Tragedy has been a constant comrade in arms of the Imperium. Whether by choice or fate, very rarely has the Emperor's realms seen peace or a radical change in their rule. As is often the case, situations must almost reach their end before they can finally turn for the better. Such was the case of the Age of Apostasy, where the Church and State, buried in its own corruption and gluttony, ruled by a mad man, and about to tear humanity apart forever, found refuge in the teachings and wisdom of the great Sebastian Thor.
If anyone could give a semblance of credit to Goge Vandire, it is that his rule was so terrible that it necessitated the creation of a new, stable order that has flourished ever since…
Historitor Alexei Surabat, On Vandire, M38.078
He knew it was over. The raging gunfire had ceased in the lower levels of the Imperial Palace, and the naval combat in what was once the atmosphere of Holy Terra no longer lit the sky with flashes of orange and yellow. He had lived a good life under Vandire, his loyalty, competence within reason; never enough to be a threat, never lacking to be considered useless, and efficiency had assured him a place in the Lord of Terra's inner circle. What good was it now, when the Imperium bayed for his patrons' blood, when the Astartes themselves came down to destroy his reign. He even had a feeling the Brides of the Emperor were now against him.
"It's truly finished, isn't it?" a man in ornate clothing said grimly.
"I'm afraid it is, general."
"I've lost all contact with my men. Either they're dead, or the idea of fighting against Space Marines was too suicidal or heretical for them to take."
"They fought well. But I think we need to face the realities of our situation. In a few minutes, I suspect, we're going to see Thor, a few Space Marines, Guard officers, and maybe a few Brides come through those doors, and they are not going to be satisfied."
"Do you think they'll kill us? We were loyal-"
"So was most of the Imperium until a few months ago. I think they'll want to speak with us, then will either force us into retirement, or throw us into prison and wait for us to die. Maybe attempt to pull a few secrets from our heads."
"I've lost enough friends to this madness. I am willing to tell them what they want."
"As am I. Being a secretary was more exciting than I hoped."
As if on cue, a deep thud came from the doors.
"IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR, OPEN THIS DOOR!"
"Is that-"
"Yes. Even the Custodes are against us. We truly have lost the mandate of heaven."
"Should I warn him?"
"He's too busy planning with paper generals to notice. And besides, I think we should let him fight his own battles now."
"Very well."
The secretary moved to the door, opening it slowly. He looked at the gathered menagerie of avenging angels, at least in their eyes, with little surprise, except for one.
"Madame Dominica. What a pleasure."
"I wish I could say the same. Is he in his office?"
"Of course."
"You will not resist."
"Yes. Please, come in."
He opened the door and stepped away, seeing a group of ten or so men and women, the most noticeable being two Astartes, one in black, the other in yellow, followed by the golden armor of a Custodian. The other of course, was Alicia Dominica, leader of the Brides of the Emperor, the all-female bodyguard that defended Vandire to the death. But if she was on the other side, all was lost. The two Astartes meanwhile quickly noticed the general.
"Your men," the one in black spat, "Attacked and brought down more than a few of my brothers. I should strike you down where you stand, traitor."
The one in yellow, with a red, fiery hawk on his shoulder stepped ahead of the other Marine.
"Brother, his men were deluded and given orders. If you were told that Terra itself was under attack, no matter who the aggresor, would you stand by and surrender?"
"It is not the way of the Templars to forgive easily. And you, whose own chapter world was destroyed by this-"
"I take umbrage with Vandire, but the men who fight in his name, bar a few, are simply following the orders of a mad man who would destroy them otherwise. The Fire Hawks shall have vengeance this day, but only on those truly and unrepentantly deserving of such."
While this was occurring, a man with a placid face approached the secretary. It was hard to not recognize him instantly.
"I take it he is in there?"
"Yes… er, what title befits you?"
"Father Thor is all I am. I understand with everything I have wrought that such a title seems unbefitting, but I am a simple preacher who wishes to change the Imperium for the better. How long have you served the Lord of Terra?"
"Long enough that I can remember when the first reports of your insubordination were a mere footnote."
"Interesting. Are you loyal to him?"
Thors followers all looked at him, but having dealt with Vandire's rage and paranoia for years, having an answer for such a question was barely an issue.
"We all were. We thought he was competent and a good leader. We only learned too late how poor of a choice he was."
"Yet you did not stand against him," the Templar growled. "You had opportunity to resist or eliminate him that you never took! You only wish for mercy because we are at your doorstep."
