Chapter Five: The Return of the Praetorian
The sprawling fortress of the Phalanx drifted silently within the Sol System, its titanic presence an enduring testament to the might of the Imperial Fists. Though abandoned and dormant for millennia, the Phalanx's halls still echoed with the spirit of duty that had once guided it through countless battles. But within its depths, an even older presence lingered—a ghostly figure of unbreakable resolve who walked its endless corridors, watching and waiting.
Rogal Dorn, Primarch of the Imperial Fists, had become something more than a mere memory within these walls. Like his brothers Ferrus and Sanguinius, his spirit had been claimed by the Legion of the Damned. Yet, unlike them, Dorn had remained bound to the Phalanx, his specter driven by an unyielding duty to defend humanity even beyond death.
But now, with Terra besieged by a daemonic incursion as the Great Rift opened, the dormant spirit of Rogal Dorn stirred. His silent vigil broke as the Emperor's chosen son, Roboute Guilliman, arrived on Terra. The demonic forces had breached the walls of humanity's most sacred world, defiling the very ground Dorn had once sworn to protect. And at that moment, Dorn's resolve burst forth like a tidal wave.
With a voice as cold and immovable as stone, Dorn called out into the Warp, a spectral summons that reached the distant spirits of his brothers. He beckoned Ferrus Manus and Sanguinius, commanding them to return with their Legion. The Legion of the Damned answered, and the Raptorus Rex tore through the veil, materializing near the Phalanx with a chilling silence.
The spectral forms of Ferrus and Sanguinius appeared within the Phalanx's ancient halls. There, they found their brother, Rogal Dorn, his armor a fractured echo of his once-proud heraldry, wreathed in amber flames that flickered coldly, as though suppressing an eternal wrath. His face, set in a grim line, bore the weight of every wall he had defended, every battle lost in his absence.
"Ferrus. Sanguinius," Dorn greeted them, his voice as solemn and unyielding as a fortress wall. "The Imperium is besieged. Humanity stands on the edge, and we will answer."
Ferrus nodded, his iron-clad hands tightening in a gesture of resolve. "Then you shall join us, brother," he replied, his words echoing like the clash of steel.
Without further ceremony, Ferrus reached out, ghostly iron meeting spectral flame as he pulled Dorn into the ranks of the Legion of the Damned. The amber flames surrounding Dorn intensified, mingling with the cold fire of the Legion until he stood transformed, his spirit fully joining that of his brothers as the third Damned Primarch. Together, they strode through the Phalanx, spectral titans born anew in purpose.
In a matter of moments, the Raptorus Rex carried the Damned and their newly joined Primarch to Terra, arriving at the heart of the Imperium's siege. The skies above Terra swarmed with daemons and twisted Chaos forces, their vile presence encircling the planet like a festering wound. The forces of Chaos had breached the Imperial Palace itself, and the defenders fought desperately, knowing the Emperor's last sanctuary was at risk.
But as the Raptorus Rex entered the battlefield, a shudder passed through the daemonic ranks. From the heart of the ship, the Legion of the Damned descended, spectral flames flickering against the night, and leading them were the three ghostly Primarchs, their presence a living nightmare for the enemies of humanity.
Dorn's power manifested as he stepped onto the ground of Terra, summoning Spectral Fortifications that rose from the dust and rubble, ghostly barriers that shimmered with an impenetrable light. The defending forces felt the walls fortify their spirits as well as their flesh, and even the daemons recoiled from the sight.
At the forefront, Ferrus Manus led his iron-willed Damned into the daemonic hordes, his spectral hands crushing the monstrous forms of Plaguebearers and Tzeentchian horrors with brutal efficiency. Each strike of his iron fists shattered daemonic flesh, reducing even the mightiest of Warp-spawned foes to writhing embers.
Meanwhile, Sanguinius flew above, radiant and terrible, his wings casting beams of spectral light that seared through the ranks of Chaos. With each swing of his Blade of Radiance, he banished whole swarms of daemons back into the Warp, their souls disintegrating under the intensity of his wrathful fire.
Rogal Dorn strode through the heart of the battlefield, his mere presence instilling a cold, unbreakable determination in the defenders. As daemonic forces surged against his Spectral Fortifications, he summoned forth the Vengeance of the Fallen, spectral warriors rising from the shadows—each a soul who had perished defending the Imperium. They moved with Dorn, a spectral battalion of loyal souls, and struck at the daemons with relentless fury.
In the midst of the battle, a familiar voice echoed across the ruined walls. "Dorn?" Guilliman's voice held a rare tone of shock, for he could scarcely believe his brother had returned, albeit in spectral form. Dorn turned his ghostly gaze to the living Primarch, giving a nod of acknowledgment. There was no reunion, no embrace—only a silent understanding between brothers still bound to the same duty.
The daemonic incursion faltered as the Legion of the Damned swept through the ranks, each clash a display of calculated devastation. The Bloodthirster Khor'lach, an ancient terror who had laid waste to entire worlds, snarled and charged toward Dorn, wielding a brutal axe that crackled with warp energy. But Dorn stood his ground, raising his spectral fist to meet the beast's assault. His Hand of the Primarch clashed with the Bloodthirster's weapon, shattering the axe into shards of cursed metal, then struck again, sending the creature sprawling. Without hesitation, Dorn's ghostly construct blade sliced through Khor'lach's neck, banishing him back to the Warp in a blaze of amber fire.
Ferrus and Sanguinius continued their relentless purge, scouring the daemonic ranks with chilling precision. Ferrus encountered the Great Unclean One, Blorgrath the Festering, whose hideous laughter shook the ground as he approached. Ferrus's response was a silent, crushing blow, his iron hands twisting into spectral claws that tore through Blorgrath's bloated form, spilling pestilent ichor onto the ground as the daemon disintegrated under his touch.
In the skies above, Sanguinius confronted a Lord of Change, a creature of manipulation and sorcery, whose laughter warped reality itself. But Sanguinius's Blade of Radiance was swift, cutting through the creature's deceptive spells and plunging into its heart, reducing it to nothing more than wisps of cursed smoke.
As the daemonic forces broke, the Legion of the Damned pressed their advantage, sweeping through Terra's defenses with spectral determination. Dorn's presence strengthened the Imperial forces, his Implacable Bulwark extending an unbreakable will to all who fought under his gaze. The defenders rallied, their spirits lifted by the sight of these ghostly Primarchs who fought without fear, without mercy.
The battle reached a brutal crescendo as the remaining daemons made a final, desperate assault on the Imperial Palace. Ferrus, Sanguinius, and Dorn led their Legionaries into the heart of the fray, each of their strikes echoing the righteousness of a wrath that had not waned with death.
When the last of the daemonic filth had been purged, Terra was left in silence, the Imperial defenders kneeling in exhausted reverence. Rogal Dorn turned to Ferrus and Sanguinius, a ghostly nod passing between them. They had fulfilled their duty—for now.
The three Damned Primarchs and their Legion began to fade, leaving the living to repair and rebuild, guided by the silent promise that the Legion would return whenever humanity stood on the brink.