"For every culture that resisted... A hundred worlds rejoiced and hymned."
Despite so many caveats eclipsing the titanic effort of mankind, it was true.
The Crusade was as much about destroying the enemies of mankind in its reclamation of what was ours as it was about reuniting families long separated through the ages into the embrace of their fellow man.
The Long Night had been apocalyptic. Yet the prayers to the sky from all the corners of the galaxy, after millenia: were answered.
Imperial ships made the universe tremble, heralding a new era of enlightenment, freedom, joy; away from the shackles of uncertainty and fear.
With its Expedition fleets, the Imperium reaped the galactic wheat with iron and blood.
Armies from thousands of worlds were prideful to bear the Imperial truth into the heart of every star, the beautiful song of reunification lulling hundreds of systems into swearing loyalty to the Emperor and now to Warmaster Horus each day.
Shipyards forged vessels by the hour to protect the eternal knitted web of the Imperium, which now sprawled from the depths of Terra to the indomitable fringes where the Astronomican's light couldn't shine; yet the brave heart of us could.
Imperial militia units garrison the million planets raising the banner of that which is Man's.
The army conquered, hammered against enemy strongholds; setting the war plan for the Astartes to come to ensure that no resistance could survive the Omnissiah's scalpel.
Warmaster Horus' efforts had made it so the great reunion of mankind became a race to control every sector of space; a handful of legions spearheading all resistance while the rest secured the lightyears the Imperium liberated.
This had left the Mechanicum's efforts free to do as they wished as long as they contributed to The Crusade, an entire galaxy was ripe for their arrival to complete the forever quest they were born to achieve.
Martian fleets working under the banner of the Omnissiah recovered as much technology as they could, from friend and foe alike. Requesting from where they could, and liberating from all those who opposed the march into the light of which was their dream, absolute knowledge.
One of such fleets that made planetfall as conquerors rather than liberators was hers.
She was sent in the first wave, into a doomed exploration for an abandoned mining planet attacked by xenos right before the dawn of the Long Night.
In space, the exploring fleet had begun dissecting a ring of debris made from unknown hulls of shredded vessels orbiting the planet.
Across its surface there were constructs, entire cities built with no soul inhabiting them; laid across the atmosphere-less planet; the colors of all buildings were lost due to solar radiation and the lack of care from the robots polluting the soil with their dead carcasses.
Normal gravity, earth-like size. It should remind them of Mars, but it lacked the distinct sandstorms of the red core.
Entire hives were built to pour the contents of the celestial body inside out, into a funnel that to this day separates the rock from all the alloys within. It was certainly a megastructure proper of the Dark Age.
The mission was to study the planet, recover whatever working cogitators and robots had stayed functional; analyze the massive resource gatherers and mines; and maybe repurpose the architectural designs to rebuild the colonies of Man.
They had to be careful, though, for countless tremors flooded every inch of the soil beneath them; perhaps the core after millennia of mining and processing had de-stabilized. Above everything, they had to be quick; the Emperor's ominous warning in the first year of Horus' leadership was that he'd send his Envoy to oversee the conquests.
Countless landers flocked the surface, making contact as the claimants of this planet.
A woman born in Atar-Median was in one of such transports, witnessing the carcass of a forgotten land. Her name was Deleria Pramore.
She had joined her Forge World's Planetary Defense Force, but her quick wit during training ensured she was sent as a Hyspasist to spread the Omnissiah's light and protect his priests.
Five years on tour across the stars, gathering the remains of what was lost to build the arsenal of Man.
Iridescent colors of rust and plates of forgotten metals laid across a landscape that reminded her of the images of the red seas of mars fused with the amaranth skyscrapers still standing despite the elements, a planet-wide citadel with scattered fortresses.
A Knossian labyrinth with no apparent minotaur.
Everyone in her unit had been trained as skirmishers to follow up the ranger's lead and protect the forward magii that'd devour the lost archeotech.
By her side stood neophyte and veteran alike, ready to sow the fruit left hanging in the forgotten tree.
Now, the doors opened, the cramped interior beamed with the irradiating light reflected by the surface of a long-buried landing platform.
Even behind the void flak-suit, she could feel the coldness of it all.
First to step out were the Sicarians, they ran in silent strides fearlessly into the unknown, followed by Rangers and Vanguards illuminating every corridor, leading the way to secure the treasure island.
The trembling planet rumbled, dust falling from the arches welcoming them in triumph.
Slowly, her void-clad fingers held her Phobos-pattern Lasgun closer to her chest as they walked under the triumph that welcomed them to the ruins of mankind's past empire.