Thor raised a hand to quell the Marine, which to the secretaries surprise, worked.
"Please, it is easy to forget how much one man can do after your ascension to the Astartes. Are you still loyal to him?"
"I am loyal to whoever can forge an Imperium that can protect mankind, and a Church worthy of venerating our Immortal God Emperor."
Thor and Dominica, both adherents of the faith at its most extreme, showed a healthy appreciation of his words, and the secretary could finally relax a bit.
"Has he burned all records of his rule?"
"Actually Father, he has kept everything. Every small bill, every copy of a signed decree, everything. There is much to fault him with, but not at keeping records."
"Very well. Alicia, it is time. I give you the honor of confronting him."
"Thank you Father."
She drew her sword and opened the door to Vandires office. He could hear the orders given to no commanders, the Lord of Terra's mind shattered by the reality of his crushing defeat, and all his allies turning against him. He did not even notice her arrival.
"You have committed the ultimate heresy. Not only have you turned your back on the Emperor and stepped from his light, you have profaned his name and almost destroyed everything he has striven to build. You have perverted and twisted the path he has laid for Mankind to tread. As your own decrees have stated, there can be no mercy for such a crime, no pity for such a criminal. I renounce your lordship, you walk in the darkness and cannot be allowed to live. Your sentence has been long overdue and it is now time for you to die."
A good speech, he admitted. They should put it on her tombstone when the time came.
"I don't have time to die," Vandire rasped. "I'm too busy!"
The rush of air and the dull thudding of flesh hitting the floor were all the man needed to know that what would later be called the Age of Apostasy had ended.
XXXXXX
Ten years had passed since that day, when the Lord of Terra was slain by his own bodyguard, when the Imperium rejoiced at the hated tyrant who had nearly created the worst civil war in Imperial history. Or what was left of it after the years of civil wars that had nearly broken it multiple times. He sat in a fine villa, on a planet far away from Terra. The secretary's support had won him favor, though as a member of the last ruling class, he would never be able to feel comfortable or have a good position in government. He was tired of it anyway, and took his monetary and political awards for providing the fallen Vandire's records, making the best of it. He took a sip of amasec and watched the orange sun begin to set.
"Pardon me, sir. There is a visitor at the door who wishes to see you."
"Who?"
"He says he's a Cardinal-"
"Ah. I forgot he was coming over today. Send him here."
A minute or two later, a red robed man sat politely next to him.
"I apologize for my lateness. The agents of the new Ecclesiarchy would not allow me to leave without their approval. Emperor bless us, a Cardinal being followed like a pardoned criminal!"
He took a sip of the white amasec on offer and shook his head.
"They are already on the brink of defrocking me for my arguments against removing the crystal and gold from the altar. Are we not alive to celebrate and honor the God-Emperor? What gift would he prefer? One made of the finest materials on offer, or one that was made of wood as the altar sits empty? I tell you, old friend, the Imperium is going to hell for these insults."
"Sebastian Thor believes-"
"I wonder what he believes," the Cardinal hissed.
"That the excesses of the previous Church and its leadership had made it too ignorant and self-absorbed. He merely wishes to-"
"The Church worships a man who knows all! And of course we are self-absorbed, we are supposed to stand above the politics, we control the souls, let the Administratum deal with the paperwork on everything else."
"You seem to forget that the two offices were brought together by force, Cardinal."
The holy man grimaced as he took another sip of wine.
"You can't tell me that something is being lost here. Look how barren and pathetic our cathedrals are now. There are roadside chapels untouched by these "reforms" that are more honorable to the Emperor than them! How can anyone see these as improvements?"
"The current regime does. And it's because you don't speak in their favor that you are watched and about to lose your power."
"And you?"
The secretary's eye twitched. He hated it. Maybe more than the Cardinal. The sacrilegious "simplicity" of the modern Church. The lessening of central control over the Imperium in a single office. The re-instatement of the High Lords of Terra, worst of all. Vandire's system only didn't work because the man in charge was a paranoid idiot, but if the Imperium could provide a man of great knowledge and ability, the problems that it had been dealing with in governance would be eliminated overnight. But Thor and his compatriots decided to send everything back to the barely organized rot of before, the kind that allowed Vandire to get to power in the first place.
"I do not enjoy the current state of things, but I stay quiet. That is the key."
"Do you wish to resist these changes?"
"Of course, but there is little we can do."
