Prologue
He looked at his squad mates, there they were lying slumped and at peace, for they had received the emperor's peace. He could never had recalled such a feat, but by the hands of the deluded traitors he watched in spectacle as more were felled or reserved to fates worse than death. He figured it wouldn't end like this; the promise of victory was so close almost intoxicating in his mind. The target was that damnable chaos sorcerer and his retinue of terminators and chaos abominations. This was the result of the changer of fates, everything went against them.
Whenever they pushed, they were thrown back; whenever an advantage was gained, they would lose the insurmountable lead they had, it was fruitless. This day was marred by the grim reminder that the campaign was supposed to be finished months ago, if only the imperial governor, wasn't so arrogant, so careless then perhaps the world wouldn't be uninhabited, a wasteland, another lost due to sheer incompetence. He took great pleasure seeing the governors entire inbred blood line wiped and declared forgotten; wiped by imperial records.
Now, now he had to focus on the task at hand, he looked over the rubble and felled statues of imperial saints, if he guessed he was in one of the many large places of worship which adorned the shimmering sphere, each a work of art, bore out of countless hours of the greatest artisans and labourers in the sector. He could get lost looking at the tapestries and every detail present.
But he knew that some of these tales were lies or exaggerated truths, the emperor was no god, he was a man. An opinion reserved within his chapter as they remembered the imperial truth as it was written in the 30th Millenia. Not this hog wash that was peddled by the dogs who took a dream and cast it aside, an imperium that was based on superstition not innovation.
He had seen miracles or events that couldn't be explained but he remembered in the emperor's own words, written down in text and passed down, a being that demands worship is not worthy of it and it neither is.
But times were desperate, and people needed hope, only soothing words was the only thing offered to the citizens by the priests as the mongrel heretics flowed from the abyss that was the immaterial realm and butchered them for their false gods. Fuelled by emotion and lies they butchered and tore down everything, leaving in place tumorous growth of flesh and things that are better not be described. The cancers in the warp took glee in this wanton destruction.
He saw it, the opening he needed, but he was alone standing a field of rubble, the once clean street of the administratum turned into an interwinding valley of carnage. Silence gripped him, the chorus of screaming stopped, the wails and crying coming to a halt. He was alone. Him, Captain-brother of the Ultramarines, he adorned older artificer power armour, a cross breed between Mk-4-Maximillian and Mk-6-Corvus power armour. The proud emblem of the Ultramarine chapter displayed on his chest and pauldron with reefs of greens and gold. His axe was that of the era of the Great Crusade. A former weapon of the Legendary Invictus Suzerain, the pinnacle of what was to be an ultramarine, alongside his winged helm. He was a testament to his chapter and its history.
He stepped, cautiously grazing the hollowed structures. Following the once road, dotted with the mortal dead and dying. Coming up on a corner ruin he knew, he had reached the madness that caused the split in the imperial governance, the deceived and damned, former brothers in arms. Mutated and distorted beings, he did not pay them any attention. His gaze drilling holes into the sorcerer and his retinue.
He was alone and there was only one way to approach this. He stepped forwards out of the looming shadows and noted no terminators or any warp born creatures, he stepped into the clearing and let off rounds from his bolt pistol into the unhelmed heads of the enemy. Turning into a clear sprint he hefted the ancient axe, old mechanisms churning to life once again and sliced for one of the arms of the traitorous Astarte's, the combat knife pulled, only lasted a momentary second before giving, as the captain brother proceeded to bisect the former Sons of Horus. The well-trained captain brought up his axe and parried a strike from a chain-sword, coming down hard he split the grotesque beings head into pure gore. He felt rage, pure unbridled rage. Another being lunged at his side passing through what defence the captain tried and left a mark of taint on the ceramite.
Then he saw they were still Sons of Horus, green armour washed in night black, he felt somewhat sentimental if he was asked, the rage pooled and calmed. It reminded him of what was, and what could've been. He felt a tinge of sadness. Beneath that helm and the taint was once an honourable Luna Wolve. But that felt ancient. The name though, it stuck like a miasma on to him.
After all, not all elected to join Abaddon's exodus to the Eye of Terror, some gave credence to what they once stood and became rouge bands made up of a rough brotherhood of Astartes. Roaming the cosmos. Thinking about it now, he was being sentimental, strange.
He loved his legion, his chapter. He was a veteran of the great crusade and the heresy afterwards. He saw the imperium rise and fall, then gripped by mysticism. His younger self was more-vain than an Emperors Children and prone to glory seeking, although age had made sure to wisen him up. Grimacing then chuckling under the helm. If he were asked to follow his Primarch or the Emperor, which would he had chosen? He glanced upwards, head motioning backwards, as he swung with his right hand, bludgeoning the torso of the former marine, becoming more methodical in his butchery of his fallen cousins, his thoughts no longer in multiple places.
A hot effervescence engulfed his back from the remaining Marine, he swung, the air ionising with brilliant blue aerations from the axe he cradled, as he bisected the sorcerer. Feeling his legs give out he dropped to one knee into the charred ground, he found an all-welcoming darkness.
He startlingly found himself in the throne room of his Primarch's final resting place, standing; it was gilded with gold and marble effigies, he looked up to meet the gaze of the slumbering golden giant. Wordlessly he removed his eagle adorned helmed, clicks and hisses of recycled air venting into the atmosphere of the room. He stared in deep thought. The halls of the Fortress of Herra were lit by the afternoon sun, casting deep shadows.
