Saint Summer the Huntress

by Korykr

To most death is the end. To some death is a doorway. To Summer death is a beginning. Separated from her home and family, she must carve her way across a galaxy in flames in order to return to them. Nothing would get in her way. Not aliens, monsters, daemons, or evil gods. She would return to Remnant and leave her mark on the galaxy.

10. Chapter 10

RWBY is the property of Rooster Teeth.

Warhammer 40k is the property of Games Workshop.

I do not own anything.

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Chapter 10: Reunion on Luna

It often astounds and terrifies all just how important a single object or person can become if they meet certain criteria. For a planet, there are a number of different factors that can single it and its population out amongst the millions of floating orbital spheres in the galaxy. Among these are its location. Where is it along the galactic map and does that make its circumstances unique? Does it serve some special function and retain the capability to serve said function for a long period of time or indefinitely? Is it capable of being replaced within an acceptable time scale to avoid the consequences of its loss or worse be replaced at all?

There are a number of worlds within the Imperium that would fit one or some of these criteria. Metallica, Armageddon, Fenris, Graia, Nocturne, Ryza, Krieg, Catachan, Mars and Macragge just to name a few. Some with obvious reasons, others slightly more nuanced. Given the sheer immensity of the Imperium, you would imagine it could absorb any loss thrown at it given enough time to heal. This is false. More exterminatus actions have been taken in the past millennium than ever before. It often begged the question, what could they afford to lose before they reached the brink.

This was something that was always on the mind of Sett Avaros, Custodian of the Emperor and second in command of the Solar Watch. He would often contemplate such things as he stared through the armorglass windows of his orbital monitoring station.

His outpost, Solar Listening Station Beta 53-1, dubbed by its mortal occupants as Second Link, due to the level of importance his rank imposed upon them, was one in a long chain of orbital platforms that encircled the inner Sol System. Armed to the teeth with and as the humans would say as a boast to the level of armaments the listening stations of the Solar Watch were afforded. Outfitted with the most sophisticated auspex the Imperium had to offer. Technology integrated and caringly preserved for over ten millennia. All in the name of defending Ancient Terra.

As Sett thought the name, his view was gifted with the sight of that distant world. His transhuman eyes, leagues superior to that of the mortal crew he supervised, picked it out among the numberless bright specks in a sea of black.

The Throneworld, what more perfect example could he ask for in his hour of contemplation?

As Sett stared at the place of his birth and the center of his very purpose, he pondered on the reason why his world was so highly valued. It was both fitting and strange when one thought about it. In many ways, Terra was a paradox. In the mundane, it was by far one of the worst worlds you could live on. No natural food or water sources. Cramped living spaces. Industrial mazes for environments. Gangs and cults in the underhives always on the prowl. Constant exposure to pollution and radiation. Mutation rates on a constant rise and annual culling as a result. Many who would map out a world for a colonizing population would see Terra as a sort of death sentence or purgatory rather than the heart of the greatest empire in the galaxy. In fact, if it weren't for that very status, Terra would have collapsed under the weight of its own quadrillions strong human populous and lack of natural resources. Without the constant imports of food and other essentials to maintain such vast numbers, the world would have devolved into what it had been before the coming of the Emperor, Beloved by All.

Sett was one of the few Custodians to remember those times. One of the many who witnessed the death of the Thunder Warriors and the birth of the legions. One of the few who survived the War in the Webway and the following siege. He was among the seniors of the Legio. In fact, his seniority was such that he was once in talks to be elected Captain-General after Constanine Valdor had disappeared. Sett lost that race, else he would not be here, nor would he have been able to leave Terra and travel with the Dread Fleet to perform the most aggressive form of his duty.

However, his time away had only reminded him of the importance of his task as a defender of the Golden Throne. That defense included guarding against more insidious enemies, and that did not only mean the forces of the traitor or their ethereal allies.

There was a reason Sett took notice of the mundane and inconsequential matters of baseline humans. Humans who would likely not achieve anything in their short lives other than living said lives and producing the next generation or helping the cogs in the machine of the Imperium turn. It was that given the often-poor conditions of said lives, it left them easy prey to manipulation. This was something he had ironically learned during his days with the Dread Fleet. He had taken an interest in determining how such insurgencies had been allowed to bloom. Those investigations had taught him much, and the Solar Watch had taken his insights gladly.

You see, Terra had many weaknesses that had to be accounted for. One of which was the constant need for supplies. A need that could be easily exploited by a clever foe. Like a Genestealer Cult or the Alpha Legion. These two in particular were fond of using the native population of a planet to bring it down from within. Both were long term planners in terms of their doctrine for conquest. There were others that could emulate this. The Thousand Sons, the Word Bearers, even the Death Guard with their more subtle contagions.

Many times, cargo haulers would be destroyed because of uncovered sleeper agents or crewmembers being found to have been infected by a Genestealer. That was his purpose, as was the purpose of every Custodian within the Solar Watch. No ship reached Terra without garnering their approval. All ships approaching the system would be inspected and cleared according to the parameters that they set. Even the Knights of Titan were not exempt from this rule, despite the bickering some of their grandmasters made of this. It never mattered, they always complied.

The reason for all of this is the stark reality of the level of importance Terra has. Not as a world in and of itself, but what it offers on a galactic scale. If the Imperium were a macrocosm of the Sol System, then Terra would be the equivalent to the sun of the Imperium itself. That was both in the metaphorical and the literal. The necessity of the Astronomican was never something to be put into question. It's importance to the Imperium was indisputable. Without the light of their lord to guide them, no navigator could find their way in the tides of the aether with proper accuracy. They could read the tides, but it was far too difficult to find a direction without some form of consistency within that ever-fluid realm.

Besides this, Terra had another purpose that was vital for the Imperium at large to function.

Terra was where the bureaucracy of the Imperium reached its zenith. This was the seat of the highest authorities in the Imperium. The Council of Twelve. The High Lords of Terra. It was they who arbitrated and voted on the policies and movements of the Imperium and all its assets.

Sett remembered when the council was just freshy minted in the days before they had even left the Sol System. When they were headed by Malcador the Sigilite. Excluding the oldest companion of their master, the council numbered only four back then. Two centuries later when the great betrayal was uncovered, the council had expanded to six. In the millennia following, it has only continued to expand as the Imperium became more divided and required a voice on the highest authority. And with that expansion came a form of lethargy that came with adding too many voices to a chamber where quick and decisive action is required. It was one of the things the Custodes all agreed about the Council. They spent too much time talking and focusing on how they, as individuals, stood to gain. Things were quicker in the early days when He and Malcador were present. It was their presence that kept such bickering in check. After their passing, the Primarch Guilliman took the reigns as Lord Commander of the Imperium and Sett was not the first to admit that the Primarch had done an admirable job at quelling the constant arguing that spawned in the wake of Malcador's sudden absence.

Then Guilliman had to go and confront his brother, Fulgrim. Leaving them to fall back to what humans normally do when there is no one to hold them in line. Take advantage of the situation.

Why did the Custodes not step in? Simple. It was not their role. They were not made to be rulers, nor even guides for humanity. As for defenders of humanity, that had ever and always will be the role of the Astartes. Sett and all of his kin were made for a different prerogative. They were made to be His bodyguards and companions. A part of Sett always felt that their master must have felt lonely in the days leading up to unification. A sentiment that his Tribune, Ra Endymion, silently agreed with. Sett was not unfamiliar with this state of mind, even if he only experienced an echo of what it might be for a human. It came to him in the time of the Scouring, when he had lost one of his closest brothers. Then came the loss of many of the rest of his generation of the Custodes. Very few remained that were present in those times. Most being interred in dreadnoughts. He had made his peace with that. His brothers performed their duty as best they could, even though they had failed in their ultimate responsibility.

Now, they took their roles far more seriously, if that was even possible. Even the High Lords had second thoughts before approaching them for anything. This mostly stemmed from the fact that even the High Lords of the Imperium had no authority to command any Custodian. They were only beholden to one master and as per His own decree, only He had the authority to stand in judgement over them. Not even the Inquisitorial Representative dared to make demands of them and the Master of the Assassinorum had enough sense to keep his distance.

The security of their master was their primary concern, ever and always. That was why the Legio had expanded its influence in the shadows of the Imperium. This was done under the High Lords and even the Inquisition's notice. Anonymity was always the best way to avoid unnecessary interference from the powerful.

Sett doubted that anyone in the galaxy understood just how much the Legio Custodes had adapted and evolved. How much they could see and knew about what went on outside the Palace and the system.

He also doubted any of the High Lord understood just how vulnerable they truly were and how much they relied on his order for their defense. Countless missives and delegates from all over the galaxy come here to bear their grievances or to make offers in the name of their planetary governors. Also, the countless voidcraft transports carrying food, supplies, personnel, specialized building materials for all the esoteric technologies that could only be found on Terra and in the Palace. Hundreds came in every single rotation. The number of freighters that were purely designated to carrying food and rations for the quadrillions of humans on the planet beyond counted for the vast majority of those.

That counted for thousands of vessels, and every single one of them was a potential threat.

There were layers of defense beyond the cordon of the Solar Watch, but those were often bogged down by the processing of each ship's contents. It was best to uncover any form of subterfuge or espionage before they got remotely close to Terra.

For if anything should happen to the throneworld, not only would the leaders of all essential branches of this empire be dead, but their master would be placed in peril too. While the Legio was fiercesome, they were under no delusion that a sufficiently sized force could overwhelm them. A lesson Sett had learned during the most grueling half-decade of his life.

Even now his time in the Webway haunted him. He did not fear what he saw in those luminous white tunnels. But after witnessing what one among the neverborn was capable of, he vowed to never let any fiend get close to the Palace again.

He was still ignorant of the monster's name, but he remembered the sheer lethality of it. An apex manifestation of ruin. It was hard for him to believe such a thing could exist, even now. He had faced down greater manifestations before. They were not unstoppable, but the one that hounded them in those tunnels was different.

The first time he saw it was during an ambush Ra had set up in an attempt to kill it. Scouting missions had gone silent, with only audio recordings of the beast and later a single image capture for confirmation of their destruction. Ra determined that it was a variant of some alpha thoughtform. One at the very peak of what the ruinous forces could bring to bear, and it was hunting them.

When Sett got his visual, he felt a cold chill run up his spine. Like he was staring at the very antithesis of life. Murder given form. It behaved like an animal at first, sniffing the psychoactive debris it created when it had burst into the ambush site.

Then Sett and his brothers slammed their spears into the ground to get its attention. It moved with an almost oily motion that made it hard to predict. It charged at them, leading an entire army of lesser monsters. The ambush worked perfectly. Hidden gun positions from their Mechanicus and Solar Auxilia allies tore the horde to pieces.

In that moment, Sett expected the beast to flee as any being would. That would open it to the secondary line that was set up to kill any attempting such an action. But he was wrong. The monster did not flee but continued its charge into the Custodians lines.

Before that moment, he never imagined that so many of his brothers could die so quickly. The beast was death itself, carving them to pieces as they themselves would a baseline human. It did not escape by fleeing. It escaped through the act of murder. Slaying enough of his brothers to force its way out of the trap they had set up for it.

It had been the first time Sett had ever been acquainted with the prospect of facing a foe of such caliber. The only being he even considered capable of such a feat was his master. The Primarchs were one thing. All of them were fearsome and would likely take a significant number of Custodians down with them. Other than that, none of them would be able to stand up to the number we had arrayed against the beast of murder. No matter which Primarch, they would die.

That beast refused to die. Even as its corporal form was blown to bits.

Sett had never admitted it, not to Ra or even his closest brother, but that event changed him. He understood that their superior strength, agility and cognitive power was not enough. Not anymore. The type of enemy they were fighting had changed while they had remained the same as they always had. Yes, they had the Anathema Psykana at the time, but their numbers were too few to make up the difference. Now they barely had any at all.

It was a lesson that he took to heart. The enemy shall evolve and adapt to any strategy that will grant them victory. As such, the only course of action was to adapt in turn. They needed to know their enemies. To understand them. That was why they had an entire chamber dedicated to the capture and retrieval of every enemy they might encounter.

The only adversary they could not freely study were the neverborn, due to the very nature of their existence. But his brothers did have their avenues and it was not as if they did not take advantage of any opportunities that presented themselves. The Emperor, Beloved by All, must have foreseen the limitations of his companions in this regard. Why else would he have ordered the creation of the Knights of Titan?

For it was only they and the Inquisition who knew the enemies of humanity better than the Legio. For that reason and that reason alone did he hold no objections to the latter.

His moment of contemplation was ended by a sudden alarm. Red strove lights bathed the chamber in their glow. He did not call for the station's commander right away, mortals were slow in comparison to him. It was an act of kindness he afforded the crew by allowing them to contact him instead. It gave them a greater degree of enthusiasm and allowed him to properly measure their efficiency.

Looking out into the void, he spotted a mass of lights. He knew those lights. He recognized them, even from this distance. The wrongness of it. Those were Warp tears. Ships were existing Warpspace and returning to reality where they belonged.

He was not surprised by the sudden appearance of unidentified craft, for that was the only reason for the alarms to sound. Any ship entering the system had to possess a broadcasting signal or registered ident code that marked them as a common goer for goods or whatever other business the High Lords and their many political underlings wanted.

No, what surprised him was that there were so many. Offhand he counted a full battlegroup's worth of ships at the least.

Now he felt his muscles tighten. The Captain-General had been giving some strange orders in the past few months. Sett never doubted Valoris' judgement. He was the 17th Captain-General, but no less qualified than the fifteen that came before him. Only Valdor himself could be better suited for the role.

Sett knew he had scant seconds before the mortal commander called for him. So, he took this last moment of brevity to hypothesize.

The last time he spoke with Valoris, it was to pass on an order to the Commander of the Solar Watch for the expedited clearance of all Black Ships and any vessel containing one marked as a member of the Anathema Psykana.

The order had been carried out, but in a way that did not compromise the cordon. The Null Maidens were separated from their vessels and then sent to Terra using the Custode's own private ships. The Black Ships were always an exception given the purpose of their role.

Many of the Null Maidens were resentful towards him, one even cursed him out in thoughtmark before being disciplined by her senior. It was understandable. They were cast out by the Imperium after Guilliman had fallen. Their presence unnerving even the most resilient of imperial officials. Still, it did not bother him in the slightest. He let them through as instructed, if they wished to air out their grievances, he let them. The Custondes were partially to blame for their exile. In their collective grief over the loss of their lord, they neglected to offer aid to those who stood with them in their darkest moments. Another shame on the order.

Still, that did not hamper him. He carried out his duty with a focus that reminded him of the old times. It was good to see the Sisters of Silence again after all this time, even with the visceral reaction they elicited.

As for the reason behind such drastic actions as their retrieval, Sett could only guess one reason. The Doomscryers were giving their warnings again. It must have been something dire if Valoris decided that the Anathema Psykana would be needed for them to counter it.

The warning was warranted now that he looked back. For several months, the light of the Astronomican had been extinguished. The stations Astropaths were screaming until their vocal cords bled and had to be sedated for days. The crew had earned his respect for how they handled the situation then.

The light of the Astronomican had only been reignited one standard month ago. What caused it to go out, impossible to say. Many had their suspicions. One brought him to thinking of the only world that could come close to Terra in its importance to the Imperium, at least in recent years.

Cadia. The Gateway to the Eye.

He refocused on the moment as the vox in his helm came to life. Two seconds slower than the previous time the alarms sounded.

"My Lord!" Came the voice of the station's commander, Edric.

"What is the situation?" Sett inquired in a regular tone. A new member of the crew would think he is being apathetic, but to those who knew him would understand that most Custodes did not convey much in terms of their emotions. The only emotion you would get out on one of them was cold anger, and the crew knew better than to try and goad him.

"All stations are reporting multiple warp breaches at the systems edge."

"How many ships do the augers detect?" Sett asked further as he exited the tower that served as his personal sanctuary for the past century and made his way down into the central hub of the station.

As the lift took him downward, he continued his conversation. "We are still getting the finer numbers, Lord."

"What is the current number then?"

"One moment. Holy Throne. There are dozens of ships, both capital and escort class. It must be a full battlefleet and there are still more… Wait."

Sett knew that silence. It was uncommon but that was what made it stand out. It was a signal that there was an irregularity to the following events. Given that there was a fleet of ships on approach, it was either a threat or not. The possibilities of something unusual in that simple logic were not many. It was either a xenos fleet, a traitor fleet, or a rogue imperial element that was grossly overestimating its abilities.

Sett let the silence hang, until the elevator stopped and opened to a large circular chamber at the base of the multitude of spires the station boasted near its summit. His happened to be connected directly to the command center for the Second Link.

He strode past the officers at their workstations, all of them sharply focused on their tasks. Approaching one of the terminals, he found the station commander hunched over by a terminal with another of his staff.

Sett did not want to startle the man, so he deliberately made his footfalls heavy as to make his presence known to the commander without having to announce himself. It was a common enough thing to be recognizable. As when he called out someone by name it normally meant punishment. That being summary execution for failing in their duties.

Sett knew the entire crew of the station by name. All of them. A number that easily reached the tens of thousands. He knew all their names, all their accomplishments and backgrounds. He respected them. Loyal and diligent servants to the throne all.

Would he kill any of them? Without hesitation. Do not mistake his respect for sympathy or attachment. To be part of the defense of Terra meant that you would die. There was no retirement from this task, which applied to all that served alongside the Legio. They knew this, which was why they knew not to test Sett or fail him along with any of his brothers in the Watch. If you which to live, do your duty to the best of your ability.