She and her squad were inserted to clean an ornate series of buildings built atop a mountain past the arch.
It was eerily similar to the universities from the Jovian moons she'd been taught about; and just like them, they were treasure troves for the priests and Magos to scour and study whatever archaeotec was left for them to learn from after the onslaught of the system's deadly sun.
Every room had been left in utter disarray, most cables had been stolen, displays broken; any flammable materials recycled; leaving behind only chips and a myriad of products understandable to those versed in the depths of STCs alone.
All rooms were salvaged, from the tiniest speck of food to wiring once holding the installation together.
No clothing nor a single body remained in the rooms of what they assumed were the once laborers' and researchers' quarters from this quasi-academy. Only shards of bones remained, long fossilized.
What they discovered beyond the miracles of old human engineering was a labyrinth made out of an astounding number of locked rooms in a somewhat sequential manner.
Layer by layer they poured into the depths below the surface. With an ever-changing paradigm; from grand halls meant to feed the masses that once inhabited this place; to research laboratories scuttled ages ago.
Seal after seal, each room with more decay than the other as the desperation for resources grew; it's clear that once upon a time this planet had a mantle of oxygen, as impure as it might've been.
The insatiable thirst for knowledge had rendered them myopic, their eyes fixated on the relics of a bygone era.
So engrossed were the priests and tech-adepts in their sacred quest that they mistook the splashes of long-dried blood for the mere decay of time implacable against the lost decor.
Everyone ignored the macabre tapestry woven into the very walls. Each new discovery of a cogitator, even in its radiation-scarred decrepitude, seemed to wash away the crimson stains of warning that grew ever more lurid as they descended into the bowels of this forsaken place
Eventually, all the exploring parties met in the basement, the link between this facility and the massive mining operations underneath the crust of the world.
They had found their most symbolic obstacle.
It was inside the ducts leading to the 'Praktietch' zone; likely the testbed for whatever machinations had been salvaged above: laid an enormous door littered with withered bodies fossilized by the vacuum of space.
A gate at least a hundred meters in height and two hundred in width, leading to immense riches, metals the Magos in Mars would feud over for the next century to come.
Below were the unmistakable marks of wheels and tracks still not eroded from this hermetic entrance; leading towards an equally enormous entrance long-blocked off by rocks piling up and eroding over it.
Almost no light peered through, infrared illuminators had to be brought to allow them to see anything other than the bare minimum edges of the ornate service tunnel.
There were scribbles in languages long forgotten, and skulls hidden beneath the softened soil; some having their tops bashed open.
Was this some kind of necropolis?
Some kind of struggle had happened to get inside the mines proper – which only made the interest hike higher; the need to know what dwells inside.
There was no hurry to continue with the campaign during that moment; so they brought maniples of Arc Scourges and Monitor Malevolus Seyplask's troop of Electro-priests to reanimate the old door.
"Heed our call and spread your wings for those who reclaim you from your slumber!" - He sang as his multiple limbs worked tirelessly to rewire and master the servant of the Omnissiah.
The enormous door's locks soon began trembling, steam came out as the hydraulic systems answered slowly.
Eventually, the long trail up; to the destroyed exit, was freed up by a Hellbore burrowing itself until the rock ceded; allowing them to bring further support.
All Arc weaponry fled back once they had managed to link the mechanism into a fusion reactor carried in a Duneraider, and life came in a torrential flood that made the lights across the tunnel come to life once more; some even blowing up due to the overcharge.
Ever if so slightly the gates began moving faster, and faster.
Now an entire Cohort spectated the marvel, some were kneeling, others preparing their tools.
The hopes were high, and everyone felt pity for the maniples still exploring above, for they'd miss this.
Dust crept from the ceiling, falling in a silent cacophony as even inside there was no oxygen; no life.
She stood in the middle, behind a line of Servohaulers with her squad; but the massive visage was still within her sight.
One by one the locks receded.
Tremors shook the ground beneath; the gates opening up were waking the planet itself.
The Macroclade leader had landed on the planet to stand in front of this vault; to sanctify their dominion over the remains of their forefathers.
Could there truly be something more beautiful than to witness the might of their kin once more in the fold of the rightful inheritors?
Her pyschonullers weren't strong enough to prevent a smile from forming in awe of the spectacle.
Slowly the light peered into the other side; and the IR illuminators kept their long vigil; allowing the still-standing hallways of industrial progress forgotten to be rediscovered.
Their Archmagos' multiple appendages spread, icons of progress; scrolls containing lost programming languages; and keys for all sorts of cogitators shined under the myriad of light sources now pointing to the opening thunder-doors.
