seventeenth Legion – temporarily – kept his calm by imagining one hundred of the most painful ways he could kill Erebus. "Win before they march for the volcano, or suffer the consequences of your incompetence."

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

The Throne of Oblivion

233 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Lady General Taylor Hebert

"My Lady? I think we have found something you definitely need to see."

"I am going to send a couple of thousand of insects your way."

"You need to see it with your own eyes," Sigenandus insisted.

Taylor sighed as one million of the Canoptek Scarabs she had 'requisitioned' from the Szarekhan Dynasty wiped out a few thousand Necron warriors, opening the way for a general encirclement and destruction by the Ventrillian, Indigan, and Nyxian regiments.

"I will have to remind him again that as long as my swarm is large enough my own eyes are actually inferior to the multitude of eyes I am working with, right?"

"I fear so, my Lady." Gamaliel smiled. "The Black Templars are very...traditional...for certain matters."

"Only for certain matters?" The insect-mistress wondered ironically.

If the Primarch Dorn had not revealed his survival at Commorragh, Taylor was sure that even the most minor reforms she had used her authority to pass would still be vehemently argued over in the preliminary debates. The Black Templars loved their traditions.

Not that it was a bad thing for a military force, most of the time.

An army had to have traditions, it was something she had realised long before being granted the rank of Lady General.

Unfortunately, the Black Templars had a gift to take what was a reasonable point – Space Marine vows, for example – and change it until it was ten thousand times more than what the most open-minded interpretation stated it was. The Black Templars' famous vow of 'waging an Eternal Crusade against the enemies of the Emperor and the Imperium' was a good example of swearing too much and then trying to uphold it at all costs.

"Still, Forgefather N'Varr is with him," Standard-Bearer Riel spoke. "And he thinks you need to see it...though he didn't voice the 'with your own eyes' part."

"Of course not, Salamanders are reasonable people." The Victor of Commorragh sniffed.

"Except when they have an opportunity to unleash their pyromaniac tendencies," Simiel commented.

"Every Chapter has some flaws," some bigger and more remarked on than others, Taylor didn't add, "all right, let's go. The Necrons haven't tried to gift me a new swarm in the last ten minutes, and so far our vanguard hasn't seen a new tide-offensive in preparation."

This was something which had fully convinced her they were dealing with an insane Necron, once she teleported on the Monolith.

The Sautekh Dynasty, for all its problems and murderous behaviour, had truly done its best to avoid giving her metallic reinforcements once they realised someone or something was turning their Canoptek armies against them.

The Imperium's inability to interrogate the Necron survivors after the Battle of Mandragora resulted in the issue the Lady General and her main high commanders still didn't know how much the enemy had correctly guessed and which of their hypotheses were wrong, but it was obvious the Stormlord and Overlord Zahndrekh had decided the best move was caution: no Canoptek must be allowed to be anywhere near the Army Groups of Operation Stalingrad.

The new assault against the Monolith hadn't been anything like that. Without any logic or reason, the Szarekhan onslaught had combined Necron warriors, enormous machines like the Monoliths, and Canoptek insects.

And despite the fact her power had taken control of the first wave as easily as it had those of Mandragora, the defenders of the Ymga Monolith had continued throwing the metallic scarabs and larger biotransference-converted insects against her.

Okay, some had been lucky and struck where she couldn't get to in time in order to relieve the Guard or whichever forces were guarding her flanks, but in the end, the Szarekhan Dynasty was still losing millions of Canopteks at the end of every one-sided defeat.

Right now, the number of Canoptek Scarabs and other 'units' under her orders was approaching a billion, and this was despite the numerous losses taken by throwing her swarm into dangerous headlong assaults against well-prepared Necron kill-zones with Deathmarks hiding behind green-shimmering energy shields.

The battle of the Monolith was in the process of becoming a total disaster for the Necrons, despite every advantage the Szarekhan Dynasty had.

It would almost be sad, if it didn't spare her men and women.

"It isn't more dead Space Marines, is it?" The Lady General asked as one more Necron army perished under an aerial attack of scarabs.

"It isn't," the Salamander assured her. "My brothers haven't recovered more than the five fallen as of two hours ago."

The winged parahuman made a silent grimace, one obviously no one would see since they were all in sealed armours.

Finding any soldier a General had been forced to abandon on this Necron battlestation was bad enough, but for some reason the dead bodies of fallen Astartes were really, really bad from a morale perspective.

At least they had already located and recovered over three hundred bodies of the Invaders, and all of them looked like they had died valiantly in combat. It would not bring back those veteran battle-brothers to their Chapter, but they would be able to mourn them.

The five corpses of the Tsunami Sabre Space Marines were giving her worse vibes than the more badly eviscerated Invader Astartes. It wasn't because the armours were of a pattern which reminded Dragon and her of the samurai of ancient Earth, with enormous power armour and monster-shaped helmets.

No, the reason why it was so depressing was those Space Marines found, so far, had all turned their personal weapons against themselves, be it power blade or Bolter, and ended their own lives.

A part of Taylor's mind insisted that the reason these Space Marines were the only ones she had found was the very fact that they had taken their own lives; the Necrons had long since had the time to 'clean up' those who were killed by the Gauss weapons, assuming the molecular disintegrators hadn't erased all evidence during the initial moments of slaughter.

But somehow her intuition gave her a horrible feeling of dread. The same feeling the young woman had when she'd been forced to read the Custodes-delivered 'theories'.

"Here we are, my Lady," Gamaliel announced, giving her an excellent distraction from her dark thoughts. Between the extermination of tens of thousands of Necrons and the mausoleum-themed architecture of the Szarekhan Dynasty, she needed it.

"What...you found a treasure room."

Her Dawnbreaker Guard had led through ruined gates she had not deal with herself – though given the melta charges near it, that destruction could be either attributed to Kratos or one of her Techmarines.

And for once, the macabre decoration stopped, as the room Taylor had arrived inside was lavishly decorated with precious stones and silver and gold-looking carvings, which made her surroundings far more luminous than they were in the rest of the Monolith.

As expensive as the ornamentation was, it was not what was so important the Necrons had felt necessary to build enormous doors in order to keep the undesirables away.

Arranged inside a sort of xenos amphitheatre, orbs, sceptres, weapons, symbols of xenos royalty and many, many more items were displayed in the manner one presented trophies.

And maybe they were. The Necron objects were all looking incredibly expensive, being made from the sort of alloys the Imperium didn't know how to make, but the runes shining on those items were often shimmering in different colours, and though Taylor didn't speak a single word of the Necron language, it wasn't difficult to figure out these were objects taken from different Necron Dynasties.

And the Imperium had discovered similar objects before starting Operation Stalingrad.

"You have discovered where the Szarekhan were keeping their Protocol Artefacts for their subordinate Dynasties."

"Yes, my Lady," N'Varr confirmed. "Obviously I don't think we can discover on our own if some of the artefacts here are substitutes for the monitoring and control of the Nerushlatset Dynasty, but I thought it would be particularly important to deny them to the Szarekhan Necrons...and it certainly won't hurt your position once negotiations with Phaerakh Neferten begin."

"No, it won't," Taylor confirmed in a murmur. In fact, the Forgefather of the Dawnbreaker Guard massively understated how critical this discovery was. The strategic reality of the Szarekhan Dynasty being unable to brainwash or simply browbeat their fellow Dynasties into submission...that alone changed everything.

Obviously, it was likely the Szarekhan nobles had other caches with such objects. Maybe some of the most important artefacts had been taken into exile by the Silent King.

But these 'Protocol Artefacts' were here, and one thing Neferten and her Crypteks had been sure of was that they couldn't be duplicated without expending enormous amounts of resources...resources the removal of the Throne of Oblivion from the board would do a very good job in ensuring they would no longer have.

"Excellent work. Puriel, please contact Dragon. I need a team of her best specialists to grab these Protocol Artefacts and store them aboard her flagship."

This was very good news on the Necron front. It was one more step on the road to ensuring the future resurrection of the Szarekhan Dynasty being thrown into a very, very deep grave, no pun intended.

"Remind her to employ her best anti-Trazyn protocols...just in case."

"We haven't seen the thief since Mandragora!"

"Kratos, you really should know better. That's anything but a guarantee Trazyn isn't here..."

Brunhilda-class White Lance II

Commander Freya Brasidas

The Necron Doom Scythe was pathetically predictable and she didn't even need to request help from one of her wingmen before totally outmanoeuvring it and sending it wherever Necron pilots went after death.

"Seventy-eighth victory of the campaign for me," the leader of White Squadron announced as her Brunhilda starfighter accelerated in the middle of the Necron super-structures. "Is it me, or have our xenos enemies lost all their skill?"

"They're getting worse, White Leader," White Two agreed. "This shouldn't happen, because the Rear-Admiral delivered a long briefing how the xenos always regenerated and everything, and we faced the same aces at Mandragora too often for him to be wrong..."

"Yes." Freya hesitated before voicing the most probable scenario. "The Navy must have damaged more than the starfighter hangars with the last bombardment."

"You think that big pyramid floating over a maelstrom of green lightning was their...'do not die, you are being sent back to the frontlines'? Oh, cool! We have destroyed the heart of the Necron Scythe reinforcements!"

"The decisive bombardment came from the Flamewrought," in this unending series of xenos super-structures, the only thing which could really inflict crippling damage to the Necrons were the Battleships waiting above them. Though maybe 'Battleship' was a weak word to describe the gigantic hull that was the flagship of the Salamanders...

"We are merely the pathfinders and the Scythe-killers," Freya continued. "Don't get inflated heads. Anyway, if the enemy is really running short on competent pilots, perhaps we can launch another attack on the Alpha-class Energy Node we were forced to retreat from earlier."

"The Doom Scythes were just one of the reasons we had to abort, White Leader," White Two remarked. "They had those xenos shields the Brunhilda weapons are unable to break through..."

"We have destroyed plenty of energy nodes in the last hour, and the Guard continues its advance, depriving them of their generators," the Nyxian noblewoman rebutted, annoyed, "and honestly, we won't ever know if we don't go back to give it a glance...and I don't remember my squadron being a damned populist organisation! Form on me and accelerate!"

They arrived quickly, slaloming between the crippled towers and pyramids the Battlefleets in orbit had wiped out as soon as the small 'Hive-shields' – so called for their superficial shared traits with the shields of Imperium Hives – collapsed under the judgement of His Most Holy Majesty's Navy.

They arrived quickly, but not quick enough to see more than the survivors of Black Squadron skyrocket away with an enormous inferno of green energy coalescing behind them.

"NO! That target was MINE!"

"I told you it was a bad idea, White Four..."

Sergeant Gavreel Forcas

Gavreel didn't count himself among the ranks of the rare Astartes who loved studying military doctrine until they had properly analysed the strategies and philosophies of both sides down to the lowly privates, but even he could tell Mandragora had been an important crucible for both the Imperial Guard and the Szarekhan Necrons alike.

A lot of men had perished on the Mandragoran plains. That couldn't be denied. A lot of Space Marines had died there too, facing Monoliths and enormous fortifications the likes of which they'd never been trained to take.

But the Imperial Guard had learned their lesson well. And the painful mistakes made at Mandragora had not been repeated again. In the days of rest between once more going after the Monolith, Generals Rokossovsky, Schwarz, Groener and Dundee – among many others – had worked hard to ensure the Necron tactics were completely picked apart and basic counters aiming to minimise the casualties when their men and women faced them could be implemented.

In the meanwhile, the Necrons had done nothing...and then faced the Sautekh Necrons they had refused to help.

It was impossible to say what the Monolith supreme commander had been thinking, but if he had a fraction of wisdom inside his Necrodermis, he would recognise it had been a dreadful mistake. And no, the excuse 'with the benefit of hindsight' sounded very hollow here.

The Szarekhan Necrons were really suffering from a sclerotic hierarchy, and in fact the more the ex-Dark Angel Legionnaire observed them, the more he understood why the Necrons were bent on exterminating all life.

The Szarekhan Necron war machine had incredibly advanced technology. It had tech-specialists in the form of Crypteks which could ridicule the Adepts of Mars. But the more you fought them, the more you realised their military programs were always the same.

The Sautekh Generals hadn't been predictable, and their Lady had required quite unconventional strategies to inflict defeat after defeat upon the best of them. And while he hated complimenting some dangerous xenos commanders, Gavreel had the bad feeling that if the ambush which had paralysed their upper command hadn't happened, the Lords of Mandragora would have found a way to repel the Imperial assault. They certainly had reacted fast enough when their Canoptek Scarabs turned against them.

The Szarekhan phalanxes and their other forces...it was like they were trying to keep to the old programs embedded in their metallic carcasses even as their list of available armies dwindled with every hour.

"Orders, my Lady?" The member of the Dawnbreaker asked as a Hive-sized wall collapsed upon another Necron army.

For the record, the skill the insect-mistress had acquired in anticipating the Necron moves and using the swarm she 'borrowed' from the xenos to destroy the environment was sometimes a bit, well, Gavreel did not use the word lightly, but 'frightening' seemed appropriate.

"The Aeronautica Imperialis have found an enormous Necron elevator three kilometres south of our position. And unlike the others, it is still ferrying large concentrations of Necron reinforcements upwards."

"Interesting," Diamantis interjected. "They finally stopped throwing lone regiment-sized formations against our lasgun volleys?"

"Not really," the Basileia shook her head. "Look at the vids."

Gavreel frowned as he did so.

"That's a lot of Destroyer Necrons...all the variants are there too."

"Surely even the Necron commander we're facing isn't that stupid," T'klis Rubix outright chuckled. "Seriously, the only thing it will do against your swarm is present bigger targets, my Lady, and-"

The Magma Spider Space Marine abruptly stopped expressing his hilarity.

"No, they can't still be thinking about a 'decisive battle'...it's been hours and hours of debacle after debacle, and the only reason we can't advance faster is because there have been so many treasure-artefact vaults to find and secure..."

"I hate to disagree, but it's possible the Szarekhan Necron is exactly that stupid." Kalyan Gotham, Raven Guard, pointed out. "I can go ahead to scout, my Lady."

"Please do so. We're finishing off the remnants of this army..." judging by how the current 'fight' was going for the Necrons, it wouldn't take long, "and then we will deal with these Destroyer reinforcements. Permanently."

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

The Fire Breather Warzone

215 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Dark Acolyte Ashkanez

The enormous axe came back and bit deep into a Legionnaire's head.

Ashkanez had a fraction of a second to enjoy the fact he wasn't going to die today before raising his Accursed Crozius and finding the strength to parry the blow which came to claim his life.

The Dark Acolyte didn't know where the next influx of strength came from. Maybe it was the Gods. Maybe it was some hidden blessing in the line of Lorgar.

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had found a surplus of strength...and it allowed him to survive for a few more seconds.

"FENRIS AND RUSS!"

The thing which howled before charging the Word Bearers Legionnaires and the Bloodletters wasn't a Space Marine.

It was a beast of destruction which had somehow gained Astartes strength.

Weapons of the Gods clashed against the axe radiating ice sorcery.

"FENRIS!"

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD-"

The Bloodletters fell broken.

"FOR LORGAR, PRAISED BE HIS-"

Ashkanez had always thought the idea of Astartes warriors sending other Legionnaires flying without a lot of divine support was nonsense if you didn't have any technological aid.

After seeing two young hot-blooded sons of Lorgar be thrown aside like they were mortals, it suddenly seemed his opinion wasn't exactly as accurate as it should have been.

"FENRIS!" The Space Wolf was just a raving mad beast, but the folly of his soul gave him the strength of a Champion.

"LORGAR!"

"FENRIS! FENRIS!" The blows continued, and the Dark Acolyte had to parry over and over, as the pain in his arm grew to unbearable proportions. No, he wasn't going to-

An explosion shook the world, and one of the Knights of House Hyboras which had been thought lost in the avalanche resurfaced.

"DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"

Ashkanez doubted the war machine blessed by Tzeentch had done this to save him...but the ordnance had undoubtedly hurt the son of Russ more than it did him.

The fight began to turn in his favour, blow after blow, hateful fist impact after fist impact.

There was only hatred. There was only killing the enemy before it ended your life.

As he gained the advantage, the loyal follower of Kor Phaeron recovered a power sword from one of the Faithful's corpses, and with two weapons against one, the duel slowly began going his way.

Many of his old instructors had told him long duels were the favour of the Gods shining on an Apostle or a would-be aspirant.

Honestly, Ashkanez just wanted it to end.

And it did. The sword impaled his enemy where the hirsute hair was clearly visible, all the while his Crozius slammed upon the enraged Space Wolf's head.

The Word Bearer Legionnaire didn't scream in joy. Not when all around him, the snow was almost covered by the corpses of mortals...corpses which had just been joined by those of dozens of Word Bearer Legionnaires. Thank the Gods the Neverborn disappeared when they were vanquished, otherwise it would have even been worse in terms of casualties to count.

There was no sense of triumph. Not even the shrieking of the last Knights having survived the ferocious ambush of the sons of Russ and the clamour of the next waves climbing up the slopes of the Fire Breather provided him relief.

It had been a bloodbath, and all of the Legionnaires he had brought with him were dead.

It didn't feel like a victory.

Still, that was no excuse not to report to his 'master'. Ashkanez activated the device, which miraculously remained intact.

"Lord?"

"Darth Acolyte Ashkanez."

The young Word Bearer shivered, for this wasn't the voice of Grand Apostle Ekodas, but that of Blessed Lorgar Himself.

"The orders of the Grand Apostle have been obeyed...I have taken one of the beastly sons of Russ prisoner. And the survivors of their Companies have fled after unleashing their avalanches on us." Despite his phenomenal resistance to pain, he couldn't stop coughing blood. "The Fire Breather ritual site is yours, Sire."

"Excellent, Dark Apostle Ashkanez." The laughter of the Gods was heard among the sound of tortured souls. "You have done well. Defend the site with the forces available until it is time for the ritual of the Silver Tower to begin."

"I hear and obey, Sire."

Jarl Lars Silentdeath

"Jarl, we have to save him!"

There was only one answer the Wolf Lord of the Eighth Company of the Vlka Fenryka could give.

"No."

"My Jarl..."

The Fenrisian Space Marine leading the Silent Wolves shook his head once and didn't repeat his previous words. Instead he asked the question no son of Russ wanted to utter, even as a joke.

"Blackfist has been claimed by the Wolf. Do you have a way to save him?"

"Jarl..."

There was no way to save a Vlka Fenryka, a son of Fenris, from the Wolf.

Some of his elders called it the Beast, the Wild Beast, the Chained Monster, and many other nicknames.

All of them led to the same thing: the Wolf.