There were benefits for the mortals. Fear alone was not nearly enough to maintain such devotion. In addition to the above regular ration quality, they were promised a place of remembrance in one of the Custodes chambers. All their names would be recorded and remembered. Unless they disobeyed without beneficial reason.

The commander turned slightly; having heard Sett's footfalls he straightened his back before turning to face the Custodian.

"My Lord." Edric said, greeting the Custodian with the sign of the Aquila.

"Greetings, Commander." Sett said, placing a closed fist over his heart. A greeting he used for the officers of the crew. "What is the anomaly?"

"We've got indents on the leading ship. Station 13-Theta had managed to uncover its classification. It's a Gloriana Class."

"Are you certain?" Sett questioned.

"Yes. We ran our own scan to verify. All other stations did the same. All confirmed positive." Edric said without breaking his frame as most humans did when Sett asked them to be sure.

Sett reached up and undid his neck seal. The hiss of depressurizing air let the officer manning the terminal know he wanted to see it for himself. The officer moved to the side and Sett beheld the data returns from their augers. The ship at the head of the battle group was indeed a Gloriana Class.

Stepping back, Sett returned his attention to Edric. He had to decide on a course of action quickly. There were only a few Gloriana Class cruisers left in the galaxy, and many were in the hands of the traitors. If this was a massed assault by the Abaddon, then he would need to make the choice now if he wanted Battlefleet Solar to respond before they got too close.

"Do we know who they are yet?"

"We are still trying to…"

"Sir!" Called out one of the communications officers. "Station 42-Gamma has managed to hail them."

"Did they get a response?"

"They did, sir."

"Well then spit it out already." Edric ordered in an aggravated tone. This was the first time he had been confronted with the possibility of a true void battle and he did not want to come up short.

The officer checked the terminal, then looked up, then checked it again. "It's the Ultramarines. Emperor's Teeth, it looks like over half the chapter is here. Along with several more following behind."

Sett looked to Edric who glanced back with a confused quirk of the eyebrows. "Really? What in the Warp has brought them all the way here? I'd figure they'd be too busy protecting their own little empire rather than make the trip to come halfway across the galaxy."

Sett pondered the question as well. It was a reasonable thing. "Perhaps we should ask them."

Resealing his helm atop his scarred face, he let out his first order. "Contact the Macragge's Honor. I would speak to whomever is leading this unorthodox pilgrimage to the Throneworld."

Sett made his way to a central hololith table located at the side of the chamber. There were four such projectors, as communication had to be done on multiple fronts for both his brothers and any high-ranking officials that would make their duty strenuous.

"As you command, my Lord." Said the communications officer who passed the order along to the rest of his co-workers. They did not question his choice of name for the Gloriana Class. They knew he would not give an order if it were not true, and he knew for certain that the Utramarines only had one such ship.

When he stopped in front of the projector, with Edric at his side, the device hummed to life, producing a transparent, three-dimensional image of an armored figure. The figure was reduced due to the parameters of the hololith table, but Sett knew that this being would be larger than even he.

Edric flinched at the sight of the being and many who caught a glimpse of him halted in their work. This brought more workers to look when they were distracted by the sudden laxity of their comrades.

The being, while not physically there, had an effect on the mortals. Sett knew this, for he was there in the days of old when close to twenty of them roamed the stars.

The hologram presented the Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium. Alive. How? That was irrelevant.

"Greetings, Custodian." Said the holo, and while it was an artificial copy of the one speaking on the other side, Sett recognized it instantly. You don't forget one of the Primarchs, even after ten thousand years.

"Primarch Guilliman." Sett replied without setting any of his surprise of suspicion show. "You live."

The holographic copy of the Avenging Son gave a warm smile, a diplomat's smile as Sett knew it, however Guilliman made it look almost genuine.

"Indeed, I do. Even if that is hard to believe in this day and age." The Primarch said. "I am to presume you have hailed me to ascertain whether or not I am a threat?"

"Your presumption would be correct." Sett answered. "Such is the duty of my order, as you know."

"I would expect nothing less." Said Guilliman. "And since you want to ask me the question, I shall spare you of that. I have come to see the Emperor."

Sett felt his fist tighten involuntarily. He had a visceral reaction to all who dared believe themselves worthy of such a thing on their own accord. However, he did not act on this. Instead, he chose to inquire further before making his choice to call on the rest of the Watch.

"This may be redundant, but I do require further reason for why you would deign to see him. He has not moved since your entombment and need I mention that you have brought what would amount as an invasion force with you."

Guilliman dropped the smile and gave an all too serious expression. "That may be, but I have heard concerning things. Not to mention that a grand total of ten millennia have passed since my wounding. I wake to find the galaxy rife with conflict, most concerning of all, I have been told that Cadia has been destroyed and our betrayers now run rampant."

A set of murmurs broke out in the command center. Sett simply nodded in understanding as the missing pieces finally slotted into place.

So, it was true. Cadia was gone and the floodgates have been opened. Now Valoris' commands became clear.

Guilliman continued. "I have come to do what I was made to do. Bring the Imperium into order and protect my father's empire, Custodian. But first, I have come for His council."

Sett just stared at the holo copy of the Primarch. There were so many ways for this to go wrong, but he felt something reach out to him. An unmistakable presence he had not felt in eons, gently brushing his thoughts. It said no words, for the simple fact of it being there was enough.

His choice was made. "I recommend you slow your advance when you reach us. Battlefleet Solar might not deign to hail you if you appear too eager. I shall contact them to send you an escort."

Guilliman's expression relaxed slightly. "You have my thanks."

Then the holo cut out. Edric blinked as he realized what had just happened. "By the Throne. A Primarch has returned."

"Indeed." Sett concurred as he turned to walk back to the lift, something told him that he would need his wargear. Wherever Primarchs went, trouble was not far behind. That was how it always had been back then, and he doubted such realities had changed.

"Rouse the Astropaths. I want this reported to Valoris now."

---

Summer strode along the passages of His All Encompassing Will. The crew were still in a panic to perform their duties to perfection. Armsmen were performing what the huntress would equate to morning drills, while constantly checking their weaponry. They were not the only ones up and active, the navy ratings, as in the basic crew, were also going about their duties with a fervor that almost made them look like excited children.

Summer found this appealing because she understood why they were so dedicated to looking their best right now. They wanted to make an impression. During her time traveling with them, she had come to understand an aspect of their mentality as a crew. The ship was their purpose. Protect it. Maintain it. Direct it. Give it life. The only way they could show their worth to the galaxy was to show that they kept the ship in pristine condition, while having it primed for war. Honestly, most would view it as insane, but Summer found such selflessness endearing.

As for their extra oomph today, it was obvious. They had reached the Sol System where the planet Earth or Holy Terra was. And where her patron could be found.

It was almost time. After a month, according to the clocks or chronometers as everyone called them, they had finally emerged from that hellscape. While less turbulent than the first time she had been in it, she could not say it was less intimidating.

Seeing the power of your god will do that to you. Until now, she never understood the scale of such power. All she could do now was hope she would never be on the receiving end of it.

Summer almost wanted to stretch out with her mind again just so she could see how everyone was doing, but she would spare that until they reached the bridge.

Gessel, her faithful companion, walked at her side, deftly sidestepping anyone who failed to notice her.

She did not blame them for this. The excitement in the air has affected her too. They were so close. So close to the beginning of setting things right. Once they got to Terra and Guilliman spoke to the Emperor, they would begin a great marshaling of the Imperium's army to go after the Despoiler.

And during the process, Summer would be on the lookout for any world that even remotely resembled Remnant. It shouldn't be too hard. How many planets in the galaxy can boast of having a shattered moon anyway?

As Summer reached the bridge, she was greeted by the sight of Lothar and Guiren once again. They had come to see to it that the captain did not get any bright ideas. During the voyage he tried to have Gessel tossed into a furnace while Summer was in her meditations. It was not a surprise to anyone that Summer tripled the time she spent meditating after she found out in order to keep from throttling the man.

The bridge bulkhead doors opened; Summer tapped her Ivory that hung at her belt. Recalling the frightened and bewildered looks she got from the crew as she sparred with Guiren.

It must have been comical to them. Seeing a woman who was shorter than most of them square up against one of the Adeptus Astartes and hold her own.

"My lady." Guiren greeted from his place besides the command throne.

"Greetings." Said Lothar, the incense brazier on his crozius letting off smoke.

"Good morning." Summer said on reflex before remembering that she was in space. Can you even have mornings in space?

Summer walked up to the throne, hoping that Captain Jenick would be in a good mood now that they were in the Sol System as it was called.

"Any problems today, captain?" The huntress asked as she peaked around the side of the throne.

"None at all, madame." Jenick said, sounding energetic compared to the stressed man she had become accustomed to. Not only did he look stress free, but his attire was also immaculate. His Imperial Navy uniform was freshly cleaned and neatly arranged.

Summer snickered. "I can see the excitement has gotten to you too."

"Why would it not have?" Jenick questioned. "Ever since I was a boy, I have dreamed of seeing the Throneworld with my own eyes. I only wish my parents were here to share in this moment."

Summer knew that feeling. It was a pang she felt at several moments throughout her life. When she graduated from Beacon, she couldn't help but feel lonely for a moment as she wondered how her mother would feel if she were alive at the time. It was the same for when Ruby was born.

"We are not finished yet." Lothar said, adding a voice of calm to this enthusiasm. "Terra is still half a rotation away."

"I am well aware of that, my Lord." Jenick said politely. "I am also aware that we are currently under escort from Battlefleet Solar."

Summer looked out the now uncovered trasnparesteel glass to see new ships adding themselves to the formation. While the huntress was a novice tactician, the mechanics of space battles with ships was something she lacked any skill at grasping. All she could guess was that they were in a position to cause serious damage to the formation if anyone does something stupid.

Summer looked to the Macragge's Honor. She wondered how Guilliman must be feeling right now. The temptation to reach out to him was a strong one, but she decided against it. This place was known for having a rock-solid defense system, if its reputation was as valid as they said it was. She had no idea if they had a way of sensing her abilities or picking her out.

Now was not the time to push her luck.

Instead, Summer looked to her local Chaplain. He was one of the few who spoke to her plainly on this ship. Him being one of the two Templars that came along with her out of their devotion to upholding their oath to Celestine.

"But you're excited too. Aren't you?" Summer asked, hoping to perhaps catch the normally stoic Chaplain off guard.

"No." Lothar said plainly. "I am not excited. I am humbled."

He turned to face the Macragge's Honor and took a knee. "To have been blessed with not only the sight of a resurgent son of our Most Holy Lord, but to accompany him to the place of his birth. I do not think we are worthy of such a privilege."

Guiren chuckled while Jenick looked on awkwardly. "So pious. Brother, you must learn to accept what the God-Emperor has given us. Stop worrying about being worthy and press forward as the great Sigismund did."

"But I must." Lothar countered with a hint of humor in his vox amplified voice.

Standing he pointed his crozius at Guiren. "To not question our own validity of such claims leads to arrogance. Such was the downfall of the old legions. Besides, I believe it is my duty as a chaplain to counteract the boisterous nature of all my brothers."

Guiren tilted his head. "Are you referring to our new brothers or Kadan?"

Summer felt a flicker of memory there. When a Black Templar strike cruiser came to Macragge to see Guilliman. They had detached from their crusade to check and punish all who would dare spread such heresy. When they saw Guilliman, they bent the knee immediately.

This actually surprised the Primarch. Not only by the highly positive response from a chapter that came from his brother Dorn, whom he confessed to Summer that he had a soured relationship with. But that they had become so devout to the religion of the Imperium.

Much to Summer's relief, Guilliman actually found it funny. Jesting on how his brother would react to seeing such a thing.

The Fighting Company had eagerly accepted Amalrich as their new Marshal. Summer could see the black and white strike cruiser off their port side. It was a thing of brutal efficiency, all sharp angles and big guns with a large hanger in front like a mouth.

"I am in fact referring to you, brother." Lother jested.

"I shall be ignoring the implication of your words." Guiren huffed.

The huntress watched on in silence. This was good. Everyone was happy and ready to get to work. The best part was all she had to do was wait. After all, they were in the most secure sector in the galaxy, what could threaten them here?

---

On the pale moon orbiting Terra, in a deep crater surrounded by the ruins of an ancient laboratory. Its existence was a reminder of the failures of days long past. A large circular construct appeared. It was a vast corona of jagged white bone. Inside the vertical circlet, the shimmer of heat haze could be seen.

Then, like wraiths slipping out of nightmares, armored figures appeared. They marched out of the ring in parade formation as if they were trying to impress a nonexistent audience.

The armored figures were of cobalt and gold. Their trims all inscribed with ritual markings, and their pauldrons marked with a stylized ouroboros. The snake that eats its own tail.

They marched out and more followed. Hundreds of them. All fanning out to inspect the area door threats as new figure followed behind. Theses too were armored like the massed figures. But they were far more embellished than their more soldierlike fellows. These ones behaved more like aristocrats and scholars.

They wore flowing robes of all colors, unique to each of them. All bore staffs and took off in different directions, each one acting like a conductor to the band that was one of the formations.

Then more came, these too were some of the more individual warriors. But instead of arriving on foot, they flew into the empty space of the moon on floating bladed disks.

These flying scholars took up position around the edge of the crater where the gate was situated. A circle of nine as was their patron's sacred number.

As more of the automatous soldiers marched out of the bone construct, two very unique individuals emerged from the throng.

One carried himself with a causal confidence, as if he were on a stroll through a pleasant garden, despite the true hostility of the moon's surface. Like the rest of this force, he was clad in blue and gold armor, unlike the rest, he also possessed four limbs and a powerpack shaped to match his extremities.

He held a closed tome in one, a lantern in another, a daemonic dagger in the third, and his force staff in his primary. Upon looking at him, you would believe his helm bore a crown, but upon closer inspection you would realize that it is a pair of clawed hands. Both made from the ceramite of his armor, twisted and bent into that shape by the tides of the aether. In the palms of each, a single green eye blinked out, taking in the barren bowl they found themselves in.

The sorcerer, for he could only ever call himself that, sighed. "What an uninspiring sight."

He and his companion made their way to the edge of the crater and began to scale the concave slope. "And here I was hoping that the ruins of Luna would contain something of value, given that the Sigilite and the Corpse Emperor performed so many little experiments here. Another jest by our Lord Tzeentch."

"You assume much, Phasmos." His companion chided in a voice of crackling fire. "If there is any knowledge to be found in this place, it is not yours to take."

Phasmos Yrech, Sorcerer of the Cult of Knowledge looked to his colleague and began to chuckle. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Oh Kataklystis. If it is not mine, then to whom shall it go to? Not you surely. You'd sooner turn this whole barren ball to concentrated ash in the void."

It was not an empty statement, nor was it an insult to Kataklystis' intellect. The sorcerer was a product of his choices and those choices happened to cause him to lean towards destruction rather than comprehensive study as Phasmos preferred.

His very appearance made that abundantly plain. For he was, in the most literal sense possible, a walking firestorm. While garbed in similar armor to all present, his armor was a furnace of wild Tzeenchian fire. Blue flames hissed and flared from every exposure of his armor joints. This was even more pronounced by the cloak of fire flowing from his powerpack and the twin braziers atop them. However, his most profound feature must be his face. Cowled by a golden raven's head, his face gave life to the fire. All of this was topped off by his staff, forever wreathed in a kaleidoscopic fire of change.

Phasmos was slightly jealous. Not of the flames. Phasmos had too many precious tomes to keep intact. No, it was the source of those flames. The Tome of the Pyre. It was a masterwork of pyromantic arts and Phasmos had always wondered what insight its burning pages contained.

But he had to be careful with so many of his brothers present, and even more so with his lord and the 'honored guest' coming. There was no way for him to gather knowledge with guile while they were around.

Phasmos was a schemer like many of his brothers. He was just better at it. But he had his reasons. The acquisition of knowledge, plain and simple. It was the only true way to give worship to Tzeentch. In that pursuit, he had left underlings behind, overthrown his commanders the second the opportunity presented itself, leave one cult or cabal for another. Rising in the ranks only to earn everyone's ire when he gets what he wants from them and then leaves.

Such things were irrelevant. In the end, he got what he desired. Many challenged him, and so far, all had fallen to his superior understanding of the arcane arts. At this point, the only two whom he believed he would be unable to face was the Prince of Liars, and Ahriman.

The first because of his sheer cunning. For none knew his true name. Not even the highest members of his cabal knew of what to call him other than his title. All knew of him by a different name, making it impossible to learn any form of truth about him. Even if Phasmos proved to be stronger or more knowledgeable, he was not willing to risk facing someone he knew so little of.

As for Ahriman. There was no question as to why Phasmos dared not cross him. All members in the Cults knew that to face him alone was a death sentence. It did not take long for all Thousand Sons to hear of what Ahriman did to Amon, one of their greatest. And that was before his meteoric rise to providence as Tzeentch's favored champion.

"The answer is simple. So simple that I am disappointed that you failed to grasp it." Kataklystis said, mimicking a dark apparition with his flaming grin. "Our lord as all rights to whatever knowledge is to be grasped here."

Phasmos sighed, he was correct. "As it should be." He said with begrudging acceptance.

"And one more thing."

"Yes?" Phasmos said as they reached the top of the crater's edge.

"It is Lord Kataklystis."

Phasmos let out an amused chuckle. Over the years he had found that those who clung to their titles so dearly often did so to hide their insecurities. And Kataklystis had oh so many. The Flame Immortal. The Storm of Change. The Incandescent One. The addition of 'Lord' was the most recent.