So blinded were they that their stares were fixated on the grand halls leading to multiple tunnels from where ore and slag came from; not in the shadows that interrupted the lights.
In a mere nanosecond a hand pierced him and pulled him onto the shadowy halls, mauling his body against the still-opening gates, causing his mostly metallic body to compress and shriek across all available channels until it saw its end behind the veil.
Leaderless, left alone by the breakup of the noosphere; the skitarii were shocked, unable to react.
A valiant Praetorian took his rotary-cannon and flooded the opening slit into damnation with incendiary rounds. A deluge of lead and copper saw the halls illuminated in flashes that allowed his peers to see the remains of what once were human bodies; melted into metal painfully sewn around their bodies; serving as carapace and life support for these moon-skinned demons.
Their ears were disturbingly pointed; faces marred; coagulated; with teeth made out of stones that made them bleed a dark ichor with every bite they enjoyed from the faux-flesh of the Archmagos.
The rest of the Praetorians soon joined in on the fire thrown against them. Hundreds of barrels heated up in an attempt to reduce them, but the door kept opening up; their attacks couldn't keep the twisted metal at bay for long enough. They walked once more to the entrance. Their muscles were broken, iron melted; yet they were hungry for them.
No limbs were apparent, only mutilations of countless shards of metal forming arms like millipedes that wore human skin to hide their true nature.
The door kept its pace slow, too slow to allow their serrated metal to touch them; so all the officers got out of the stupor; ordering the skitarii to bare their weapons and unleash the fury of the Omnissiah against these mutants.
Infiltrators jumped to try and slash these beasts; carrying flares to allow the infantry like her to more accurately fire into the masses of unholy matter clattering close to them.
Apparently, she was the only one to notice that above them was a single smiling face; an image suddenly repeated across the darkest pits of the rocky ceiling; hidden from the lights; pouring from the top of the slit under the cover of their brethren's deaths.
She stopped pulling the trigger; her eyes shrunk under the voidmask's visor; and tried opening her mouth to alert the Cohort.
Just as the door finally hurried its process up, unable to be reversed; the beasts in the ceiling pushed it fully open; allowing the mass to envelop their first lines.
They devoured all they touched, they technivores and carnivores alike, integrating all they could onto the horrendous maws full of processed alloys they used to tenderize the prey they got into their unhinged jaws.
Every sensor the Fabricators had implanted onto her mind to make her a better tool on the battlefield told her only one thing: Run.
There is nothing you can do but die fruitlessly if you stand. - Her mind told her.
She had to alert the Omnissiah's finest, to run into their arms and defend her people from a place that wasn't suicidal.
Yet, she couldn't move, she was too well trained, so she thought: "The Magi have surely alerted everyone."
Then, a shriek tore through the noosphere, not as sound, but as a thousand needles stabbing directly into Deleria's neural implants. Her ears bled, the coppery tang of it flooding her artificial palate. The electromagnetic spectrum collapsed, every vox channel erupting in static, and every device display went blind. They were cut off, alone in the silence of the dead world, a silence soon to be broken by horrors beyond imagining.
Soon the technivores came in massé, killing each other if necessary to get their prey.
Now she had to get to the surface and warn the fleet to exterminate this plane, and as a secondary goal; save herself.
She tried pulling some of her peers back into the facility; but they refused, not seeing their unwise tactical position; and before she could finally warn them of the enemies above; they fell across the entire tunnel.
What cohesion was left in the face of the unending enemy was broken.
Nearly tripping in her own steps; she began running as fast as she could into the hallways of the Forgotten College.
A horde of technivores followed her steps.
For as inhumane as they were, they were also impeccable hunters.
They detected her brethren across the multiple rooms scouring through the halls of technology; and murdered them, eating them.
Some fell in the fight, but they got replaced by ten more.
Her cybernetic legs were stressed to their limits; she had to hide from the fire of her own people as impromptu barricades with battle servitors and magi were formed to try and stop the flood from devouring it all.
Every time she looked back, she saw a smiling face of stretched skin across a macabre insect-like creature. They leaked the ichor they had for blood into their captures, feasting into the bodies of the skitarii while staring at her.
In their profane sockets, a white light peered as a single dot. It was what little soul they had left and an unspoken promise, they'd eventually catch her.
One by one the maniples fell; her rebreathing systems caught the trace of the sulphuric stench of their madness and culling corroding into her void armor.
There was no doubt that the entire mission had been a failure.
She could only hope that on the surface they'd hear her pleas.
Half an hour after the culling began, the pain in her ears stopped. The screech continued, but seemingly she was getting far enough from their hive to stop her bleeding injury.