Lars was a Wolf Lord, so he knew more about the properties of the gene-seed they had inherited from their Primarch than most. He knew about the Canis Helix which stabilised the transformation from warrior Fenrisian to sky-warrior of the Adeptus Astartes.

It gave them incredible strength, enhanced, senses, elongated canines, and more.

But there was a price. If the brother of the Vlka Fenryka failed to control his wild side, and it could happen any time from the moment one was inducted into a Blood Claw pack until one died a centuries-old Long Fang, he would turn into a beast.

As had happened to Blackfist, a Grey Hunter, today.

"I know we can't save him from the Wolf, Jarl." The Grey Hunter of Blackfist's pack admitted. "But at least we could...end his suffering. Surely it would be far less painful and disastrous than what the Traitors are going to do to him!"

"You make a good point," the Lord of the Silent Wolves acknowledged and the other Wolf smiled...until Lars added a few more words. "And what's your plan to deal with the ten thousand Word Bearers reinforcements which are deploying as we speak?"

"Jarl?"

Sometimes he truly worried about the Vlka Fenryka. Usually by the time one reached the rank of Grey Hunter, one had better situational awareness than that.

"I didn't order the retreat because I think the Fire Breather is unimportant," the Wolf Lord explained patiently, looking at the enormous volcano on the other side of the straits his Company had just crossed. "The enormous and continuous assaults of the Traitors on our position, the sheer number of heretic worshippers they unleashed against us...all of it confirms this mountain will play a major role in their operations. And if I still had any doubt, the fact they're lowering one of the damned Thousand Sons' 'Silver Towers' would convince me."

In fact, it had been a huge mistake of the Archenemy to confirm its interest so blatantly. He wouldn't have deployed his Eighth Company with the Third's raiders if they had abandoned the field for one or two days.

"But we can't deal with the reinforcements that are landing as we speak. Despite the losses we have inflicted upon them, they still have millions of their Traitor Guard, a dozen Knights, hundreds of Maleficarum Engines, and over ten thousand Chaos Marines."

"Most of them are not good as us."

"It doesn't matter. Not when they outnumber us by so much."

Lars Silentdeath had no idea how the Word Bearers had been able to replenish their numbers in the Eye of the Terror, but replenished they had been.

The Seventeenth Traitor Legion had lost one thousand young fools trying to take the Fire Breather from his Company. It may be more, but a good Wolf Lord counted only the corpses he could see.

Add the fierce slaughters the Third had performed on the fields of Asaheim, and they had already killed between three and five thousand Chaos Astartes since this invasion began.

It was certainly more: blowing up three Battleships and their escorts, the costly minefields, and the ferocious space battle raging around Midgardia must have also cost the oath-breakers a lot of Space Marines.

But as the new columns of traitor-priests climbing the slopes of the volcano proved, there were always more coming.

And he had suffered losses trying to stop them. Already sixty-three members of his Company were dead. Four Blood Claws of the Third had shared their fate.

And if he had been too slow in withdrawing, the Eighth might have been entirely lost.

"No, brothers. The enemy wants us to strike now. They want us to save Blackfist, that way they can destroy us on a position they control and have paid the price to learn about all the traps."

The losses of the Chaos Marines had been heavy, but they didn't hold a candle to the uncountable Divisions the Traitors' mortal auxiliaries and cultists had deployed...and lost.

The Iron Priests had arrived at a preliminary number of ten million...and it was certainly far, far more.

"I have another prey in mind. Old Olaf called, and he says that the blizzards calmed a bit over Runeheim, enough to see there's a Silver Tower over Rune Stand. And the Traitors have been really, really imprudent in their defensive preparations."

Lars Silentdeath smiled, and his long canines would have instantly frightened most herbivorous species of the galaxy into flight, along with a respectable percentage of the omnivorous ones.

"Let's go ruin the day of the Traitors while they're busy celebrating their 'victory'!"

High Orbit over Fenris

Abyss-class Super-Battleship Word Bearer

209 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Dark Apostle Vorrjuk Kraal

Vorrjuk stayed silent after Blessed Lorgar left. On the one hand, he had been congratulated by his father. On the other, no one else had been rewarded, and every Apostle worth his rank knew it was always necessary to have a powerful ally to share the laurels with. It stopped coalitions of other Dark Apostles from gathering to kill you.

And the senior member of the Dark Council had seen enough wrecked ships and demolished hulks the moment he arrived in the Fenris System to know the initial war plan had not been successful.

He hadn't failed to notice the explosions recorded around Midgardia, the numerous Night Lords' ships trying to desert and get wiped out for their cowardice, and a lot of disturbing things which hadn't been seen since the Siege of Terra.

Vorrjuk understood he was in a perilous position. And that was why he let Kor Phaeron speak, instead of trying to laugh at the most obvious failures like Erebus no doubt would have done.

"The Fenris System," the Master of the Faith announced as the daemonic machine activated to reveal the strategic picture of the entire conflict. "While we currently have the upper hand, many...assumptions...have revealed themselves to be false. The most obvious being the fact the dogs wouldn't be reinforced. I have raised several storms in the Sea of Souls, but the power of the Pantheon is fighting the light of the False Emperor as we speak. Battlefleets and other forms of support are on their way for our enemies."

"Once the Tear is created, the sheer number of unbelievers will be turned against them," Erebus declared. "Forced to confront the power of the Gods, millions will break the Aquila's wings and turn to our side."

"Perhaps," Paristur's answer was far from ecstatic, "but for now we don't have the Tear as a weapon, or as a communication-breaking asset, or...we don't have the Tear. And that means the moment the reinforcements sent by the lackeys of the False Emperor arrive, they will attack us. And as I'm sure Vorrjuk will confirm, the rearguard we have left in the outer system is completely inadequate to stop a major assault."

"I would have left a Battleship with several Cruisers and at least all our minelayers behind," the newly arrived Dark Apostle commented.

"We can't leave those kinds of assets in the outer system!" Ekodas replied forcefully. "Not when there are so many Mandeville points our enemies can arrive from and engage us."

"Why not?" Mothac asked. "I'm not saying to detach half of our Battleships, but surely-"

"It won't do." Kor Phaeron interrupted again. "The attack must continue as our father planned it. Symbols are more important than other minor details."

Vorrjuk Kraal wondered how long ago proper tactics had become minor details, before abandoning this line of thoughts when the fanatical eyes of the Black Cardinal stared at him.

"Of course." Jarulek acquiesced obsequiously. "And overall, the situation isn't that bad. Krieg Acerbus and his band of carrion butchers have failed to destroy the last Starfort in orbit of Midgardia, but they have crippled the Wolves' fleet. He lost many capital ships too, but it isn't like losing Night Lords by the thousands is something we didn't count on."

"But it means the main underground fortresses of Midgardia are still holding strong," Mothac protested. "I know we decided to not unleash the Death Guard against this world, but we wanted the Night Lords to cause far more damage than they did!"

"The number of deaths is still spiralling out of control, and our agents have released several impressive plagues which will increase that number." Kor Phaeron informed them, but in particular him, since he was likely the only one who hadn't been privy to that part of the plan. "And may I remind you that for the relative failure at Midgardia, we have achieved many victories at Frostheim, Svellguard, and the space stations protecting or feeding these outposts. The World Eaters have sacrificed the entire barbarian population to the Blood God-"

"Something which is going to increase the imbalance between the Gods, especially given how the Wolves managed to fight their way through a Silver Tower over one of the nexuses of power and crash it onto a mustering ground of the Volscani Cataphracts."

"Those were only slaves," Erebus dismissed the problem like it was nothing, "and the Silver Tower is operational again. Really, the problem was resolved in our favour: the crazy dogs have killed plenty of Magnus' pet sorcerers, and we have 'proved' enough to the Fifteenth that they still think we are blind to their ongoing betrayal. Otherwise we wouldn't have assigned the utmost priority to repairing the Silver Tower, no?"

"True," Kor Daradan admitted, "but their pride isn't infinite. And to successfully complete his ritual, Magnus needs ninety-nine hours of activation and nine nexuses of power. Right now, we only have conquered eight. The Fang's defences are still intact."

"I would like to see you try!" Belagosa snarled, and Vorrjuk didn't have to ask who had been given the unpleasant task of attacking the wolves in their lair while the rest of the Legion conquered the planet. "Asaheim is nothing but avalanche traps, buried fusion warheads, and monstrous beasts bigger than Thunderhawks!"

"That's what someone who has failed would say, of course," Erebus pointed out, and Vorrjuk didn't know if he should feel relief the other senior Dark Apostles had found a more tempting prey than him.

"Why don't you try yourself?" The smirks and the expressions of amusement ceased quickly. "On the cursed snows of Asaheim, a Volscani division dies in two hours, an Army dies in five. Right now, my efforts aren't focused on winning; they are focused on securing and expanding my landing zones!"

"And the splinter Maniple of Legio Vulpa you had?" Vorrjuk felt obligated to ask the question. "Surely even Wolves can't match the firepower of Titans blessed by the Pantheon?"

"Most of them didn't even have time to touch the snow. Six out of eight were blasted out of the sky by macro-batteries hidden in their enormous chain of mountains. The others were taken out when sabotage strike teams overran the Volscani...again."

The machine serving the will of the Gods revealed the sum of the assets, slaves, and Legionnaires who had fallen upon the 'Asaheim theatre in three-dimensional figures'. It was a...considerable list, even for a Great Host of the Word Bearers Legion.

"Make no mistake, the Wolves are going to make us bleed and die for every step we take in direction of the Fang," Belagosa continued. "And when we will reach the mountain-fortress itself, it is going to get worse."

Erebus smiled. The atmosphere immediately grew eight times tenser than it was.

"Then we unleash the Greater Servant of the Architect of Change. Let's see how the frost-loving dogs appreciate facing fires their ice storms can't extinguish."

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

The Throne of Oblivion

205 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Cryptek Ah-hotep

As the War in Heaven raged and more and more Necrons of all ranks were lost to the Destroyer Curse, many Szarekhan nobles had developed a massive disinterest in the fact their troops were becoming beings whose only thoughts were to kill.

"KILL THEM. KILL THEM. KILL THEM ALL. KILL THEM. KILL EVERYTHING LIVING."

Ironically enough, it had been the Sautekh Overlords who had first pointed out to the Silent King's band of sycophants that Destroyers, be they Ophydian, Skorpekh, or Lokhust, were just things which killed and killed whatever was in front of them.

They weren't able to escape the traps the Harlequins threw in front of them during the War in Heaven. Insult them enough by providing fragments of the lives they had lost, and the Destroyers could even turn against Necron commanders, provided the nobles weren't quick enough to use their shutdown protocols...assuming they had them. This was one of the reasons Destroyer Lords were such a problem when the final stages of the War in Heaven generated countless horrors and plunged thousands of Necron nobles into pure nihilism.

"KILL THEM. KILL THEM."

Yet it was rare for a large group of Necrons to succumb to the Destroyer Curse.

"KILL THEM."

Unless, naturally, the supreme commander of all Necron forces giving the orders was seized by the same madness.

"KILL THEM. KILL THE VERMIN! KILL THEM ALL!"

This wasn't Sobekhotep speaking at the moment. This wasn't even Sihathor the Impaler.

But the effects were all too obvious from a Cryptek's perspective.

The crypts which had survived the enemy bombardment should have been opened and more phalanxes brought out to prepare the counteroffensives to come. Instead the rare few Crypteks who had not fled or been killed were converting the existing Szarekhan troops into Destroyers.

The majority were transformed into hover-powered Lokhust Destroyers, and imprinted with nothing but genocidal hatred for anything living...and maybe more.

Necrons weren't supposed to feel fear, but Ah-hotep was feeling a twinge of a shadow of...something. Maybe the C'Tan had not taken everything from them. Maybe...just maybe, they had something of their ancient past remaining.

"KILL THEM! KILL THE VERMIN! FOR THE GLORY OF THE ETERNAL SILENT KING! KILL THEM!"

If the situation had not been so dreadful, Ah-hotep would have gone to express her amusement to other nobles of high influence, just to ridicule the Dust-Maker.

Judging by the oral and physical evidence, the Szarekhans, even in the final stages of the Destroyer Curse, still professed their loyalty to someone they had likely never met. Szarekh was someone who had made them his slaves. Szarekh was someone who had never cared about them for a single Necrontyr heartbeat.

Szarekh was a tyrant. Not because he had been born to become one – Ah-hotep had some incomplete memories about the Szarekhan Dynasty being 'only' third or fourth in influence and power – but because he rose to become one during the Secession Wars with the other two Triarchs.

"KILL THEM! MURDER THEM! DO NOT LEAVE A SINGLE BEING OF FLESH ALIVE ON THE THRONE OF OBLIVION! KILL THEM ALL!"

The Destroyers should have been destroyed to the last long ago.

The former member of the Muphekta Dynasty didn't need to be a military genius to know that.

For all the seemingly 'unstoppable' power of the Destroyers like the Skorpekh variant, they had no discipline, and they failed to maintain even a loose formation...let alone anything resembling proper military tactics.

They were as bad as the Krorks lost to the path of the berserker. Except they didn't have the regeneration of a Krork veteran, nor the ability to ignore the laws of physics like their war-loving green enemies did.

The Destroyers couldn't win this war. As long the enemy was technologically capable of breaking their Necrodermis bodies-

"KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!"

A golden flash appeared. And it began to rain millions of Canoptek units.

"KILL THEM! DEATH TO THE-"

One of the golden-armoured humans raised a tiny gun and fired.

The Nemesor noble commanding the Destroyers was disintegrated...it was only because her engram-sensors happened to be pointed in the right direction that the Cryptek was able to perceive the afterimage of the thoroughly destroyed Szarekhan aristocrat.

One of the Crypteks who she had convinced to escape with her let his sceptre fall to the ground, despite having many opportunities and the reflexes to catch it.

"What by the putrid breath of the Nightbringer was that?"

"I don't know," Ah-hotep admitted. "But I know what we have to do now."

Champion Kratos

The Eraser truly was a terrifying weapon.

Kratos had seen many things kill many dangerous xenos, but the Adrathic Gun their Lady was wielding was something very disquieting, even for a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes.

The very surprising fact after that was how many of the Necrons rushed to kill her in the seconds after.

Kratos had never pretended to be a great strategist or tactician, but when someone fired a weapon that could kill you whatever you did, a headlong charge did not exactly sound like a great idea.

Especially because even if their Lady missed her shot, there was something like three hundred million metallic insects falling upon the Necron army, plus the entire Dawnbreaker Guard, plus three or four Guard Armies shooting at the xenos.

"WE ARE THE NECRONS. SURRENDER AND DIE."

"Not interested."

There had been a few instances at Commorragh where things were this one-sided. Not many, but there had been.

Still, even at Commorragh, the slaughter of xenos didn't last this long.

The Necrons weren't trying new ideas. They were just coming again and again. It didn't work. Lady Weaver and the Tech-Priests located their resurrection chambers as they descended deeper into the Ymga Monolith.

Their numbers dropped, and the more time passed, the more the Necrons turned into those things with multiple blades and only the will to slaughter whatever was in their way.

Kratos had stopped after the third one trying to duel him. Once you fought one, you fought all of them. This wasn't Mandragora where protecting the Shield of Angels was difficult.

These Necrons weren't worthy opponents.

"WE ARE THE NECRONS...SURRENDER...DIE." The last Necron speaker was swallowed by a tide of scarabs and some Nyx-built spiders, and the Necron offensive stalled due to a lack of demented machines to throw itself at the enemy.

"Stay cautious, we have enemy teleportation beamers activated not far from here!" One of their Techmarines barked urgently.

The warning was not uttered a second too soon. Fifty metres or so before them, an enormous pillar of green energy appeared and more Necrons emerged from it.

Kratos didn't wait before firing his Plasma Gun...and he scowled as an enormous shield which hadn't been here seconds ago ensured his shots didn't do any damage.

"TO THE LEADER OF THE HUMAN INVADERS, FROM THE DELEGATION OF THE NEWLY DECLARED CRYPTEK LEAGUE. WE WANT TO NEGOTIATE THE TERMS OF OUR SURRENDER."

Kratos gaped, and he was sure he wasn't the only one.

That was definitely new.

Lady General Taylor Hebert

If there had been any hope the 'Cryptek League' represented a significant faction among the Necrons fighting aboard the Ymga Monolith, it didn't last long.

The Crypteks surrounded by the Dawnbreaker Guard, one Macroclade of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Fay 20th, and plenty of other Guard and Imperial Forces, were the entirety of this 'League'.

They didn't represent five percent of the Szarekhan Monolith population. They didn't represent five percent of the Crypteks reawakened.

There were five of them, period.

Taylor wanted to say it was the most ironic surrender ever made in Imperial history, but given how big the Imperium was, there may have been something worthier of slamming your head against a wall about. Finding one such event would represent a challenge, however.

"You realise, I'm sure, your position is extremely weak."

"We are aware...Overlord of the Swarm." The Cryptek female who had presented herself, once you removed all the Necron flatteries, as Cryptek Ah-hotep replied. "And we are not going to pretend the information we have given you is something you wouldn't have discovered in time or already theorised about before we surrendered. We can only insist that our understanding of techno-astrological mysteries has few equals. And each of these brilliant Crypteks is a master in one of the great arcane fields developed by all Crypteks."

"Something compensated for by your ties to the Szarekhan Dynasty," she answered. "Let's be honest, Crypteks. Given your limited numbers, you had many opportunities and the abilities to create them in order to defect."

"It is a bit more complicated than that," the xenos having many precious stones embedded on her chest mildly protested. "As I am sure you are aware, the command-protocols of the nobility are near-absolute. To be here in the first place, we had to cut ourselves from the great AI network as well as all avenues of command transmission methods. It also required very creative interpretations of certain orders, and even then, it is impossible for any of us to turn our knowledge and our skills against the Szarekhan Dynasty."

The Cryptek didn't utter 'no matter how much we wish to', but rarely had an underlying message been so clear.

"I see." This was far from the resounding victory she wanted, not that many Necron surrenders had been thought likely when Operation Stalingrad's goals were written down in the first place, and it had gotten even more unlikely after the political issues of negotiating with Overlord Zahndrekh. "In that case, since you aren't able to contribute directly against your insane Overlord and transporting you away from the battlefield is heavily recommended, the League of Crypteks will be granted all the courtesies given to important prisoners of war, with a joint custody with the Nerushlatset Dynasty contributing some forces as to evaluate the sincerity of the Cryptek League. Do you find those terms acceptable?"

"We do."

This was one more source of headaches that Taylor was happy to wait until the end of the war before considering the true implications of. Of course, they were only five Crypteks, and not one was truly important enough to be among the senior advisors of the Szarekhan Overlord. In fact, given the...really different decorations of their Necrodermis carapaces, Taylor wouldn't be surprised if these Crypteks had been born into lesser Dynasties before being assimilated into the Silent King's armies and fleets.