"Of course." Phasmos gave a slight bow, allowing his velvet cloak to billow in the low gravity. "How could I be so thoughtless? To kill so many of those accursed dogs by oneself deserves such an honorific."

"Such was as the Primarch willed." Kataklystis said as he overlooked the muster of their Rubricae. "You should have come when he called for us."

"I know." Phasmos watched the gathering of their legion. Preparation for what is to come. "Tell me what it felt like. To finally have Fenris burn as they once burned our home."

Kataklystis stared out for a moment before answering. When he did, Phasmos could feel the malefic glee radiating from the firestorm's surface thoughts. "It was beautiful."

The massed of Rubricae turned to the Eldar Webway Gate that they had appropriated thanks to Ahriman's efforts and stood at attention. Phasmos did the same, as did every other sorcerer present. It was best that he fit in. He was known to be more treacherous than most and it was better not to draw attention.

Then he came.

From the shimmering haze, stepped out a towering figure.

He was a giant among giants, dwarfing even the grandest of the Thousand Sons. With skin the color of the purest crimson. Ornate, horned armor covered his body, adorned with ravens and the everchanging delineations of Tzeentche's mazes.

His wild red mane drifted in the low gravity. His colossal multicolored wings flared as he took in the sights around him. His single eye burned with Warp power beneath his horned crown as it scanned the crater. His taloned feet covered great strides in singular steps.

Phasmos nearly flinched as he felt his lord's gaze fall upon him.

This was his lord. His Primarch. Magnus the Red. The Crimson King.

It always daunted him to be in the presence of his Primarch. To be so close to a being that could utterly crush you underfoot was humbling. Yet, it was also invigorating. Someday Phasmos planned to challenge his lord. But not until he had proven himself the better of his other two rivals.

Where had this confidence come from? From seeing his dream play out in the past by another. When that fool Abaddon demanded that Magnus kneel before him. Phasmos bore witness to something astounding. He had witnessed one of his brothers, a lesser brother by Phasmos' standard, bring Magnus to heel.

Khayon the Black, curse his name, had done what they all believed to be impossible. He had brought their Primarch low. Out of all of Phasmos' kin, he assumed it would be Ahriman who would accomplish such a thing. This gave the sorcerer hope. Hope that one day he would rise to become the chosen of Tzeentch.

As Magnus gained distance from the portal, another being emerged. Twin avian heads materialized through the portal. Both were wizened and decrepit. The rest of the greater daemon's body was emaciated and aged, something that Phasmos found to be completely unnatural for their kind.

The Lord of Change walked with a scholar's slouch, putting him just short of Magnus' stature. His wings were frayed, and the once vibrant colors were faded like old paint left to bake in stark sunlight.

He wore gold and silken robes. Those of which allowed you to denote his status amongst the highest of their unknowable lord's servants. All topped off by a twisting staff crowned with a tome of knowledge that Phasmos would murder a star system for merely a moment of privacy with.

This was a being Phasmos both revered and distained. A being he would never be able to supersede in terms of his importance to the Great Deceiver.

Kairos Fateweaver, Vizier of Tzeentch.

Phasmos did not want this daemon here. For his foresight was impossible for a disciple of the Architect to Fate to circumvent. However, what truly rankled him was the reason he was here.

Abaddon had sent him. When news had reached the Warmaster that Guilliman was reborn, Abaddon had summoned and bound Kairos. Ordering him to destroy the Avenging Son.

That was when Fateweaver had sought out Magnus and the two formed a temporary alliance. Magnus did not trust any of the Lords of Change as they schemed amongst each other as much as Phasmos did with his own brothers. However, their lord was still riding high on the destruction of Fenris and felt he could add to that with the death of one of his foolish loyalist brothers.

The plan was simple, they would corner Guilliman and his fleet near the Maelstrom and trap them inside where Kairos could bring the Primarch to the brink of insanity.

The plan was working as they had orchestrated. They would force Guilliman to take his fleet in and out of the Great Ocean in short jumps, slowly changing their direction within the empyrean with each transition. They had goaded a school of Warp Leviathans to frighten them into immediate action. That was mainly why his Primarch was so frustrated with the outcome. Such creatures were not easily tamed, even to one such as Magnus. Even worse, such taming was always brief.

The plan was going perfectly. Right until the blasted Imperials began their chants. Any Thousand Son worth their salt knows that such things do have an effect on the empyrean, but none of those who were watching expected what they saw.

None of them foresaw that the Imperials had a psyker who possessed the power to manipulate and amplify the effect of their prayers. Such a feat was only ever theorized in debate back of Sortiarius. To see it performed before his astral sight both warmed his heart and froze his blood.

Then came something that terrified them all. The firetide had come. Swallowing the Imperial feet whole and sending the Warp Leviathans running scared for a greater being had turned its gaze upon them.

This infuriated the Crimson King. For not only were his plans ruined in their entirety, but the presence of the tide of warpfire kept any of them from interfering with the ships. It meant one thing, Guilliman had somehow harnessed the faith of the corpse worshippers to invoke the power being channeled through the Astronomican to grant him safe passage to Terra.

Phasmos did not see the psyker responsible, but he felt the level of power behind it. It was mighty, but something was strange about it. It felt different from any psyker he had witnessed before.

It was a pity none of them caught a glimpse of this being. However, Phasmos suspected that their Primarch saw through the flames.

After that botched plan, they had to race to get here before Guilliman could make planetfall. You could not imagine the number of sacrifices Magnus had to make to force that gate open. But for the moment all shall assume that he won't be making many offerings to Tzeentch for quite some time. They had only learned of this gate recently; after Ahriman shared what he knew of the Webway with his lord when they parted ways once again.

Now that were here, they could stop Guilliman from reorganizing the Imperium. That was reason enough to come. Despite the general opinions of all his brothers, even they recognized that a united Imperium led by the one of the greatest analytical minds in the galaxy would make any sortie into loyalist territory much more difficult.

Looking to the sky, he saw the Ultramarian fleet drifting overhead. It was almost time.

---

Magnus the Red, Master of Prospero and Ruler of Sortiarius, was in a dour mood. It should not have happened this way. Fateweaver had predicted Guilliman's every move since his awakening. The war for Ultramar, his little message from that braggart Fulgrim, even the little pity pilgrimage he took for those afflicted by Nurgle's blight. He had done everything as was foretold.

Until they had entered the Great Ocean. That was when everything was thrown off course.

He clenched his fists in frustrated indignation as he watched the ships coasting above them. Magnus saw who was responsible. It was from a being he would never suspect to be hiding such a gift. A young woman who bore no sign of being of the Imperium's tortured psyker caste.

Worse still, her power was such that she should not be able to wield it without going mad. Mortal minds were soberingly fragile. While Magnus did not feel threatened, it still troubled him. She was not like other psykers. Not like those shamanistic hypocrites from Russ' pack, nor the cursed sons of his fallen angelic brother. Namely the one known as Mephiston.

No, this was something else entirely. Even from this distance and the barrier she had erected around herself, he could feel the unfiltered emanations of her soul. She was clearly untrained and appeared to lack proper awareness of the scope of her abilities.

How such a thing was possible, he did not know, but he would find out, even if he had to tear her soul apart piece by piece.

"Are you prepared?" Squawked the raspy voice of Kairos from behind. "Our window of opportunity is passing."

Magnus nearly growled as his moment of contemplation was disrupted. Had it been one of his sons, he would have turned them into a Rubricae.

The Crimson King turned his massive bulk towards the crone daemon. Magnus sneered at the twin heads as they regarded him with both imperious and impetuous anxiety. While the Vizier was always the right hand of Tzeentch, that did not make him immune to rankling their master. Still, that smug attitude annoyed the Primarch.

Just because he could see the future does not mean he knew everything.

'After all, he never foresaw Guilliman's return.' Magnus thought, bringing a cruel smile to his lips.

One of Kairos' heads saw this and craned his serpentine neck. "Does something amuse you?"

Ordinarily Magnus would choose his words carefully when speaking to a Lord of Change, and doubly so for Kairos. For one head only speaks truth while the other speaks in equally believable lies. It is only on rare occasions when both say the same thing. The only time Magnus was aware of this happening was with Lorgar. It is all up to interpretation at that point.

However, it was different when the daemon himself asked questions. Questions are neither truth nor lies. Making which head that does the asking irrelevant.

Besides, it's not like Magnus was incapable of lying himself.

"Simply anticipating the sorrow our actions will bring to these mortals. My brother returns only to be snatched away during his glorious landing. Terra has been wracked with fear for months, now a ray of hope comes. Imagine the panic that shall rain down."

"Impressive dream." Kairos said, sounding unimpressed. "However, if you wish to make it a reality, we need to begin the ritual before their ships pass us."

While Kairos was smug, that nervous tick he showed was genuine. It was arguably more honest than his truth speaking head. The Vizier had always been paranoid since he was well aware that Lord Tzeentch could grow weary of him as any moment. Blocking his future sight to allow a mortal to end him. It had nearly happened twice. When the Inquisition had bound him into a Daemonhost, and when a Librarian had sealed his essence into a cruiser left to wander time around the Eye. Both times he had not seen these events coming.

Magnus planned to add a third to that counter one day.

Magnus grunted and turned away from the avian. "Yes. Let us begin. This reunion is long overdue."

With a purposeful stride, the Crimson King took up a spot at the center of the crater. With the wave of his hand, he summoned forth a spear with a curved blade and raided it high as he began to chant.

His sons took up position at the edge of the crater, surrounding both Kairos and their Primarch. Nine rings of nine sorcerers surrounded the pair. A perfect conduit for the might of Change. Nine by nine by nine.

Kairos took up the chant alongside Magnus, raising his booked staff high and directing it to the largest ship in the void. The Macragge's Honor.

Magnus felt the power of his sons being channeled into him; each was a sorcerer who could combat a company of regular Astartes. While this was far from his full legion, it would be enough to bring Guilliman down. And the rest were waiting in the misty while halls of the Webway should his brother survive what is to come.

The nearly nonexistent atmosphere rippled as unnatural power flowed across the moon's barren surface. Multicolored tendrils of power snaked their way to the two greater entities as they began to put their power to use.

Magnus too looked to the sky. His eye saw into the Great Ocean. Giving his insight into all the souls in the fleet. He could see the Grey Knights. He could see the thousands upon thousands of mortals crewing the ships. He could see the Custodes. All of the Astartes.

Then he saw her.

His eye flicked to the ship drifting alongside the Macragge's Honor. The one who ruined all the fun he had planned for Guilliman was on board. He still had no idea how she managed to call upon his father's psychic might like that, but he would not lie, once his rage was gone all that was left was curiosity.

There was another soul among the fleet that was similar to hers. The so-called Saint. But this woman was still distinct from the Corpse Bride as the fools referred to her as. What kind of name was that?

He felt the power of the Great Ocean flow into him, Kairos lending his own might to Magnus as well.

As the energy built into a storm within his corporeal form, he turned his focus to Guilliman's flagship. He reached out a hand as if to crush it within his grasp. This was it, all he had to do was close his fist and pull. Then his brother would never reach Terra.

But he stopped short.

He felt the soul emanations of the woman again. For a moment, he forgot about his brother. His eye shifted to the ship that held her. She currently stood on its bridge.

That deed she pulled in the Immaterium, it still nagged at him. Even after a full standard month it still nagged at him. How? How had she done it? What made this human so special as to command such influence in that realm and still hold onto herself? That begged another question. Why would the loyalists in all their paranoia and bigotry allow such a psyker to wander free, completely unrestrained? He has watched as lesser threats were put to death for their mere existence.

So, what was different about this one? What allowed her special privilege? Was she some sort of Inquisitor? No. They all had similar bearings on warpcraft. Being the hypocrites that they are. And they never took in psykers of this caliber. They were too unstable for mortals to tutor.

Again, he wondered what it was. The question ate at him like a parasite that never ceases its chewing.

He wanted to know. He needed to know. He WOULD know!

Slowly, deliberately he shifted his stance and moved his hand towards the smaller ship and closed it into a fist.

---

Guilliman stared out through the trasnparesteel of the bridge of the Macragge's Honor. He found it an odd sight. His birthworld, Terra. For him, it had only been a few years, several decades at most. But for those on the surface, it had been eons. It still looked the same from orbit, he could even see the Palace from this distance, its impossibly large metal structure appearing as a giant scab on the planet's crust.

Seeing it now, he recalled the grand procession he was given at his departure and the one who gave it to him.

"Rogal." Guilliman muttered under his breath.

Despite their arguments and differing methodologies, Guilliman still cared for his brother. He could clearly remember the stab of pain he felt when Marshal Amalrich told him of how Rogal perished. Killed on board a traitor ship with no one around to witness it.

At the very least Guilliman had his sons to carry him. While Ferrus had what he would ascribe a warrior's end for all to see. Rogal had no one.

Guilliman clenched his fist as he realized how his death at the time must have affected his brother.

Rogal deserved better than that. He didn't deserve to be alone.

With a slow breath, Guilliman banished his woes for now. He needed to focus on bringing it all together again. The galaxy had to be secured. For that, he needed his father's blessing.

Turning away from the planet, he walked across the bridge, stepping past all the mortals who thankfully had become accustomed to his presence there. In fact, they seemed to be more focused on their tasks because he was there.

He wanted to chuckle as he recalled a conversation he had with Summer in private.

'Give them time. Let them fully understand what it means to be around you and you'll see. Being around you can become a source of strength for them. We lowly humans aren't as helpless as you giants in power armor like to believe, and we always want to prove it.'

Guilliman fully believed those words, he was simply worried about the religious context of how they viewed him. But now he saw that it did not really matter so long as they did their duty.

He reached his hololith table and hit the activation rune. Thankfully, the buttons were still sized to his hands. The humiliation of being too large for anything was almost too much to bear. He could still hear the huntress laughing at him. But it did not sting as he expected it would. It was a malice free laugh. Like his clumsiness was simply a way to take the edge off of this harsh universe.

The green holoprojection of the fleet sprang up before him and he marveled at how his fleet had made the jump. None of his ships were lost. Granted, their hulls were scorched black by what he was told was a psychic firestorm. But that was arguably the easiest part of repairing a voidship.

Things were going far better than he had hoped. Now all he had to do was get past the Custodes and then deal with the High Lords, whom he doubted would just let him reassert how things were as he made it after the Heresy. But they were humans, or most of them were. While these were the highest echelons of the Imperial hierarchy, they were still just human. Their behaviors were predictable and calculable. There were only two exceptions to that equation. The Master of Assassins, and the Fabricator-General.

As he thought on the topic of how he would accomplish his task, running his mind through hypothesized scenario after scenario, a worrying thought entered his mind.

They said that the Emperor had reached out to guide them here. That the fire was His doing.

Guilliman was not sure how to feel about that. On one side, if it was true then it assured him that his father was indeed alive. That brought him a measure of joy. On the other, while he knew his father was the mightiest psyker in the galaxy, he also knew that the Emperor was never capable of such things while he walked among men.

Did his father somehow enhance his abilities while Guilliman slumbered on Macragge?

'Theoretical. The Golden Throne channels the power of thousands of sacrificed psykers through the body of the Emeperor. It is possible that this has had an accumulative effect on him.

Practical. The Emperor has grown in power, or he is capable of directing the power built up within the Astronomican itself.'

Guilliman followed the path of reason. Reason that allowed him to order the universe around him. He knew the reason everyone else in the fleet followed. That his father was a god. Guilliman refused this reasoning. His father was not a god, was never a god. The Emperor was a man. A man who was powerful, almost powerful beyond reasoning. Almost.

Strange. In those moments when others professed such things, Guilliman suddenly feels alone.

Was that why he was so drawn to the huntress? Was she a small island of reason in this sea of religious sanctimony to which he could find some small part of what the Imperium used to be? What it should have been?

She states that she views the Emperor as a god, but the difference is that she bases this on empirical evidence rather than simply being taught it and following along like the rest of them. She views the Emperor as a god because of what He has shown her.

Her view was built with reason, not faith. But that begged another question. Was her view flawed for reaching the conclusion that she had? Or was his, for the simple refusal to acknowledge the existence of any form of divinity?

After all, she had posed the question to him on the day that they met. What even is a god? What a question that was.

He looked out though the bridge armorglass again to see His All Encompassing Will. Guilliman missed the days when he could set up an environment where he could speak candidly with his captains. Such exchanges were always riveting.

Now he only had one person he could converse with. While the thought was saddening at times, he was still thankful to have even that much in this new age.

Guilliman's eyes narrowed as he noticed something abnormal. The image appeared to be bending and distorting. The space around the adamantium bulkheads was warping and the cruiser began to lag behind, despite its engines being on full burn.

Guilliman's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the phenomena, it was familiar to him. But where had he seen this before? The longer he stared, the more he felt a sense of dread creep up his spine.

"My Lord!" Cried the mortal captain of the Macragge's Honor.

"What is it?" Guilliman said, a little harsher than he intended as he saw the man flinch.

"The Grandmaster and the Inquisitor wishes to see you immediately, my Lord." The man said in a shaky voice.

"Granted, bring them in now." Guilliman's reply was instant, did not need to ask why, if his hypothesis was correct, he was observing the reason off his port side.

Within moments, the silver armored Astartes and the caped woman marched into the room with an urgency in their stride. Something was wrong. Voldus looked ready to say something.

"Lord Guilliman." Greyfax spoke first, cutting the Grey Knight off. "We are under attack."

"Attack?" The Primarch asked, then turned to His All Encompassing Will while Greyfax continued to explain.

