The misty forests of Caliban echoed with the sounds of shrill birds and distant animals, the midday sun just barely shining through the dense canopy in thin ribbons of light. Lion's steed snorted as it trotted through the dense and thorny underbrush, its thick hide specially designed to protect it from the hostile weeds that choked the dark forests, among other dangers. Jonson's sharp, silvery eyes scanned his surroundings as he patrolled the outer reaches of the forests around his home, searching for any sign of a wayward beast that might indicate the presence of more that were deeper in the trees. It was rare for one to be sighted this late in the day, but not unprecedented.
Furthermore, despite the time of day, the morning fog had yet to dissipate. Thick mists of this nature were uncommon outside of the winter months, and even then, rarely lasted throughout the day. Yet, for reasons none could explain, an increasingly dense and obscuring fog seemed to creep out from the deep woods every morning, inching further and further towards the walls of the Order's compound…
"Lion, I found tracks over here by the foot trail." Atalanta said. "It looks like a juvenile."
Lion tugged at the reins and trotted over to her, dismounting beside her. She was kneeling down next to her own steed, her artisanal bow slung over her bare shoulder.
"Irregular gait…" Lion said, observing the heavy pawprints. "It may be wounded. Mount your steed, it might still be nearby."
Atalanta nodded wordlessly and climbed atop her horse.
It had been several months now since Lion's engagement to the Duke of Borugond's daughter, and the two had settled into a steady routine. While Luther was mortified by the idea of his son's bride-to-be riding out with him on his morning twilight patrols, the spirited lass eventually convinced the grandmaster to allow her to ride out on the comparatively less dangerous midday patrols instead. Lion made no argument one way or another but did acknowledge the girl's prowess and capabilities in the field as being more than sufficient to qualify her for the task. Aside from that she often assisted El'Jonson with his other daily tasks around the fortress, inspecting their defenses for weaknesses, monitoring the peasant fields for signs of beast activity, doing regular surveys of the armory and storage rooms in case of a siege… all the while Lion never requested assistance, of course.
Lady Atalanta had also ingratiated herself with the Order and its retainers, occasionally visiting every quarter of the fortress grounds and politely inquiring on their day-to-day operations. While some in the order were skeptical of her presence and mused over the possibility of it being some kind of Borugondi skullduggery, her questions were genuine and banal enough to dispel any suspicions of espionage. When questioned she simply stated that, as the Lion's wife, it would be her duty to manage and administer the Order while he was on campaign - the logic of which few could argue against. Her pleasant and personable demeanor eventually garnered her much favor from the Order's vassals, and eventually she even grew upon the more stoic and stone hearted knights as well.
This made it all the more shocking to them how Lion treated her so… coldly. While he was known for being distant and stoic to those within the Order, he usually had an air of nobility about him, projecting the ideal demeanor of a regal and honorable paragon, as was expected of a knight such as him. However, oftentimes when the Lion and Atalanta were together, he would seemingly drop his honorifics and address her with plain and direct speech that seemed disrespectful to any Lady of her rank, let alone one's bride.
Yet, in truth, this was perhaps the clearest sign of her budding relationship to the young scion, even if few recognized it. Atalanta seemingly understood as much, showing no sign of offense or insult to the Lion's unorthodox displays of congeniality as the two gradually grew closer. Lion had accepted her as a part of his routine, familiar and commonplace in a way not many things in his life were, even fewer of them being other people.
Lion and Atalanta galloped through the shallow edges of the forest, where thin rays of light could still penetrate the thick canopy. They followed the lopsided tracks across winding paths and through dense underbrush, hoping to put the wounded beast down before it could wreak havoc upon some helpless village. Despite being a juvenile, its tracks were still as large as a man's head - a testament to the harrowing size of an adult chaos beast. Lion listened carefully over the sound of galloping hooves and rushing wind, then pulled back on his reins and bade his steed to halt. The large horse reared up on his hind legs and stomped the ground, with Atalanta's stallion coming to a halt behind them. Lion scanned his surroundings, his instincts telling him that something was lurking in his immediate surroundings. The nearly imperceptible sound of rustling leaves caused him to zero in on a large patch of thistles, squinting his eyes in an attempt to discern the darkness within the thick shrubbery.