Neferten had hinted the supreme leader of the Necron race may have done something like that, though she had never been able to find any evidence. If it was true though, it explained the relative 'eagerness' and 'ease' with which the Crypteks were able to surrender while the rest of Overlord Sobekhotep's Destroyers and murderous machines still charged to destroy her ever-growing swarm.

"I think this will be the last surrender of the Necron campaign, my Lady."

"You may be right, Gavreel. But the campaign isn't over...let's go back to the war. I think someone mentioned another wave of Canoptek Scarabs incoming?"

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

Asaheim

Landing Zone 'Titanium'

199 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Warsmith Charyx

Charyx had never enjoyed the presence of more than three Legions at the height of the Great Crusade, and one of them had been his own.

Now that he had been exiled from Medrengard and fought for an eternity in the Legion Wars, the Lord of the Steel Brethren truly hated most of these legacies of failures.

Even among them however, Charyx loathed the Emperor's Children.

When the news of the Battle of Commorragh had reached his ears, the veteran ex-Iron Warrior freely admitted he had cheered and opened the last bottle taken from the wine reserves of the Merikan Hive Sieges he possessed. He had even given a free day to his slaves. Days like those deserved to be celebrated by the entire galaxy.

Unfortunately, it appeared his celebration had been a bit premature. Not every depraved hedonist of the Third Legion was dead.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, Corpse Grinder?"

Charyx made a loud sound of exasperation...and then drew his Bolter, pushed it into the mouth of the so-called swordsman, and fired.

There wasn't much left of the head of the Emperor's Children officer...and the Warsmith waited.

Two seconds later, there was an ugly flash of purple light, and where before there had been a corpse, the beast clothed in Legionnaire's power armour was returned to life.

His eidetic memory having missed nothing, Charyx noticed one of the screaming faces of the cursed armour had gone missing after the 'demise'. The theories of his contacts had been right, good.

"My Lord Fazar'nzlath'hesh is going to-"

"The Naga is going to wait somewhere in orbit, far away from everything risky, while real soldiers do all the work." Charyx interrupted. "It's the only thing your band of peacocks is able to do."

Seeing the absence of reaction, Charyx felt good, and decided a little revelation was in order.

"In case you don't know, peacocks were ancient animals of Old Earth whose only goal was to be as pretty as possible..."

"I know what a peacock is!" 'Lord Commander' Lucius shouted, before calming himself as Charyx's Bolter was pointed between his ugly eyes. "You will pay for that, Iron Warrior!"

The warband leader didn't even bother wasting his saliva informing the idiot he was no longer a member of the Fourth Legion.

"You see, Lord Peacock, I once truly respected your Legion. I admired your tactics and strategies, the ways you found to bring new worlds under compliance and how to rebuild the marvels destroyed by the millennia of the Age of Strife. You were a bit too pompous, but for us who spent decade after decade in the trenches and grand bastions, you were the light at the end of the tunnel; the promise of a better tomorrow."

"Let me guess: Iydris or Terra?" the arrogant bastard of the Third Legion interrupted him. For that he received a Bolter shell in the leg.

"As always, you imbeciles completely miss the point. It was Hydra Cordatus!"

"Hydra Cordatus?"

"Yes, that insignificant world where my gene-father built yours a great amphitheatre! The world where we saw what you had truly become! You weren't a Legion anymore! You were a grotesque carnival of hedonists and sybarites, keeping corrupted and drugged mortals in your company! You had lost all discipline and Astartes pride. You weren't a Legion anymore."

"Jealousy," Lucius spat back. "Just because you weren't chosen by the Goddess-"

"It was no Goddess." Charyx gave him a good kick in the ribs. "It was an abomination, and I almost pity you. You were led by a hedonist beast all these millennia, and despite the leash being broken, you continue crawling in its shadow. Now the time for the history lesson is over. I am going to give you orders, and you are going to listen to me."

"Or what? You can't kill me, I am immortal!" Charyx had the light temptation of informing the 'Lord Commander' his so-called immortality might have a few problems, but this answer alone shut down all his desire to do so.

"Mekaidos?" the Warsmith called his second. "Next time the peacock here says a word without my authorisation, kill one of his Honour Guard."

"You can't be-"

BLAM!

"Now that we've established I'm not bluffing," the warband leader of the Steel Brethren commented as yet another life came to an end on Fenris, "my order is simple: you don't try to give orders to my siege-engineers, be they Space Marines or mortals. You don't give orders to anyone of my warband or any servant of the Fourth Legion warbands gathered for this war."

"Erebus' orders-"

BLAM!

Truly the arrogance and the lack of self-preservation of the Emperor's Children was astounding.

"Erebus can go win this war on his own if he so desires." Charyx added coldly. "I am allied with Mothac, not that backstabbing coward. But we all know that when the walls of the Fang will be breached, it will be the science of the siege done by the Fourth's gene-line and their allies which will have made the victory possible. Return to your ship or anywhere where there are no true warriors, slave of the Naga. It is time for the true professionals to wage the Long War."

This time the ugly swordsman who had claimed his rank by licking not-Fulgrim's boots spat in the snow and ran away. Truly if there was an authentic cur on Fenris, it was Lucius of the hedonist peacocks.

"Prepare the Volscani Cataphracts for the trap." The Warsmith ordered once the 'Naga delegation' was gone, "I don't know if we will be able to trap a significant number of the Wolves, but we can't risk the Ordinatus and the heavy artillery against the guns of the Fang as long as they're somewhere in the snowy valleys ready to ambush us."

"With pleasure, Warsmith!"

Charyx grinned at his second's enthusiasm, before frowning. The blizzard west of the landing zone was somehow dispersing. It was strange, because as far as he knew, the winter of Fenris never abated for any reason and-

Oh, by the wrath of Perturabo.

This wasn't a meteorological phenomenon. It was a sort of Warp inferno coming from high orbit.

Charyx gritted his teeth.

"No wonder the peacock came to protest." In hindsight, he should have killed Lucius a few more dozen times to see if it stuck. With his death-dealers not possessed by the treacherous swordsman when they temporarily ended his life, there was no reason not to try. "Once again, Erebus is doing something stupid, and it will be up to true warriors to save the day..."

The name of the being was Shim'dre'lex'kazar. Or rather, that was the name the Word Bearers had used to summon it from the depths of the Immaterium.

The powerful beings sworn to the Primordial Annihilator or otherwise aware of the Exalted Daemons' existence had long since acknowledged those malevolent creatures had a countless number of names and titles, and speaking them aloud, assuming it didn't shred most of what remained of your sanity, would take a Space Marine's lifetime to complete.

Besides, those names and titles were rarely important. It was the True Name of a daemon which mattered, and those of the Exalted Servants of a God were not known to any being but their 'divine' patron.

Not that the rare Inquisitors having wiped out billions of lives to spare the galaxy incredible horrors tried to search for their True Names, of course. Radical or not, there were things that were never considered if you weren't a Grey Knight, and even the incorruptible defenders of Titan had never tried to pursue that foolish path. Compared to the task of discovering their True Name, it was simpler to fight such a daemon.

And as the carnage made by the Guardian of the Throne of Skulls had proven on Cadian soil, fighting an Exalted Daemon was always an exercise fraught with uncountable perils.

Like with An'ggrath, it began with a sacrifice.

In high orbit over Fenris, the Battleship Blessed Flame perished, nine hundred and nineteen Astartes lives extinguished by this act.

Unlike at Cadia, three hundred and thirty-three were Night Lords whose oaths to the Black Crusade had been broken by trying to flee the Fenris System. The rest were either Word Bearers or other Space Marines' warband members who had been involved in the myriad disasters the ongoing Fenrisian Campaign was full of.

The wards erected by the Vlka Fenryka inside the Fang were powerful, and prevented the complete disaster that would have been Shim'dre'lex'kazar materialising inside its walls. Unfortunately, Fenris wasn't Terra.

Too much blood had been spilled on Fenris by now, and Bloodletters walked side by side with the World Eaters, tracking and decimating Fenrisian tribes unable or unwilling to flee their homes. Too many sorcerous rituals and spells had been unleashed, and the Silver Towers made the world's soul scream, allowing the Greater Servant of Tzeentch to descend into the atmosphere of the Sixth Legion's homeworld.

Shim'dre'lex'kazar landed on Fenris.

And with it, the Greater Daemon brought eldritch fire.

190 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Volscani Colonel Burgoyne

Damn the Masters. Damn them. This was all Burgoyne could think as his men and himself fought to repair the engine of their super-heavy Cataphract before they all died.

The 'Faithful Marines' had always intended to attack this ice ball, that much was obvious to everyone. But had one of those 'Dark Apostles' ever thought to inform them that, one day, they may need to modify their equipment and vehicles to fight on a Death World where snow could pile up higher than a Sentinel between dawn and dusk?

The Masters had all those fancy tanks and fantastical machines which continued to work no matter the weather. The Volscani, as always, weren't that lucky.

"I've heard most of the guys who were assigned to the 6th Great Host have been used as cannon fodder. The Masters landed them on a volcano, and bled them like groxes on the altars if they hesitated."

"Don't let the Executioners hear you talk like that." Their pilot advised. "Those guys might take offence..."

Burgoyne grimaced. He had never thought there would be a day he would miss the Commissars, but their replacements after 'Illumination Day' had easily led him to the conclusion the terrifying political officers sent by the Schola Progenium were definitely the lesser evil.

"The Executioner isn't in this tank, fortunately," the Colonel coughed. "And I'm more worried about this breakdown, Alder. In case you missed it, it's fifty-six below zero outside, and if you don't manage to repair the heater very quickly, what the Executioners will do to our bodies isn't going to be of any importance."

"Err...Colonel...it's strange, but the thermometric data indicates there's suddenly a spike of temperature nearby and...GET OUT! GET OUT!"

Burgoyne tried to open the turret. His hand touched the lever...and he screamed, for blue flames danced around his hand.

Blue flames danced everywhere.

PAIN

PAIN

There was too much pain.

"If there's any justice, I hope you will burn in hell with us, Masters."

Two seconds later, the Command Cataphract First in the Breach and all super-heavy tanks of its regiment were transformed into fuel for the Tzeentchian Daemons following Shim'dre'lex'kazar.

The Volscani had not been targets. They were just in the way.

Now the true battle against the sons of Russ could begin.

Wolf Lord Olav Direbear

Olav had lived long enough on Fenris to see the incredible spectacle of winter giving way to summer and snow giving way to lava.

Never had it happened in the middle of winter, however.

At least it wasn't difficult to locate the enormous Daemon responsible for it. It was slightly taller than a Knight, bathed in enormous bright flames of Maleficarum, threw green-yellow lightning everywhere, and all the Legions beyond the Gates of Morkai appeared to follow it.

Olav had seen one such beast before; on the day the previous Great Wolf had died.

Somehow, the one of his memories was smaller than the one his Great Company faced today.

Lightning struck the mountains above them. An avalanche began. The whole world in what had been a peaceful valley of Asaheim was ending in an impossible inferno.

This was why the Wolf Lord hated the heretics' masters; they thought they were funny by turning their own strengths against them.

"Rune Priests! Are you ready?"

"We are, my Jarl! We will try to buy you as much time as you need!"

The bear-mounted Lord of the Vlka Fenryka nodded with gratitude in his eyes. He knew very well what he was asking of them. Three Rune Priests, even the best of the Great Wolf's protectors, would not survive long against this abomination.

But they had accepted their duty with smiles on their lips and defiance in their hearts, like true sons of Russ.

"VLKA FENRYKA! BROTHERS! WHO ARE WE?"

"WE ARE THE SONS OF RUSS!"

"THEN LET'S SEND ALL THESE ABOMINATIONS TO THE ALLFATHER!. FOR RUSS AND FOR FENRIS!"

"FOR RUSS AND FOR FENRIS!"

The bears most of the Company were mounted upon roared, and the Astartes Whirlwinds unleashed a devastating barrage.

Land Raiders and Predators which had stayed camouflaged left their ambush sites, now that the daemons obviously knew where they were.

Olaf howled. Boo roared under him.

They charged. They were the sons of Russ, and if they had to die, better it be this way.

They weren't going to hide in the most fortified redoubts of the Fang, not when the tribes they were born into were fighting and dying right now.

"RUSS! FOR RUSS!" The old Space Wolf screamed, striking down several Horrors with his axe while his ursine companion began a massacre with his claws.

"FENRIS AND RUSS!"

The ground shook and then an abyss opened.

The flames engulfed dozens of his brothers...dozens of Long Fangs and Grey Hunters.

The abomination uttered something dreadful and a tide of fire indifferently struck daemons and the warriors fighting them.

"JARL! MY JARL! IT WAS A TRAP! WE ARE ENCIRCLED AND-"

The Rune Priest did not have the time to finish his warning as the power protecting him failed and black-blue flames incinerated him.

Dozens of his brothers were incinerated, their Wyrd extinguished in a couple of breaths.

"No..."

Everywhere on the heights thousands more of the Warp beasts were taking position.

"Poor Wolf Lord," the chief abomination mocked him as its sorcery struck down scores of his brothers at ranges no Bolter could effectively return fire from...not that they could have retaliated anyway, enormous barriers were protecting the Greater Daemon from the Land Raiders' guns. "I hoped I would be able to trap one of the Anathema's Saints in this valley, you know. Rituals were prepared by the servants of Lorgar, nine hundred mortal psykers sacrificed while you fought elsewhere. But clearly, the Anathema just doesn't value you enough to send one of its precious servants against me. I suppose the destruction of your Company will have to suffice..."

Olav wanted to shout something back when he heard the familiar sound of a Thunderhawk above their heads...the Wolf Lord frowned though as it wasn't a battle-ready Thunderhawk, but a simple Transport. By his missing tankard, who had given the order?

The aircraft descended at such a low altitude it was practically a suicidal run...and indeed it was. The monstrous Great Daemon pointed its sceptre and in one shot pulverised the prow and no doubt instantly killed the pilot.

But not, Olav saw, before the man opened his ship's ramp.

And in the bloodied snow, as hundreds of daemons were dying from the aftereffects of their leader's sorcery, strode a very familiar figure to all Vlka Fenryka.

"What?" The bipedal insult to all avian creatures was clearly surprised. "NO! I saw it! The Anathema was going to send one of its errant Shards! He had to send a Saint! He had to!"

"THE ALLFATHER IS BUSY ELSEWHERE, STUPID MALEFICARUM VULTURE!" Bjorn the Fell-Handed, first Great Wolf of the Space Wolves, the Revered One, shouted. "VLKA FENRYKA! KILL THESE BEASTS WHILE I EXPLAIN TO THIS USELESS PIDGEON WHY WE DON'T NEED SAINTS ON FENRIS!"

The Greater Daemon raised its sceptre and unleashed a blast of blue flame. A powerful ball of plasma struck it straight in the torso in retaliation.

"FOR FENRIS AND FOR RUSS!"

And the Eldest threw himself against the abomination, runes glowing on his chassis like stars as the flames slid off it harmlessly.

"PROTECT THE FELL-HANDED'S BACK!" Olav shouted. "DO NOT LET THE REST OF THE DAEMONS INTERFERE!"

But his fears in that regard were unnecessary.

Mounted on Boo, Olaf and the Vlka Fenryka were witnesses to the scenes of a fight straight from the legends. This was like in the sagas, except it was happening right in front of their eyes...and by Russ, it was magnificent.

It was the ice against the fire. It was evil against the Champion of Fenris.

It was blows capable of rending reality apart being exchanged as the entire world shook.

The servant of the Archenemy tried multiple times to gain some distance and return to its favourite tactic of dealing with Bjorn at long-range, but each time, a powerful blast of plasma tore apart its wings.

And then the Eldest of all Vlka Fenryka was close enough to use his rune-engraved claw to devastating effect.

The first blow tore apart a leg. The second a wing.

The Greater Daemon tried to shift into a form more suited to endure the implacable punishment of Bjorn, and by its imprecations, rallying the lesser daemons was also attempted.

But the daemonic beasts, the 'Horrors', be they pink or blue, were in disarray as the Great Company pushed them away hard from their damned master.

And then Bjorn's claw managed to grab the Lord of Change's long avian neck.

"You will die, Bjorn the Fell-Handed. Magnus is going to shatter your armour before ripping open your sarcophagus. Your soul will be dragged before the Court of Change and you will endure eternal torment!"

"YOU. TALK. TOO. MUCH!" Bjorn used his Plasma Cannon to hit different parts of the daemonic body with each shot. The Greater Daemon hissed in pain before using its tongue of damnation once more.

"Why do you even fight? Your Primarch will not return in time to save your world! And he abandoned you! Surely you do-"

The claw managed to squeeze tighter and slid upwards...very close to the parody of an avian head.

"I AM BJORN. AND I DON'T NEED ANY REASON TO FIGHT SOMETHING AS VILE AS YOU. IF MAGNUS WANTS TO FIGHT ME AGAIN, HE KNOWS WHERE TO FIND ME."

Olav and the entire battlefield heard the echo of an ancient laughter.

"THAT'S NEXT TO YOUR GRAVE, IF YOU NEED A CLUE, MALEFICARUM VULTURE!"

There was a monumental explosion. And Fenris itself seemed to howl in triumph.

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

The Throne of Oblivion

190 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Chapter Master Agiel Izaz

Chapter Master Agiel Izaz had not expected to rescue any Invaders today.

One, because while several Astartes had kept the dream of finding survivors of the terrible – and desperate – assault of the sons of Dorn, the Space Marine of Sanguinius' gene-line had seen what a Necron army could do, and insane or not, the Szarekhan Necrons had an overabundance of firepower with which to exterminate a full Space Marine Chapter, never mind half of one.

And secondly, it was the Black Templars who were ordered to discover where the Invaders' bodies and survivors were, so if someone was expected to find them, it certainly wasn't his strike force!

Agiel wasn't going to say it was bad news to find these five sons of Dorn, but there was a significant drawback: Agiel had only one Sanguinary Priest with him to fulfil the role of Apothecary.

An old conversation with Lady Weaver replayed in his mind, and the Chapter Master of the Brothers of the Red promised himself to approve any measure which would lead to an increase in the numbers of his Apothecaries and medical personnel. Oh, there had been an increase these last several years, but clearly not enough, and today proved it.

The Necrons had not forced the five Invaders to remove their armours, realising that without air the prisoners wouldn't last very long, but the xenos wouldn't win any award for their care of prisoners of war either. All of them, his fellow Chapter Master included, had clearly been mutilated and left to starve.