"Yes, moments ago, I and every other psyker onboard felt a massive psychic force envelope the ship."

"So, why has nothing happened yet?" Guilliman asked as he recalled a scene during the Great Crusade. He remembered a falling ship. It was during a compliance where their fleets were caught in a remarkably clever ambush. Many ships were lost on both sides. The scene in question was on one of the smaller ships plummeting from the above.

"We aren't sure." Voldus interjected. "I have contacted my brothers on our Strike Cruiser. They are calling Titian to requisition the aid of our Prognosticars to scan the system for warpcraft."

"In the meantime, all Librarians across the fleet are being put on alert. The second they find anything out of place, we will know." Greyfax finished.

"What did you think their intentions were?" Asked Guilliman, still looking out.

"I cannot be certain. All I know is that a monstrously powerful psyker is responsible. Or a collection of them." Greyfax answered.

Guilliman narrowed his eyes as he stared at the haze and muttered to himself. "Yes. He would be."

"As for possible intent, I can only assume that it was an attempt at espionage, perhaps the High Lords know we've arrived and are playing their politics."

"I doubt that. They are likely far too mired in the endless needs of the Imperium to notice us unless a state of martial law has been enacted. And even if they did know, the Warp has been too turbulent to allow for such precise scrying without massive cost. Politicians are belligerent and cordial, not foolish. As for possible disturbances." Guilliman pointed out to His All Encompassing Will. "You are referring to that I assume?"

When the pair saw what he saw, both flinched as their psychic talents brushed against the will behind such a phenomenon. Voldus clenched his hammer tightly and activated his vox.

"Justiciar! I want all our efforts on scrying the immediate space around the fleet. Now!"

As he said those words, His All Encompassing Will was violently bent along its spine. The ship did not snap, it did lose what momentum it had as it began to fall backwards. They watched as its engines ignited into a full burn and how that failed to equalize against the forces dragging the cruiser down.

"Vox Officer!" Guilliman's voice boomed across the bridge. "Hail that ship! I need to know what's happening over there."

"Yes, Lord Guilliman." Said the woman at the terminal.

The hololith flickered and a trio of images appeared, all were glitching and distorting at uneven intervals.

It was Captain Jenick and the two Black Templars that had been assigned to Summer's guard detail.

"My Lord!" Jenick greeted, trying to sound dignified despite the clear strain he was going through just to stay seated on his command throne.

"Gloss over the decorum, Captain." Guilliman ordered. "I want a status report. What is happening over there?"

"Something has latched onto us. I am uncertain as to what."

"Sorcery!" Roared Lothar from beside the throne. "I can feel it in the air around us! We are beset by foul witchcraft, my Lord!"

"Where is Summer?"

"She left to aid the crew after the first shockwave hit." Jenick said, earning a disgruntled shake of Greyfax's head.

"Damned woman, can't stay put where we need her."

"I am diverting all power to the engines, but it doesn't seem to be enough." Jenick said and Guilliman looked out again to see the ship beginning to tilt to the side.

"Oh. Oh Throne." Jenick's holo breathed in shock.

The ship began to plummet at a gradual pace, and slowly accelerate as it drew closer to Luna.

"We're heading towards the moon." He said, his voice becoming far more panicked with each word spoken. "We're being dragged towards the moon!"

"Templars!" Guilliman bellowed. "Do your duty! Find her and get her to a salvation pod before you hit the surface!"

"As you command!" Both Templars said, before disappearing from the projection.

"Captain." The Primarch said, his voice becoming sober now. "I am sorry. There is nothing we can do."

"I understand, Lord Guilliman." Jenick said with a much dignity as he could muster. "May the Light of the Throne guide your way. The Emperor Protects."

With that, the hololith died. Guilliman switched the hololith transmission and sent out an open frequency to the entire battlegroup. "Hear me. The fleet is now on full alert. I want it known that all ground forces equipped for combat in a voided environment to be prepped and ready for combat drop within the next hour. All Astartes elements within the fleet are to prepare for an orbital drop on the moon's surface in thirty minutes. The enemy has come to humanity's cradle to make an attempt on my life. Let us show them how we return such greetings!"

The Primarch ignored all of the affirmations and acknowledgements of his orders. With a tight scowl on his face, he rounded the hololith table and took up his father's sword.

He gave the falling ship one last look. He watched as it smashed against the rocky surface of Luna. Clouds of dust rippled across the pale terrain, churning sands that had been untouched for millennia. There was no explosion, meaning that the reactor cores had not exploded, yet. A good sign.

Now all he had left was hope. Reason told him that Summer would have likely died in that crash. Surviving something like that was only in the realms of possibility for Astartes and orks.

Guilliman clenched his fist and shoved away such thoughts. She was still alive; he could feel it. The psychic presence she gave off was still there. It was distant, scratching at the skin of his mind, but it was there, and that was enough.

There was something else, a sense of wrongness in what he saw in the haze around the fallen ship. That feeling could only be equated one manner of foe. Traitors. And only one came to mind that would be able to perform such a feat.

"She won't die like this. But she can't stand up to one of them." Guilliman muttered to himself as he turned to the duo and gave out his commands; there was no time to lose if he was correct.

"Inquisitor. Contact our Custodes escorts. Tell them we shall engage on the surface and keep my brother occupied while they call for reinforcements."

"A traitor Primarch is here?" Voldus asked while Greyfax moved to fulfil her orders. The power field around his daemon hammer ignited with violent intent. "Which one do you believe is responsible for this?"

"I've only known one of my brothers to be capable of such a feat." Guilliman said as he made his way to the bridge doors. He remembered how his brother used his powers to halt a falling space vessel and set it down in relative safety. He also recalled Perturabo saying that he had also witnessed something similar during an evacuation disaster on a dying world. Only one Primarch has ever wielded such psychic might.

"Magnus."

---

Summer's world was spinning. For a moment, she had no idea which way was up or down. For a split second she thought it was both and none of them at the same time due to how violently the ship was shaking. It was so bad that she was completely unprepared for the sudden stop. Leading her to bounce around the passageway like a pinball.

Gessel cried as she suffered the same fate.

Groaning, Summer lay on the steel decking as her blurred vision quickly corrected itself. One unfortunate benefit to having Raven as a sparring partner is that you will often be tossed around. Raven was always fond of sending her opponents flying with those power strikes. Hence why Summer preferred to evade rather than block.

Pain sparked across her body as she forced her limbs to obey her commands, her aura already at work to fix whatever blunt force trauma she had endured.

Standing up, she saw that the angle of the corridor no longer matched the sensation of gravity she felt. It was bent at a thirty-degree angle, and some panels were clearly warped from the impact.

The huntress took a moment to process what had just occurred. The ship just crashed. The warning kept repeating over the shipwide vox. They were going to crash into the moon.

Funny, she never thought she would ever crash into a moon. Let alone survive said crash. Then again, she never thought she would come back after dying.

Looking back, she inspected her companion. Gessel was undamaged for the most part. There was a small limp in her hind leg but that was fixed relatively quickly.

Summer checked her priorities. The ship has been grounded and will likely never fly again. Summer was no hardcore space engineer, but it was painfully obvious that these ships were never meant to land on a planet or even reenter an atmosphere.

So, the ship was done. What about the crew? Only one way to find out.

At first, she thought about stretching outwards with her aura, but she decided against it. Before the crash or whatever nearly broke the ship in two, she felt like she was being watched. Not in the normal way, like when she suspected that daemons were spying on her from the other side.

This time she felt like someone was deliberately watching her and she still felt that way. Like that burning eye from one of those old fantasy movies she watched with Tai and the kids. The burning eye at the top of the tower that sees everything. Right now, she felt like that giant flaming iris was squared directly on her.

It may sound paranoid, but she had a feeling that if she expanded her aura, she would be broadcasting her position even more.

So, instead, she used her Soul Sight. There were more survivors than she thought. Scattered all across the ship, she could feel echoes of pain and anguish coming from them.

Summer tapped her Ivory again to check if she was there. Thankfully she was. Pulling it free and setting it to spear configuration, she set off to gather the crew.

Guilliman would not just abandon these people here. She had to help them and make sure they lasted long enough for the Primarch to send help.

"Come on, Gessel." Summer said, earning a meow from her companion.

---

"Chaplain!"

Lothar shook his head as his vizor display stuttered and glitched. Everything was a mess of numbers and glyphs.

"Chaplain!" Came a voice one he knew.

Lothar did not respond as he took in the image of his helm display correcting its input. He was sprawled across a broken deck. With several plates having fallen over, trapping him beneath. Warning runes flashed across his vision, all indicating the stress the heavy weight off the rubble was putting on his armor.

"Chaplain!" Came the voice again as one of the plates was shoved aside.

Lothar registered the owner of the voice. Guiren. Yes, that was him.

Feeling his arms were free from restriction, he shifted his weight under the plates and tried to force them off him. While he was not entirely successful, it did give Guiren enough leverage to remove the plates more rapidly.

Once free, Lothar took stock of his environment. A ruin of metal, with the bodies of the crew scattered around them. All of which were also in pieces. Stains of blood dotted the wreckage.

"How do you fare, brother?" Guiren asked.

Lothar took one more look at the flash diagnostic in his visor display. "My armor is damaged, but uncompromised. Full void sealing is still possible and power supply is at optimal functionality. In short, I am fine."

"That's good, because I'd have to leave you here to sit out on the glory if you couldn't withstand the vacuum of space waiting for us."

Lothar took up his crozius and plasma pistol, both still linked to him by his devotional chains. "What do you mean?"

"Come see." Guiren said as he walked past the dead and broken into an open space.

Lothar followed and noticed that the air in this immediate area was becoming thinner by the moment. Without thinking, he blink clicked the activation rune to engage his armor sealing. Isolating him from the outside world but protecting him from its harshness in its entirety.

They came to a large passage that was lined by large arched windows. They were on the highest level of the cruiser, giving them a proper vantage point to view the surrounding area. Some of the windows were cracked and bleeding air, but the pressure had not collapsed them yet. Lothar guessed that there would be a hissing noise, but he could not even perceive the sound outside his armor now.

Guiren pointed the black sword out to the space beyond the window and spoke over their squad vox. "See that."

Lothar gazed beyond the window and what he saw sent his twin hearts racing. "Traitors."

What he witnessed was row upon row of blue and gold figures, marching in perfect lockstep towards the downed wreckage below. Each formation being led by an Astartes wielding staffs that burned with witchfire.

"The witch sons of Magnus the Red are here." Guiren stated as the figures marched on the ship.

"They dragged the ship into the moon's orbit." Lothar speculated, running him mind through every possibility for the coming battle. "They could have done this to the Primarch, but they chose us instead."

The Chaplain tightened his grip on his crozius as dread built up in his twin hearts. "There is only one reason that could be."

"We must find her now." Gurien said, finishing Lothar's thought for him. "She won't be able to stand against such numbers."

"Neither can we." Lothar said causing Guiren to look to him, under that laureled helm, he scowled.

"Are you saying we neglect our duty even if it is suicide?"

Lothar shook his head. "No. I was simply stating the reality of our predicament. If this is to be how our duty ends, then I accept it with pride."

The Chaplain turned to his battle brother. "What of you?"

"The fact that you asked would be an insult to me were you not a Chaplain." Guiren said with mock ire. "To die in service to the Emperor is a life well spent."

Lothar nodded, as they began their search for the Anointed.

---

Summer sped through the broken passages using her semblance. The cloud of white and black petals bypassed all obstacles that the crash had put in her way. She could feel them, the crew were gathering together.

That was a relief and a load off her shoulders. The people of the Imperium were hardier than she thought.

Some parts of the ship were still working. Power still flowed as was evident by the blinking lights.

Soon, she found herself in the main cargo bay. Her current form allowed her to perceive that the air was still pressurized, and the hull was still in reasonable condition. Which was a relief as these hulls were tough enough to last for years in vacuum, if they still held then they would stay that way.

Summer burst into the open space, she perceived a number of screams and shouts of surprise. It was understandable, these people were not used to things like semblances. Such powers made her and the people of Remnant slightly more inured to such strange sights. Ironically, that also left then more vulnerable to the more esoteric Grimm, like the Nightmare or worse, the Chill.

While the people of the Imperium and its military were overly paranoid, it was still better for their survival in a in a galaxy filled with things that would like nothing more than to turn them into paste or suck out their brains or whatever other alien nonsense came to her mind.

She registered the heat of lasbeams, and small caliber munitions being hurled at her while she closed the distance between them.

As her cloud stopped in front of them, she felt their attempts to batter away at her scattered form. Shock mauls, and all manner of close quarters weaponry passed through her while some of the other armsmen shielded the defenseless and wounded crew with what Summer guessed were boarding shields. She's never seen many actual shields before. Most of the time she spent in combat, shields were rather redundant to most huntsmen as it was always more effective to strike the Grimm before they could bring their superior strength to bear.

Summer waited as the men surrounding her either tired themselves out or realized that she wasn't even trying to hurt them.

When they stopped, she reformed her true body and that of Gessel.

Once her normal vision returned, she did a headcount. Roughly thirty people. That made her heart sink. Thirty survivors out of thousands. Perhaps there were more, and her Soul Sight had missed some, but she couldn't afford to go looking now. Not with that presence watching her.

"Who are you?" Asked a man in an officer's uniform, Summer didn't recognize him, but she presumed he had taken command.

"My name is Summer Rose." She answered in an unbothered manner, dully ignoring the laspistol he had leveled towards her face. "I'm here to help."

"Help?" Another man laughed. "How can you help, witch? The ship is scrap and we're bleeding oxygen."

Summer felt pity for the man, she could see the look in his eyes. It was an expression she was all too familiar with. On those nights when she had to protect a village alone. There were always those who were quick to give up.

She turned to the crowd. There were injured among them. "Is this all of you?"

The officer cracked the bud of his pistol over the panicking man's head to shut him up before offering a reply. "Sadly, yes. All other parts of the ship are depressurizing as we speak."

Summer approached a man who wept tears as he clutched the bandaged stump of a crushed leg. Summer placed a hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes. The man tried to push her off, but she imposed a sense of calm on him.

The armsmen still had their weapons trained on her. Fair enough. One month aboard was not long enough to become acquainted with several thousand people. And given that she just openly flaunted her semblance in front of them, she forgave their caution.

As for the injured man before her, she regretted that she could not restore his lost limb, but she could fully seal the horrific injury hidden beneath those bandages. It was not much, and the man would need an augmetic to walk again. Not to mention it would stop the agony he was no doubt experiencing, allowing him to think clearly again and increasing the odds of survival.

When she let go of the man, she turned her attention to the heavy bandage wrapped over his leg. It was soaking wet and a deep shade of crimson. Reaching for it, she quickly removed it before anyone could try to stop her.

When they saw the newly mended stump of skin over where a horrific rend in flesh was supposed to be, some of them lowered their weapons.

The officer spoke up then. "I heard that the Primarch had ordered a transfer on board our ship. A person of interest that always required two Adeptus Astartes to be her guards."

Summer frowned as she stood up. She didn't need anyone to guard her against anything. That was her role, not the other way around.

"Yes, that's me."

"So, you know the Primarch?" Asked another man.

Summer just sighed, starting to understand how Guilliman must have felt at times. "Yes, we talk whenever his busy schedule allows it."

The officer looked at her for a moment, then he holstered his pistol and made the sign of the Aquila. "Then that makes you the commanding officer here."

Summer wanted to correct the man. Her friendship with the Lord of Ultramar did not grant her any official rank. In fact, she still technically held the rank of a battle-psyker. But that had not been enforced for months so she didn't actually know what her rank was anymore.

Still, if it gave her better control of the situation, then what was a little dishonesty compared to her ensuring that these people lived to see another day.

"I suppose it does." Summer said, brushing the dust off her skirt.

"Thank you." Said the man with one leg.

Summe just gave him a smile before turning to the officer. "Are there anymore injured? I can sort that out quickly before we discuss what to do next."

The officer just gave a somber frown. "I'm afraid the rest succumbed to their wounds as we were gathering."

Summer grit her teeth. Too slow. She was too slow. "Damn it."

Silence reigned for a moment before she slapped her palms against her temples, using the pain to refocus on the moment. The people around her just watched in confusion.

"Alright. So, what are our options here?"

The officer took his cue and laid out the situation. "We're stuck. The ship is grounded, and she isn't getting back up after that impact. The superstructure is fractured and most of the ship is sectioned off from us. And I'm sure you already know that the air is escaping into the void. In short, we're running on borrowed time."

"Supplies? Anything that can help us hold out until help arrives?"

The officer shook his head. "No dice. All the equipment for voidwork is three levels above us and we're cut off. No idea if they've been aired out or not but I'm not willing to risk punching a hole into space."

"What about the communications systems? We still have power so something must work."

"We've got a working vox relay." He said pointing to one of the portable signal carriers that Summer had seen of the 21st Regiment carry on their backs.

"Have you tried using it?"

"We did, but there's some kind of interference. Voices in the static, constantly yammering."

"What do they say?"

The officer looked nervous for a moment. "They said a lot of things. Too many things for us to hear anything intelligible."

Summer sighed as Gessel nuzzled her leg. "Alright. Then we're staying here then. All we can do is wait for Lord Guilliman to send someone to come get us."

One of the armsmen spoke up. "You really think a being like the Primach would send someone for us? We're just gun jockeys in a broken ship."

Summer's frown hardened. The man wasn't being rude, or even cynical. This was just the level of importance he believed his life was worth in the grand scheme of things. It was a harsh reality, but at the very least she could give these people some hope.

"Trust me. He's not the type of person to just let good Imperial lives die when he can do something about it."