Then, so fast it was almost imperceptible, a huge, blurred shape launched out of the thistle towards Lion. With lightning-like reflexes he rolled off of his horse, narrowly missing the razor-sharp claws swiping at him. He rolled once before deftly landing on his feet, his sword drawn and pointed towards the juvenile beast. His horse, slower to react to the sudden commotion than he, neighed and snorted wildly with surprise. Atalanta immediately dismounted her horse and nocked an arrow, pointing it in the direction of the fearsome creature.
The beast's hunched form rose out of the knee-deep mist, towering over even their horses, a briar of thick fur and twisted horns carried atop powerful, sinewy limbs ending in razor-sharp claws. Crazed, yellow eyes stared out from its tangled and matted fur and its toothy maw billowed steam with each labored breath. One of its limbs was stained dark red with dried blood, its paw lifted slightly as it hesitated to put its full weight on it. Lion locked eyes with the mad beast, his intuition of the creature's wounded state proven correct. A less experienced hunter, or perhaps one with instincts less sharp than his, may have thought a wounded beast would have been less of a threat, more easily dealt with. Lion knew better. In the cruel wilderness of Caliban, nothing was more dangerous than a wounded chaos beast.
"Now!" Lion shouted.
On cue, Atalanta drew back her bowstring and released the arrow with lightning-fast reflexes, hurling the arrow straight towards her target. The missile made a sickeningly wet sound as it plunged into the beast's eye socket, eliciting a pained, high-pitched screech. Using the creature's momentary incapacitation to his advantage, El'Jonson quickly shot forward and slashed his sword across the beast's wool-obscured face. The blade cut through its fur like a scalpel, revealing the monster's hideous face and the fresh, bleeding wound the strike had created. The beast reeled backwards, madly swiping its claws around its head, yet Lion had already leaped backwards to prepare another strike. The next attack did not come, however, his eyes widening as his instincts blared alarms within his mind. The beast's fur began to raise slightly, revealing long, barbed quills previously hidden beneath its thick, wooly hide. Without warning, the needle-like quills shot out from the beast's skin in all directions like a hail of arrows. In a flash Lion leapt in front of Atalanta, catching most of the barbed projectiles in his thick shield. One landed in his thigh, penetrating his armor and digging slightly into his skin, while another grazed his cheek and drew small rivulets of blood. In the confusion, the beast fled into the brush leaving a trail of noxious in its wake.
"Are you harmed?" Lion said, tearing the barbed quill from his thigh.
"No…" Atalanta said, slightly shaken by the encounter.
"Good. Mount your horse, we're going after it. It's too dangerous to leave alive now." Lion said.
"I… apologize." Atalanta said, climbing atop her horse and grabbing hold of the reins. "I wasn't aware they could do that."
"Neither was I." Lion said. "Next time stand further away."
"I will." Atalanta said, and the two galloped deeper into the forest in pursuit of the wounded animal.
They followed the trail of blood into the forest, the foot trails thinning and giving way to unkempt wilderness as they reached the edge of the "safer" parts of the outer wilds… safer being a very relative descriptor. The beams of light thinned until the majority of the understory was bathed in a hazy, twilight shadow, their surroundings only barely visible without the aid of torchlight. Their horses, specially bred to navigate even the most treacherous depths of the cursed woods, weaved through the towering tree trunks at great speed, directed by Lion's impeccable tracking instincts.
"There!" Lion shouted, swiftly changing his steed's direction to follow the barely perceptible trail of blood.
The beast barreled through the underbrush with no regard for stealth or dexterity, tearing apart the thorny brambles and smashing into trees along the way. Lion and Atalanta chased the beast into a small clearing, where the monster was at last cornered at the base of an immense tree. The beast turned to face its pursuers, its bloody and battered form now illuminated by a wide beam of daylight. El'Jonson leapt from his steed, drawing his blade and intending to end the monster with a single strike. The beast snarled and roared defiantly, swiping its claws and gnashing its teeth. With an expression of grave determination, Lion crept towards the wounded beast with his sword beared. Then, he froze.