"Did your captors reveal anything of importance?" Agiel asked the son of Dorn after spending thirty seconds calling for medical reinforcements and specific support which was not anywhere near this underground prison where they had exterminated over forty thousand Necrons via air bombardment. Thank the Emperor, the Brothers of the Red had been there to exploit the breakthrough, otherwise the artillery would have been commanded to reduce the enemy resistance to scrap metal. "We didn't see any of the enemy Necrons trying to take prisoners so far, and any clues as to the reasons for this behaviour would be appreciated."

"It wasn't the Necrons of the Monolith who captured us," Moritz Schneider's voice was coloured in pain as the Sanguinary Priest did his best to treat the most urgent wounds. Unfortunately, while Lady Weaver had briefly deliberated the idea of a cross-training between Sanguinary Priests and other Apothecaries before Operation Stalingrad, there had only been two or three meetings and nothing truly significant had come from it. And the Invaders had not attended the reunions in the first place. "It was the Sautekhs, the elite troops of the Mandragora. One of their nobles loved the sound of his own voice and constantly reminded us of this 'truth'."

"For a supposed elite, he really died easily," Agiel remarked and the green-armoured Space Marine snorted.

"I think he was one of their 'useful idiots'...and a contingency plan at the same time."

"How so?" Agiel inquired politely as his battle-brother went to heal another Invader who was missing part of his leg.

"You and I have seen enough how the Necrons function by now, Chapter Master." The son of Dorn rasped loudly directly into his comm-bead. "Save their familiar challenge 'surrender and die', did they look like great conversationalists to you?"

"No." And the veteran Space Marine knew where this was going.

"No." Moritz Schneider repeated. "I was exhausted and wounded, so maybe I could have ignored an angry monologue or two, but our prison warden seemed to come really, really often to insult us for not accepting our proper place and for challenging the might of the Sautekh Dynasty. I have difficulties believing someone half as brilliant as this 'Stormlord' commander could assign a subordinate physically unable to not divulge military and other secrets to prisoners. It's not like we were that many to fall in xenos' hands...and in fact it explains why they simply disarmed us instead of completing our destruction."

That sounded rather logical, of course...

"What did they expect from it? If it was to open negotiations, I'm afraid they're out of luck. Lady Weaver was already extremely determined to exterminate those Necrons for the potential danger they represent, and your mutilation will in all likelihood be an aggravating factor the moment she is informed of your survival."

And that had certainly already happened, with several insects on their way to collect relevant information.

"I'm glad to hear it," the Invaders Chapter Master muttered, "but, assuming I read the enemy's intentions correctly, we were just bait to attract Lady Weaver's attention. The last monologue of our Necron 'jailor' was the key. It boasted loudly how his Master was going to seize all the Noctilith stocks for himself and triumph over us for all eternity or something equally stupid."

"Yes, it's something really stupid," Agiel agreed. "Well, I have no doubt the Sautekh forces can locate and claim the vaults of Noctilith hidden in the Ymga Monolith; unlike us, they can clearly read and hack into the local Szarekhan databases and their Abominable Intelligences. But it won't do them any good. Lady Weaver used her swarm to storm the fortified Dolmen Gates four hours ago. Their potential exit is gone, as are all FTL travel methods across void space they could use. Acquiring the Noctilith is certainly the only thing those Necrons will be able to do before being permanently eliminated."

"Unless the Stormlord intends to bargain his continued survival against the destruction of the Noctilith stocks. I only saw him when he cut off my arm, but this xenos was far from stupid. With no possibility of escape..."

This was...yes, it was a dangerous calculation the Chapter Master could see a competent Necron commander make.

The son of Sanguinius turned towards the only Tech-Priest present in the improvised medical facility.

"The Chosen of the Omnissiah must be warned," the red-robed assemblage of metal and weapons nodded.

Lady General Taylor Hebert

"And we wondered a few minutes ago where the Sautekh infantry had fled to."

"Hindsight is a wonderful thing," Grand Princeps Ctesiphon Surena of Legio Defensor affirmed from his Titan deployed about sixty kilometres 'south' and one kilometre higher in the Monolith than she was, "but to be honest, I'm uncertain how much danger this Dynasty represents anymore. The permanent war they fought against the local Dynasty has crippled their numbers."

"They still have their commander," Taylor countered, "and unlike Sobekhotep the soon-to-be Destroyer, he's competent and sane. That's why I made his elimination a priority, by the way."

Judging the mood of the Astartes Captain representing the Deathwatch for this meeting of the High Command was difficult, but the Space Marine obviously wasn't in a mood to celebrate.

"We lost track of the Stormlord nine hours ago when his forces somehow managed to spring an extremely elaborate ambush on us." No Astartes enjoyed being defeated, and admitting it in front of others only made the humiliation greater. "I agree with Chapter Masters Izaz's and Schneider's theories. It would be extremely in-character for this xenos to prepare a contingency plan which would save its damnable existence."

"Would it really save him?" Archmagos Hediatrix asked in what had to be the favourite rhetorical tone for a senior member of the Martian Priesthood. "Lady Weaver gave us the order Overlord Imotekh was to be terminated with extreme prejudice."

"And I have no intention to rescind the order," the black-haired Lady General affirmed. "The rare skirmishes with the Sautekh Dynasty provide an excellent reason for why letting this Sautekh General get away is a very bad idea. Give him a few Necron Tomb-Worlds and three or four years, and we will need to permanently assign two or three times the forces of Operation Stalingrad to the Eastern Fringe if we want to contain the problem."

And that was, frankly, a generous estimation.

"Besides, mutilating prisoners of war may be something honourable in Necron culture," it was not, by the way. It was just a Sautekh 'specialty', "but I for one find it a detestable practise. The good of the five Invaders' Space Marines who survived is entirely undone by the disgusting and humiliating methods the Sautekh employ on their prisoners."

Taylor looked at the Admirals, Generals, and other High Commanders of the Imperium.

"Right now, Imotekh the Stormlord is more dangerous than the insane imbecile who thinks providing me with more Canoptek Scarabs is the way to win this war."

Everyone chuckled.

"I agree," Oskar von Reuenthal smiled, "but assuming Imotekh is truly on his way to find and take possession of the Noctilith reserves, he will have an important piece of blackmail."

"Assuming he has a way to destroy said reserves in a short amount of time," High Marshal Barbarossa amended. The supreme commander of the Black Templars was communicating from his personal Thunderhawk, on his way to join her command centre. "He can't flee, and opening a black hole or another techno-horror like they did at Mandragora will kill them, self-repairing metal or not."

"There's another problem," Dragon interjected. "We don't know the percentage of the Sepulcrand in these vault-reserves. Since Volga, the null-effect inside the Monolith has constantly decreased as the destruction increased and our teams...err...recovered whatever anti-Warp Noctilith survived the assaults. But there's still a rather large anomaly core which prevents all but the most minor manifestations of Warp energy. If Imotekh really destroys the Sepulcrand stabilising the Necron battlestation in orbit-"

"We will have another enemy to tangle with in the next few seconds." This was why it was sometimes preferable to have stupid enemies. It was often difficult to anticipate their actions, but at least they generally didn't try stuff like this. "I am going to deal with Imotekh personally. General Rokossovsky, please prepare a new set of contingencies. Chapter Master Malakbel, assemble a kill-team of two hundred Space Marines."

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

Asaheim

188 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Primarch Magnus the Red

By the time his sons completed the ritual summoning him onto Fenris, the battle of course was long over.

Exactly according to plan, of course.

Shim'dre'lex'kazar, arrogant even by the standards of the average Lord of Change, had thought Erebus' preparations and Tzeentch's favour would be enough to counter any 'Living Saint' his father sent to turn the tide of the battle.

Naturally, it was stupidity itself: it meant you were convinced from the start that the sons of Russ had no way to kill you without his father's help.

Well, hopefully, Shim'dre'lex'kazar was a bit wiser now...or not. Magnus could hear the shrieks of sheer fury from here. The Lord of Change had apparently not appreciated the extreme banishment applied by Russ' lieutenant. Granted, the fact that his sons may or may not have...adjusted the summoning ritual to ensure that the Lord of Change's physical strength and durability would be drastically reduced – without limiting its vast psychic might in any way, no point in tipping the daemon off early – presumably had not helped.

"Lord, the enemy is-"

"Yes, I'm sure they are fortifying themselves in the Fang by now, my son." Magnus smelled the cold air of Fenris, trying to assess how many of the warriors of the Sixth Legion had perished and the details of their losses. "It doesn't matter. I gained exactly what I wanted from this ambush."

"But father...the banishment of the Pyroclastic Conclave..."

"The Lord of Blue Flames and Cursed Lightning allied with certain Dark Apostles. Their unbridled ambition was to unseat me in the hierarchy of Change."

And it had caused him great disquiet how long it had taken for him to discover this nasty part of the plan.

That the slaver holding his leash didn't inform him was no surprise, but the fact none of the other eight Exalted Lords of Change had moved to clue him in was a very bad sign of how much damage that arrogant child calling herself Malicia had caused in the last few years.

The galaxy was changing.

In many ways, it was reassuring. In others, it was not exactly comforting given how many storms were coming.

At least the plan of his 'allies' had monumentally failed. Shim'dre'lex'kazar had received a solid lesson without achieving anything of note beyond corrupting a large tract of worthless snow. Magnus could thank him silently; it made his own summoning go smoother.

"Do you hate him, father?"

"Hmm...no, not really."

"Father? I was speaking about the Dreadnought who-"

"I know. And I answered your question honestly, my son. One does not hate a tool because it is its destiny to fight you."

Bjorn the Fell-Handed. First Great Wolf of Fenris, last of the Einherjar of his brother Russ. One of the many tens of thousands of Wolves who had killed Prospero.

"He was at Prospero." His son's voice echoed his thoughts.

"Yes, he was." Magnus confirmed. "But he was one of an entire Legion, and he didn't give the orders. What makes him special today is that he is the last survivor aside from his primogenitor now that Valdor is dead."

For all the so-called immortality Tzeentch gave him, Magnus felt really, really old when he remembered the names of the Space Marines, Custodians, and Sisters of Silence who had fought in the Battle of Prospero.

The dreaded warriors of the Anathema Psykana? All dead. The last ones had perished during the Siege of Terra, assuming the fires of Horus' Rebellion had not claimed them before.

The Custodes? Most had not survived the carnage in the Webway he had provoked, and aside from Valdor, all had died during the Siege too.

Ironically, of the Imperial coalition which had assembled to destroy his works, the Wolves had probably lasted the longest. There were many thousands left after the Scouring...but everything had an end.

Nothing mortal could last, and the sun illuminating the Age of the 'Vlka Fenryka', as the sky-warriors of Fenris loved to call themselves, had set behind the mountains long ago. Year after year, their veterans had died. Some had died by Thousand Sons' Bolters as he let his sons sate their thirst for vengeance.

And now there was only one old warrior, living on hatred and the knowledge his liege had not judged him good enough to depart with him.

Magnus was realistic. What could he really say or do that hadn't already been done to the banisher of Shim'dre'lex'kazar? The answer was nothing. Everything he was able to do had been done three millennia ago during the 'Battle of the Fang'.

Yes, if he faced Bjorn the Fell-Handed again, Magnus would kill him, guns and claws enhanced by improved Fenrisian anti-Warp Runes to protect from Tzeentchian powers or not.

But there was nothing to bask in glory about such an act. He was a Daemon Primarch, a being able to slay entire armies. The old soul of the Wolves was trapped in an Astartes sarcophagus, relying on machinery few understood anymore.

Even in this unfair galaxy, it was a rather uneven fight.

"They lost many of their best warriors, and this is enough for now. Prepare the rituals we agreed upon, my son, then let the Iron Warriors and the Mechanicum advance and pay the price."

Everything which had been done until the summoning of the Exalted had not been preordained, but was certainly inevitable given the gigantic force disparity.

But now the race had truly begun. The fortress carved inside one of the largest fortresses of Fenris wasn't impregnable. His sons had breached its tunnels and chambers before.

But there had been fewer sons of Russ three millennia ago. And though the Great Wolf of the time had arrived at the decisive hour, the reinforcements this time would be far more impressive.

"Let the Siege of the Fang begin."

And if Lorgar perished with his Legion, it wouldn't be a great loss for Tzeentch or anyone else...

The Fang

145 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Wolf Lord Olav Direbear

The two Wolf Lords and the Iron Priest ignored the rumbling noises indicating the Fang was experiencing heavy bombardment with the ease of long practise. In the last forty hours, all the Vlka Fenryka and the Skaerls had more than enough time to become familiar with it.

"Their encirclement is nearly complete," the Long Fang specialised in technology reported. "And they have destroyed the Aesir and Vanir batteries. Thankfully we had anticipated this, and the tunnels and ammunition reserves for them were blown up. But we are trapped inside the Fang with no ability to direct our bombardments worth mentioning...not that it was that great in the first place with all the winter blizzards limiting the auspexes' range."

"Any good news?" Olaf asked.

"Well..." The Iron Priest smiled sadly. "Winter is out there in full strength, and Mother Fenris doesn't love those unwelcome bastards. It is sixty-eight degrees below zero outside. The Bastard-Priest and the Cyclops are going to have to rely upon their Traitor Marines for the Siege."

"And how long it will take them?" Lars Silentdeath inquired.

"Far less time than I'd want," their technology expert admitted. "When our predecessors rebuilt after the Battle of the Fang, a lot of effort was made to counter the sorcerers and their pits of Maleficarum horrors. Our home was rebuilt to endure a terrible siege, but I don't think they planned for our enemies to bring several companies of Iron Warriors."

The Vlka Fenryka invited to the war council stayed silent, but a shiver of unease crossed the room. Unlike many other Traitor Legions in the years after the Heresy, the warbands of the Fourth Legion retained the murderous efficiency which had seen them breach the defences of the Allfather's Palace.

"Thankfully," their brother continued, "they have not brought the entire Legion of the siege-breakers. On the other hand, someone gave them two heretekal things which must have been Martian Ordinatuses millennia ago. And they have landed enough artillery to counter our guns. The blizzards are on our side in this fight, but they have us out-gunned ten-to-one, and the disparity is growing larger by the hour."

"Then they will reach the Bloodfire Gate in twenty to twenty-four hours," the Wolf Lord of the Eighth Company famed for his silent hunting concluded coldly. "How long can the First Gate hold?"

"That's a question for the Rune Priests, I'm afraid...but speaking only for the Void Shields and the adamantium doors, I doubt they can endure for longer than a day. Our predecessors rebuilt tough in the old days, but they have everything we do in siege units and more."

"And once they enter the tunnels, it's going to be a bloodbath." Lars grimaced. "They have nine large groups of Thousand Sons and more than eighty thousand Word Bearers...assuming they for some reason didn't decide to hide something from our Scouts and auspexes."

Which they certainly did, since these Traitors were cunning in their evil.

And the number of Vlka Fenryka had fallen to under nine hundred after the Battle of the Field of Sorcery. Worse, many of his brothers killed had been Grey Hunters and Long Fangs, the eldest, wisest, and strongest warriors of Fenris. The blow had struck the forces which could train the new generations and hurt the morale of the Blood Claw packs. It had hurt discipline and inter-pack coordination.

As always the Archenemy tried to sully everything that was good and traditional before destroying the sons of Russ.

"Then it is time." Olav Direbear grumbled. "Summon all the Kaerls and tribes to the Hall of the Great Wolf."

Assuming he survived, Olav would enter history for being the first Wolf Lord to have opened the halls of the Vlka Fenryka to the men and women they were recruited from before becoming Space Marines. That no one had objected proved how dire the situation was...and how awful the fate of those tribes which had been in the heretics' path had been.

"All of them? There are-"

"One hundred thousand of Kaerls and warriors, yes, I'm aware." Olav grinned. "They are going to fight by our side, I think we can honour them with a speech. Let's just hope none of them sleep while I'm howling."

Half of his brothers at least laughed. This felt good...but too soon, the weight of the absent began to burden them again.

And the bombardment continued outside.

High Orbit above Fenris

Ark Mechanicus Technologiae Potestas Est

120 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Hell Forge-Mistress Sota-Nul

"The Steel Brethren have informed us they are able to fire directly at the Bloodfire Gate, Hell Forge-Mistress."

"Finally," the Mechanicum commander muttered, knowing in advance she was being unfair. Warsmith Charyx, for all the arrogance and bluntness of the Perturabo gene-line, was a veteran of the Great Siege and a siege expert. If the other Astartes had followed his recommendations, Sota-Nul was utterly convinced the Volscani Cataphracts – or at least the hosts of these slaves which hadn't been decimated by the Fenrisian resistance – would be fighting and dying in the fortress' tunnels right now.

It was maddening. Sometimes, the former disciple of the Fabricator-General thought Lorgar's senior commanders were doing their best to backstab each other and purposely delay the assault on the Fang by hours.

These moments didn't last, because Sota-Nul's large databanks were unable to find a past campaign where this strategy would make sense. If the ritual, this 'Tear of Nightmares' the Word Bearers loved to repeat mentioning until death took them, wasn't completed by the time the Imperial reinforcements hammered them, things were going to get incredibly ugly.

Yes, they still had over a hundred Battleships, but the Mechanicum Tech-Priestess wasn't fooled. Abaddon had outnumbered his opponents during the Fourth Black Crusade too, and when his fragile alliances met a true Battlefleet, the forces under his command shattered, leaving him with a core of Black Legion loyalists to make his escape with.

And the idea of hundreds of Lunar-class Cruisers unleashed among their supply fleet was enough to send shivers down the spines of any of her subordinates. Granted, the Volscani transports were getting emptier...

"Are our Tartarus operatives in position?" They'd better be, but it didn't hurt to check.

"They are, Hell Forge-Mistress."

"Excellent."

Warmaster Abaddon had invested a lot in her for the chance of gaining access to the Space Wolves' gene-seed and strategic organ stocks. It was however a logical decision: aside from Terra and Mars, there weren't a lot of locations where you could find one hundred thousand progenoids with first-class Apothecarium facilities.

Not to mention the enormous Forges and macro-industrial complexes dating back to the Age of the Great Crusade.

The Fang was one of the rare M30 bastions which had survived intact in technological purpose, protected from the False Omnissiah's decay and the superstitions of the flesh. The Battle of the Fang fought three millennia ago had not touched these mini-fortresses inside the greater citadel.

Obviously, seizing them wasn't going to be easy. The Wolves had fought like cornered beasts so far, and they weren't likely to submit meekly on their last stand. And the Word Bearers and Thousand Sons thought for some reason they had a right to the gene-seed and equipment...

One of the Hell-Magi she had assigned to the good function of serving on the first bridge of her Ark Mechanicus canted a third-evolved Empyreal cant to attract her attention.