"But the ship is gone." The man argued. "Without it, what use are we?"

Summer wanted to smack him. Life mattered. People mattered. How was that such a hard concept to understand? "Then he'll put you on a ship. He's got big plans and he'll need all the help he can get. I don't want to hear you doubt him or your own value again. Every gun counts. You hear me?"

Summer would later admit to herself that perhaps that came out harsher than she intended it to be but at the very least it did the trick. The man gave a short salute before stepping back. The huntress then spotted a number of metal crates. Really big ones.

"What are those?" She asked directing them to the large containers.

"Oh. Those are empty storage units. Normally we use the to preserve food for the captain."

Summer raised an eyebrow. The box was twenty meters high and wide with quadruple that in length. How much food did that man keep for himself?

"Is this one empty?"

"Yes. We normally keep the full ones in the main loading bay by the spinal trams."

"Can you open it?"

The officer walked up to the control panel on the side of the metal container and tapped a multistage digit lock. Then the door let out a hiss as it depressurized from within. The doors slowly opened on hydraulic pistons, revealing an empty space within.

Summer thought for a moment. "This is pressurized right?"

"It is."

"Alright. Well, if worst comes to worst and we do start to run out of air then we can huddle in here until help arrives."

"Good to know." The officer said. "Now as for food, we do have…"

A thundering clang could be heard from outside the bulkhead. It was so sudden that it made all who heard it freeze.

"What was that?" One of the armsmen questioned, clutching at his shotgun in uncertainty. "Did the Primarch already get someone down here?"

"Obviously." Said one of the crewmen who had a more fervent look to him. "Only a son of the God-Emperor could perform such a thing."

Summer narrowed her eyes at the bulkhead. A familiar feeling brushed against her senses. Activating her Soul Sight, she saw through the metal and witnessed the souls beyond. There were dozens of them, all standing in parade formation. But something was wrong with them. Not the normal sense of wrong that she was used to seeing from tainted individuals. They looked lesser. Like they were mere husks of spirits, if that makes any sense. Reduced to the most basic state they could possibly exist in and forced to remain that way.

Then came the two that were leading them. When she set her sights on those souls, one was incased in a vortex of cracking lightning, while the other was like a living bonfire.

Summer knew what she was looking at and took action.

"Get in!" She yelled at the top of her voice while pointing into the cargo container.

The officer questioned why, and Summer gave her response in another shout. "Traitor Space Marines!"

Those words sparked all the survivors to life, all of the armsmen readied their weapons, but Summer silenced them.

"They're on the outside, if they get through, you'll all die before you can fire a shot."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" The officer asked showing how the situation was stressing the poor man out. "Stand here and hope they leave?"

"Why not?" One of the other men asked. "It's not like they know we're here. They can't hear us in the void, not to mention those are some thick walls."

Summer looked out again with her Soul Sight, and flinched when she realized that both of the psykers were looking directly at her.

"Get in the cargo crate!" Summer commanded, falling into her old habit of ordering civilians to shelter before an immediate attack.

When they tried to argue against it, she let her aura bloom, letting them feel just how on edge she was. All of them flinched in response, even the two beyond the door reacted to this. Neither expecting her aura to be so expansive.

The only one who gave no reaction to this act was Gessel who just looked on with her natural born curiosity.

After that, the survivors began to file into the container. There was another sudden shift in the air that alerted them to psychic activity. This encouraged them to hasten their pace until only Summer, Gessel and the officer stood outside.

"Well?" Summer asked as the man stood before her. "Get in."

The officer shook his head. "I shall input the code now, ma'am."

Summer watched the bulked, her eyes widening in terror as the metal designed to withstand the harshness of space slowly turned a bright orange. They were burning their way in.

"Hurry up." Summer said as final digit was set.

With a sudden hiss, the doors of the container began to close. The officer ran around the doors and settled in amongst the other survivors. It would be very uncomfortable but if they cooperated there would be enough oxygen for them to last for a few hours.

Summer stayed outside as the doors were halfway shut.

"Aren't you coming too?" Asked one of the women inside.

"I can't." Was all that Summer was willing to tell them.

The huntress looked to Gessel and knew what she had to do. Taking her companion in her arms, she handed the gyrinx over to the officer.

"Take care of her." Summer ordered and dully ignored the man when he tried to protest.

As for the feline, she just stared at Summer. Their bond told the animal what the huntress planned to do and understood why she had to be left with the other humans. But this also warred with her natural born instinct to stand with her partner no matter the circumstances. Thus, it left her feeling hollow and weak for being unable to fulfil her natural imperative without committing to a guaranteed death.

When the doors closed shut, Summer allowed her anger to take hold. These Space Marines were likely the ones responsible for this whole mess. Thousands of good people dead. What made that worse was she suspected that she knew their reason for this.

They wanted her. That only made her angrier.

Pulling out her Ivory, she felt her form shimmer and shake as she fought with the desire to utilize the harshest form of her semblance. Crimson Cloud was definitely on the cards here.

The bulkhead exploded in a shower of molten metal only to suddenly reverse as the gap in the bay's internal atmosphere allowed the trapped oxygen to rush through to its freedom within the vacuum of space.

Summer slammed Ivory's blade into the deck as she held on against the sudden hurricane force winds threatening to drag her out with them.

When it died down, Summer noticed something odd. There was no sound. It had vanished, as if it had never been. She had always found the science behind such things to be silly, but now that she was experiencing it, she shivered as the implications of the fragility of humanity dawned on her.

Looking down at herself, she saw that she was unharmed despite being exposed to a vacuum. She was curious on whether she would survive such a thing. After all, she managed to stay alive while trapped within that hell and if what Tigurius said was true, that place was like space but wrapped in an eternal storm. No air, no atmosphere. Same as here, only here, she could not affect the environment around her with her mind.

Standing up, she noticed that her body was light, far lighter than what she was used to. But she did not mind this overly much. This was a feeling that she had experience in. During the Vytal Festival in Mistral, her team sneaked away to the famous Lake Matsu where islands floated above it by using naturally formed gravity dust. The level of gravity on the islands in the center of the floating masses was roughly the same as this moon's natural gravity.

Summer felt the ringing in her ears as the lack of sound failed to register in her brain. Then it faded as her unnatural physiology somehow ignored this defect within her body.

It did not bother her as much. By all rights her head should have exploded by now due to being exposed to the vacuum.

It only reminded her that she still had a long way to go before she would fully adjust to her new state of being.

Through the hole in the adamantium wall walked a figure wreathed in blue fire. Summer knew him for an Astartes, one mired in the powers of that hellscape. She didn't need her Soul Sight to tell just how far into that he had gone.

The Space Marine looked her way, then raised his staff in her direction. A torrent of flames bellowed out towards her.

Summer reacted in kind. Her body flowing into a cloud of white allowing her to sidestep the blast and take up position on a gantry higher up. It was easy, with gravity barely holding her down she could basically fly here. It was the perfect environment for her semblance.

Taking aim, Summer fired at the Space Marine. Her first shot impacted his ceramite hood that looked like a bird's head, the rest stopped short of his body, only to be reduced to slag by the heat radiating off of him.

Summer tilted her head. Was this guy giving off so much heat that even the vacuum couldn't disperse it correctly? That should be impossible.

Looking at the scorch marks the Astartes had left behind as footsteps, she began to understand that impossible did not apply to psykers.

A barrage of fireballs came hurling at her. Summer utilized her memory of Lake Matsu to use the lack of gravity to her advantage. Where she would have fallen and hit one of the flaming projectiles, she glided farther than he anticipated. Where a bolt would have struck her in midair, she fired a shot from Ivory to force her forward.

While she evaded the firestorm being thrown at her, she hypothesized methods on how to counterattack. But nothing she came up with excluded the risk of getting hit by those impossible flames. This was a type of enemy she had never faced before. Her shots would only work if he was not paying enough attention to catch them with his mind, and getting in close would risk getting her Ivory melted. She wouldn't mind using Crimson Cloud on him, but she recalled the last time she tried doing that to a wizard. He blocked her with a magic shield and the resulting disorientation left her open to getting cooked alive. No way she was repeating the same mistake here.

Summer glanced at the cargo crate. It was taking a hit or two, and the rest of this place was beginning to melt. She had to leave. This guy was far too destructive.

She knew there were more of them waiting outside, but maybe that would work to her advantage. This burning lunatic came in here alone for a reason. In all likelihood, he didn't want his buddies to end up as molten slag.

Activating her semblance, she flew past him and out the hole he made. She was greeted by ranks of armored Space Marines, but she did her best to avoid them, flying along the hull of the ship as they peppered it with bolter rounds.

The huntress sped up and launched off the hull and began a nosedive towards the mass of Astartes, her body forming into a spear tip as she took the plunge. She could feel the bolt shells bouncing off her form, each shot chipping a piece of her off.

She crashed in the center of their formation, drilling straight through one of the Astartes. But as she passed through him, she noted something was off about it. He didn't react to the damage she inflicted on him. No struggle, no pain response.

After she broke free, what she noticed with her altered perceptions was that he just fell apart, like there was nothing inside his armor at all. The echoes of his spirit faded away as the armor chunks fell.

This took her less than a second to fully register as she then turned herself into a whirlwind of blades. And the truth revealed itself as she cut into their ranks.

They weren't Astartes, not real ones, they were just spirits bound to armor. Like Geist Grimm but far more organized and precise. They fell after her blades cut open their armor. And since ceramite was the same as any other metal to her petals, she found her advantage.

As she began to cut them down, she became rather hesitant to reform her body. She never doubted her skills as a fighter, but there were too many of these things for her to fight out in the open. She knew that she would not be able to keep up this assault forever. Her personal best was two minutes and she had yet to test that limit after her rebirth. She had to go on the offensive while she had the upper hand, if she ran then Mr. Fireballs would chase her down by himself.

Speaking of the fiery freak, he was marching out of the cargo bay right now. If she could lure him close enough, then she could spear him though without too much risk.

Summer circled around the fake Space Marines, slowing down her kill rate so as to trick him. He needed to think that he could get a clean shot in without hurting his puppets. While they weren't people to Summer, they clearly held some significance to the fire wizard. As was evident by the fact that he hadn't reduced them to ashes in an attempt to kill her.

Summer slowed down further, while still a storm of razor thin death, she had to feign fatigue for her plan to work.

The sorcerer took the bait as he now walked among the crowd. Summer needed him to get closer. She knew that he could create a shield of some kind. If she wanted to put him down, she would need to outpace him. The only way to do that was to catch him in the middle of his attack. If there was one thing that she knew about these psykers and their powers by now, it was that it always required intense focus. Even if they were quick on the draw, they could still only do one at a time.

Once he was in range, Summer cut down a trio of the false Astartes to clear a direct shot for him. This was the most dangerous type of hunt. When your prey hunted you in return and the only bait you could use was yourself.

As the pyre of cinders rushed towards her, she sprang to life. Her body gathered in a flurry of motion, forming into a line in which she used to circle around the flames like a snake.

She saw the look of utter surprise on his face as the realization that she had played him sank in.

A sudden pressure fell over every petal of her form, and she felt herself become frozen in place as the sorcerer stepped backwards. She was mere inches from his face.

Then Summer realized something. There were two of them waiting outside for her. She was so focused on the firebrand that she forgot about the other one.

The second psyker strolled thought the ranks of living armor. His gait was casual and unbothered as he approached her.

Summer took stock of him while she was paralyzed. He was very different from the first one. His armor was closer in line with the automata Space Marines, and he had four freaking arms.

The four armed one circled her scattered form, his top left limb stroking the chin of his helmet and the eyes on top of it blinked as they registered her.

The firebrand sorcerer readied another fireball and Summer instinctually tried to brace herself but was halted by the constant pressure the four armed one kept applying.

Two of his arms raised up, signaling the fireman to stop. The fireman gave four arms a questioning look and then his flaming mouth started moving.

There were no sound vibrations due to them being in a vacuum, so Summer had no idea what they were saying. She was half tempted to use telepathy to touch their minds to hear their conversation but decided against it. The Grey Knights had warned her to keep her thoughts to herself when around opponents like these guys. Keep your mind closed off and they will have a much harder time breaching your defenses, and right now, her mind was the only thing she could defend.

The four armed one looked like he was making fun of the burning one. Probably because they looked down on her. Greyfax, Elaine and even Strang had said that Astartes had a bad tendency to see themselves as superior to normal humans and that was always a mistake.

The firebrand pointed his rainbow fire staff at her and gestured to the piles of armor that had once been his soldiers. He looked genuinely upset.

The four armed one just waved him off with two arms and gestured for assistance. Mr. Fireballs looked aggravated as he stretched out his hand towards Summer.

The huntress felt the pressure amplify but there was no room for her to move. However, she could only move inward. They were trying to force her back into human form. Summer resisted as she considered her options. She could fight this off, but that was ultimately a losing strategy. If these guys were responsible for bringing down the ship, then there would have to be more of them. While these two were clearly no joke, it was obvious that they were not capable of bringing down a ship that was over a dozen kilometers long.

Not to mention the people Summer had left inside. If Guilliman did show up, chances are he would not notice them before attacking and if that crate blew open during the fight everyone would be dead, including Gessel. That was a no go, she still had to introduce Gessel to her children.

There was only one real option that would allow those people to get through this.

Summer didn't fight the pressure anymore; she pulled her form inwards and rebuilt her mortal body. Was it strange that she thought of it that way?

Summer didn't ponder the question as her feet touched the moon's surface. Blue fire sprang to life around her and formed a trio of rings. The fames bent and warped in a way that made it look like serpents writhing in a basket. They formed loops that hooked into each other and completed the circle around her. That was when Summer realized that they were making chains.

She thought about running, returning to her petal form while they worked their sorcery, but decided not to. They were prepared for it this time and a good huntress does not spring an obvious trap. That was just sloppy, she was duped once by someone she trusted, she wasn't about to be duped by an obvious enemy.

The chains wrapped around her, growing smaller and tighter in order to constrict her body. Around her legs, trapping her hands by her torso and her shoulders.

Summer winced as she felt her limbs being pressed uncomfortably together and shimmied a little to test her mobility. Ivory fell to the floor, and she made the mistake of making her sudden distress known.

The four-armed one saw that she held sentimental value for her weapon and decided to take it in one of his four limbs. While he was helmed, Summer could not shake the feeling that he was mocking her as he casually displayed that he held her precious baby.

She bit down any urge to retaliate as a pair automaton Astartes marched on her. Together they hoisted her up and placed her on their shoulders. Summer never thought she would be in this situation. Here she was, in space, surrounded by wizards and what she assumed were possessed suits of power armor, by a crashed spaceship with a whole fleet in orbit.

It sounded like the beginnings of some grand tale for the ages. But right now, she just felt humiliated. They carried her along like some kill after a long hunt. A prize for their effort. They marched in lockstep with the two leaders at the head. Mr. Fireballs still looking at her on occasion, the desire to kill in his eye, while the other just walked on, unbothered.

Hopefully Guilliman didn't take too long to get here.

---

Lothar ran through the ruins of the fallen voidship, his transhuman bulks supplemented by his armor, tearing through whatever rubble stood in his way. He had to hurry, he had to be faster.

"Oh, blessed God-Emperor, Master of Mankind, grant me the swiftness to reach your Anointed in time so I may fulfil my oath to thee." He prayed as he ran.

He often said that it was pointless to ask the Lord of Man for any boons other than what His servants provided, but that did not mean He never listened. That and he was desperate. Lothar never doubts his warrior skills but given what he saw outside the broken armorglass he knew that he would need all the help that was offered.

It was just he and Guiren against a legion.

The Champion raced behind him, muttering his own prayers and likely reinstating his oath to lay down his life to protect the Anointed. Lothar had no doubts that Guiren would follow through with that.

They had seen a storm of fire and bolt shells through a broken view port and knew beyond doubt that it was her. The enemy had used their witchery to find her no doubt.

Lothar crashed through another barrier of debris; this led him into a corridor that stopped in an open space. He came to a halt as he took in the entirety of the scene before him. It was a loading bay. One that had recently been exposed to the void.

"This place has seen battle." Gurien said as he walked past Lothar. "Not too long ago."

Lothar nodded, even though the Champion was looking elsewhere. The bulkhead meant to separate this place from the outside had been blown open. Normally one would suspect melta charges, but the wrongness he felt told him otherwise.

The rest of the bay was scorched and, in many areas, melted. Lothar had fought sorcery before and this was nothing new, just the scale and swiftness of it threw him off. Most sorcerers have difficulty summoning their abilities on a large-scale during battle. This one must have been extremely powerful or some kind of specialist.

"She fought from a distance." Lothar said as he scanned the area for a hint of where Summer had drawn the witch. The area where the fiend had attacked was too wide for a close quarters battle, and he knew the huntress' proclivity to study her foe before committing to a serious plan of action. And she preferred to study at a distance.

"Looks like she lured him outside." Guiren said as he looked through the hold in the bulkhead.

Lothar looked around and he saw a sealed container. He walked up to it and studied the control panel. It was locked and without the proper codes it would have to be forced open. He looked at the frame of the crate. Out of everything in here, this was the least affected by the witchfire.

"Preysight." Lothar said as he switched the feed on his visor display to thermal.

Preysight was the word Astartes used for their thermal vision. According to legends, it was first given its name by the hated Night Lords legion. All Astartes adopted it and the Mechanicus programmed the codeword into all Astartes helms. Lothar felt nothing about that legend. It was the past and that legion was shattered long ago.