Taking steps towards the pedestal which housed the slumbering giant. Each footstep echoing in the hall's chamber, each more resounding than the last, until he came to an abrupt stop. The shimmer from the stasis chamber, bathing his suit of burnt power armour in brilliant silvery white.
He pored over the cold stone visage, and said- 'I'm tired, we failed you and you failed us'- 'I know you had your doubts, we all did.' It felt wrong coming from his mind, a murmur of churning emotions.
He had lost everything familiar to him, his brothers, Primarch and his Legion. He was alone, a relic of an older time, armour and weapons both mimicking this shared sentiment. The newer recruits were less social more mechanic, less prone to talk or commit to something else other than the art of killing. He felt isolated. New faces came and went until it blurred into oblivion, he was noted with respect and veneration by his peers, but he had no one to share it with. Thankfully due to his age he was afforded more leniency with his conduct, not that it ever faltered.
He tried to adjust. But everyone he knew was either dead or long gone. He gave up at this point and only lived to kill and butcher those who attacked the innocent. Where was he now? He panicked, guilt washed with disdain, unable to feel as he plunged into the darkest night of his dreams.
He felt torn and twisted as if he'd been flayed and left in the air to dry, he opened his eyes and gazed upon the night blue sapphire sky of an unknown world for the first time in what felt like eons.
He took his bearings and heard the distinct klaxon vibrating kicking up waves on the sandy dunes of the unknown world. Taking a step, the sands shifted around his hulking mass forming mold lines where he stepped, step after step. He checked his persons and found his blood coated axe in the moment and turned to gaze at the unfolding explosions in front of him. Unbuckling the mass of death, he stalked quietly towards his prey.
A louder detonation brought illumination to the sky, and for the first time he saw slow moving masses make their way down to the planet, what they were he could not say, as quickly as it happened the darkness stole it away. Only to be relit in a fiery brilliance as the unknown form burrowed into a vessel, shimmering blue rebounding around the vessel in colossal waves as it came apart, followed by the shield collapsing into a plasmatic red hue, with a resounding shriek. Torpedoes-he murmured to himself.
His slow pace turned into a walk, then into a steady jog-crossing tens of miles in minutes. His foot finally came onto hard ground and ruined bunkers, pillow boxes and the like, catching his first glimpse of the melee unfolding in front of him. He was approached by figure in a black suit with a bulbous headwear. It backed off hesitantly before turning around and fleeing. It's shadow casting a long-stretched on the ground, warped by the blooming fires. He treaded lightly on the loose ground.
Harkonnen POV
He'd advanced with the initial assault, expected losses were to be in the low hundreds, but evidently, they met a more invigorated enemy than previously thought. No problem, they weren't human anymore, the academy and schooling had all but drilled the fear of death or pain out of him. He was obedient and had instilled within himself a strong virtue of war. Oh, how wrong he had been, the Atreides fought like a corned beast, limping but with a maw wide open to swallow any that came too close to claim their triumph.
Nethermind, he finished cleaning the pocket of resistance, numbers did win battles after all. That's when his gaze rested upon the strangest sight he could remember, more alien than the creatures that lurked below the stone black academy. A monstrously tall person? Clad in blue armour with, strange symbols and ruby like red lenses. A crawling chill travelled up his spine, feeling like a block of ice slid down his back, he came to his senses.
He felt stuck in place, the out of body experience to coming to an end. His legs began to move backwards step-by-step; the primal part of his brain screaming at him to run and leg it. He obeyed. Leaving the thing caked in sand and debris to its own devices.
Back to SM Captain
He felt no need to be in a hurry after such display. Truly, he felt a tinge of pride, transhuman dread hard at work, yet again. He focused on the storming black masses like the one that approached him, his brain told him then and there, that they were the ant agonisers, the invading force. Who they stood for or what they believed in, he couldn't say yet.
So, he made his move first, taking long strides he soon caught up to group of humanoids his axe sparking in a display of fiery blue sparks, lenses focusing on the one shouting orders. 'Good he must be the CO.' The leader of the pack of soldiers noticed him and an ominous avatar of death. They obliged and shot first, the glancing blow superheating his armour, then dissipating into the environment and the ceramite, leaving black a pockmark. He gave a shrug to the observation and became death incarnate, following his every step joined red smears and cracked helms on the tarmac. He allowed a brief respite to swallow his handiwork. All disabled, albeit mildly dismembered.
He consumed the CO's brain matter gaining some form of intelligence of where he was. He'd have to get back to imperial space if possible and get his bearings. The captain continued his pilgrimage on the unknown world, now looking for a Paul Atreides.
Author's Notes:
And that's the prologue. First fanfic, so go easy. Big wh40k fan, seen both Dune film, to continue the story I'll have to read the book which I finally got. I do want to stay respectful to the source material after all and it does help with writing. Each chapter will be around 2k words minimum and 5-6k max. If youre interested expect an update every month or two. The captain is sent from his universe somewhere straight after the Horus Heresy. His weapons and custom power armour are earned or given to him as a gift.
And for the whole forgiveness thing he's got going for. You'll find out more later.