"What is it?" Sota-Nul prayed it wasn't going to be one more stupidity like Kor Phaeron or Belagosa telling her to deploy Legio Mordaxis. After the stupidity which had led Legio Fureans to lose five battle-engines in as many minutes against the Fang's primary batteries, the Hell Forge-Mistress had stopped listening to the 'advice' of the Word Bearers. If they wanted to throw their own Daemon Engines into the kill-zones, that was their choice, but she wasn't going to lose thousands of hours of production for nothing. The Siege of the Fang was to be conducted by the Iron Warriors, the priest-sorcerers were relatively ignored.

"Readapting the evolved auspexes into the pattern you wished, Hell Forge-Mistress, I think I detected an anomaly which escaped the vigilance of the Word Bearers."

Sota-Nul snorted. Vigilance, that was a good one. The Word Bearers and Thousand Sons were so fixated on the fall of Fenris and their own plots it was unlikely whether they had left more than a hundredth of their effectives in high orbit.

"Show me."

Her amusement didn't last, because her subordinate was right, it was an anomaly...and worse, it was detected more than five hours late.

"Your best estimate?"

"Hell Forge-Mistress, according to our databanks, it doesn't match any Imperial signature...but there's a twenty-seven percent chance of it being a solar sail going into furtive mode."

Sota-Nul had not survived an eternity in the Eye of Terror by being slow to react. Solar sails, that was Eldar technology. And this anomaly had happened five hours ago. The maximal range of a Void Stalker-class Eldar Battleship was...they could be entering effective range right now!

"Raise our Void Shields! Raise our Void Shields NOW! General alert to all ships! They are to raise Void Shields and activate all countermeasures! Spread the Heldrakes and Hell-crafts! I want defensive depth and-"

"Pulsar Lances emissions detected! Enemy action detected!"

Explosions rocked the high orbit of Fenris, and the hololithic screen began to flash red as Word Bearer ships began to die.

"General battle-stations," Sota-Nul snarled. By the sands of Mars, what were these cursed long-ears doing here? "Prepare the best firing solutions you have!"

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

The Throne of Oblivion

119 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

The Vaults of Oblivion

Lady General Taylor Hebert

In case there was any doubt the Sautekh forces had arrived before them, the sad physical remains of a Gate large enough to let Warlord Titans pass through them dissipated them fairly easily.

"They got here before us...my Lady."

"Kratos, we didn't really have a choice. It's not like we were able to enter the Szarekhan databases. If Imotekh and his army weren't there, we would in all likelihood still be in the process of searching for this place."

Too many officers had underestimated the size of the Ymga Monolith. It was truly a planet-sized battlestation, and for all the Necron propensity to create a lot of morbid monuments and funeral-like structures, it left an immense amount of space to hide things.

"That and we lost plenty of time when the Tech-Priests began seizing the Necrons' metallic stashes." Gamaliel intervened.

"Yes."

To be sure, it wasn't as large a hoard as the one confiscated at Pavia and Commorragh. The vast majority of the Necrons' strategic reserves had been used up during the long years of conflict at Volga, but the Macroclades of the Mechanicus had still discovered thousands of tons of titanium, molybdenum, iridium, and other large quantities of things a Forge World required in order to meet its quotas.

It was far from an adamantium mine, but the accumulation of it began to form a rather impressive list. And unfortunately, the less experienced regiments had had to be reminded about her orders: notify any discoveries to your superiors, loot minimally, and continue the offensive.

Those units who had worked with her the longest obeyed without question, knowing the rewards at the end would be proportional to their efforts. The others...the Commissars had already been forced to make some permanent examples of the worst troublemakers.

"My Lady," Epistolary Hendrik, "The null-zone is-"

Before his sentence was over, the golden light surrounding her body grew in intensity and a good part of her exhaustion and the strain of fighting a never-ending series of bombardments and Necron exterminations faded away.

"I feel it." The Lady General told the veteran of Commorragh. "Whatever protected the Monolith from the Warp has been destroyed, hasn't it?"

"Yes, my Lady...and I think...I think the something was not free of corruption."

Awesome.

"This is the most unsubtle trap I've ever seen," Stormseer Uriyangkhadai snorted.

"Perhaps, but it doesn't need to be subtle." Taylor replied. "If it's really the Ruinous Powers making their move at last, we can't let them steal the Noctilith. Whether they intend to use it immediately or not, we will soon find it used against us on this battlefield or somewhere else. General Schwarz, Chapter Master Malakbel! Your troops are ready?"

"They are, Lady General."

"The sons of Sanguinius stand by your side, Lady Weaver."

"Then let's go kill the xenos and the heretics who stand in our way."

Taylor had already begun to send her swarm ahead, and as such she was the first to have a view of what was waiting inside.

In some ways, the resemblance with some of the vaults she had torn open at Commorragh was there. In others, not so much. The Necrons loved symmetrical structures, and had a disturbing sense of aesthetics.

The vault was beyond enormous, and the parahuman knew deep inside some kind of hyper-technology had to be at work, because somehow the inside was bigger than the outside.

All of this gigantic amount of space was dedicated to the storage of Noctilith.

Shaped in cubes, triangles, or more complex forms, hundreds of thousands of objects were waiting for their owners to use them in neat lines like they had been for the last millions of years.

And yes, it was hundreds of thousands of Noctilith 'blocks'. The entire chamber could have swallowed several of the Nyxian palaces without effort, along with the Azkaellon Stadium. The lines were not only so long even the scarabs she sent the farther away couldn't find the end, but there were a countless amount of them above their heads, suspended by powerful fields of green energy.

"That's a big vault of Noctilith, all right..." the Catachan guardsman on her right commented, and Taylor did her best not to laugh. "Isn't there a cube missing there?"

Trust one of her veterans to arrive directly at the core of the problem.

And since neither her eyes nor her other senses could detect the problem...

The insect-mistress concentrated on shaping the golden energy around her, and then in a trick her Adjutant-spiders had inspired her to develop, released it in the form of a great web spreading out in every direction.

The ugly portal swirling with the energies of the Warp was instantly revealed...and died in less three seconds when the first Blood Angel Predators bombarded it.

The sorcerous explosion was violent, but fortunately extremely limited. Not wasting any time, Taylor sprinted to touch the closest block of Noctilith, and to her relief, the obsidian pyramidal structure instantly began to take a golden colour as the 'veins' carved by the Necrons long ago made sure full conversion into Aethergold was only a question of time.

Taylor didn't let her guard down. Destroying the portal had been far too easy.

And one second later, her thoughts were proven right as a sort of...daemonic mass of flesh flashed into existence, before it took the appearance of a Tzeentchian sorceress.

"Weaver..." the communication had to suffer from turbulences, before she didn't think anyone human could speak like that, it was like...like someone was trying to say something while vomiting and laughing at the same time. "That wasn't nice. Do you have any idea how many-"

"Kill her."

The Dawnbreaker Guard and a couple hundred of guardsmen opened fire, but the initial volley was the only one they made before she told them to stop; the lasers, plasma and other ordnance had all passed through the sorceress and the air around this heretic was shrouded in sorcery.

"Don't waste your ammunition. She isn't here. This is an illusion."

"Indeed," the enemy clapped her hands, and Taylor gritted her teeth, because her order had been transmitted through the vox; this sorceress shouldn't have been able to hear it. "I am relieved to know your service to the Corpse-Emperor hasn't destroyed your capacity to think."

Taylor didn't like where it was going...she really didn't like it.

"Who are you?"

"I am Malicia," the sorceress who looked like a twisted armoured parody of an Egyptian Pharaoh coated in continuously shifting blue-gold paint seemed surprised, "didn't you receive my message?"

Ah, hell. So this was the enemy who was responsible for the crippled hulk which had appeared near the Iris System four years ago where the Inquisition had lost a dozen Acolytes.

The 'message' had been uncorrupted, but it had also been written on a velum stuck to the torso of a dead Inquisitor.

"I did...Collateral Damage Barbie."

It had taken that for the Custodes to finally reveal her true identity...though honestly, Taylor was frankly shocked by how much the other parahuman had changed. The older sister of Panacea had been the epitome of the 'flying brick' in white colours, blonde-haired, and blue-eyed, a cheerful expression on her lips as she smashed villains.

Except the arrogance soaking up her surroundings, she and this heretic didn't have any points in common, though the armour didn't exactly help things.

"One or two criminals get hurt and they never let you forget it," the Tzeentch-worshipper complained. "And you hardly have any right to hold the self-righteous position, Mrs I-blew-up-Commorragh."

"I don't take lectures from someone who has embraced the Power of Lies as a patron," the golden-winged commander retorted as she re-sheathed Cawl's blade before drawing the Nebula's Shard and pouring more power into the crystalline sword. These Noctilith blocks weren't going to become Aethergold by themselves.

"The problem is that you receive lessons from no one possessing real knowledge," the parahuman who had once been called Glory Girl immediately sniped back via the daemonic mouthpiece used for this communication. "Otherwise you would see the Imperium will unavoidably fail."

"Even if I believed that you were speaking the truth, you serving one of the very monsters humanity has to defend against destroys the credibility of pretty much everything you might say after that." Taylor rebutted as the crystalline shards of her blade began to strike numerous Noctilith cubes, creating more Aethergold by the second. "Speak your piece and depart. I have more important things to do than listening to a heretical monologue."

'Malicia' unfortunately didn't seem angry or even fazed by her hostility...but then she had likely managed to steal a large cube of Noctilith, something likely weighing at least a few tons, though she had no way to estimate the loss before the Tech-Priests gave her a full report on the vaults' capacity.

"As you wish. We will have further opportunities to speak anyway." The Egyptian-looking helmet was removed, and unfortunately, yes, it was the face of Glory Girl which was revealed...it had clearly been modified by sorcery to be more inhumanly devoid of blemishes and all natural imperfections. The hair was close to platinum in shade and no uncorrupted man or woman had blue eyes shining with that much sorcery, but it was her. "I just wanted to inform you that I have found the grave of the Eleventh."

For a few seconds, the Basileia of Nyx thought she had misunderstood. There was no way Glory Girl-Malicia could be serious.

It was-

"You're insane."

"Why? You are right now walking on the very graveyard of the Second, no?"

"The circumstances are completely different, and you know it." Taylor whispered, knowing the sorceress would hear it anyway. "The Second received the fate it did because the Necrons were too powerful and their machines and captive monsters dating from the War in Heaven resulted in their annihilation. The Eleventh Legion and their Primarch weren't the Second."

"Well, yes and no. They were erased from memory nonetheless. And I intend to take their banner for myself."

"Madness." Taylor hadn't been given the full explanation of what had happened to the Eleventh, but the few clues handed out by the Custodes had been used as a bargaining chip for more Aethergold to be sent to the Grey Knights and in the direction of Segmentum Obscurus. And the representative of the Ten Thousand had been...almost afraid. This was not a problem she wanted to deal with when it had remained forgotten for millennia. Unlike the Monolith, there was no Noctilith and no urgent reason to muster forces for that particular brand of folly.

"My patron is ambitious madness, and my strength is unchecked sorcery," the Chaos parahuman basked into her arrogance. "And the symbolism between us was too good to pass up on. Farewell...and Taylor? I teleported the Necrons away, but they are going to return as soon as I end this communication. Please don't die, I want to speak with you again."

The daemonic thing twisted and began to fall away...with a few Mega-Flamers encouraging it.

"Defensive formation Omega!" She ordered, preparing her swarm for a massive counter-attack.

The Necrons teleported by the thousands in the next ten seconds.

Overlord Imotekh

The perfect ambush didn't exist, but Imotekh had done his best to prepare one which would leave no chance for the 'humans'.

And then everything had gone wrong. This creature, this 'Changeling', as the thing introduced itself, had emerged from the ranks of his army, and suddenly a critical piece of Szarekhan machinery was destroyed.

The next thing Imotekh knew, his Legions were being consumed by the same things which had once allowed the Enslavers to come through, before a storm of blue swallowed him as well.

It may have lasted an infinitesimal moment or a very long time, but the Necrons were eventually released.

They materialised again where he had prepared his plans before this impossible-to-predict enemy had struck.

But his troops weren't in ambush position anymore. They were in a standard confrontational phalanx...and the enemy was already here. One AI query later, and Imotekh realized the mysterious enemy had done worse damage than he had feared: all the vortex-machinery prepared to take out the 'stolen' Canoptek units was nowhere to be found and all the command-links were severed or out of range of those precious 'borrowed' Szarekhan prototypes.

"Withdraw. Withdraw immediately," the Stormlord commanded his surviving Nemesors. There was no victory possible under these circumstances, and that the materials used to build the Pylons were beginning to shine in a golden light was not something he had accounted for.

"By your order, Overlord, we-"

The situation, already bad for the Sautekh forces he commanded, suddenly received one more unpleasant parameter as Szarekhan troops teleported into the vaults and began to indiscriminately open fire.

This should have been impossible, Imotekh had prepared jammers to prevent exactly that, but clearly this part of his plan had been demolished too.

Void Dragon and Nightbringer damn it, what had he done for so many things to turn against him at once?

"KILL IMOTEKH. KILL THE STORMLORD. KILL HIM! KILL ALL SAUTEKH! KILL THEM! KILL IMOTEKH!"

The greatest General of the Sautekh Dynasty would freely admit afterwards that, for the first time, he felt a second of dismay when he looked in the direction of the murderous pulse sent to all Necron warriors in the vicinity.

Imotekh had seen many nobles succumb to the Destroyer Curse in his time. The War in Heaven had been so violent that mental instability had become a common thing, assuming it wasn't another of the C'Tans' tricks to keep them as properly obedient pets. The Sautekh had tried to limit it by numerous doctrinal engram-commands encouraging the thought that at the end, supreme dominion of the galaxy would belong to the Sautekh and the marvels of Necrontyr society could be rebuilt, greater and with technology which would allow them to stand for eternity. It had decreased the percentage of victims of the Curse.

But the Stormlord had seen how Sobekhotep looked like as the Battle for Mandragora raged. The Szarekhan had seemed relatively sane...which made it all the more horrifying to see him commanding his troops in the body of a Monolith-sized Skorpekh Destroyer.

The Dynasties called such beings Skorpekh Lords.

The Necron the Silent King had left in charge of the Throne of Oblivion was now consumed by a monomaniacal obsession to kill everyone and everything until the galaxy died or someone ended him permanently.

But as an uncountable tide of Canoptek assets slammed into the Szarekhan and his own forces, Imotekh realised the latter wasn't going to be a huge problem for very long.

The humans didn't have Iash'uddra, but their firepower was sufficient to decimate every Necron in their range...

Sergeant Gavreel Forcas

Gavreel didn't know who had invented this tripod chassis for the Necron armies, but the Space Marine was mentally complimenting them. Once you disabled one of the three 'legs', their behaviour, already completely suicidal and prone to bouts of murderous infighting at the best of times, managed the impressive feat of becoming worse.

And this didn't account for the fact that these 'Destroyers' were more a mob than an army. The differences between Sautekh and Szarekhan had become increasingly important over the last several days, but here it had found its complete fracture: neat lines of Necrons which suddenly tried to make a fighting retreat in neat order against constructs of ugly pincers and tarnished bronze-coloured metals.

They had a common point though: Lady Weaver was killing them all.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"FOR THE SECOND LEGION! DEATH TO THE NECRONS!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR, PURGE THE XENOS!"

The Canoptek Scarabs ravaged the flanks, the centre and the rear of the Necron formations and their mob...in fact, Gavreel realised it would be easier to mention what their Lady's swarm wasn't doing to the metallic xenos.

"DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! WE ARE THE NECRONS OF THE SZAREKHAN DYNASTY! SURRENDER AND DIE, IN THE NAME OF THE ETERNAL SILENT KING!"

"You first."

Another spear of Canoptek slammed into the core of the Szarekhan Destroyers, but as fast as they were, a Sautekh Necron was faster and cut apart several of the biggest constructs like they were nothing.

But the tallest and biggest Destroyer was fast too. And the enormous scythe-like melee-weapon merged with its arm didn't hesitate striking its own allies in order to land a blow against its opponent.

"YOU ARE ALL GOING TO DIE! IMOTEKH! I WILL USE YOUR BODY TO DECORATE THE THRONE ROOM OF THE SILENT KING FOR THE NEXT MILLION YEARS!"

"No, you won't," the Nebula Shard tore into the ranks of the Necrons and suddenly, the gigantic Destroyer found out the hard way having a third of your body burning in the Emperor's light was not painless for xenos.

"Your reign over the Throne of Oblivion has been allowed to stand for too long, Sobekhotep," the Sautekh noble charged again.

"I AM THE SCYTHE OF THE SILENT KING! AND I-"

Gavreel had seen in training how fast Taylor Hebert could be. Not looking at her with both eyes was a monumental mistake. And it was proven again as she redrew Cawl's sword with her left hand.

There was a brilliant flash.

When the sensors of his armour stopped being blinded, there were two enormous 'wounds' in the colossus of the Szarekhan Dynasty.

The xenos began to collapse...and the Victor of Commorragh drew the Adrathic Pistol after sheathing her blades, still flying over the heart of the battle.

"I can't kill you." The Destroyer crashed into the ground, and his metallic 'voice' seemed to be experiencing great pain. "But you will die nonetheless. Live by the swarm, die by the swarm. Iash'uddra will be your doom, vermin."

An orb of utter blackness emerged from the torso of the defeated Necron and-

"GET AWAY!"

But hyper-reflexes or not, the warning came far too late.

A shroud of utter darkness engulfed the battle-site, and when it ended, Lady Weaver, the three members of the Dawnbreaker Guard closest to her, and one Sautekh Necron were missing.

"NO!"

Segmentum Obscurus/Segmentum Solar (contested)

Fenris System

High Orbit over Midgardia

Void Stalker-class Battleship Anthem of Fallen Suns

118 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Autarch Ulion Lakadieth

Element of surprise or not, attacking the monstrous armada of the Primordial Annihilator blockading the world of Fenris could have only resulted in the complete destruction of his flagship and the other squadrons participating in this incredibly risky endeavour.

This was why Ulion was not doing anything of the sort.

Oh, the Autarch of Lugganath had sent a squadron of Phoenix ships there as a distraction, but their goal was to kill a few enemy supply ships and then get out of range. The moment the corrupted humans had targeting solutions upon Asuryani ships was the moment their deaths were imminent. Commorragh was a lesson few Craftworlds had failed to learn from.

No, attacking this heart of corruption and horrors directly would be a mistake. If Ulion Lakadieth had not learned of the large weakness of the Enemy from Farseer Ulthran, the 'Night Lords' fleet would still have been a far better target of opportunity.