What his thermal vision showed him was bodies. Living human bodies. They were packed into the crate. Lothar did not acknowledge this any further. It was clear what happened. The Anointed gathered the survivors and packed them in this airtight container.

When the traitors came, she lured them away.

Lothar signed and shook his head. "How troublesome."

He understood why she did this. Loyal servants of the God-Emperor were left helpless and required aid. Amalrich would have done the same, even reckless Kadan and stubborn Thuran would have done the same.

But she was different. She was His Anointed, she could not throw her life away like this for a handful of mortals. Now they likely had her. If they had to charge the lines of the Thousand Sons to free her then may the Emperor welcome them to his side.

"Contact."

Lothar's head snapped up at the Champion's words. Guiren had his sword positioned in a ready stance.

The Chaplain followed his gaze to another passage into the cargo bay. This one ran counter to theirs. There he saw the silhouette of a Space Marine.

Lothar primed his pistol and activated his crozius. Taking aim, he registered the shadowed Astartes and found that his target was not alone.

---

Summer stared at the massed army of the automaton Astartes. There were thousands of them, all still as statues. That somehow terrified her more than some of the monsters that she spied floating about. Because she knew full well that these things were far from statues.

After her capture, she had been carried away from the ship and taken to a massive crater surrounded by old ruins. The fake Space Marines were dug in, some of their numbers were out in the open but most were scattered amongst the ruins.

Summer was more than familiar with this setup. This was standard defensive fighting. They were waiting for Guilliman to come. They knew he would come down to fight.

Again, she wanted to warn him. Tell him that they were waiting for him, but stopped herself from doing so when she realized that Guilliman already knew that. He was made for war, and she was just a huntress.

As they circled the crater, Summer spotted a massive structure at its center. It was a Webway Gate. These guys managed to hijack a Webway Gate. Summer felt ambivalent. On one hand, she liked the fact that the Eldar's boasts about the Webway being only usable by them was just that, a boast. On the other, she worried about just what these guys were capable of if they had access to a galaxy spanning fast travel network.

They had managed to get here while it took them a month of good Warp travel, and she was told by the mostly dead crew of His All Encompassing Will that it normally took much longer than that on a good day.

After they passed the crater, they made their way into the heavier part of the ruins where some of the automata Marines were clearing the rubble or shifting it around. Summer could not tell if they were fortifying the place for the attack or searching the ruins for valuables.

The march suddenly stopped, and Summer was carried to the front of the formation alongside her captors. She was flipped around and planted on her feet.

Summer shook off the vertigo and beheld large, red, taloned feet. They were true giant's feet. They were bigger than the metal stumps that dreadnoughts walk on.

Looking up, Summer saw a figure that made her go rigid. A winged behemoth stood above her. With a khopesh glaive in hand, he stared down at her with his horned head. When she saw the pure red skin and the face that was missing an eye, she felt a sudden rush of pain in her skull.

She knew this being. Or she was remembering him. The memories of another life inserting themselves into her mind felt like a hammer pounding nails into her grey matter.

Summer said nothing as the pain grew and the giant regarded her. His eye narrowing with a spiteful edge to it.

The giant raised a hand and Summer left the ground, carried by the might of this creature's mind. When she was of eye level with him, she heard his voice.

"We finally meet."

His voice was not natural, she saw his lips moving but her ears picked up nothing. It was a form of telepathy.

Summer could stop the onrush of memories. They were overwhelming her, just as they did when she saw Guilliman.

She saw him. This crimson giant, though in memory he was much smaller. He knelt before her.

"As I am your son. They shall be mine." He said with no shortage of emotion. She could tell he was overjoyed.

A whole saga of memories played out in her mind. Some where she stood with him on a mountain top. Others in vast libraries where he discussed ancient lore with her. Another where Guilliman debated him on what forms of knowledge were better for humanity. Another with Guilliman lecturing him along with a number of figures that remained shadowed to her. She got the impression that most of them did not care much for what Roboute said, that filled her with amusement. A sense of amusement that she had only gotten from when Yang fell asleep when Summer had to read her a textbook. The memories passed by; too quick for her to know them all, but slow enough for her to understand. This was the giant as he was before he became… this.

Another memory came. In this she sat on some kind of giant throne. She was not viewing the world with mortal eyes, but through a mind's eye. The throne was colossal, so large that it had a stupidly long staircase leading up to it. The red giant was there, he was marching up the stairs. He looked furious. Waves of rage rippled from his body as he rose higher. Raising his hand, he summoned a spear with a khopesh blade. He looked ready to strike at her, but he stopped short.

His anger gave way to sorrow. He looked broken. Lost.

What he said after that was lost on her. The memory shifted to a battle within that very room. The red giant was locked in battle with another giant. She did not see the other, but she could tell he was of greater stature than the red one.

The red one erupted into kaleidoscopic flames and grew in size, purple and blow wings flared and revealed the monster she had seen before the memory faded, but the deep sorrow remained.

Summer felt a tear run down her cheek as the memory faded.

The giant, his face formerly a grin, turned into a confused frown. He expected fear, even shock. Most mortals cannot stand looking upon him, but he did not expect sorrow.

"Magnus." Summer said, not expecting him to hear, which he did.

Magnus almost flinched at the sound of his name. Summer did not see it, but every sorcerer within sight of Magnus turned to look at her. Surprised by her audacity to refer to their Primarch by his name but with no honorific.

"You know who I am?" Magnus asked, his curiosity peaked once again.

Summer's eyes widened; she did not expect him to hear her. She was not responding to his telepathy. He was doing something else to bypass the soundless environment.

Seeing her opportunity to stall for time, she gave a nod and spoke. "I know lots of things."

Her words managed to cut through his spite and elicit a grin. "It would seem so. But I would be careful, mortal. Many beings greater than you have said such words to me and regretted it."

Summer did her best not to show her discomfort. He could easily rip her to pieces. Even Crimson Cloud wouldn't be any good here. He'd just stop her in her tracks. She had to play for more time.

"True." Summer said, knowing how to play to the Primarch's hunger for knowledge thanks to her new memories. "But lying to you about not knowing anything is worse I would bet. You'd just kill me for thinking you were dumb."

Magnus grinned; it was an evil grin. One that did not belong on the face of the man in her memories. "You are wiser than one would think. Might I ask your name?"

Summer knew that if she were still human, she would be sweating. He was playing along. He didn't need to ask for her name at all. He could just pluck it from her mind.

"My name is Summer Rose."

Magnus hummed as he took in the name, then chuckled. "An ancient word for the hottest season of a planetary rotation and a flower. I thought such naming conventions had long since died out."

Summer pouted; it wasn't often someone made fun of her name. The only person who came close was Hei and he did it as a term of endearment. He earned it through years of friendship.

"Well at least my name isn't a color. What kind of surname is 'The Red' anyway? Oh sure, name me after my skin color, how imaginative." Summer's sarcasm made Magnus' eye twitch.

The chains around her tightened. He was trying to crush her.

"Mock me again and I'll tear your atoms apart."

Summer would gasp, but there was no air here. He released the pressure and looked at her, his eye lacking in amusement. He was already tired of the game.

"I've wasted enough time on pleasantries. Tell me how you did it."

Summer's head bobbed as she her aura compensated for the trauma her body suffered. "Did what?"

The chains tightened slightly, a silent threat of what was to come. "Do not lie to me, mortal. When my brother's fleet entered the empyrean, they were stranded, blind due to my efforts. Then you took the pathetic pleas of your compatriots and used them to call on my father's power. Where did you learn to do such a thing?"

Summer tilted her head, pondering what he was referring to. Then she recalled the little gamble she pulled to ask the Emperor for a hand back in Ultramar. She thought back on how she could answer his question. It wasn't like knowing this would do him any good. He was marked by one of the four. She didn't know their names, but she had become accustomed to their wrongness.

Magnus was powerful, but he would never be able to do what she did. The big man would sniff the corruption out every time the cyclops tried.

"I knew the Emperor could hear prayers that were meant for him. So, I just asked Celestine to get the fleet to start chanting." Summer said, seeing the Primarch's expression change and for a moment, she thought she saw the Magnus from the memories. The curious soul who just wanted to understand how the universe functioned.

"While the ship was in the Warp, I could see the prayers as physical things."

Magnus nodded. "Which they are within the Great Ocean."

"I did what I felt was natural, I scooped them up and added my own voice to them all. Then I just threw them into the dark and hoped that would be enough to get his attention."

Magnus frowned. "Is that It? You just hurled the voices of mortals into the tides and hoped my father would respond?"

Summer would have shrugged, if her body weren't bound by the chains, which were getting tighter. "I didn't know if it would work or not. It wasn't some ritual I learned from a book; I just did what made sense to me. To be honest, it was a gamble."

Magnus shook his head. Summer felt the chains grow even tighter. He was not satisfied with that explanation, but she truly had nothing to offer. Nothing else she could say was enough to be substantial.

"No." Magnus growled. "NO!"

With the flick of his wrist, he threw the huntress into an ancient wall, her aura flared as it saved her from most of the damage. She was now stuck in a wall, staring down at an angry Daemon Primarch. Summer would have sighed at how bad her luck was if there wasn't a decent chance she was about to die. Again.

"No." He growled, shooting daggers at her with his one eye. "That cannot be all of it! I did not pass up on killing my wretched bean counting brother for you to tell me that you performed what your fanatics would count as one of the greatest miracles in Imperial history thanks to luck!"

Every sorcerer backed away from their lord's rage. Including Mr. Fireballs and Mr. Four Arms.

Summer groaned as the chains grew tighter. "I don't know what else to tell you. I had no idea if the Emperor would react."

"And what gave you the impression that he would respond at all?" Magnus challenged, as if he had found the weak point in the lie he thought she was telling. "What told you that he would bother to notice an insignificant gnat like yourself when he ignores all others in this galaxy?"

"It wasn't just me." Summer strained as her bones began to feel the pressure. "It was the whole fleet. It was everyone. I just made it bigger."

Magnus held out a hand and pointed a finger upward. He then proceeded to wave it as if he had caught a child telling an obvious falsehood. "You lie again. You said you added your voice to theirs. Not the other way around, that implies that it was your voice that made the difference. I ask again, what gave you the impression that he would bother responding to you?"

"I just did what I thought would work."

"Which was?"

"Gods listen to prayers." Her words made Magnus' brow furrow. "If they listen to prayers, then if enough people all say the same thing, then he should be able to hear them. I figured that the Emperor…"

"Cease your stalling!" Magnus roared, marching up to her and grabbing her with his hand and ripping her free from the wall. While in her grasp, only her head was in the open, that was just how big his hand was.

He glared at her with hate in his eyes. "I have had enough of your attempts to be a silver tongued. You dance around my question and believe that I am blind to the attempt."

His grip was that of titanium, it quickly surpassed that of the chains and Summer felt like she was going to pop. "Luck? Is that the best dissimulation you can devise to hide the truth from me? My father has sat on that soul leeching chair for ten damned millennia and done nothing. Then you come along, and he redirects the power of tens of millions of psykers to clear a path through the Empyrean at your request. You claim to know who I am, but it is clear you only know my name and face."

He leaned in close enough for her to get a clear you of him, she could see the scar that ran over his sealed eye. "I am Magnus the Red, and I shall not be denied by some mortal woman who believes herself to be clever. I will know what you are trying to hide from me."

Summer's eyes widened as she felt his psyche press against hers. She pushed back, pouring all of her willpower into protecting the sanctity of her mind.

Magnus let up the pressure for a moment before blowing through her mental walls like a demolition charge.

Summer felt him forcing her memories to the surface. He looked back at her summoning of the firetide. She felt his frustration as he realized her words rang true. His will hardened as he deduced that even she did not know the full truth. More of her memories were pulled to the forefront of her focus. He read her mind like a book written backwards.

He kept going back, further, and further, day by day. Summer felt fear as a thought entered the part of her mind that she had agency over. What if he finds Remnant? This monster brought down a starship and still looks fresh as a daisy. The level of destruction he could do to her world made her want to scream, but she was powerless to stop him. She was stuck.

Then the searching stopped. And a memory replayed before both of them. Two lights floating in the tides of the Empyrean. One was colossal and shone with the purest light. The other was small and fragile, but it held a resilience that never allowed it to back down.

The larger of the two crashed into the smaller light and the radiance of both flowed inward creating an amorphous blob with the white sheen of a pearl. As the two became one, the shape of the blob became more defined. It grew two arms and two legs. A head and a slender feminine torso. Clothes began to form around the figure. Skirt, boots, corset, cloak. Then the pearly sheen faded, and the body gained texture. Slightly pale skin, black fabric and leather, white and red interwoven into the cloak.

When all the changes were complete, there stood Summer, floating within the Sea of Souls. A newborn within its tides.

She felt Magnus' sense of triumph as he beheld the memory. The moment her new life began.

"At last, I see! Your secret is revealed!" He cackled within her mind.

But just like that, his joy evaporated as he took in what he had just witnessed. She felt it, he knew what that light was. And she felt a sinister anticipation there. That was not good.

"Father." Magnus said with no shortage of satisfaction. "Look what you have made."

Summer did not like the way he said that. Not good. Not good at all.

With that he withdrew, and Summer could perceive the world with her normal senses again, or most of them. Mainly sight, taste and touch. As the rest required an atmosphere to function.

Magnus looked at her and she found his current expression even more off putting than any before. He was debating within his mind. Determining something as his gaze remained fixed on her.

Then she fell. Magnus released his hold on her, and she fell to the earth like a dead fish. She was left lopsided as the ground shook with the Daemon Primarch's tread.

"Phasmos, Kataklystis, step forward."

Summer did not see who was moving as she was facing the wrong side; she managed to roll her body around and saw Mr. Fireballs and Mr. Four Arms walking up to Magnus.

Both took a knee as their lord regarded them. "My sons. You have brought me a great gift. For this you both shall be rewarded. Simply speak your desires and they shall be granted."

Summer could not see the expression of most of the Astartes around the ruins due to both her position and their helmets concealing their faces, but she knew they burned with jealously. Both at the fact that they were being given rewards and at the praise they were receiving.

Some looked her way and flinched. Apparently, they could tell what she was now that she was directly in front of them.

Mr. Fireballs stood up first to respond to his Primarch, but a psychic squawk made everyone flinch.

"Magnus!" Came two voices in unison.

Magnus let out a loud growl and looked skyward. Summer rolled onto her back and saw a bird daemon flapping its expansive wings. It reminded her of the one she spoke to when she woke up in that hellscape. This one had two heads and looked super old. Could daemons get old? If that were the case could Summer get old?

"What is it Fateweaver?" Magnus snarled.

"The Avenging Son is coming. Why are you here?"

Summer lost sight of the daemon as Magnus' wing expanded to keep her out of sight. A field of power cut her off from using her aura to sense what was going on.

It took her a moment to realize that Magnus was hiding her from the bird daemon. The question was why. Did he have some sort of motive for keeping her a secret? Whatever it was, she never got an answer. If her journal survived the crash, she would make a note of this, using indirect language to keep Greyfax from burning it if she found out, of course.

It did not take long for the field to die out. When it did, Magnus leapt into the darkness of the sunless sky. Two of the false Astartes hoisted her up and began to drag her out of the ruins in the same position as before. Mr. Four Arms and Mr. Fireballs followed close behind.

"Where are we going?" Summer asked, having figured out how they were communicating in a vacuum.

It was a sort of open frequency version of telepathy. When she spoke, anyone within a certain radius could hear her. That would be very useful in a chaotic environment, like the one she suspected she was going to find herself in soon.

No one answered her and she realized that they had stopped taking her seriously. Whether it was because of something Magnus said or the level of superiority these guys had, she did not care.

The huntress caught a sidelong glance of figures moving in the ruins. She did not see much, but she did note that they were the size of Space Marines, and they wore black armor. Summer thought it was Lothar and Guiren, but there were more than two of them. She could only hope that they were on her side.

---

All across Luna's orbit, Guilliman's fleet launched a full scale drop assault. Drop pods fell from the sky with the ferocity of a meteor shower. A multicolored hail of metal pods burned contrails into the empty space of the moon.

The Thousand Sons, entrenched and expecting the incoming attack, fired up at the pods with artillery accompanied by their sorcerous spells. Contrails of fire shot both skyward and earthward as the two factions drew closer to one another.

Heldrakes soared in the empty void as they hunted the falling pods. Some crashed into the daemon engines. Fury Interceptors dived into the flock of metal beasts to engage in fierce dogfights.

The first waves of drop pods to land were immediately beset by both Rubric Marines and lesser daemons of change. Warpcharged bolts and enchanted firebolts battered and distorted the metal of the pods as they crashed into the while stone.

The pods opened, not to Adeptus Astartes as the Sorcerers and daemons expected, but to the open barrels of tarantula sentry guns, automated heavy bolter emplacements, machine spirit guided lascannon mountings, and whole batteries of deathstorm missiles.

Guilliman, having foreseen Magnus' ploy to lure his forces into kill boxes upon landing, reversed the trap to draw first blood. Whole swathes of Rubricae were scattered. Their armor falling to the ground as their dusty remains floated into the infinity of space. Daemons were banished by the dozens, their corporeal forms disintegrating as they screamed their way back to their infernal domain.

The second wave descended and upon landing disgorged rank upon rank of Adeptus Astartes. They charged the Thousand Sons with a unity of purpose not seen in in millennia. Brother Space Marines of different chapter stripes stood as one. Nova Marines marched alongside Mortifactors, Doom Eagles formed ranks alongside Silver Skulls, White Consuls bore fire with Iron Snakes.