The look of cold seriousness he often wore melted if only slightly, his eyes becoming unfocused and his lips parting imperceptibly. The world around him seemed to grow silent, and a dull ringing grew within his ears as his gaze was drawn upwards, away from the beast and towards the immense tree it was cornered against. It was ancient and gnarled, its trunk cragged and covered in thorny vines, yet beneath the foliage he could see the distinct signs of decade-old bullet holes riddling the old tree's bark. Time seemed to stand still as he stood silently and motionless, as if in a dream.
"LOOK OUT!" Atalanta shouted, colliding with Lion and tackling them both onto the ground. The wounded beast's talons narrowly missed them both as it pounced over them, tumbling into a patch of dense shrubs as the creature's strike missed its target. The dazed beast stumbled to its feet, turning towards the two humans with frenzied rage. Atalanta hastily reached for her bow and fumbled with her arrows in a panic as the beast bounded towards them. With an expression of terror, she attempted to nock and arrow just before the creature could strike, raising her drawn bow on her knees towards the charging beast-
Lion's sword thrust upwards into the crazed monster's throat, plunging straight through its massive skull. The charging beast's momentum pushed Lion back slightly, but its body fell limp as the fatal strike instantly killed it. Jets of blood splattered all across Lion's face and chest, as the lifeless beast crumpled over and collapsed on its side. Lion pressed his foot against the corpse's neck and ripped out his bloody blade. Atalanta let out a relieved sigh, then winced in pain and gripped her shoulder. Blood was smeared across her palm.
"What in the hells was that all about?" Atalanta said with an abrasive tone.
"I was distracted." Lion said. "It won't happen again."
Atalanta's brow furrowed. She turned to look at the large, weathered tree the beast had been cornered against, mottled by scant rays of sunlight. She'd never seen Lion bear an expression like that in all the time she'd been with him.
They burned the corpse of the slain beast with a special flammable powder that could incinerate even bone in a matter of minutes, a necessary measure to avoid attracting more beasts looking for meat to scavenge. Chaos beasts were of little use to humans for meat or anything else, with the exception of rare, specially crafted weapons or armor that could only be used safely after long and arduous purification rituals. With the quarry of their hunt dead and its remains disposed of, the two swiftly began the journey back to the fortress so as to not be caught outside the walls after sundown.
After a thorough chastising from Luther for endangering himself and his bride-to-be only a few weeks before their wedding, Lion quietly retired to his quarters with his typical reserved and phlegmatic demeanor. He began the time-consuming process of removing his blood-stained armor piece-by-piece, so that it could be cleaned and repaired for the next patrol.
"Is there something you require?" Lion said, his back turned to the door of his room.
"You really aren't going to tell me what happened?" Atalanta said, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.
"I told you what happened." Lion said, his back still turned to her. "I was distracted. A failing on my part. I won't let it happen again."
"You know that's not what I meant." Atalanta said.
She closed her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.
"You know you talk in your sleep, sometimes." Atalanta said.
"...I do?" Lion said, his head raised in surprise.
"Every so often I can hear you saying things when I pass your room at night, mostly just… mumbling about Luther, your brothers, and your… sons?" Atalanta said.
Lion furrowed his brow in confusion, rubbing his forehead as if attempting to remember a half-forgotten dream.
"...I suppose I am a bit flattered about that last part…" Atalanta said, twirling her curly hair around her finger. "...but this isn't about me, or even how I feel. It's about you."
"What do you mean?" Lion said.
"You're good at hiding it, but not as good as you think. We're going to be wed in less than a month, and yet you still insist on shutting me out. If not me, who can you talk to? The other members of the Order? Luther?" Atalanta said.
Lion remained silent.
"You know, Lion…" Atalanta said, looking down at the floor with a forlorn expression. "If you bury a secret deep enough, it can become hidden even to yourself."
The air was still, Lion's hands resting motionless on his armor.
"I'll make you a deal, El'Jonson." Atalanta said, raising her chin with a pert attitude. "Keep your secrets, until our wedding day… after that, you tell me what that tree meant to you."
Lion turned finally to face her, if only indirectly.
"...that is, if you ever want to have any sons." Atalanta said with a playful smirk before leaving.
Lion lowered his head and breathed out slowly, resuming his rote duties exactly where he left off.