"The Bombers have destroyed the last three Cruisers," the Mariner-Captain closest to him stated. "We have destroyed about three-quarters of the fleet of those monsters."

Ulion nodded. The habit of saying 'Humans' over 'Mon-keigh' was a slow but ongoing process...but these 'Night Lords' were just servants of the Great Enemy, no matter how deep their delusions ran. Their starships stank so much from the suffering of their slaves and other victims that no matter how sensitive an Asuryani was, it gave both young and old souls nausea just being in the vicinity of them.

"Their flagship is maintaining its course," a Howling Banshee commented. "I think it is trying to break contact, recover from the damage we gave it, and then engage us in an artillery duel at long-range."

"I agree." The survivor of the Battle of Pavia answered. "Forget about it for the moment. As satisfying as removing the creature 'Krieg Acerbus' from existence would be, our goal isn't to kill every Night Lord in existence."

Though it would be a worthwhile endeavour the day this mission was assigned to him. In Ulion's mind, the Night Lords appeared far too clearly as the human's equivalent of the Drukhari. The formers' souls weren't in danger of being claimed by something as hungry as She-Who-Thirsts, but from the point of view of the victims, both were serving the Primordial Annihilator well.

"And speaking of our goal..."

"The last of the 'plague-ships' hiding our target is being destroyed...right now, Autarch."

On the sensors of the Anthem of Fallen Suns, an unarmed gigantic transport appeared as if it had been summoned by some form of sorcery. In this case, the truth wasn't far from that superstition.

"It is one of the ships the humans call a 'Mass Conveyor', Autarch. Psychic scanning...confirmation. It is the ship the servants of the Enemy intend to use to summon a Greater Servant of Decay into reality. Judging by the ripples preliminary to rift-formation it creates, I would say we have arrived just in time, Autarch."

Ulion Lakadieth didn't hesitate.

"All Battleships, Phoenix attack-pattern on the primary target. You have my personal authorisation to use every weapon at your disposal!"

The Void Stalker-class Battleships didn't need him to repeat the order. In a short micro-cycle, Pulsar Lances, Phantom Lances, Sonic Torpedoes, and plenty of Fighters and Bombers were unleashed.

The ship contaminated by the Primordial Annihilator had been given impressive defences, besides the sorcery hiding it from detection.

But six Asuryani Battleships, even if they came from six different Craftworlds, were gifted with a terrifying amount of firepower. The ship covered in putrid green contagion didn't have a chance and disappeared in a gigantic explosion.

"Ship destroyed, Autarch." The young Howling Banshee smiled. "Orders?"

"We destroy as many of these Night Lords' ships as we can while giving Farseer Ulthran time to accomplish his mission on the planet below."

"Far be it from me to tell the Ulthwé Farseer to hurry," a Mariner interjected. "But the Annihilator fleet orbiting around Fenris seems to have realised we have tricked them. Eight Battleships are on their way, and judging by the shroud of sorcery surrounding them, they're far from happy."

The 'Hero of Lugganath' assessed the situation and unfortunately found nothing to disagree with in his fellow Asuryani's assessment.

"First, we kill the Night Lord ships so they don't try to ambush us while we're waiting. Then...we hope the force we sent onto that purple world will accomplish its goals before the Enemy reinforcements arrive."

Midgardia

Nurglite Ritual Grounds

116 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Farseer Eldrad Ulthran

The moment Eldrad had glimpsed part of the fallen Primarch Lorgar's plans for Midgardia, the Ulthwé Farseer had known from intimate experience there would be a backup plan behind it.

It was only logical, as galling as it was to give credit to the slaves of the Primordial Annihilator.

Lorgar wanted to summon part of Decay and offer it the world of Midgardia, much like it offered the Guardian of the Throne of Skulls Cadia and the Head of the Infernal Flames the frozen continents of Fenris.

It didn't matter if the abominations succeeded or failed – in fact from the Damned's perspective, it might be better that they all failed.

But to preserve the fragile equilibrium among the three factions of the Primordial Annihilator, the three rituals each had to bring an entity from the depths of the domains of corruption. Failing in one case would bring great disruption, maybe enough to break the 'Black Crusade' of the Damned then and there.

This was why Eldrad and Aurelia had led a force of Aspect Warriors directly onto Midgardia while Lakadieth massacred the fleet in high orbit. The ship which was to bring the Power of Pestilence into reality was no more, all living creatures on Midgardia must have unconsciously felt a wave of relief.

But there was a backup ritual site to sabotage before the Word Bearer and Death Guard sorcerers could recover.

Nothing, however, had prepared him for the sight of the corrupted defenders already dead.

"Did the humans somehow find out about the plan of the Enemy and assembled their own equivalent of an elite strike force?"

"I doubt it," Aurelia took a step forwards towards the ritual site, before bending the knee and examining the circle of putrid green, human skulls, and lethal poisons. "The humans would have stopped this if they knew, but the grounds are truly far from any of the accesses leading to their cavern-fortresses. And the wards...they couldn't have broken through them so easily."

"I see. But someone did..."

His lover nodded, grabbed the little pouch she kept around her neck, and let the tiny pink-red crystal which comprised most of the Athartian Destinystone stocks of Ulthwé at the moment.

Aurelia poured a flicker of power into the crystal, linking it to herself.

The effect on the ritual site was not really spectacular for the non-initiated, but for Eldrad, it was like someone had thrown ice in his face.

The three smaller circles inside the greater preparations filled with pus, poison, and swamp-like substances didn't change.

The broken crystals of 'Octarite', as the humans called the Primordial-corrupted Noctilith, were revealed to be something entirely different.

Instead of something sickening merging putrid black colour with many other shades not belonging to this reality, the remnants of what must have been a far larger crystal began to shine in a blue-gold colouration.

"That..." Eldrad found himself taken aback. "That was unexpected."

"As always, the Primordial Annihilator's worst enemy is itself." The Herald of Atharti whispered. "One fallen brother plots to destroy reality, and the other brother schemes in turn to ruin his plans. Do you think the monsters can cast a new ritual in time to satisfy Decay?"

"Not a chance," Eldrad had many doubts on the whole campaign, but this wasn't one of them. "The cultists and the evolved warriors arrived on Midgardia possibly years ago in order to prepare these grounds. And even if it wasn't so time-intensive, the sacrifices they intended to offer are all dead. And the humans of this planet have fortified themselves underground. They aren't going to let themselves be led to the altars given how fiercely they're fighting back."

"Good." Aurelia studied the ritual site. "You know, since our goal is to ruin the plans of the Primordial Annihilator, I suggest we leave this place as it is. The corrupted humans will of course have their doubts given our presence, but I think the truth is a weapon that will hurt them more than any fabrication we could devise."

"An excellent suggestion," the Farseer approved. "Let's return to the Anthem of the Fallen Suns, then. Autarch Lakadieth has gained orbital superiority, but I don't want to risk us being here when the Word Bearers and their allies' reinforcements will return."

115 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Lord of Contagion Felthius of the Tainted Cohort

Felthius stared at the corpses of the Word Bearers and his dead brothers for far longer than seven seconds.

Some part of his brain screamed this was Eldar trickery. He had not been anywhere near the ritual site, being too busy tracking and hunting the Wolves which had escaped the destruction of their fleet, but the Death Guard warband leader knew the long-eared xenos had been here.

And the Eldar, no matter where they were born or which Craftworld they hailed from, were manipulative bastards who loved nothing more than to trick their enemies into doing their dirty work for them.

But in this case, blaming everything on the Eldar didn't work.

It was impossible to deny that the cause of death was psychic backlash. And it had happened because someone had woven an illusion around the damned Transmutational Changestone in order to convince the sorcerers around it that it was Octarite.

Would the Eldar have done something like this if they had the means? Yes.

But in that case, why would they bother attacking the fleet in orbit and then launching a ground raid? Assuming they had read so much of the Black Crusade in advance, surely the sabotage would already have been in place for decades. These were Eldar. Their Farseers often rivalled the Alpha Legion where overcomplicated plans were concerned.

Assuming he was willing to disregard all the reasons he had thought of why the Eldar would try to trick them...where in the name of Nurgle's Garden would they find Transmutational Changestone?

The first creation of this game-changer had not echoed in the Warp long ago, and Felthius was keenly aware none of the Death Guard warbands which had joined this campaign had a single shard of Noctilith blessed by Grandfather Nurgle. And the Tzeentch-blessed Noctilith was maybe more common, but it was hardly available in the markets of the rare neutral grounds of the Eye of Terror! The sorceress of the Calyx Expanse was rumoured to swim in it, but there had been no contacts between her war zone and the warlords of the True Legions.

And this meant one thing.

"Alert Vermithrus and Pustulor on Fenris immediately. The Thousand Sons' apparent compliance with Lorgar's will was just a lie, exactly as we feared. Tell them those dust-soul bastards of the Cyclops have made sure that, Eldar or no Eldar, we wouldn't be able to summon the Great Unclean One of the Generous Grandfather."

Had they sabotaged the ritual which had been prepared in the Sacrament of Plagues? Yes, almost certainly. But in that case, finding some clues would be slightly problematic, the cowardly xenos having done much too good of a job erasing the traces of the crime.

"Tell them we are betrayed."

The explosion of blue light came without any warning signs, and Felthius only had the time to scream a pact-word and adopt a defensive stance before he was under attack. Because he did, he escaped the fate of his bodyguards and brothers.

Said fate wasn't death, but transformation into huge plague-coloured frogs.

Felthius was generally good-humoured, but this humiliation made the fires of rage, already on the edge of burning hatred, rise hotter in his belly, and the Death Guard Astartes could feel new fevers and other sorts of lethal diseases being created in his blood and organs.

None of this mattered as Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Thousand Sons, had materialised in front of him in person.

"I can't allow you to do that, Felthius."

The leader of the Tainted Cohort almost let the word burning on his tongue slip from his lips.

Why? Why did this backstabbing treacherous one-eyed traitor refuse the Grandfather's right to claim a world when the Thousand Sons did the same every time they had the ability to do so?

Felthius was sure Magnus would lie to him, however. And even if for some reason the servant of Tzeentch was so cursed he answered with the truth, it would in all likelihood be revealed the motive was insignificant compared to the stakes of the Great Game.

"I thought the hatred of the Space Wolves was a bit exaggerated, despite the...rivalry between our two patrons." The Death Guard Legionnaire threw his heavily damaged scythe away and drew his faithful Plague Bolter. "Unfortunately it appears the hypocrites were right. For the Grandfather!"

The Primarch threw an insane amount of telekinetic power, and Felthius felt all his bones crushed into paste before dying.

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

The Throne of Oblivion

Hyper-Tesseract Vault 'Grave'

110 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Lady General Taylor Hebert

Whatever the Necron Destroyer did, it felt like falling into a storm of darkness. And no, no matter how hard she pushed her wings, she could only fall, not fly.

When it stopped, Taylor was glad she was stronger and had better reflexes than before, because otherwise her head would have met the ground the hard way.

Slowly, the golden-armoured parahuman studied her surroundings...what her eyes could perceive of them, anyway. Behind her, there was a sort of immense Necron gate decorated with the glyph which represented the allegiance of the Necrons to the Silent King. The door wasn't as big as the missing one she had seen before beginning the battle for the Noctilith, but the average Knight could have used it.

She wasn't alone. It appeared Simiel, Dyson, and Catalan had been close enough to her to be sucked into this trap alongside her. A part of her swarm was here too. One hundred and twenty thousand Canoptek Scarabs plus a few other borrowed Necron insects had accompanied her. It was a far cry from the countless millions she had controlled before arriving in this new location.

It was worrying. It confirmed the fact they were nowhere near the Noctilith vaults anymore. And it wasn't the only problem. The golden light around her was far weaker than it had been during the time spent speaking to Malicia and killing Necrons.

"We are in a null-zone, my Lady," Epistolary Catalan announced a second later. "I can't use my skills."

"Yes, we are..." it was somehow worse than the feeling they had all experienced at the beginning of the Battle in the Volga Encounter. "We must be close to some huge Sepulcrand synchronizers."

"I can't contact anyone," Simiel informed her, at least proving there was enough air to speak, though why the Necrons had pressurized a place when there was no living creature inhabiting it was a mystery. "I believe we are jammed."

"It is impossible to communicate with the outside inside a Tesseract Vault." A voice she had never heard before replied in confirmation. "We don't want the C'Tan to contact those who still believe in them on the outside."

Several green lights came into existence, forcing the darkness away, and revealing...the same Sautekh Necron she had seen before fighting the Szarekhan Destroyers.

The enormous golden-emerald armour and the formidable staff in his hand was sufficient to suggest this warrior wasn't an average noble.

"You seem to know a lot about the subject." Taylor pointed out as calmly as she could.

"I was one of the Overlords who were charged to oversee the flaws in the Cryptek's works before we decided to imprison the False Gods inside the Tesseract Vaults." The green lights the Necron used as eyes were even more sinister and macabre given their surroundings. "It was I who advised my Phaeron that once trapped in these jails, the best usage which could be found for our former slave-masters was to use them as energy batteries. Using their shards in battle or for other purposes outside their prison must only be considered in truly desperate situations. Freeing a C'Tan is playing with cosmic fire in one hand while the space around you is filled with explosives."

It was an interesting analogy. And if it was accurate, it painted a very, very bad picture of how insane the Necrons of the Throne of Oblivion were. Because they had dared use more than one C'Tan shard since the battles had begun.

"I am Overlord Imotekh of Mandragora."

"The famous Stormlord of the Sautekh Dynasty," she nodded, trying not to sigh, because when could her life be simple? "I am Lady General Taylor Hebert of the Imperium of Mankind. I am the commander of the forces which were ordered to destroy the Throne of Oblivion and the threat represented by the Necron Dynasties awoken by it."

She could have lied, but what was the point? Imotekh was here, alone and unsupported.

"One might mention," the Necron Overlord spoke slowly but with no trace of hesitation in his voice, "that while we were awoken by the order of Overlord Sobekhotep the Dust-Maker, we are in no way allied to him or to any noble directly sworn to the Silent King."

"I know." The battle in the middle of the Noctilith nobles had proved that whatever grievances humanity had with the Sautekh, an unlimited love for the Szarekhan Dynasty wasn't among them. "And if you had not been awoken, we would have ignored your worlds for as long as possible. But you were. And Phaerakh Neferten and Aenaria Eldanesh had the same opinion about the...ambitions of the Sautekh Dynasty."

Mentioning one of the names appeared to severely displease the Necron General.

"Aenaria Eldanesh is still alive?"

"I met her earlier this year."

"And she didn't try to slice you into a thousand pieces for the challenge?" the Stormlord seemed genuinely surprised. "Maybe she has become a bit more tolerable in her old age..."

"No. No, she hasn't."

The next words were uttered in a Necron dialect, so knowing what was said would have to wait until the Nerushlatset translators could go over it, but if Taylor had to guess, it was a long litany of insults.

"We should have finished them off before the Great Sleep."

"Yes," the insect-mistress wasn't going to deny that the Necrons had screwed up, big time. The Eldar had gone on to dominate the galaxy, and then in their era of decadence, orgies, and murder feasts, created Slaanesh. They had nearly destroyed the galaxy through their actions alone. "You should have. But their extinction comes ever closer now, since we have destroyed the city of Commorragh at the heart of the Webway."

"I will not believe the Eldar race is extinct as long as I do not have Aenaria Eldanesh's cooling corpse in front of me," Imotekh replied darkly. "Enough of this. Since we fought numerous times after we proved the Szarekhan Dynasty was no friend of ours, I assume you intend to kill me."

"Yes. To be brutally honest, you present an extremely grave threat."

"And yet you do not have tried to kill me here."

"I don't know how to get out of our current prison." The black-haired Lady General pointed out. "Killing you when you may know a way to escape would not exactly be wise."

"Tesseract Vaults can only be opened from the outside, otherwise C'Tan would have escaped long ago. I can't help you on that front." The answer was given immediately. "But assuming you kill me, you will have to wage countless wars against the Sautekh Dynasty for long years. Many secret outposts and minor Tomb Worlds sworn to us will be eventually reawakened."

"That's why I negotiated with Overlord Zahndrekh after you were...indisposed. I am not stupid, Overlord. I know that sooner or later, one Dynasty will awaken and escape all our destruction attempts. Better to place a possible threat under the...flexible over lordship of the Nerushlatset Dynasty before the situation is impossible to handle."

"The Nerushlatset Dynasty is a second-rank Dynasty, possibly the weakest." Clearly, the Stormlord was far from pleased. "It is an insult to the Sautekh glory and-"

"May I remind you that right now, we have devastated many of the strongholds which gave you this 'glory'?"

"It remains insulting."

"Maybe," she agreed, "but since we trade honesty with honesty, my primary goal, besides the survival of the Imperium I am sworn to defend, is to make sure the Nerushlatset Dynasty is in a position to enforce a relatively peaceful coexistence between our two realms. If the Sautekh Dynasty has to be neutralised and humiliated so be it. The alternative is preferable to your armies and fleets rampaging across the galaxy."

If Operation Stalingrad had not just thrown a surprise attack on their main bases, it was entirely possible the Sautekh would have conquered the entire Eastern Fringe before the Imperium could ready the weapons for a war which would make the Horus Heresy an insignificant squabble.

"That is-"

The ground under their feet went from the cold, lifeless grey of the Necrons to transparent.

"Oh by the Golden Throne..." Simiel of the Angels Vermillion was the Dawnbreaker Guard who had spoken, but Taylor didn't blame him.

Under the level where they had debated with the Sautekh General, there was another vault.

It was a vault filled with mangled Space Marine power armours, but not the Mark VII or any recent pattern.

No, the armours were an interesting combination of Mark II and Mark III, but deliberately modified as if one had tried to use them for one of the samurai movies Dragon had tried to sponsor before their departure.

The colours and the symbols, damaged but still recognisable, left no doubt.

"This is the graveyard of the Second Legion..."

"And it will be yours too. Did you think a single confrontation would be enough to save you from my wrath, usurper?"

Taylor knew this...it wasn't a voice, but it was the best description she had. And it had given her plenty of nightmares since she had heard it for the first time.

"Iash'uddra..."

There was an explosion of green light, and the C'Tan emerged.

But it wasn't the appearance of the self-proclaimed Star God she had fought below the Underhive of Wuhan.

No, it was far more horrible.

For the first time, Taylor saw the awful truth, the very reason the Second Legion had to be purged. The very reason all Legionnaires had taken their own lives or had to be put down, be they in the Ymga Monolith's vicinity or not.

"You have Possessed a Primarch."

It should be impossible. Each Primarch, no matter how spectacular or unremarkable their psyker gifts, had been created by the Emperor, and as such was anathema, no pun intended, to something entirely born from the very fabric of the stars.