There were broken windows covered in the sedimented rock in the halls she now ran through. She was close to the exit – but she saw no one around, and when she looked back, there was no one.
Her steps led her to one of the dining halls where the souls of the lost students surely laid; their trays forgotten to the void; indicating that she was a few floors from the landing platform.
She was about to enter, hurrying herself for those last strides as she remembered that the way to their insertion point couldn't be more than a few floors above.
But she saw a little edge moving across the doorframe; a liquid searing the metal; corroding it; causing it to exude lethal gasses from the corruption of matter.
There was one of them inside.
Her feet managed to stop her one meter away from the door. Her breathing was the only sound accompanying her, for even the tremors in the earth were ignored by her shocked mind. What could she do? She could indeed venture into another route, but if they had reached here before her; what chance did she have of reaching the surface?
Before any other thought could cross her mind; she glanced around her to look for any place to go; coming face to face with one of those beasts; smiling as always; its jaw was closed, and it had stopped running, for there was naught that she could do to evade the piercers spread in a magnificent dark sun made out of post-human flesh and metal.
Thank the Omnissiah for her augments, or she might've been unable to react. Her fingers near the trigger flicked the safety into the top setting; and fired a point-blank charge of photons that blew a hole into the midsection of the beast.
Immediately its pincers spasmed in pain; making the void-dweller slam some of its appendages against her side, brutally smashing her against a wall; the lostech alloys of its body causing an opening in her suit that poured oxygen out.
A clock was ticking now.
She barely had time to gather herself up just enough before the damaged mutant threw itself against her, she pressed her gloved index into the trigger as hard as she could; the crystals inside her weapon would've exploded if they weren't made in the forges of Phobos; but it melted after the last eviscerating shot.
Hole after hole had scarred and opened up the incomprehensible insides of the beast; spilling fluid-stained organs made from scrap metal right into the dust. The smile faded in favor of surprise, one last vestige of humanity before the thunderous roar in its maw ceded to oblivion.
There was no time to breath, though; from the opened door the ever smiling face of the hunter trying to ambush her appeared, tauntingly slow.
Her gun was now melting itself on her hands; so she threw it away, hoping to get her laspistol before it was too late; and she scrambled onto her feet to run down the hall into unknown territory.
She managed to see one fellow Hispasist firing downrange, only to be tackled by one of the beasts; open-mawed to insert a mockery of a tongue turned into halberd straight to his chest; breaking the voidsuit and making his insides explode outwards.
A herd flocked to the scene, to devour; and one amidst the hungry lot noticed her. Their irate gazes turned into delight.
There was no place to run, save for the room across the grand hall, whose door was halfway closed.
Looking around wasn't needed to confirm what her body already knew. She threw herself down and tried cramming herself as best as she could into the door's slit. She kicked and growled in exertion as she managed to crunch whatever systems were on her voidsuit to allow her to pass.
When the creatures threw themselves against her squirming legs; she desperately fired her laspistol to deter them; buying herself the precious seconds to enter the room.
Inside, there was nothing but broken crates, and what once was a window long broken by sedimentary rocks and earth.
She was trapped, no exit in front; and the mutants trying to open the door; slipping their limbs under it.
Her eyes began to crystalize as she felt the loss of pressure inside her suit; the tendrils from her predators having opened many more openings.
She still had her charges for the lasrifle; and she could use them as grenades; a last resort to at least die having offered some resistance.
But then, evading a lashing from a serrated limb; she fell into the rubble in the room.
The soil crumbled beneath her feet, freshly disturbed, as if something had recently clawed its way through. The tremors from the planet cracked even the oldest rocks she could find.
One last try, one last escape.
She threw her lascharches into the rubble; and buried them with kicks while the creatures broke the door.
With a shot of her pistol, the charges exploded, sending rubble in the form of shrapnel against her body. Despite her armor she felt the impacts breaking bone and tearing muscle under the padding.
Her voidmask cracked, making her feel nauseous as her lungs were emptied.
Yet she had managed to leave the slightest opening in the earth. And she threw herself in, digging up.
No matter the shakes beneath her; how the rocks moved and cracked her muscles; she had to move up; only adrenaline kept her together; she couldn't betray herself by giving out.
At least one beast followed her through; but she couldn't manage to shake it off; there was no space in the tunnel her very fingers were carving up; so she endured how its tendrils made their way through her feet; cutting up; filling the insides of her suit with her own blood.
She broke her hands pulling the earth away; screaming into her prison as slowly she felt her forces wane; just as the soil began caving in.
The living metal vines coiling into her legs tried pulling her back; but with the last of her forces she kneaded her elbows, to advance every painful centimeter she could, until with her fist she punched the sandy soil above her, trying to break past it or hold onto it.