Far away, yet at the same time tantalizingly close, the stony ramparts and passageways of the immense void-born fortress known as the Rock had become a bitter and contested war zone. Slugs of superheated plasma, kinetic bombardments, and nuclear warheads battered the ancient multi-layered energy shields of the Dark Angels' fortress-monastery as their escort fleet had only just managed to maneuver into a proper defensive formation. Dozens of medium-sized chaos warfleets had descended upon them without warning, despite the secretive legion's extensive measures to ensure the secrecy of their rendezvous. The process of determining how such an egregious lapse in security could have happened would be extensive and thorough… but that would only be possible once they survived their current battle, a battle they were on the verge of losing.
Azrael unloaded a barrage of bolter rounds into a boarding party of Iron Warriors, their ancient pre-heresy helms exploding in a hail of gore as the grandmaster's seemingly random burst firing in actuality landed square on their marks. All but one of the invading traitor marines fell to the ground with loud metal clangs, leaving an ironclad, horned hulk standing in the midst of the crumpled corpses. The Saturnine-pattern terminator charged towards Azrael and his Deathwing bodyguards like an enraged cyborg minotaur, its thick helmet split open to reveal a half-metallic skull and a glaring red eye. The Deathwing Knights opened fire on the stampeding terminator, their bolter rounds embedding within its absurdly thick armor and barely slowing it down. With the flick of a switch, Azrael changed his combiweapon's firing mode and raised it towards his enemy, waiting barely a moment before unleashing a heavy slug of overcharged plasma directly into the mad brute's skull. The bright blue bolt of energy incinerated the Terminator from the inside out, causing it to flail and stumble to the ground before grinding to a halt at the Supreme Grandmaster's feet.
Out of the corner of his eye Azrael spotted blurred movement, and without a moment to spare he dodged to the left and avoided a razor-sharp slash passing straight by his head. The Deathwing knight behind him moved just a moment too late, and his severed arm was sent flying across the hallway. A second blade swung towards him but was caught by the Grandmaster's power sword and sent flying backwards with a single thrust. The blade's wielder, a horrific, faceless humanoid with spindly half-mechanical limbs lined with monomolecular blades, skittered across the walls and ceilings like a robotic spider. It moved uncannily, as if puppeted by unseen strings, flinging itself once again at the marines without so much as moving its legs. Unfortunately for the Dark Angels' mechanical assailant, the attack was far less successful against a prepared target. With a single swing of his obsidian Sword of Secrets, Azrael bisected the spindly creature and sent its flailing legs and torso tumbling to the ground. The Deathwing Knights unloaded their bolters into both halves of the still-living abomination, expending at least half a magazine on each part before its twitching ceased.
A Goleph Azrael thought. It seems the Iron Warriors are not the only intruders that must be dealt with.
Golephs were nightmarish machine-men wrought through dark rituals of tech-heresy, murderous tools created by Hereteks of the dreaded Dark Mechanicum. Even a single one could shred a space marine to ribbons in seconds… and it was far from the deadliest weapon in the Dark Mechanicum's arsenal. Not only were they being invaded by what had to have been several warbands of Iron Warriors, but a full contingent of Dark Mechanicum Hereteks.
"Come, Deathwing Knights, to me! We are nearing the bridge! Give these traitorous rats no quarter!" Azrael shouted, raising his sword into the air.
The Grandmaster Librarian Ezekiel watched over the defenses they had erected within the crypts, his back turned to the continued excavation efforts. The sounds of distant, muffled explosions reverberated through the many layers of stone around them, a testament to the brutality of the battle raging outside. Yet no matter how much Ezekiel feared what would happen should the Rock fall, he stood steadfast by the orders Azrael had given him. He was to guard at the crypts and continue the excavation, no matter what. Another explosion shook the rock beneath him, and small pieces of stone and dust fell from the ceiling. He breathed in deeply and exhaled in a slow, controlled manner. A Deathwing Knight approached the Librarian from his right.
"Grandmaster, they're coming." The knight said.
"How many?" Ezekiel said.
"Unknown. They're jamming our communications and disabling our surveillance equipment all throughout the Rock." The knight said.
Ezekiel raised his chin with a stone-faced expression.