As the loyal forces of the Imperium gained a foothold on, a line formed in the lunar sand between them and the Thousand Sons. The loyal sons of Guilliman formed the first line of the charge led by the Primarch himself.

Guilliman raised the sword of the Emperor high, its golden light greater than any banner to rally behind and thrust it towards the traitors before them. Then he and his Ultramarines charged, a demigod and his progeny crashing into the lines of Space Marines long rendered silent by sorcery and deception.

Guilliman was a being of condensed fury, his outrage at the universe he was awakened to given release with each swing of his father's sword and each bolt fired by the Hand of Dominion. At his side was the golden form of Osiris and the decorated armor of the Ultramarines' Second Captain, Cato Sicarius.

Following behind the lines of blue were the ever-zealous ranks of the recently reinforced Black Templars led by Marshall Amalrich.

Guilliman opened his helms vox to an open broadcast. He had to make his intentions clear while the battle was still in the early stages. He did not fully understand what Magnus and his progeny were capable of as they had several millennia to learn some new tricks, but he did know the fundamental principles of using psychic powers. Namely that you cannot use them effectively on instinct as a warrior does in the midst of combat. As such, this heavy-handed charge was the best choice he had. The worst thing he could do was allow Magnus the time to concoct another display of overwhelming might as he did to His All Encompassing Will.

"The enemy is here! They have come to stop us in our mission to reach the cradle of man!"

Guilliman bisected a trio of Rubric Marines with a single swing of his blade. Spotting the sorcerer who led the squad standing in his way holding under a half arch of stone, the Primarch lunged towards the psyker with the lethality of a macro round.

The sorcerer raised his hand and Guilliman felt pain wrack his body, but he had endured worse and still endured thanks to Fulgrim's wounding. Bringing the Hand of Dominion to bear, he smashed the psyker into the moon's surface with a downward punch and Guilliman felt his pain lessen.

"Do not underestimate them, my warriors." Guilliman said with the voice of a wise mentor. "Their powers are vast and deadly. Hold nothing back. Fall on them like a hammer. Shatter their focus and then break their tainted bodies."

The Primarch continued his advance with his Victrix Guard, dedicated to the safety of their lord, following close behind.

"Onward! For Macragge! For the Imperium! For the Emperor!"

---

Summer saw the drop pods come falling down through the cracked ceilings of the ancient ruins. The battle had begun.

Summer struggled against her captors for the slight change in position it granted her. A jolt of pain ran up her body and she froze up. It felt like her spine was being lit on fire.

"No antics." Said Mr. Fireballs. "We have been charged with your safe return and shall not suffer any of your tricks."

Summer would have groaned if she was able to use her lungs. She was pretty sure if she were as she was before her death, she would have been paralyzed for life by that.

But thankfully she did not need to worry about it, all she had to do was bear the pain and wait for her chance. These two were watching her like an Alpha Nevermore circling an isolated village waiting for more Grimm to answer its call.

Her thoughts were brought to a halt as the little convoy stopped their march.

Curious, Summer craned her head up to see the path ahead. There were no other sorcerers or their fake Space Marines around.

Summer only realized this now. Weren't they all over the place earlier? Magnus probably called most of them to the battle to face off with Roboute, but it wasn't like him to leave any source of potential knowledge unplundered.

What confused her more was that the path before them was not vacant like the ruins around them.

Standing before them was a lone figure. Summer's eyes squinted as she tried to pick out details. It was a Space Marine. His size along gave that away. He wore a cloak that was similar to her own, except it was tattered and worn with the outside being creamy white rather than Summer's alabaster. She could not see his face under the hood in the low light of the ruins, but she could see his armor.

It was black, with the occasional hint of green, or were her eyes playing tricks on her due to the pain? On his belt buckle was a symbol, one Summer recognized. It was a red falling sword with a wing on both sides.

The man had a sword slung across his back. Summer had seen oversized swords before. Seen plenty of huntsmen brandish them as if to simply use them were a sign that they were superior warriors. Summer always found their impracticality ridiculous.

This was one such weapon. It was oversized, even for a Space Marine. In fact, she doubted he'd be able to even draw it from the scabbard on his back. If he raised his arms straight up, that would be the length of the blade. If she had to guess, the sword was more designed for someone of Guilliman's size.

When Summer got a good look at the hilt her eyes became dinner plates. It was the sword she saw in one of the portraits within Guilliman's throne room back on Macragge. It was Lion El'Jonson's sword.

Summer felt a spark of anger at this revelation. How the freak did this guy get his hands on that sword?

The fake Astartes marched forward with their twisted bolters raised, but the hooded figure struck first. With lightning-fast reflexes, he aimed a plasma pistol and downed three of his attackers before bringing out an old bolt pistol and nailing two more.

The fake marines returned fire, but the hooded Astartes was quick. He dove for the rubble piles at his sides, narrowly avoiding the hail of shots that were loosed upon him.

Then Summer's world turned upside down as one of the fake marines holding her got struck by a huge ball of plasma.

Summer's head struck dirt and she saw with blurry vision more Space Marines appearing from the ruins. Their armor was also black, and they fell on the sorcerers with a savage focus.

It was not the fierce zealous drive of the Black Templars or the measured pace of the Ultramarines. These Astartes fell on their enemies with a singular drive. Pure dedication and commitment to the battle. It was something her mother once told her about.

The reason a wounded animal is at its most dangerous is because they are forced into an all or nothing state of mind. They must commit everything to the moment to survive. Summer's mother had told her that only the greatest of warriors are able to tap into this state of mind without primal instinct clouding their judgement.

One of the black armored Astartes held twin blades and he hacked at Mr. Four Arms who augmented his agility with his psychic powers. As for Mr. Fireballs, he found himself in a mental battle with what Summer could only see as a Librarian.

Mr. Fireballs had the advantage of raw power, which was clear. His fires continued to spread around the Librarian, seeking to swallow him whole.

From behind the living firebreather, the hooded Astartes burst from the rubble in a leap, slow motion action movie style. Both guns held out in front of him aimed directly at Mr. Fireballs' back.

The resulting blasts knocked the firebrand off balance, allowing the Librarian to strike back. Forks of lightning shot from his hand and staff, with each bolt of power forcing the sorcerer back.

Summer shook in her chains and felt them slackening. Now was her chance. With the force of her will, her body broke down into her swarm of petals. With the agility of an agitated rapier wasp, she darted across the battlefield.

Her first thought was to flee and find the main battlefield, there was one thing keeping her there.

Mr. Four Arms still had Ivory Dorn.

Summer looped past all of the fake Astartes and black Space Marines spiraling towards the sorcerer.

He saw her coming and did a panicked pirouette before Summer could run him through. Rather than turning around, Summer decided to reform, her boots sliding across the stone in the low gravity.

She met his gaze and gave him a cheeky grin to emphasize that she was now free.

He didn't even get the opportunity to shake in anger as another black armored Space Marine marched out of the shadow of the ruins. This one she did recognize.

Black sword raised high; Guiren marched on the four-armed wizard with a vengeance. He and the other black armored swordsman hounded the sorcerer, forcing him to retreat. His form blurred with distorted time as he dodged hacks and slashes from the trio of blades attempting to dismember him.

Summer narrowed her eyes. She could see Ivory. It was clasped to the wizard's belt.

Charging forward in a storm of white, Summer slipped past the two Space Marine warriors and materialized at the warlock's side.

When her hands clasped her beloved creation, one of the lower arms on his body took her by the throat. He wasted no time in hoisting her up and hurling her at Guiren, buying him a moment to readjust.

Guiren set the huntress down with all the knightly politeness she expected of him. When she turned back to Mr. Four Arms, she tilted her head to look past him and smiled. This combined with the sudden halt from the other swordsman caused the sorcerer to worry.

Turning about, his helm was met with the thunderous force of a crozius arcanum's power field.

Lothar delivered a crushing blow to the wizard's helmet. Forcing him to the ground and shattering his headwear, revealing his disturbing face.

He had four sets of eyes, all blinking separately from one another. His skin was sky blue looking tough and leathery. His eyes found the huntress and he glared at her with hate.

Summer would have taken that more seriously if he did not look so disturbed that she was more caught up in what he looked like over how he was looking at her.

Lothar raised his crozius for a killing strike, but a psychic roar from the fiery mage threw everyone off their feet.

Summer clutched at her Ivory as she fell. By the time she got to her feet again, both Mr. Fireballs and Mr. Four Arms were gone, leaving her alone with the Templars and the new arrivals.

Looking around, she saw the new arrivals more clearly. They looked like they had slogged through a dozen warzones without rest. Their battle plate was battered, nicked, dented and scratched in nearly every place she could see.

The Black Templars approached her to check if she was permanently damaged.

Summer smiled and said with no shortage of joy. "I'm so glad you to survive the crash."

Both Templars, along with the rest of the Astartes bar the hooded one with the Lion Sword flinched in surprise.

"You can speak through our minds now?" Lothar asked.

"Yeah. I learned it from Greyfax and figured out how to do this thanks to those..." Summer kicked the dirt as a sudden realization came to mind. "Witches. Hehehe. Now I understand why you guys were so afraid of me when we first met. I'd be scared of me too if I were compared to these guys."

"You are nothing like them, my Lady." Guiren said with conviction brightening Summer's mood.

The huntress turned to the hooded Space Marine who was flanked by the swordsman and the Librarian. "Thank you for helping me."

"I did only what needed to be done." The hooded Astartes said in tone that was not impolite but not inviting either. A strange form of neutrality she had only seen in people completely absorbed in their work.

"Who are you?" Summer asked.

"I am no one. I am anyone." He answered without hesitation.

Summer's lip curled and formed into a pout. Was he playing the Mr. Mysterious game? Or was he that determined to be anonymous? Summer focused on the symbol on his belt buckle and felt the shadow of a memory find her. This combined with the sword helped put some pieces together.

"Well does the Dark Angel called No One have any other names?" She asked cheekily.

The other Dark Angels flinched, some gripping their weapons more tightly. They were on edge now that their battle focus was gone. She had seen these behaviors before. Namely from fugitives in Vacou and Mistral.

The hooded one did not react the same way as the rest. He was the very picture of stoicism. Unmoved by anything she said.

"A name?" Said the hooded one. "Names are the beginning of truth. If that is what you wish, then you may call me Cypher."

The huntress tilted her head. "Cypher? That's not a real name."

"It is the only truth I can give you."

Summer looked at his helmet for a moment. He was too comfortable while the others were on edge. It was almost like he knew this was going to happen. Was he a psyker too?

"Well Cypher. I'm Summer Rose."

"I know who you are." Cypher answered before gesturing to his brothers. "We all do."

Summer's brow furrowed. She wasn't exactly a big player in all this. Even if she warranted some value without trying to sound vain.

"How?"

Guiren spoke up. "They were on the cruiser with us. They somehow snuck aboard before we made Warp translation. They've been hiding from both us and the crew the entire time."

Summer blinked in surprise. They hid from a crew of thousands for an entire month without being detected once. That was impressive. Frighteningly impressive. She decided to skip the interrogation. That was Greyfax's job. She had other problems at the moment and needed to cut this short.

"Why did you help me? What brought you here?"

"Destiny." Was all Cypher said.

Summer forced down a groan. She never liked such rationales. Such things implied a lack of free will, at least to her.

"Fine." Summer said. "If destiny brought you here then what's next on your to do list?"

It was an attempt to throw him off balance, but he answered her perfectly. "We must join the battle at the crater. The Primarchs are likely beginning their duel and we must lend Lord Guilliman our aid."

Summer felt her heart jump as she realized the implications of his words. Guilliman was going to face off against Magnus.

"Oh no." Summer said. "We have to get here. Now!"

"Is something the matter?" Lothar asked.

"It's Guilliman, we have to get there now." Summer said as she turned to where the sorcerers were taking her. "Magnus is here, and he wants to kill his brother."

"Indeed." Said Cypher. "If you were not here to draw his ire, he may have already."

"Then let go and make sure it stays that way!" Summer said unfolding Ivory and rushing off with the Astartes in tow.

---

Osiris brought his spear down on another of the automatons that wore Astartes battle armor. The ceramite parted, spraying dust all over his auramite plate before he moved on to the next, and the next and the next. All the while he tried to put the pieces together.

He was there when Magnus had breached the walls during the defense of Terra. And chased after their ships during the decades after. Back then they were still of flesh and blood. Now they were even less than the most mutilated of traitors. They were nothing but dust.

They fought with the vigour of true Astartes, but they lacked the spirit that made them so dangerous. It was no better than fighting combat servitors to him. They showed no pain response, no delineation from their most common tactics. They did even not bother to avoid his blows.

On occasion he would spot outliers among the masses. Some displayed small forms of individuality, but that was often overridden by their psyker masters who commanded them in a manner akin to a techpriest commanding his skitarii.

He had no idea what foul sorcery the sons of the Magnus had employed to accomplish this, but it only further proved why such practices had to be banned.

Osiris was present when the wolves descended on their homeworld. It was a sad day, even for one such as him. Osiris mourned the loss of a culture due to the arrogance of its ruler. While he was a practical being and a warrior, he still valued culture. Especially one as fine as Prospero. Seeing it burn at the hands of the Space Wolves left a sour taste in all their mouths, even if only slightly.

Whether Magnus agreed to this change in his progeny or not was irrelevant. The result was clear. His sons had taken on his arrogance and in turn were doomed by it just as he was.

His Guardian Spear fired a bolt at a sorcerer who flew by on a bladed disk, catching him on the helmet and forcing him to fall. The disk continued to fly and changed direction. It ignored its rider and charged at Osiris.

It took the Custodian a moment to identify the object as a form of bound daemon. In response to the creature's charge, he placed the blade of his spear behind him and aimed the bud at the ground.

A split second before the monster could impale him with those blades, he flicked the bud up, catching the creature and flipping it over him. Once a full arch was complete, he followed through with a downward chop from the blade. Planting it in the daemon's largest eye.

The thing squealed like a frightened porcine before Osiris fired a trio of bolts into its form. Exploding it into chunks of blue and pink matter.

He felt a hint of annoyance at his inability to follow his normal three strike pattern here. Most of the enemies acted the same way and he rarely found anything new to learn. It made him feel something akin to what mortals would call lazy. That left him feeling uncomfortable. They fell too easily, and he saw no reason to drag it out and that left him feeling that he had not done enough.

A bright flash caught his eye. Looking towards the crater, he saw the residual heat haze of a teleport flare. Marching forward from the distortion, he saw hulking blue figures wielding green glowing khopesh blades.

Cataphractii Terminators. Twenty of them. A mighty number he would admit. They stomped along the edge of the crater, their storm bolters cutting down loyal Astartes.

Osiris allowed his senses to take in the full scope of the battle. It was chaos. Daemons and their engines swarmed the skies, embattled with navy fighter wings.

The lesser daemons emerged from the crater to act as fodder for the mortal Thousand Sons. Throwing themselves at the Imperial Space Marines to buy the Sorcerers time to work their craft.

The enemy were forming up around the crater, doing their best to keep their foes from whatever was inside.

Guilliman knew that something had allowed Magnus to come here and that his brother would guard it like the legendary Cerberus of the Underworld.

It was clear that the Crimson King was stalling.

Osiris opened a vox to all nearby Astartes squads. He will need assistance. He knew he could take on the Terminators, but not all at once. While he disliked having to rely on Space Marines, he would do what he must to achieve victory.

"All Squads who hear this. Charge the line of Terminators! We must break their ranks!"

The Custodian broke into a full sprint, crushing one of the blue daemons underfoot. One of the Terminators took notice of him and unleashed a full magazine from his storm bolter. Osiris began to twirl his Guardian Spear in a defensive sequence as the rounds closed in on him.

He focused on deflecting those that would have broken his stride. Protecting his head and main body. Shots crashed against his pauldrons and greaves, punching craters in his armor and scorching the golden sheen black.

To the corners of his vision, he saw return fire. Some of his allies had answered his call for aid.

Once he was within range, he twirled into a spinning waist arch, firing a single shot. It impacted the storm bolter in the Terminator's gauntlet giving Osiris the room he needed to go for a horizontal slash.

The Terminator managed to catch it with his khopesh but was unprepared for the follow up. Osiris crashed the bud of his spear into one of the exposed leg joints, making the walking tank stumble.

Then he began to tear into the metal frame of the Cataphractii armor with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. Each strike led to the next and the sorcerer had no moment to raise his weapon before he was cut open like ration crate dumped in a hive city slum.

When the corpse of the traitor fell, Osiris saw his allies for the first time. Astartes with black and bone white armor with numerous skulls and bones adorned across them in ritualistic fashion. He saw this chapter on Macragge when they came to greet Guilliman.

The Mortifactors. One of the more unique off shoots of the Ultramarine succession line.

They attacked the Cataphractii with savage efficiency. Osiris did not care much for their doctrine which dictated that they fight like this. If it brought them victory, then the Custodian would join them in this ritual of combat.

So, he leapt into the fray, and they began to dismantle the force of Terminators. When Osiris had slain his fifth, he kicked it down the edge of the crater.

Before he could move onto the next a colossal figure rose up from the dust he had created.

The figure had an imposing presence. It held such magnitude that all fighting close to it ceased.

Osiris knew this being for only his kind could stand before them unbowed. The figure soared high before crashing amongst the Mortifacors' lines. The Astartes began to tear at him. Their bolts and blades appear ineffective against whatever arcane powers he to fend off their blows. What shots and slashed managed to land appeared to do nothing as his crimson skin was indistinguishable from the blood that poured out and almost immediately clotted.