Around her the amounting pressure had opened the crack in her mask, causing her eyes to break; and irradiated dirt to fill her face, invading her lungs, causing an indescribable pain.
Then, her hand felt nothing as the last shake escaped her tired muscles. Her broken fingers gave out.
No light surrounded her since she began digging. But now, she perceived nothing, not even her own eyelids.
Praised be the Omnissiah. - She thought, her mind teetering on the edge of nothingness.
With each labored breath, Deleria felt the crushing weight of the soil above, the jagged rocks biting into her flesh, and the iron grip of the technivore's tendrils still coiled around her legs. Her world had narrowed to darkness and pain, and her broken fingers scrabbled uselessly against the unyielding earth.
Her voidmask was a spider web of fractures, the integrity had been compromised, and her visor fogged with the last gasps of her breath. Through the haze of her dimming consciousness, a faint luminescence began to pierce the oppressive blackness. It was a soft glow, like the first rays of dawn spilling over a horizon long forgotten.
In the depths of her soul, a voice she did not recognize sung, yet it carried a sense of familiarity—a distant echo of the sacred canticles she had heard in the grand halls of Atar-Median.
With a desperate surge of will, Deleria forced her shattered body to move, to push against the crushing earth. The tendrils of her hunter tightened as if sensing the approach of a greater predator. She felt a strange warmth envelop her – a warmth that seemed to defy the cold vacuum that sought to claim her.
Through sheer force of will and fear-driven adrenaline, she managed to wiggle herself just enough to catch a glimpse of the irradiating sun above; to witness warmth, the embrace of His might.
The earth caved just enough to let a glimpse peer into those bleeding visages.
A few silhouettes clouded her vision. Tall figures clad in armor that shone with an otherworldly light, their presence an oasis in the desert of desolation that surrounded her.
They moved with a grace that belied their armored bulk, their every motion a testament to an ancient martial discipline. She saw spears that crackled with power, shields that hummed with protective energy, and helms that bore crests like the flames of hope itself.
And then, there was a gauntlet gleaming with cerulean sheen from the decorations enveloping it. It reached out to her, fingers outstretched with an offer of salvation. Deleria's own hand, bloodied and trembling, rose to meet it. The living metal of His chosen welcomed her into artificial embrace.
With divine righteousness, Deleria was pulled from her earthen tomb.
Her lungs heaved in gratitude for the air that once again filled them, even as her suit hissed its protests against the breaches in its integrity.
The tendrils of the creature still latched into her skin, ravaging her suit; making her wince and struggle to find oxygen to express her anguish, her flesh, exposed to the void; broke; the suit's compressive walls being the only thing that let her live.
As the gnashing limbs of death threatened to slide further into her vitality, they were cut by something; as the warm embrace of steel caught her.
While in the edges of her vision, ships of gray and troops wearing colors she'd never seen; in front of her, a man wearing a mask with a red cross faced her, hugged her; and soon it patched her armor with a foam-like substance.
Across the untold stars, lights came inbound, scores of ships, flyers of varying sizes dropping ordnance beyond the sight of her fleeting consciousness.
The masked person in front of her bore a single 0 right above the Imperialis plated in ornate gold; their right chest condecorated with simple streaks of ornate cloth giving away a rank she could not interpret.
Quickly, around her, people of varied armors and masks; from monoemotional faces to animal representations; all ran to an unknown destination; holding what seemed to be flamers and spears delicately casted with volkite weapons.
This one who grabbed her immediately enveloped her in some sort of shield that made the void stop pulling the insides of her body out.
The medic grasped her in their arms, turning around to bring her to safety while some kind of servo skull flew around them, patching her suit.
She caught a glance of the moving soldiers; some cloaked, others bearing shields; running to the sides of the Grand Campus, while dropships flew around, deploying hordes of these troops in plated white; gray, golden, red, blue, and green.
Behind them, swaths of what seemed to be Solar Auxilia troopers holding each a shield and a bladed bolter, holding standards as they moved through the earth, accompanied by vehicles she couldn't understand.
The glimpses of the technivores and fleeing skitarii were patched by them forming firing lines; cleansing the mutant.
There was no indecision, they surrounded the beasts and pinned them down, moving elastically to not let any one of them be touched by their taint.
Above, the dance of ships turned into scores of bombers careering into the exit of the mine that had previously opened up; cratering it with blessed ordnance.
If her body wasn't turned into a martyr's, she might've smiled, but the act of living hurt too much.