"I have heard of smaller sects trying to revive the ideas of before. They were crushed quickly. But some are organizing and developing a strategy to… create a Church within the Church. Living amongst it while spreading the true faith."
"Sounds like a virus, or a parasite."
"On a wretched beast as our "reformed" Ecclesiarchy? Hardly something that keeps me up at night. But there are issues."
"Such as?"
"Money and resources. Paying bribes, resolving debts, gifts, endorsements. It's all very costly."
The secretary nodded and sat in silence for a few minutes. He knew there was an answer to the problem, but thought initially against it. But then he thought a bit longer about it… no. This was the time.
"What if I told you, and you must stay quiet about this, there is something that could alleviate your issues, left by Vandire in case of a situation like this?"
The Cardinal sat up and crooked an eyebrow.
"Really?"
"Truly."
"And where would this be?"
The secretary took a sip of his wine and chuckled.
"Some no name system far off. Barely settled, might be part of the next colonization wave. He sent… many things there in case he was deposed. A depot, if you will. Not visited much due to Xenos ruins unnerving any settlement attempts."
"I am intrigued."
"I think they've actually put it in the list of colonization targets, now that I think about it."
"I see. What is it going to be called?"
"Something from Araby. I think it will be called Haikk."
The Cardinal nodded and poured himself another glass. He had a feeling he would be listening for a while.
XXXXXX
"And as of two weeks ago, rebel movements on Haikk Two have ceased entirely."
"Very good General."
Lord General Militant Paulus Borricelli, commander of the Imperium's Haikk Crusade, had very little to be pleased with. No sooner had he secured half of the system before one evaded his grasp through the treachery of a man he considered an up and coming star in the staff. Of the nine planets he was tasked to re-secure, only five were confirmed under the Aquila again, and three of those were teneous at best. Already behind schedule and with the Administratum and the Munitorum breathing down his aged neck, he was getting more desperate with every week to finally break the rebellions across the system. It should have been easy, all separate leaders and ideologies with every rebellion, and now…
"Sir, a report from General Lovric."
"Speak."
Lovric. The only bright spot on the disaster of the battle for Haikk Four. While the Army Group he was under tore itself to shreds, Lovric and the men of Ostau had dug in and defended, holding the rebels back as the fight for the remaining rebel Hive city of Yazd continue the miserable street fighting, every block and spire a bitter contest between the best the Crusade and the rebellion could offer.
"Same as yesterday. Defenses held. Two attacks, one counter-attack in response. No changes in positions."
Borricelli nodded. Unexciting news was what he wanted.
"Prince Edmund," he suddenly asked. "What of the depot on Haikk Two?"
The muffled clatter of armor plate echoed through the command center as the Prince stood, nodding politely.
"No word yet on our raid. I believe we should hear from them some time later today."
"Any chances of failure?"
"No, Lord-General."
"Very well. I expect other reports from our agents on my desk before I have dinner."
"Yes, Lord-General," Edmund said with barely hidden contempt.
As Borricelli continued down the line of subordinates, Edmund, Prince of Gasceaux by the Grace of the God-Emperor and his father, King Edward the Seventeenth of Anglerre, tried to hide his seething hatred of the man and his staff that had cooped him up on the miserable, noisy, and freezing starfort, away from his men, away from achieving greater glories for his House and the Imperium. The rest of the officers and men around him were nothing more than lackeys, men chosen for being capable of only one strategy: bowing their head and saying yes. He felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat, and realized his anger was getting to him. Before he had to excuse himself before causing an incident, a messenger approached him.
"Your Highness, the Leopards have returned."
"And?"
"Success."
The Prince grinned and stood up.
"Apologies, Lord-General. I have good news…"
XXXXXX
As the myriad officers and men of the Crusades higher levels of command filtered out of the room, Edmund was quickly greeted by an old, familiar face.
"Duck! Did you see how much Borricelli wanted to scream at me after I gave him the good news!"
"I did, Ed. And it's a miracle we have not been thrown out of an airlock."
Lord Robert D'Uxford, son of the Justicar of the Western Isles of Anglerre and Edmunds oldest and closest friend, was more aloof and introverted than his royal friend. Especially when it came to angering the highest ranking Guard officer in the system.
"Oh, he would never do anything like that! I've got him by the bollocks and he goddamn knows it!"
"Yes, well making our lives harder because you don't like him is hardly the best way to deal with these things."
"Well, he put me here and took me away from the fight. Consider it karmic retribution in a royal style."