The giant among giants brought his khopesh blade to bear and with a single swing, cleaved ten of the deathly Astartes in twain. Then he brought it down on one and split him from skull to groin.

Osiris watched with revulsion as the two halves of the Astartes began to melt and recombine. The ceramite lost underneath the sudden bloating of fluid like flesh. The red giant flared his purple and blue wings.

Magnus the Red had entered the battle.

With his hateful glare, he fired a beam of warp power across the battlefield. Its touch spelled annihilation for all it reached.

Once the beam died down, Magnus turned his attention to Osiris.

A dark grin betrayed his amusement at seeing the Custodian. With steps that shook the earth, Magnus turned to face Osiris, his glaive raised to strike.

"MAGNUS!" Came a mighty shout over the local vox.

Osiris and Magnus both turned to see the Avenging Son charging full tilt at his daemonic brother. The Crimson King raised a hand and Osiris saw him beginning some foul chant. Osiris knew Magnus could cast spells as easily as it would be to pull the trigger on his Guardian Spear.

Which he did.

The bolter shell crashed into the Cyclops' face, nearly hitting his eye. While it was a momentary distraction, it was enough for Guilliman to leap at his significantly larger sibling. Ramming his left pauldron between the horns on Magnus' chest plate, sending them both tumbling into crater, forming a cloud of dust as they fell.

Osiris dared not follow. He had seen what happens when Primarchs do battle. He would be nothing but an irritant to Magnus and a distraction to Guilliman.

Something else caught his focus, the bodies of the fallen Morifactors all melted, combining into a single fleshy mass of teeth, claws and eyes.

Osiris saw the rest of the Morticactors rally behind him as he prepared to face off against the chaos spawn.

The beast prepared to charge them, but stopped and shook. Osiris was not sure if he was interpreting the daemon's action correctly as their very view of existence was as warped as the realm they called home, but he believed he saw the monster shake with apprehension.

The beast looked skyward, and Osiris followed its gaze. If it were some trick the Mortifactors would alert him by striking back.

What he saw caused a stir of emotion within him. He had not smiled since the loss of his Tribune, but at that moment he almost cracked a grin.

Golden Orion Dropships descended from the sky, their sleek frames sidestepping the Heldrakes trying to snap at them. They all appeared to be flying towards him.

His vox activated. It was on a private channel reserved for his order. "Greetings, brother."

It was one of his kin, but he did not recognize the voice.

"My greetings, brother. Your timing could not be better." Osiris responded with the closest thing he had to genuine joy. His brothers were coming.

"We are following your vox signal. Hold fast."

The beast had regained its wits and charged. Osiris did not allow the Mortifactors to sacrifice more of their numbers to blunt the assault. They had done enough to spare him from Magnus' fury.

Osiris met the incarnation of madness head on, its massive claw falling in an attempt to crush him in the opening moments. He sidestepped the massive appendage and returned the gesture with a great slash across hits deformed body.

The Mortifactors began to circle the beast, digging into it with bolter fire while Osiris did his part to hold it in place.

One of the Orions hovered above them, its loading ramp opening to reveal a white armored Custodian. He leapt from the ramp and fell atop the beast like a meteor. The impact putting the monster on the ground.

The dropship touched down around the ring of Astartes and a quartet of armored women emerged, all of them garbed in brass armor.

Anathema Psykana. Sisters of Silence.

The four of them ran past the Mortifactors and encircled the chaos spawn, causing it to writhe in agony from their presence alone.

Osiris felt the uncomfortable sensation of being around a blank. What he felt was oxymoronic. He was instinctually repulsed by them, but a part of him was happy to be around them again.

They joined in on the dismemberment of the chaos spawn. All of them wielding their executioner greatblades with brilliant skill.

The white armored Custodian fired into the beast from above and it screamed and wailed as its incorporeal form was rendered corporeal by the null field generated by the Sisters.

It soon ceased to move, and the Sisters stepped back.

Osiris let out an all clear over the vox to the Astartes, thanking them for their aid and promising to honor their name in the records that will follow this battle.

The white Custodian hopped off the disintegrating daemon and stood before Osiris with the Sisters behind him.

"Well met, brother." Said the Custodian. "I must admit, we were not expecting one of our number to be among the Primarch's entourage."

"It was a matter of necessity and circumstance rather than free choice." Osiris admitted. "Had I the ability, I would have called on your aid five standard months ago."

"As the mortals say, better late than never." Said the white Custodian in a manner that Osiris found to be strangely familiar.

"I am aware that this is an ill opportune time, but may I ask your name?" The Custodian requested as a shot flew by his head, yet he did not so bother as to flinch.

"My first name is Osiris, Shield Captain under former Tribune Ra Endymion."

The Custodian said nothing for a moment, then spoke with a hint of uncertainty. "Truly? Osiris, is that truly you, my brother?"

Osiris gave a short nod, pleased that one of his brethren from the Heresy had survived the millennia. "I am. Forgive me, but I do not recognize you by the markings on your armor."

It was a standard custom. One invented by the Emperor himself. While all Custodes were more than happy to go with undecorated plate. Plain and unpainted. He made it so that their armor would become as a part of their identity as their voices and very names.

"Why brother." The Custodian said with a hint of amusement that Osiris still felt was suspiciously familiar. "I am disappointed that you do not recognize your brother in mortal birth as well as among the order."

Osiris then realized who he was talking to, and his heart soared.

"Sett?"

---

Guilliman and Magnus wrestled as they fell to the bottom of the crater. Neither giving up on trying to crush the other. When they hit the bottom Guilliman immediately rolled to his feet, he knew he was no match for Magnus in raw strength.

Guilliman's visor display saw nothing, but the dust cloud brought up by their fall.

Not wanting to waste time, he shouted. "Magnus! I know you are not dead. Nor are you a coward! Unless all your years in the Warp has made you soft minded, you'll come and face me!"

Guilliman knew his brother could hear him, Magnus was too potent of a psyker not to be monitoring his surface thoughts.

His prediction was proven correct as laughter entered his mind. There was no point in trying to locate him by sound, because there was none.

The dust cloud parted as Magnus fapped his mighty wings, giving the Lord of Ultramar a clear look at his corrupted kin. This was the first time they had met since the crusade and Guilliman was shocked by the difference between now and then. This was not the brother he remembered. Not in the slightest.

Magnus towered over Guilliman, the Crimson King was over double his height and displayed this disparity between them with satisfaction.

"Hello, Roboute." He said with equal parts delight and disdain.

Magnus raised a hand and conjured a ball of violet flame and let it float there as if he were handling some trinket. "I must say that it took you a very long time to recover from your wounding. I am disappointed that it was Fulgrim who did you in. For all Lorgar's claims to have moved on from his grudge, I could see he was most dissatisfied with not finishing you himself."

Guilliman raised the Sword of the Emperor in a ready stance. "I shall deal with him when he dares to show his face. For now, it is you and I."

Magnus watched the golden flames with intrigue. "I see Fulgrim was not boasting after all. I had my doubts that you would be audacious enough to take father's sword for yourself. I see he is not the only one who believes he is more deserving than the rest of us."

"Says the one who thought he knew best when we all told you otherwise." Guilliman pointed the blade at his sibling. "You call me audacious when you repeatedly and openly defied father's warnings. Believing yourself to be so wise that you were above the consequences of your actions."

Magnus frowned. "You know nothing of what transpired during those times. While you were busy tending to your little empire, I was fighting for my very soul."

"And whose fault was that Magnus? Who put you in that situation in the first place?"

The two began to circle one another, Guilliman held the blade low and kept the Hand of Dominion ready to fire.

"Because from where I'm standing, you have no one else to blame but yourself."

Magnus roared with fury as he hurled the purple fire at Guilliman. The fire grew the further they got from Magnus.

Guilliman leapt to the side and fell into a roll. The unnatural fires scorching the barren rock they stood on. Magnus closed in and brought his glaive down in an arching sweep. Guilliman parried with the Emperor's Sword before firing the heavy bolter mounted to the Hand of Dominion.

The bolts did little to the Daemon Primarch, Magnus simply laughed before swatting Guilliman away with his free hand. The Ultramarines Primarch flew fifteen meters before crashing. His armor beeped in his ears as it blared out warnings about its integrity.

Magnus did not move as Guilliman got to his feet again. "You see, brother."

Blue flames gathered around the khopesh blade topping his glaive. "This is power."

Guilliman grit his teeth beneath his helm. "Arrogance! It was always your weakness. As much now as it was then. At the very least the Magnus I knew then had the genuine desire to do good."

"What is good but a point of view?" Said a voice from behind Guilliman.

He felt the ground shake as something landed behind him. Turning his back to Magnus, he beheld a large, two-headed avian daemon.

"Greetings from the Warmaster, Avenging Son." Both heads said with mocking anticipation.

The daemon raised his staff to strike, black energy twisted and bent around the gnarled rod it held. The revelry of the creature was cut short by a ray of light, shining down from above.

Guilliman did not bother to look up as he had already become accustomed to the phenomenon. The Saint had a flare for the dramatic. Specifically in her entrances.

Celestine fell on the daemon like a divine comet. The avian creature just barely managed to avoid her blade as it plunged into the moon's surface. The daemon began to babble incoherently, words that made no sense to be spoken at the moment were heard as it took flight in fear. He heard the words, betrayal and hidden path more than once from the creature as it fled the Saint.

"You shall not escape retribution, foul beast!" Celestine shouted as she took to the sky in pursuit.

"Hmmm." Magnus hummed as he watched the winged woman fly. "Similar, but not quite the same. The huntress woman is a greater prize by far."

Guilliman faced his brother once again. "Where is she? What have you done with her?"

Magnus grinned, having finally gotten under his brother's skin. "Fear not. I have done nothing to her. I merely discovered the reason behind her little miracles."

Guilliman noted Magnus' mockery of the word miracles.

"Honestly brother, I am gladdened that I did not drag you down. Else I would not have claimed such a prize." The Crimson King pointed his glaive at his brother. "And even if I had to waste this little passage through Sol's defenses, what I had to gain was more than worth it. I may not reach father today, but even without the woman, killing you alone is more than worth the effort."

"You have not succeeded yet." Guilliman retorted. "You are clearly not trying hard enough."

Magnus scowled. "Clearly."

With explosive speed, he brought the glaive around and sent a wave of fire towards Guilliman. The Primarch felt the heat wash over him and with enough force that he had to back up a step to properly support himself. The Armor of Fate hissed loudly in Guilliman's ear as it reported several breaches being opened due to the accumulated damage.

Magnus did not relent, lunging forward, he aimed to split Guilliman in two with a downward chop.

Another roll took Guilliman a meter's length away from death as the massive, curved blade dug a gouge in the earth, the small shockwave pelting his armor with rubble.

Guilliman saw his brother's eye light up and began to circle around him as a beam of pale blue light began to chase the Lord of Ultramar. Raising the heavy bolter, he fired at the Cyclops' face.

Magnus roared as the bolts detonated, his face scored with blackened marks which fell away within moments. With the wave of his hand, he sent an artillery barrage's worth of blackened bolts of annihilation towards his brother.

Guilliman continued his sprint, outpacing most of the bolts of psychic destruction. A few scored hits on his pauldron and greave. He did not break stride and took his turn to attack. Crashing against Magnus's left leg and nearly breaking it with his power fist.

With a cry of pain, Magnus took hold of Guilliman with his full telekinetic might and hurled him across the crater.

The impact of Guilliman's form left an imprint within the stone. His armor blared and his vision was red with all the warning runes flashing across his visor.

Magnus rose high, gathering his psychic might to him, a storm of power gathered around him. Flames of all hues, both possible and impossible for mortal minds to comprehend. A living thunderhead formed above the Daemon Primarch. Forks of pink lightning stabbed out in every direction.

Guilliman's amor wheezed as he forced himself to stand. The coldness of space crept into the security of his suit. Were it not for his Primarch constitution he would already be dead. Good thing this was not the first time he had been thrown into space.

He felt an odd presence behind him. Turning, he saw a quintet of armored women. He remembered their armor. Sisters of Silence. Blanks.

The Null Maidens formed up around him and they marched as one.

When Magnus unleashed his storm, scouring the already dead landscape clean of whatever detritus was left by the battle. But it could not reach them. The flames died out as they came within a few meters of the ring of blanks. The lightning bolts fizzled and died as they tried to lash out at the Primarch.

Magnus saw what was happening and dived towards the group. He crushed two of the Sister's underfoot and slew a third with his blade. He then grabbed a fourth and intended to snap her spine in his palm.

Then a bright, golden light exploded from the lip of the crater. Its radiance bathed the entire battle ground.

Guilliman felt a sense of warmth coming from it. That was a feeling he had not experienced for centuries.

Magnus screamed, releasing the Sister to fall to earth. Guilliman caught her with the Hand of Dominion and set her down. She thanked him with hand gestures he recognized as thoughtmark. The preferred form of communication for the silent order.

"AUGH! It burns! IT BURNS!" Magnus cried.

Guilliman looked to the source of the light, when it faded, he saw Summer standing at the edge with a number of black clad Astartes. She was taking aim with her weapon and waved to him.

He heard her voice call out to him. "Get him!"

Guilliman wasted no time and charged at his fallen brother.

Magnus looked to the source of the light and his eyes widened in shock at what his ethereal sight allowed him to witness. Behind the huntress woman was a silhouette he could never mistake. One he had known since his inception.

"Father?" He whispered as Summer fired.

The bullet flew across the empty space and impacted the Daemon Primarch's one eye. Once more, Magnus roared in pain, but this cry was cut short as Guilliman delivered a shattering blow to Magnus' belt buckle, shattering it under the explosive power field.

The Daemon Primarch was knocked off his feet and sent back. He may have lost his eye, but he was not blind, he could see Guilliman coming for him and was confident he could take the blow. What he did not see was that the Eldar gate was right behind him.

Magnus raised a hand to toss his stubborn brother aside but was interrupted by the falling form of Kairos. The Fateweaver's form was smoking as he fell towards Magnus, his body covered with wounds.

The Crimson King sidestepped the greater daemon not putting much thought into where the fool would land behind him. But when the neverborn vanished from his senses when he should be right behind him, Magnus' eyes went wide.

He loosed a volley of doombolts at Guilliman. But they never reached him, as he held one of the Sister's within his power fist. Realizing too late that he had been tricked, he unleashed a barrage of pure psychic might, planning on overpowering the Sister's null field.

The attempt failed and Guilliman rammed Magnus into the shimmering heat haze of the Webway portal.

Guilliman let down the disoriented Sister and raised his power fist high, planning on bringing the portal down by hand if he had to.

"There is no need for that, grand one." Came a melodic voice.

From behind the bony structure of the gate stood an Eldar woman dressed in a sort of jester's outfit.

"The final act is concluded, and it is time to lower the curtain." As she spoke those words, the haze of the gate's activation died away, sealing Magnus off from Terra for good.

---

An hour later and the battle had concluded in its entirety. The enemy had been routed and then destroyed as they had nowhere to flee to.

Crews from both the fleet and Mars had come to both study the battlefield and collect the dead and their gear. Summer watched with a measure of impatience. She wanted to get to Gessel and the survivors on the ship. They must be close to dying from lack of oxygen by now.

As she watched over the crater, she felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was more like a finger as the entire hand was enough to crush her skull.

"You did well." Said Guilliman.

"How are you holding up? You know, without the suit to help you with the environment?" Summer glanced at the helmeted face of her friend.

"I will survive. This is far from the worst that I've suffered."

Summer pouted. "You should be getting back to your ship!"

Guilliman chuckled. "I shall endure, as I always have."

Summer smiled and looked to the Eldar Gate. "Do you think we'll see him again?"

Guilliman was silent for a moment. "I know he will want to settle the score with us. He had become spiteful and requires something to direct his anger towards."

"So, that's a yes?" Summer asked, already knowing the answer.

"It is."

The huntress turned around and saw humans. Normal humans in some kind of space suits making their way towards her, or more accurately to the Primarch she stood beside.

Guilliman looked to where she was gazing and let out a sigh. "So, they finally send someone to speak with me."

As the man and his aids drew closer, Guilliman spoke up through the open vox. "Cancellarius Senatorum Imperialis."

Summer didn't know what that meant because she was still learning High Gothic, but she knew it was something important. As evident by the number of heads turning to face the slightly pudgy man.

The man fell to his knees, much to the dismay of his female attendant who showed genuine concern for him.

"The Lord Guilliman." Said the man, it was in the vox, Summer knew, but she heard it more naturally than anyone else here.

"You speak for the High Lords?" Guilliman asked, sounding like the king she once thought of him as.

The man nodded, still on his knees. Guilliman stepped forward and offered him a hand. The man took it with no small amount of hesitation.

"Then it is good you are here, Chancellor." Guilliman said warmly as he helped the man to his feet. "I have been gone a long time. Perhaps if your offices still extend to such things, you would be good enough to show me to your masters."

Summer stopped paying attention to the conversation. She looked up at the dirty sphere that was said to be the birthplace of all humanity. It was nearly time. Nearly time for her vision to come true.

Then she could finally begin her search for home.

---

MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS BOYZZZZZZZ!

Or happy Sanguinala hahahaha!

Or whatever holiday you celebrate.

I am sorry this took me so long. This was not easy for me. I had to suffer through constantly getting sick coupled with the demands of family.

I do not expect forgiveness and I shall give myself a thousand lashings as penance for making you all wait. Such is right.

But seriously, I did not want it to come out this late, I had a metric crapton of stuff I had to sort out first.

I promise to do better. But for now, enjoy the chapter. Next is the Battle of the Lion's Gate!