Slowly, she dared inhale, as this vision of the faintest of hopes intoxicated her in joy; so she closed her eyes, finally feeling safe in the arms of who she knew were her kind.
She was moved with gentleness she hadn't felt since she was a child, the cold touch of the void was nothing compared to the burning feeling of a soul that wished for your very salvation.
Even if her body was to give out, she knew the Omnissiah had never left her.
With one last glimpse of her eye before she shut it: what seemed like an overly angulated Baneblade plated in marble colors roamed in front of her. A proud red cross housing the Rod of Asclepius decorating every face of it.
Others with different colors and cannons befit for other purposes rumbled away into the mountain, making the ground tremble slowly.
The ivory behemoth stopped near her, opening a door from which another masked person with a red cross for face greeted her with open arms; revealing an entire room within the vehicle as the incandescent light forced one of her eyes open.
From one embrace she got sent into another, and another, less like a ragdoll, more like a gem to be examined.
Words were exchanged by the two medics, but she could hear naught.
Instead, all she could feel was the soft caress of the gentlest bed she'd ever lain in before a team of more masked people surrounded her; each bearing crosses of different colors.
The inside was like that of any transport, but with space meant for equipment she had seen only blurs of; which was now replaced by the beds meant for other injurees such as her.
Suddenly, oxygen came back into the room, as the sound of the oddly-quiet rumbling of the engine told her.
One by one, her rescuers grasped their masks with their armored gauntlets, taking them off with sizzling from the equalizing pressure.
Indeed faces echoing midnight to snow bore preoccupied smiles belied by eyes that scrutinized her like she was to be dissected. Owl-like gazes, a lethal beauty that dared unmake her.
With a shared glance into each other's eyes, they put on breather masks proper for field medics and began slicing away her armor.
Yet all they did was begin working on cutting her suit, to properly treat her injured flesh, sedating her body little by little; as she was rocked by the sound of the cannon of the vehicle laying down suppressive fire into the spires of knowledge they had defiled.
Her eyes blurred too much to gather what they were doing, and with what instruments. All she knew is that their hands were now bare, cleaning her suit from the killing dust of the planet; ensuring her battered flesh endured even if a single moment more.
She didn't grunt with pain or exertion, all the fight had left her.
All she could do was hope as her eyelids closed, slowly
Just as her mind fled, finally free from suffering; the vox-comms of her voidsuit finally echoed some words that allowed her to rest. A symphony laden with a love belying familiarity. - "We are the 482nd Melpomene Division, Battlegroup Milon, 75th Epirote Reserve Fleet, our Emperor's envoy;" - Came the reply. A female voice, calm and steady, filled with an unshakeable confidence. - "you're safe now, warrior of Man, your family is here." - It proclaimed, laced with an unheard kiss blessing her forehead, blissfully sharing motherly delight.
Once she woke up, she was in the depths of a ship she did not know about, she could not move; but a servitor who survived the culling of her unit helped her move around in a wheelchair.
She was not tried for cowardice, most likely because there was none to trial her left. The remains of her sibling units laid mostly across this hospital-ship, catered by the zacharine words of medics who treated them as if they were their younger siblings.
The patronizing words irked her. But they allowed her to come into the viewports of the vessel, flying overhead a battlefield where hordes of the technivores rose from the ground, turning the surface of the planet into a faintly gray ooze.
Soon, even this support ship saw its weapons cleanse the surface, much to the dismay of the surviving magi.
In the week she took to recover, they allowed her to read books she knew not the language, but with guidance of the servitor she learnt about lullabies about the 'Siblings across the stars', written by their father.
There were no representations of him, only a single painting in the halls of the ship, where a man of fair tanned skin dressed in a toga and a laurel wreath kissed the keel of the vessel, while masked soldiers with crested helmets played instruments in honor of the birth of the medical core.
Her fellow skitarii found themselves instead learning with the crews, they might once protest the destruction of a treasure trove of learning, leaving only remains to be explored; but the behemoths that made the land rumble marked this as terra nullius to be cleansed until devoid of the mutant.
Once the pummeling stopped, the cities were purged by troops on foot. Their engagements televised for her and the other troopers, to analyze, to understand, to learn.
Soon she was surrounded by athenians being treated for their injuries.
There, she felt alienated. Not because they showed her dismissing hatred, but because they acted as if they knew her since their childhood, calling her gentile.
When she performed the muscular recovery exercises — ordered by one of the doctors; there was always someone asking her about her origin, her faith, her experience, her family.
She mostly nodded and weakly smiled, feeling a forced peace settle in her heart.
Warm faces, soothing words, but they talked not about their own past, besides explaining the decorations of the armors they wore.