"Activate the Tarantula sentries and man the Thunderfire cannons. Recall all marines from the excavation and redirect them to the defenses. We cannot find the Primarch if we all perish here." Ezekiel said.
The Knight bowed his head in affirmation and hurried off to deploy every defensive measure they had. Ezekiel raised a hand to his head, the nauseating chaotic energies swirling in the space around them permeating even this deep into the rock layer of the fortress.
If anything, such a dogged effort by the Ruinous Powers to stop us now is only proof that we are close to our ultimate goal. Ezekiel thought in an attempt to reassure himself. We must not falter now. Not while our genefather is nearly returned to us. I will not let our Emperor and the rest of Humanity down… for the sake of their future, and our legion's redemption.
Ezekiel raised his force sword Traitor's Bane, wreathed in psychic energy, and prepared to face the oncoming hordes.
The final passage to the Rock's main bridge was saturated by Iron Warrior boarding parties and Heretek infiltrators, Azrael and his retinue practically wading through dead enemies and fallen brethren alike. They were assailed by abominable works of tech-heresy, from the shambling flesh-amalgams known as Gholams to Sinnar War Machines - fiery engines of hatred and destruction given metallic humanoid bodies. Bolterfire whizzed through the corridors as beams of arcane energy scorched the walls of stone and metal, the blades of the Dark Angels rending flesh and steel alike. Battling their way through the hectic upper layers of the Rock meter by meter, Azrael and his retinue at last reached the hall to the main bridge. The entryway was currently hosting a bitter firefight between the bridge's Knight Cenobite honor guard and a squad of Iron Warrior Terminators, both adorned in ancient Cataphractii Terminator armor. The Iron Warriors were being led by a fearsome-looking Warsmith clad in inhuman augmentations which allowed him to tower over even the other Terminators. He wielded a fire-belching chainaxe, cleaving through the non-Terminator Dark Angels protecting the bridge with frightening ease. As he severed a Stormwing's torso in half, he turned to see Azrael and his warriors approaching from behind.
"Hahaha!" The warsmith bellowed, his laughter like a sputtering furnace. "Finally, a worthy opponent! I am Warsmith Ja'ah-"
Before the foul words could finish spouting from his maw, Azrael's sword cleaved through his vocal chords and carved a bloody gouge from his shoulder to his hip.
"I've no patience for your idle chatter, traitor." Azrael said.
The massive chaos marine's body sprayed jets of blood and hot oil, falling to his knees and collapsing in a great metal heap. The other Iron Warrior Terminators, having just barely turned to see the Supreme Grandmaster's entrance, fell upon Azrael's sword before they could even aim their weapons.
"Supreme Grandmaster! You are a sight for weary eyes." Nephalor, Grand Fleetmaster of the Dark Angels, said.
"I am glad to see that you are unharmed as well, Fleetmaster." Azrael said, sheathing his sword as the Cenobite Knights parted before him. "I need you to inform me of everything you know about what has transpired. How did the vile forces of the Dark Gods manage to surprise us?"
"The damnable traitors and their abominable Heretek allies caught our escort fleets unawares. Our ships are currently operating at 70% capacity but have regrouped around the Rock and assumed a defensive stance. As for how they managed to find and attack us so easily… I have nothing I can report. We can find no evidence of transmissions or data leakages coming from any of our ships." Nephalor said. "The only two options left are warp-sorcery or…"
"...Or what?" Azrael said.
"Or one among the Custodial envoy who arranged this meeting place." Nephalor said.
"Of the two, warp sorcery is far more likely." Azrael said.
"Yes, I agree." Nephalor said. "Still, our psychic wards and astropathic shrouds should have shielded us even from the strongest of psykers and Chaos sorcerers."
"There is no certainty with the tainted forces of Chaos… we must maintain vigilance in the face of their madness. What about the comms network? Our communications are being jammed all across the fortress." Azrael said.
"It's an advanced form of scrapcode, propagating across our network despite our multi-layered encryption. Brother Belaphor and the rest of the Techmarines are working on disabling it, but it could take some time." Nephalor said.