Duck shook his head in disappointment as they moved through the countless halls of the fort to the offices dedicated to the Crusades' intelligence apparatus. The Prince had been appointed its leader, a position that was little more than a sinecure thanks to the self-management of intelligence work, more as a way of keeping tabs on Edmund than actually promoting him. At least, that was Edmund's assessment. The truth was still being debated by everyone involved. As they passed the desks, receiving salutes and updates on certain operations, it seemed an interminably long time before they reached his private office.
"Anything for me, Sister?"
"No, Your Highness," Sister Antonia quietly responded.
"Good. No visitors unless it's one of the names on that list. As usual."
"Yes Your Highness."
"Thank you darling," the Prince said with a smile, the Sister and Duck shaking their heads in disappointment.
As the massive wooden doors shut, he sat behind his desk and lounged in the mighty leather chair he had personally bought.
"So, do you want to know how the Crusade is going?"
"Of course."
"Fucking terrible. Haikk Four is bogged down, again, Seven is about to break into rebellion because the military governor couldn't organize a party in a goddamn brewery, let alone deal with a low level insurgency, and we, meaning the intelligence section, are the only ones giving good news. Even the Navy is completely lost."
"As in?"
"That goddamn Corsair that showed up shortly before Acra. Whoever their new captain is, they have scared the living piss out of the fleet. Hasn't hit anything yet, but they're worried that a skilled crew in a ship that large could be disastrous. And of course they can't find them, meaning they're constantly on guard, and 99 times out of a hundred, nothing happens. Want some wine?"
"Yes," Duck said, taking one of the guest chairs. "I think you are underestimating the sacrifices of our comrades in-"
"Shut the fuck up, those posh, comfy pricks couldn't win a fight against a paraplegic, let alone an actual challenge."
"Admiral Yangze is-"
"A cunt."
Edmund grinned at the frown across his friend's face.
"Under pressure."
"Well so is everyone. At least the ones actually fighting, not the ones involved in a Militarum circlejerk to see who can win the Lord General's favor. I get dragged for having blue blood and having a command at my young age when most of these fossils were alive when the Great Crusade was raging, judging by the wrinkles and scowls on most of them. And the smell…"
Duck took a sip of wine and sloshed it. He could not deny that the only correlation between most Imperial Guard officers in the higher rank was age, gaudy uniforms, and the paradoxical scent of sanitizer and stale urine. Hospitals for the elderly were the only parallel on Anglerre, and that was not a happy comparison in the slightest.
"We are making the best of a bad situation. And I think that given our recent successes, you are digging us into a hole who are about to climb out of."
"We just need something to happen. Something big. Something we can really flex our muscles on. We just need someone to find a lead."
"I can think of a few agents we have, and a few we could follow up on."
"I've read your reports, and I must say, it's all good, but not the knockout we need, as they say."
"Who do you think will find that? M, S, and I7 are still out there, collecting and about to strike."
"Well, we have a unit that seems to find more trouble every time we send them out."
The Prince chuckled to himself, about to add onto that when the buzzer on his desk went off.
"Yes Sister?"
"W is here to speak with you."
The Prince's face lit up.
"Send him in! Speak of the devil, eh Duck?"
The doors opened, and an armored knight strode in, the clanking of his metal boots echoing off the marble floor. He paused before the two and bowed slightly, still wearing his helmet, a bascinet with a face plate, a bulb above where the mouth was. The slight hum of the powered armor filled the room, barely noticed to the two who practically lived in similar armor sets. The most intriguing things about the man were his heraldry and his sword. The former was a blue shield, white chevron, with a yellow bird and a red sword above it. Below it, a strange symbol that had never been truly explained to the both of them. The sword was strange, as it had the shape and quality of a standard human blade, but in private, the two nobles had seen it drawn from its scabbard, impossibly white and sharp, almost unbreakable. They had suspicions about the weapon, but it was better to leave things to interpretation.
"You saved my hide at the meeting today, coming from that raid. You have my thanks."
The knight nodded his head.
"You're not in combat, you can take that thing off," Duck said. "I know you've only been a knight for seven months, but there are certain niceties about wearing it."
Gauntleted hands pulled the helmet off, revealing an average face, brown hair and eyes, covered in sweat and dirt from a hard day's fighting.
"I heard it was a close run thing, sir knight. Lucks still with you, eh?"
Sir Roger Wessyng smiled.
"It never left me, Your Highness."