Tales about being born to enjoy life, to defend it against insurmountable odds, proving themselves to be the ones to atone for the mistakes of the past; and venture into the stars to train to guard something they called the most horrid song.
She knew not of the meaning of the mythos about their own crusades against this ethereal enemy. And her curiosity was often sidelined by their offers to have her train with them, as she had survived it was her duty to keep going to honor those who didn't.
One of the injurees asked for permission to bring his damaged armor. It was a laminated plate — not unlike that of some patterns of Imperial carapace, with a red undersuit and many numbers in numerals to denote the unit he served on; and a flag in both of its bulky shoulder pads, seemingly a letter P crossed by the wings of an imperialis.
The damming marks of the tendrils of the beasts decorated the midriff of the armor, but nonetheless she donned it.
It was a second skin, a call from the Omnissiah himself as he smiled when she moved around, as if she wore nothing but flak armor; but could move again despite her injuries.
She almost begged to be allowed to keep it, but she got told that one day, she'd wear something better; finally soothing her candid mind.
Eventually, the hospital ship landed in a makeshift port. She was given a voidsuit of red like her previous armor; covered in gentle robes that covered her head. Then, she and the rest of the skitarii were commandeered into the surface.
Before the remaining magi were permitted to explore, though; they were forced under the Praetor of the fleet's decree to attend to a ceremony in the now re-conquered university, whose name, now translated befell as the 'Smithsonian-Wielizcka Depth-research Institute', now covered in a shield to force an atmosphere to form.
Those she'd seen wearing masks walked into podiums, talking in a language oddly similar to High Gothic, moving across a makeshift scenario — flowing dances as the bodies of the fallen skitarii and Athenians were paraded in the withered fields.
In the center, a grand crematorium had been erected, a zigurat meant to turn all into ash.
She could see the painful tendrils of the beasts in this furnace.
Their living metal had been smelt and turned into material to build and repair.
The only words she understood as the fallen were commemorated was: "From dust we are, to dust we return." - From one of the Auxilia-like troopers by her side, as she put her helmet back on.
When she came back? She told everything to the Remembrancer that had come to narrate the tale of this conquered world.
Then, as she finally recovered, she asked the magos who now led her to stay, for now. And the man, himself having experienced the care of the athenians, relented, soon, she stood in the lines of the Populus, inducted into a new unit of Hastati.
—
It was one of the many reports he had read.
Sitting in his library he had read through thousands of these stories in the last hour alone, Uthizzar, Auramagna, Kalliston; and most of the first forty fellowship Captains spread around the room read through another thousand, examining every miniscule detail they could recover from the text; no matter if some descriptions of their acts were too vague or too overly detailed. What they could not do was ignore anything that could give them a clue.
Papers were levitating across the room, ethereal conceptual maps were created, fed by every one of their minds; ideas were shared in mere seconds; engineers and sociologists had been brought to comprehend what kind of people they could be facing.
Normally he'd ask any of the Athenian Regiments employed under his fleet to sate his thirst, knowing that these psyker-receptive forces would obey the Primarch's demand for knowledge.
Unfortunately, the five corps once standing beside his Astartes had been recalled about a month ago, from all galaxy-wide frontlines.
He was forced to witness, unable to grasp this change as he should.
Instead of going to Terra himself to question his Father, he was told by Him to await in his world until further orders were sent.
His Father had warned him that one day he'd see the people from the Duchy stand in the lines of the Imperium's final orchestra, yet as with countless truths the reason and purpose had been hidden from him and all who walked not across the halls of the Throne of Terra.
The answer was close now, though.
Across the entire galaxy The Emperor had decreed that fleets from Athena bore His design to oversee in His absence.
He and the rest of the Imperium knew not of their composition or numbers, only that from the depths of the west of the Segmentum Solar hundreds of fleet-sized elements and colonies of vessels meant for transportation and landfall flew into segments roughly corresponding to the Area of operations of each Legion; while some arrived into hotspots for conflict, such as the remains of Ullanor.
The mission most had been told about? They were another bone for the structure of the Imperium's Great Crusade.
Right after his Father had disappeared into His Throne, leaving Horus as the leader of the Crusade; after the authority of the Primarchs had been undermined by the Council of Terra, another envoy had been sent to further grind their progress?
With the Night Haunter's lunacy unbound, the acceleration of the conquests and the slowly decreasing dominion they had over their conquests; this seemed to be another nail against the withered relations they held with Terra.
That said, contradicting this thought, it was his Legion that received aid first.
His Father had ordered him to stay within his Capital, no less, to remain in Tizca two weeks ago, and to spread his arms open when the moment came.