"Whenever the network is back up, I want you to transmit a signal throughout all sectors of the Rock to prioritize the defense of the inner vaults. Whatever happens, the catacombs must not be breach-"
Suddenly Azrael clutched his head, falling to his knee as a sharp, psychic sensation pierced his mind. At first, he thought it might be an enemy attack - then he heard a familiar voice ring out in his mind.
Az… rael… Ezekiel said. Catacombs… need… reinforcements…
"Ezekiel!" Azrael shouted. "The vaults are under attack!"
Azrael turned to the Fleetmaster.
"Nephalor, are the teleporters still operational?" Azrael said.
"Yes, the Astropaths should be able to open a way from here to the vaults, but without more preparation they can only send one marine at a time." Nephalor said.
"Very well. Deathwing Knights! Return to the vaults on foot and order any Dark Angels you come across along the way to accompany you immediately - direct orders from the Supreme Grandmaster." Azrael said.
"Affirmative, Grandmaster." The Knight commander said, hurrying back down the corridors.
Azrael turned back to Nephalor.
"Prepare the teleporter. I won't let a single relic fall into enemy hands." Azrael said.
A flash of blue electricity filled the stony halls of the Rock's catacombs, the Supreme Grandmaster appearing on one knee with wisps of smoke dancing across the surface of his armor. He gripped his sword in one hand and his combi-bolter in the other, rising to his feet and surveying his surroundings. The walls were peppered with scorch marks and bolt holes, the cratered ground littered with countless Hereteks, Iron Warriors, and unfortunately, several Dark Angel veterans. Azrael quickly headed deeper into the tunnels, passing through the blown-apart ramparts and walls the Deathwing had erected. He saw no signs of a blast or explosion among the ruined defenses - they had been destroyed by blunt force alone. The sound of gunfire and warp-blasts further ahead spurred him on, and he sprinted as quickly as was possible in his artificer power armor. As Azrael rounded the final corner before reaching the vaults, he laid eyes upon a horrific sight.
A monstrous, hunched figure with bladed wings stood on stilt-like mechanical legs, assaulting the Deathwing defenders at their last refuge. Fire and smoke belched from pipes bursting from his emaciated flesh, his leathery grey skin stretched across metal frames and powered servos. The towering demonic being sent Terminators and Knights alike flying with the swing of his red-hot hammer, as hails of bolter rounds and lascannon blasts peppered him futilely. Ezekiel, wounded and barely standing, leaned himself against his force weapon to remain on his feet. He clenched his fist, summoning all the psychic energy he could muster and causing arcs of warp lightning to flicker from his body. He shouted with all his might and thrust out his palm, releasing the stored power in a single bolt of searing violet. The beam of lightning struck against the hilt of the daemon's hammer as he used it to deflect the surge of psychic power. Slowly, the daemon trudged forward against Ezekiel's empyrean barrage, the surge of warp lightning being deflected in random directions around him.
Azrael continued sprinting towards the chaotic fray as the daemon got closer and closer to Ezekiel. The Librarian grit his teeth, the continuous attacks reaching the limit of his ability to channel the energies of the warp. His armor was stained with scorch marks as the tendrils of warp electricity seared their wielder, cracks spreading out from the blackened fingertips of his gauntlet. When at last his limit was reached, the moment his attack ceased he was seized by the daemon's mechanical claws. Vashtorr lifted the Librarian into the air by his neck as Ezekiel clawed and beat against the daemon's metal limb.
Vashtorr stopped, then abruptly flung Ezekiel across the room and sent him smashing into a rock wall. The librarian's impact created a fractured crater in the stone, and he fell limply to the ground with a weak groan. Vashtorr turned to Azrael slowly, swinging his hammer and smashing the hilt against the ground with a thunderous crack. His face was like leather stretched across a robotic skull, the glaring yellow lights within his eye sockets glowing with an unyielding malevolence. His mouth was like a vox-speaker embedded - or rather fused - into a beastly maw and did not move even slightly as he spoke with harsh and static-filled shrieks.
"More little magpies, come to guard their treasure hoard." Vashtorr said, each word like nails upon chalkboard.
"This vault will be your grave, daemon!" Azrael said, readying his sword.
"Let us make this quick, I've far more important things to be doing." Vashtorr said.
Azrael sprinted forward, the edge of his blade striking against the head of Vashtorr's hammer like a smith's anvil.