They could be Possessed. Fulgrim was proof it was possible. But that had been a Keeper of Secrets, a Warp entity, a Daemon...

The Sepulcrand, all the Noctilith with anti-psychic synchronizers. This was what had made the impossible possible. As long as the environment, the very air around the Second Primarch, was devoid of any connection to the Warp, the Possession would continue.

It was...a torment she couldn't even describe. And the Second Primarch had to suffer it for thousands of years. Because the Possession would have been broken if death came.

"I am the Endless Swarm. And my desires are the desires of a God!"

Imotekh loudly unsheathed an enormous spear-scythe from a pocket-dimensional inventory.

"You aren't a God, Endless Swarm. As for your desires, we don't care."

The C'Tan laughed. It was like an emotionless daemon had tried to mock them. It was a symphony of shrieking and the weather of a Death World trying to communicate in storms and death.

"How droll. The Stormlord...and the Swarm Usurper. One I will take great pleasure in ending. The other I will use as a replacement. I have taken all I want from this body and-"

Taylor fired her Adrathic Pistol while the C'Tan was beginning to boast.

But the shot veered off-course and finished disintegrating one of the Tsunami Sabres' armours below, creating one more hole in the already weakened ground.

"If you are so eager to die, let's begin."

Iash'uddra raised the right hand of the body it Possessed, and a green beam of molecular-disintegration struck Catalan in the torso, shredding the Ion Shield of his Mark IX effortlessly, and creating a monstrously big hole while painting her armour red with blood.

Throne of Oblivion Command Centre Supremacy

Royal Warden Sihathor

"It is only fitting that the vermin who dared strike down Overlord Sobekhotep be killed by the biggest monster of our vaults."

Sihathor did his best to make the announcement regal and self-controlled.

Deep inside, however, he was screaming.

What was he supposed to do now?

Most of the Nemesors he should have transferred command to were still alive, but they had succumbed to the Destroyer Curse just as the Magnificent Overlord had! When he had tried to transfer the command-protocols to one of them as tradition and the Silent King's orders dictated, the Chosen Noble wasn't even sane enough to acknowledge it, thereby making sure the procedure was considered a failure!

"Critical losses in every primary energy distribution node," the last Cryptek who had stayed to obey his orders informed him. "The calculations of the AIs which haven't been destroyed predict military collapse is imminent. The Szarekhan phalanxes' resistance is already negligible. I suggest removing all priority orders in favour of the Destroyer units to stave off the collapse. I also propose a truce offer be sent to the Sautekh command, with-"

"No! The Stormlord is going to die! His participation in the death of Overlord Sobekhotep demands nothing else!"

Sihathor wasn't about to let the Sautekh live when the greatest servant of the Silent King had been slain by their fault!

"No Sautekh must survive this battle! Indeed, with the Battle of Mandragora over, those are probably the last Sautekh to dirty the domains of the Silent King with their vile presence! We will be remembered as the nobles who will have exterminated Phaeron Djosakhat and his not-so-invincible Stormlord!"

This would not decrease the period of mourning, but it would be a nice consolation as they strived to repair the Throne of Oblivion.

"As for the other vermin which are crawling through our avenues," the Royal Warden nicknamed the Impaler announced, "I have a few surprises for them-"

"SURPRISE!"

The metallic head of the Cryptek vanished as a plasma bolt hit it, and before Sihathor could bark a single order, most of his Lychguards shared the same fate.

Impossible, how could-

Sihathor the Impaler, executioner of several lesser Dynasties which had been removed from all Necron databases, didn't have the time to charge or use a command-protocol before he was forcibly disarmed –his legs being ripped apart like his body was made of some sub-par metal.

For the first time since Sobekhotep's demise, something other than rage and sorrow poured into the engrams of the Royal Warden.

The newcomer vermin which had ambushed him and all his command was one of those small walker-machines, except of course seeing one up close was a very different thing than seeing it from half a continent away.

But why did it have such a ridiculous hat above its blue painting and red markings?

"I WANT THE DEACTIVATION CODES TO NEUTRALISE ALL NULL-MATRIXES, SYNCHRONIZERS, AND THE LOCATION OF ALL ANTI-EMPYREAL STORES YOU ARE USING FOR THE PRISON OF IASH'UDDRA. PLEASE."

"I do not have the codes."

"NECRON, THE NEOPHYTE SCOUTS OF OUR CHAPTER LIE BETTER THAN YOU. I WAS HERE FOR THREE MINUTES, AND WHILE I DON'T SPEAK YOUR LANGUAGE, I HAVE A GOOD IDEA WHAT YOU WERE DOING BASED ON THE VIDS AND YOUR REACTIONS TO IT."

"Shoot me!" Sihathor provoked him. "Your friends and the Stormlord will die, and nothing in this dimension can save them!"

"WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?" The enormous hat and its owner turned away. "HO! THE COMMANDS TO WIPE OUT THE MEMORIES OF ALL NON-REAWAKENED SZAREKHAN NOBLES! EXACTLY WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR!"

No! That was impossible! No vermin species could have found the complex triggering code and-

The black and crimson lights which began to be summoned the next instants by numerous other vermin storming his command room proved that alas, the enemy most certainly had.

"Stop that! I will use my command-protocols to do what you want, just-"

"CHAPTER MASTER? WITH THE SURRENDERED CRYPTEKS HELPING US, I THINK WE DON'T NEED THIS XENOS AFTER ALL."

Sihathor's voice-apparatus began to protest. The shot which ended his life arrived before anything significant could be spoken.

Overlord Imotekh the Stormlord

This was truly a day of unpleasant novelties.

Being the ambushed instead of the ambusher was always something he took great care to correct the few times it happened.

Being trapped inside a heavily modified Tesseract Vault already occupied by a C'Tan was worse.

And discovering bodies of Necrodermis were not the only possible thing a C'Tan could live inside was a nightmare waiting to be unleashed upon the Necron Dynasties.

No wonder Sobekhotep had been utterly silent on the subject. If something existed that could tolerate contact with the essence of one of their Former Gods, the galaxy was in peril.

The only good news was that Iash'uddra still needed some Necrodermis to stabilise its new form.

The being the humans had called a 'Primarch' was an enormous evolved form of the genetically modified 'Space Marines', certainly the equivalent of a command-and-control Phaeron for their armies.

It was impossible to say much else, since most of it was covered in a thick layer of Necrodermis.

"If you are so eager to die, let's begin."

The C'Tan shard immediately opened the fight by slaying one of the three Space Marines.

It was, Imotekh noted, a complete mistake. In half of an engram-processing thought cycle, the warrior which had presented herself as 'Taylor Hebert' began to burn in some reddish golden flames.

The counter-strike did not come from the Nebula's Shard – and yes, the human wielded one of the famous Aeldari swords – but the other sword carried by the golden-armoured human.

It struck Iash'uddra right in the chest. Imotekh had not expected much to be accomplished; When the Necrodermis was that thick, it usually required Monolith-level rays to pierce.

Iash'uddra shrieked in fury...and pain?

"Pain? Suffering? Why is there suffering? I inflict suffering. I inflict destruction. You change the order of things. DIE!"

Canoptek and other assets of the Endless Swarm rose from the graveyard...and immediately clashed with the other Canoptek Scarabs the human had surrounded herself with.

Golden and green sparkles fought each other in a tornado of metal and celerity...and as far as Imotekh could tell, it wasn't the swarm of Iash'uddra which was winning.

"Are you sure you are the Endless Swarm?"

The C'Tan shard shrieked and roared, then teleported right in front of the gold-plated Space Marine, killing him by severing its body into fifteen parts.

"You can't even protect your own servants."

This moment of inattention cost the C'Tan. The instant after, the blade impaled it in its 'back'.

Imotekh chose this moment to strike. Activating the Staff of the Destroyer he kept for bad days like this one, his shot managed to create a wound into Iash'uddra silver arm...but it disappeared quickly, unlike the other 'wounds'.

"I am going to deal with you, last, Stormlord. Your betrayal will be punished until the stars themselves bow in supplication to not suffer your torments!"

A ray of black light struck his shields and protections, blasting him away, but Imotekh had not survived the War in Heaven through luck alone, and though he had to remove his cloak and quantities of broken equipment in a hurry, the Sautekh Overlord landed on his feet...just in time to see the third Space Marine die.

"With the Sepulcrand and the synchronizers powering the null-fields, you stand no chance against me, usurper."

The wounds in the Necrodermis began to self-repair at last, though the energy readings were truly above the norm.

"It's funny, the other Shard at Wuhan said the exact same thing before finding itself in a Tesseract Vault."

The C'Tan took another blow, this time in the 'head'.

"Trazyn is not here to save you today."

And then it was like a lot of pressure had suddenly been lifted. The darkness and the power generated by the Tesseract Vault seemed to vacillate.

And the shroud of golden energy added to red sparkles became an inferno of red-golden light.

"You killed three members of my Dawnbreaker Guard. You are going to pay for that."

The Nebula's Shard was unsheathed once again, and this time, neither Iash'uddra nor Imotekh saw the strike land.

It was far too quick...and this time Iash'uddra's scream of pain reached an impossibly high note.

"The fate to all usurpers is oblivion."

"Big talk, for someone who has lost control of his swarm."

Lady General Taylor Hebert

It was difficult to keep your concentration as the C'Tan killed your Dawnbreaker Guard one by one.

Taylor managed it, with great difficulty.

But her patience was rewarded.

The null-matrixes were down now.

And Iash'uddra was going to pay.

Of course, it had likely already lost in every manner possible.

The time it lost killing Simiel, Dyson, and Catalan was its doom in the end.

No anti-Warp zone meant the anti-psychic Possession would begin to fail.

Of course, it wasn't likely to be a slow process. It would certainly take days, maybe months.

She didn't have days.

And for the slaughter it committed against humanity, she didn't want to give this abomination any more days to prepare anyway.

Her swarm was unleashed, and Taylor felt the intense pressure with which Iash'uddra mentally and physically struggled to free itself.

But she was stronger.

Administration? Query. Administration.

That was the moment when the C'Tan broke all the Canoptek Scarabs in a fraction of a second and tried to seize her by the throat.

"There is only one Endless Swarm, and I do not tolerate usurpers."

The moment after, a maelstrom of golden energy sprang into existence. A figure stepped through, and Taylor gaped.

The newcomer was the very symbol of angelic radiance.

It was Sanguinius...but it couldn't be, right?

Overlord Imotekh the Stormlord

This was a fight between fallen Gods.

In a second, the arrival of a new golden-armoured warrior turned the tide.

The new being was as tall as the body Iash'uddra currently inhabited.

It carried a long sword burning in golden light, and its mere presence seemed to make the C'Tan shard shriek.

"How long can you maintain your hold upon reality, Sanguinor?"

Imotekh tried to use the opportunity to strike, but he was too slow...or rather, the three opponents dancing and flying around the Vault were far too fast.

"Your strength is pathetic."

"And that body isn't yours."

This time, the two golden blades struck in unity.

Iash'uddra wasn't merely impaled this time. The very star-essence of the Shattered God poured out, and the noise reaching Imotekh's engram-sensors was simply one of unspeakable suffering and agony.

The C'Tan shard wasn't simply losing its hold on its new body.

It was dying.

But it still remained a being of untold viciousness.

"Hsiagn'la told you how Llandu'gor unintentionally cursed your machine servants. Know that I, the Endless Swarm, have cursed the Necrons to fall into the abysses of destruction! I have created the Destroyer Curse, and in time it will claim everyone, including you!"

"You are a monster."

There was an extraordinary explosion of light.

And then the angels fell.

Lady General Taylor Hebert

Her body hurt pretty much everywhere, but as the energy dissipated, there was still relief and a tiny amount of satisfaction.

The C'Tan shard had been truly vanquished this time.

Not just imprisoned, but destroyed, and in a way which would permanently weaken Iash'uddra's prerogatives and power.

Even better, the other shards would have felt it.

They now knew what would await them should they risk another fight.

However, the moment of triumph didn't last very long.

The sight of the immobile body of the 'Sanguinor', as Iash'uddra had called him, made her hurry to his side.

"Hold on, I'm sure my Hospitallers are going to arrive and-"

The golden armour, which had to be an exact copy of Sanguinius', began to burn and be absorbed into her own skin and essence at the point of contact with her armoured fingers.

The insect-mistress withdrew her hand immediately, but the process, once initiated, couldn't be interrupted.

"This...is...what...needed...to...happen..." the voice of the Sanguinor was weak, but it was a son of Sanguinius speaking. Taylor had heard them too many times to not know this to be the case. "Sacrifice. I...couldn't hold...it."

The words gave her the urge to cry. No, it couldn't end like this...

"Someone...must...protect...the...innocent. Blood..."

"For the Blood of Angels. Give me your name. I will bring it back to the Arx Angelicum."

It was the only thing she could do.

Yet as the armour of Sanguinius faded into golden dust and became hers, removing her exhaustion, burning in her heart and the rest of her body, a new golden armour was revealed underneath.

But this one was cracked to the brink of ruin. It was an artwork of disrepair, like it had been used for millennia without a single hour of Tech-Priest maintenance...and that was certainly what had happened.

"I was...Alatron...for...Sanguinius. Father..."

Those were his last words. Taylor cried.

She didn't know long she stayed there, her hands placed upon the ruined golden armour.

Why did victories like these always have to be paid in the blood of loyal souls? Why?

There was a noise behind her, and via her swarm, Taylor saw movement where the fallen form of Iash'uddra had disintegrated.

Slowly, the parahuman warlord turned back and walked to the body of one of the Emperor's forgotten sons.

To her stupefaction, the Necrodermis began to slake off in a silver cascade, and at last the Basileia could see the face of the Second Primarch.

If Dorn had been a wall of granite given majestic form, white hair and imperious determination made flesh, his brother was a sea wolf with many Japanese traits and a beard the likes often seen on veteran maritime sailors.

The armour which was revealed was blue, but far darker than the Ultramarines' paint, the very colour of dark storms, and green and white stripes accompanied it.

"Is it over?" for the second time in a brief period, Taylor felt drained of all joy, for this was a dying voice. It was the voice of the oceans at last longing to return to something approaching peace after storms and destruction.

"It is...Lord."

"The C'Tan tortured me...it told me no one would ever come. That the Imperium had forgotten me...but it began to feel fear after...after you trapped it the first time. It was afraid. It knows..."

"I will take care of it. Do not worry..." The Second Primarch didn't have long to live, and Taylor didn't want to let him reminisce about the eternity of mental torture the C'Tan had inflicted upon him during his endless captivity.

"No. You must know...Lorgar...is a fool. He thinks he has victory in his palm, but his plan...something is going to go wrong. Something...which will threaten...the galaxy."

A dying cough resounded, and rarely had Taylor felt so powerless.

"Listen..."

Taylor removed her helmet, as the voice was getting too quiet to be left to her armour's systems. And she was glad she did.

"Save...save my brothers...please. Your victory...will...be won...if you forgive."

"I...I will."

"Good. Take...take what you need from me. You have the power...my body is broken, my mind...tired. But you can save...the rest."

With what had to be an enormous effort of will, his right arm lifted up and the Living Saint placed both of her hands in his dark blue gauntlet.

The process the Primarch had ordered didn't last long. Deep in her head and heart, Taylor could feel the only reason the Lord of the Second Legion had resisted for so long was for the faintest of hopes that, someday, he would be able to die free.

"I am Hanzo of the Hattori Clan, Fleet Admiral of the Tsunami Sabres...tell my father I am sorry."

The Second Primarch...no...Hanzo closed his eyes. And his breaths grew weaker and less frequent until his body stopped moving forever.

Taylor cried.

She was still sobbing when the gate of the Tesseract Vault exploded and the Dawnbreaker Guard stormed in.

"My Lady..."

"We are going to need a Funeral Honour Guard," and never in her life had she ever felt so depressed, "for a Son of the Emperor and many Heroes of the Imperium."

Overlord Imotekh

The moment the human reinforcements stormed into the Vault, Imotekh acknowledged the situation was lost.

There were too many of these 'Space Marines' for him to fight alone. Assuming there weren't that many of them, it wouldn't have changed anything in the end. The jamming was gone, and he could only contact a handful of his most capable subordinates.

It didn't surprise him that his temporary disappearance had confused his subordinates, and while a clear chain of command existed, it led to a decrease in the phalanxes' efficiency. The humans were not so destabilised; their golden-armoured swarm-controller may have been teleported away alongside him, but they obviously had some crude substitute as the Canoptek waves continued to destroy Szarekhan and Sautekh alike.

Imotekh could shift to a code of conduct most nobility liked to pretend didn't exist as long as they had the upper hand in military campaigns.

But what good would it do? His forces were dispersed and insufficient to form any significant reinforcements. The Szarekhans could have played that role, but half of the Dynasty had succumbed to the Destroyer Curse, and the rest were attacking like lobotomised Krorks.

No, it would take massive reinforcements from Mandragora, and whether the humans spoke the truth or not after the Throne of Oblivion's escape, there was no retaking the Dolmen Gates.

Not against the millions of humans. And not against someone who could stand against Iash'uddra in single combat.

Phaeron Djosakhat would have told him his duty was to crush this nascent threat to all Necron Dynasties. But his Phaeron was no doubt dead. And the veteran of the War in Heaven was beginning to get tired of cleaning up other people's messes. Moreover, the old Sautekh noble didn't know if he had the firepower to force a stalemate, no matter how...emotional his potential opponent was.

But more importantly, it wouldn't be honourable at all.

Taylor Hebert saved his life and what remained of the Necrontyr he once was; hardly a selfless move, but nonetheless she had saved him from Iash'uddra.

Imotekh wouldn't tarnish his honour because the Szarekhan Dynasty and that traitor Orikan had provoked an opponent who led them from disaster to disaster until madness and death tore them apart.

It was defeat for him, but it wouldn't be the first, and if he played his cards right, it wouldn't be the last.

"In accordance with the ancient code of conduct and the honour of the Sautekh Dynasty," the survivor of the Battles of Mandragora and the Throne of Oblivion proclaimed, "I, Overlord Imotekh, formally surrender to my valiant enemies."

Even if it was most galling to resort to what his fellow Overlords and himself had once referred to as the Trazyn Option...

Battleship Enterprise

101 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

General Werner Groener

Werner tried not gape as Her Celestial Highness appeared on the hololith. Despite being warned by several Space Marines, it was...a very humbling experience. And she was thousands of kilometres away. It was only a hololithic representation.

Still...

The sheer aura of golden-red power Lady Weaver now possessed was incomparable with the one she had when she left her Battleship to participate in the assault.

The Cadian officer offered no compliments for it. One look at the melancholic expression was enough to know that whatever victory was achieved, it had not been without a terrible price paid in lives and suffering.

"We were greatly relieved by the news of your survival, Lady General." He began. "I understand you have just received the formal surrender of all Sautekh forces?"

"Their survivors, at least," the Living Saint corrected. "Imotekh the Stormlord has once more proved he is more intelligent than ninety-nine percent of his fellow commanders."

A tired sigh escaped the Basileia's lips.

"I understand Dragon is directing the Noctilith recovery operations."

"Yes, Lady General." Wolfgang Bach bowed. "We had to conduct a tactical bombardment to create a landing zone and many other improvisations, but we are charging the Noctilith as we speak. Of course given the sheer tonnage we're talking about, it's going to take a few days."

"Days we don't have before the next assault." Her tone was not making it a question. "I am going to contact the Admirals after you, but you can assume the Archenemy is going to unleash its forces in the next few hours. The contingencies I prepared with you are available. Act in consequence."

The words were as much for him as they were for the Rogue Trader, Werner realised with less surprise than he likely would have felt a dozen years ago.

"Yes, Lady General. It may or may not be related, but I have a report from Lady Dragon for you. According to her teams, the heretic codenamed 'Malicia' has successfully stolen nine blocks of Noctilith. We don't how many tons that represents yet but-"

"Too many," the Living Saint declared with a grimace, "too many bloody tons that this arrogant heretic is going to use against us in the future."

The exhaustion disappeared, replaced by adamantium-strong determination.

"If it hasn't already been done, share a basic description of what she looks like to High Command. I don't think she will dare act overtly again during this campaign, but I could be wrong, and her robbery is in all likelihood the greatest loss the forces of the Archenemy have just handed us."

"With all due respect, my Lady," General Moltke objected, "you transformed more Noctilith into Aethergold in the first moments of battle than she successfully stole."

"A good point," her superior agreed mildly before shaking her head with a frown on her face. "But this heretic's powerbase is at the other end of the Imperium, and the war zones threatened by her forces do not have millions of tons of Aethergold with which to defend themselves. And even if they had them, I don't like the idea of using so much Aethergold for a threat which it was our responsibility to take down in the first place."

The Living Saint exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled again before giving her next order.

"Wolfgang. Establish a priority transmission to Archmagos Cawl. He is to join up with Battle Group Don and go to the Extremis coordinates I gave you. Immediately."

Werner wasn't the only one to shiver at these words, because clearly Lady Weaver had determined the threat was so urgent to begin assuming every minute was going to make a difference.

"By your orders."

"General. I believe we have a xenos...diplomatic delegation on its way?"

"Yes, Lady General. We can delay it for a few hours, though."

Werner wouldn't be averse to shooting them, but even if they wanted to talk, the Living Saint really deserved a moment to catch her breath and rest...

"No. Bring them to the Enterprise. I am on my way."

Segmentum Solar/Segmentum Obscurus (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

Asaheim

99 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Primarch Magnus the Red

The Fang was going to fall.

Magnus had thought it would make him happier than he truly was. Maybe it was because the Siege had revealed itself to be a monumental chore.

There had been no easy victory after the Wolves banished Tzeentch's Exalted Lord of Change. Avalanches, nuclear weapons, psychic storms of ice and snow, and of course attracting thousands of carnivorous mega-fauna; everything the sons of Russ could do to make the Siege of their great fortress monastery an unrelenting pain had been done.

The fatalities of the Astartes veterans of the Eye of Terror, used to environments deadlier than these, had been fairly limited. The deaths of the Volscani Cataphracts and all other non-Astartes fighters, however, were counted in the millions.

But in a few minutes, it wouldn't matter. Nothing, not even a 'miracle' of his father, could save the Bloodfire Gate. And while the work on the other side of the mountain was several hours behind, it just meant that tomorrow, it would be the turn of the Sunrising Gate.

If he was still of flesh and blood, he would shout 'at last'!

Those dastardly long-ears had been a very unpleasant surprise, one he had not seen coming after Commorragh. In fact, the formation of the Crucible clouded every Seer's precognitive powers, and his own were sadly no exception. Thus he didn't know what kind of bee had stung the lunatic xenos for them to intervene here. Granted, the Tear of Nightmares wasn't something anyone save the most depraved of Drukhari would approve of, but still...

Lorgar approached his observation seat, and the Primarch of the Thousand Sons smiled. Time to play his part then.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" The other Daemon Primarch began.

"It is," Magnus replied. Even the most jaded veteran would be forced to agree. The Iron Warriors had taken no chances with their opponents. Everywhere one looked, it was ring after ring of trenches, bunkers, and artillery positions, not to mention the tens of thousands of Space Marines, the Knights, the Daemon Engines, the Heldrakes, and of course, last but not least, the Titans of the Mechanicum.

"In that case," Lorgar bared his teeth, "why did you put so much effort into betraying me?"

The world paused. Magnus didn't worry, he had a contingency...but it wasn't part of the plan for his brother to discover his machinations so early.

But a last time, for the sake of brotherhood, he decided to go with the truth.

"Your goals are impossible to achieve," the being most Inquisitors and Space Wolves called the Cyclops explained. "You can win on the fields of Fenris for a single day, but against the forces of the Imperium you want to destroy, there is nothing but annihilation awaiting your Legion."

"You underestimate the Powers of the Gods!"

"No. No, I do not. You, on the other hand, overestimate how much they care about your idea of 'Chaos Undivided'. They lived without it before we were born. They will be able to survive without it, Slaanesh or no Slaanesh." Magnus inclined his head. "I have to confess I am surprised Nurgle's wrath didn't smite you after the summoning failed."

"I have another contingency plan to please the Grandfather," Lorgar's hand-claw tightened around his Crozius. "You."

And suddenly it was like a veil had been pulled from his eye. The screams of his sons commanding the Silver Fortresses reached his senses...too late. Magnus didn't teleport to their rescue. These were the echoes of their death...rushing to their help would be only playing into Lorgar's plans.

"I see. Seven Fortresses taken by betrayal, with a Primarch sworn to Tzeentch to seal the deal. Clever."

"I thought so too," Lorgar of course loved to be complimented.

"But don't presume I am going to cooperate."

Suddenly, a beacon of purple light shone in the skies of Fenris, and Magnus realised he should really have kept an eye on Erebus and Kor Phaeron. While he wasn't looking, the two 'punished' Dark Apostles had begun a gigantic ritual on Valdrmani, where the Astropathic station of the sons of Russ had stood.

Since he was a talented sorcerer, recognising the spell cast across Fenris was child's play: the Lament of the Powerless. For the next nine hours, every sorcerer of his gene-line, including himself, was unable to use more than one-ninth of his sorcerous power.

He had been played.

Damn it.

But he had his pride.

"Gvhlrgrrbtombjmv'ssec sejmvuseqg-"

An enormous harpoon-chain burning with the power of Nurgle went through his left leg, and though he was a Daemon Primarch, Magnus had to use a lot of self-control to not scream in pain. The power he had tried to channel dissipated into an acid cloud.

Then another harpoon-chain went through his right leg. And his arms were the next target.

All in all, seven chain-harpoons impaled him. In spite of his diminished senses, he could feel the identities of the culprits: Jarulek, Paristur, Mothac, Kraal and all their most powerful servants.

"Your cooperation isn't required." Magnus gritted his teeth as his psychic strength was denied to him. "I have to admit I am disappointed, brother. With one of our oh-so-loyal brothers, one less reliant on sorcery, it is unlikely this would have worked."

"You may have the occasion to test that theory soon," Magnus found in himself the strength to chuckle.

"Corax can't touch me!" His immature brother hissed.

"I was not speaking about Corax, Lorgar..."

Laughing helped as over seven hundred Word Bearers and numerous tanks did their best to drag him away.

It is the story of a tragedy this galaxy has seen repeated hundreds of thousands of times since the War in Heaven.

Living beings of flesh and blood begin to evolve from animals to animals-who-think.

They begin to feel powerful new emotions alongside those they experienced before.

They truly begin to love and create tools to make their lives easier and more tolerable.

They also begin to hate.

And when the first intelligent being murders another with carved stone and fire, the attention of the Ruinous Powers turns towards the world.

To their misfortune, the newly intelligent beings have an incredible weakness the humans and many of the races the Necron Crypteks gene-engineered lack.

They are powerful psykers.

Not enough to present a true challenge to any star-faring civilisation, but more than enough for any Harlequin Troupe to take drastic measures should they be discovered.

But they aren't.

The region is difficult to access for all of the major galactic powers, and in this case, the Four have decided to be patient.

Outwardly, the evolution is fast, but hardly extraordinarily. Tribes begin to gather. The tools grow more and more complex.

What is out of the norms is that the ranks of the intelligent species are soon divided into four major factions. And unlike with many philosophy thinkers of uncountable generations, the differences do not stop at behaviour.

They begin to diverge at the level of the genetic legacy, to the point it is only a question of time until the lone planet will truly be home to four intelligent species which began as one.

And the influence of the Four increases. Tired of waiting, one of the Ruinous Powers announces the start of what is going to be a war devoid of sanity. Long-term alliances are broken for no reason. The pretexts are ridiculous, and the hatred ignores all friendships and ties of community.

The world burns. Common diseases become pandemics which slay those who haven't perished by the weapons of the warriors.

For a time, it seems the Dark Age is going to end in a spiral of chaos which will leave nothing alive.

Yet, on one night, two young adults climb to the highest peak of the mountains. They see, with the clarity of innocence, what has truly become of their race.

There is no peace wherever they look. There is just an eternity of carnage, and the laughter of thirsting Gods.

The young adults beg the Gods of this universe to save their people.

The 'Gods' do not care about the innocence or the strength behind this supplication. Why should they? Creations wrought in a desperate time when entire parts of the galaxy burned in eldritch fires, they are far too amused by the sheer amount of killing done on this world to bother with two loud insects.

But while the Ruinous Powers debate as to how they will manage to salvage enough of the young warriors, sorcerers, siege-masters, and aerial masters for the next chaotic struggles, two beings answer the supplicants.

The pair is hardly what an intelligent species which would call good, but unlike the Gods, they have long fought for survival. Denizens of the Immaterium and Materium alike have pursued them for an eternity. Worn and tired, battered and bloodied, the two have only barely survived their entry into this world, for the Four do not share a prize they consider theirs willingly, no matter how paltry it may be. The final member of their triune was less fortunate, overrun and torn to pieces by scores of roaring and cackling horrors.

And they see potential in these two young beings.

A devilish pact is made, one which will deliver damnation and salvation. The benefactors will merge with the supplicants, becoming a new species unique to this world and the galaxy. For the Greater Good, they will devour their warring cousins' psychic power, and will lead and guide them to the stars.

The Ruinous Powers will be denied.

But there is always a lesson one forgets to his peril in this galaxy.

The Four don't like being deprived of amusing toys.

Should the influence of the Pact wane, Chaos will once again have its due.

The Eastern Fringe

The Damocles Gulf

T'au System

Battleship Enterprise

99 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Commander Shadowsun

It had been a long debate of senior Cadre commanders of the Fire Caste as to how many of their elite Space Marines the Gue'la Imperium fielded across the Sectors they controlled.

There had been no doubt their enemies had more than the T'au Empire forces had seen. Their Chapters were supposed to be one thousand strong, but the heaviest concentration of firepower ever seen was during the 'Damocles Gulf Crusade', and there had not been more than two thousand of those giants in the entire war zone, with the colours and insignia confirming thirty-five different units had participated. Logically, the analysts of the Earth Caste had deduced the Gue'la had a minimum of sixty thousand elite warriors to defend their worlds, though obviously since they had travelled across the stars for far longer than the Tau, they were rarely mustered for the same operation.

Most of these estimates, needless to say, were revealed to be far too optimistic now that their diplomatic mission was allowed to land in the hangar bay of this gigantic Battleship.

There were more than a thousand of the Gue'la giants waiting for them, and though the colours on one side were different shades of red, the other side varied from yellow to black.

There were a few 'Chapters' the T'au Empire was familiar with. But most of those present today were complete unknowns, the red warriors with the iconography of blood and wings especially.

And as supreme commander of the Fire Caste, she was intimately familiar with the armament the Gue'la carried to war. The Space Marines she had fought and killed with her Battlesuit did not use this kind of equipment during their last battles. Shadowsun could miss a few things like any commander, but she was certain she would have noticed if their power armours had ion shielding. It wasn't activated, but when you had participated in the tests of enough prototypes in your life, you knew what to look for.

The Tau veteran's self-control returned easily after a couple of dec. In a way, whether the Gue'la had a thousand, ten thousand, or a hundred thousand of their Space Marines was immaterial. The reason their diplomatic team was allowed to present itself so quickly could only have one reason: the destroyers of Lu'val had been utterly defeated and now the Gue'la commanders could turn around and debate what to do about the T'au Empire.

"I suppose we need to-"

A lot of music echoed in the martially-decorated hangar bay, and suddenly, winged light came in Gue'la shape.

The luminous Gue'la was not as tall as the giant Space Marines, far from it, but the moment Shadowsun saw her, there was no doubt at all that she was the winged leader of these massive Battlefleets before her.

Something stirred in her mind, like she had forgotten something important. The leader of the Fire Caste felt the urge to prostrate herself and ask for the forgiveness of everything she had done fighting the Gue'la...what was wrong with-

"Don't come any closer, enemy of the Greater Good!"

The diplomatic team seemed to have reacted...pretty much like she did...but the Ethereal leading them was looking like...no, there was no 'looking like'. He was utterly terrified.

Shadowsun shivered and hesitated. For the first time in her life, the urge to protect the Ethereal was completely nonexistent.

"We know your kind, Gue'la! We saw your crimes during your so-called Damocles Gulf Crusade! We suffered from your atrocities during the Second Battle of Mu'gulath Bay! You offer no alternative but extinction or slavery!"

The golden-armoured Gue'la drew her sword, one which...it was normal-sized, but Shadowsun had seen the renegade Farsight wield a far larger weapon when he temporarily helped her at Mu'gulath Bay.

"Slavery? Your hypocrisy is sickening, diplomat. I forbid you from using the chains you have around their throats, and I am the one committing crimes? Reveal yourself!"

The pressure increased even more, the golden wings shone brightly, and a rain of crystals began to fall...but Shadowsun could only watch in horror as the Ethereal contorted grotesquely.

And then the head of the representative of the Ruling Caste of the Tau...melted.

There was no other word.

A dec later, the Fire Caste leader knew she was in error. It was not the head which was melting, it was the entire body.

It was like two different types of beings had merged together, and now the golden light was breaking their union.

The first being was a Tau, but it looked...diseased. His body was wrong, like it had been starved and prone to a multitude of sicknesses and mutations.

The second...it was horrific. Even the most disgusting of the planet-devourers, the walking nightmares of Hive Gorgon, were not that horrific.

It was vaguely spheroid and brown. It was...tentacles...oh, by the Greater Good...

There was a flash of crystal and light, and the two beings fell dead upon the cold floor of the hangar bay.

Impossibly, Shadowsun felt as if a great weight had been removed from her mind...

"What...was that?" She asked in Low Gothic.

"An Enslaver." The Gue'la female answered coldly. "Your rulers' bodies are in truth Tau Possessed by Enslavers."

There was a horrible shrieking sound behind her, and the Tau Commander spun around only to see a horrible scar of purple-black light begin to open in the direction of her homeworld.

"By the..." Oh, ancestors, what had they done in the name of the Greater Good?

Segmentum Solar/Segmentum Obscurus (contested)

Fenris System

Fenris

The Fang

Bloodfire Gate

99 hours before the Mark of Oblivion

Bjorn the Fell-Handed

Bjorn didn't like long pre-battle speeches. When you wanted to speak for a long time, it should be to recount a saga to the young whelps unable to hold their Mjød. Speaking for long times was good for the Great Feasts and making a long point to the Long Fangs, those who had learned patience and cunning, not like certain Great Wolves not present to defend Fenris from invasion.

"THEY ARE COMING. SEND THEIR DAMNED SOULS TO THE ABOMINATIONS THEY PRAY TO! FOR FENRIS!"

"FOR RUSS AND THE ALLFATHER!"

The Bloodfire Gate exploded, and the screams of triumph of the Archenemy were heard in their full intensity.

"DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"

Eight Daemon Engines were the first to enter the Fang. The Plasma Guns and the artillery made sure they were all wiped out for that 'honour'.

"YOUR END COMES!"

The Daemon Engines came again and again, but none even reached the Kaerls' first line. Direbear and his Long Fangs had concentrated enough artillery to kill entire armies five hundred metres behind Bloodfire, and the Daemon Engines were just targets that they could kill like it was training.

It took over forty of them and three waves for the bastards to learn they weren't going to win this way.

"KILL THEM ALL!"

"FOR THE TRUE GODS!"

"FOR VENGEANCE!"

"DEATH TO THE WOLVES! DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR!"

"LET THE GALAXY BURN!"

The enemy was unleashing all its cannon-fodder against them.

There were hundreds of thousands of them, and Bjorn knew there were millions more waiting outside. It didn't matter to the Word Bearers and Thousand Sons if these were former guardsmen or mad cultists, they would kill and kill until they died.

"FOR FENRIS!" He didn't try to focus on any particular target, at this distance and with the sheer number of enemies, he couldn't miss. "FOR RUSS!"

But for the first time in millennia, the words of a son screaming his power at a father who had left him behind were different.

It was like...like there was someone to hear his shout.

"FOR RUSS!" The strange sensation didn't disappear. "FOR RUSS!"

The enemy arrived at close-quarters. The Eldest of the Vlka Fenryka was the first one to claim a melee kill with his immense claw.

My name is Leman Russ, and this is my promise.

There may come a time far from now when our Legion itself is dying, even as I am now dying in soul, and our ancient foes shall gather to destroy us. Then my children, I shall listen to your call in whatever realm of death holds me, and come I shall, no matter what the laws of life and death dictate.

At the end I will be there.

For the final battle.

For the Wolftime.

Author's note: The Black Crusade Arc will continue and end next chapter: Black Crusade 10-5 Wolftime.

The betrayers have committed. The Veil of Reality is torn apart. The main actors are in place. The gambits have been made. Lorgar's Great Plan is still on schedule.

A Primarch has died. The great secret of the Tau, at least my version for it, has been revealed. And yes, I altered the canon storyline of the Tau made by GW to suit my needs. I'm not sorry about that, by the way.

Now prepare yourself. The situation is going to...escalate.

The other links for the Weaver Option if you want to support or comment on my writing:

Alternate History page: www . /forum /threads /weaver-option-thread-3-the-5th-black-crusade-story-only.506948/

TV Tropes: tvtropes pmwiki/ / FanFic/ TheWeaverOption