Though he wished for something other than this cryptic message, as a loyal son, he obeyed, if reticent.
One week ago, Atrahasis had sent a warning, that the 801st Akra-Leukatex, long serving regiment under the Thousand Sons, had come back from a month of lethargy.
They wore not pristine and condecorated crested-carapace armor marking them as Solar Auxilia.
Instead, the crosses, icons of the Athenians relegated to their shoulders and vehicles; now were painted across their chest plates, engraved in their now intricate armors hand-crafted by their owners to display their allegiance and honors.
Galeae, thracian, dorian, corinthian, and other mediterranean helmets covered their heads in beautiful colors; finished with engravings telling stories of their mythology or old Terran anthologies.
Others covered their faces in masks like actors from a forgotten play.
At the same time, behind these pristine troops, hordes of more spartan soldiers in laminated armor and intricate flak designs plugged every gap, holding a shield, and a bolter-like weapon finished with a long blade, the gladius. These called themselves the names of Populus Manipulus, though Magnus knew, this name they held merely to avoid being confused with the other Legiones.
Some held the same obscenely long rifles from before their departure.
Tools with a wedged bayonet in front, keeping two-edged-swords magnetically attached to their belts. Above them flyers of unknown designs tore through the sky ferrying the shock troopers instead of the Stormbirds of the Legions.
Hovertanks were mentioned in some reports, medium-sized walkers armed with what seemed like volkite lances; and mobile artillery that allowed these troops to be constantly in the move; serving as a loyal wingman — personal guards to Atrahasis' company of Astartes.
Whenever he erected kine shields, his company of cloaked Thracians poked their speared Aetherifles through it; and suppressed everything he faced. When rushing to finish his enemies off, laminar-carapaced Hastati rode in trapezoidal Landraiders edged with bronze welds, blue imprints and golden insignias accompanied him; holding breacher shields with no issue, all to protect him as he eliminated hordes of xenos with sweeps of his psychic might.
Magnus held his message closer, irking towards the end, hoping to catch a glimpse of something closer to who they were.
Descriptions and images of soldiers wearing attires from the army's long forgotten in the depths of the Mediterranean. A graceful evolution from what they once thought were only another Solar Auxilia regiment.
What caught his eye instead were the transcriptions from some recorded conversations that revealed a constant, they always spoke about how their Father had sent them to aid their cousins.
It was known that all of humanity was their family in their eyes, a reason why the Salamanders' favored their companionship in the campaigns ever closer to the Galactic North. But now they were openly saying that this was a reunion, talking about how how The Emperor finally allowed this reunion to happen, and how they would soon see him come.
Remembrancers were seemingly prohibited to ask them about who he was, or the innards of Athena; by Malcador's own decree, allowing only the cryptic tales of their legends to flow from their mouths.
This was what intrigued him.
Meeting, knowing the person sent from the veil of The Emperor's closest. This man who held the authority only the Primarchs and The Emperor held.
After all, He had sent him to meet him first, from all his siblings; for a reason.
One that for the first time in ages – did not know.
Countless theories were thrown around, but none had enough weight considering that the Athenians had razed entire fleets that dared defy the Imperial decree declaring their advent into the Crusade's spearheads; right as other units reported festivals being formed across entire worlds.
A butcher? Someone to replace him in his duties? An arbiter? Or just a person important enough to separate him from the frontlines?
Whomever this man was, he'd sent at least one "fleet" to each of the Primarch's wedges. This judge had willingly placed his troops amidst the lines of the World Eaters, Night Lords and Iron Warriors while at the same time he helped Mechanicus, Blood Angels and unremarkable planets in need of reformation.
His troops sang about visiting their family from across the stars and helping them before they were to return to their guarding of the Song. A slight detour from their previous chantics about this being their test before being allowed to guard.
He was about to reach for another dataslate with a set of reports from the 1546th fleet, written by Captain Atharva describing the apparent composition of their voidborne formations.
Just as he was unlocking the encrypted message, Uthizzar stopped their movements with a mere commanding phrase flaring from their hearts to their minds: "They're here." - Filled with the dangerous fear of someone who felt a vision of the future shriek across his soul.
Immediately thereafter an awe-inspiring image came from the eyes of Ahriman himself, projected into all souls not staring into the sky.
Standing in the balcony of the highest spire of Prospero, within the realm of Magnus the Red's very palace sat the witness to a miracle
In the vision, he saw something that his other sons; and the guard protecting them; couldn't interpret, and even he had difficulty making sense of what he was witnessing.
Decisive in his actions he rushed, breaching his immense doors with a mere thought.
The halls of his spire flickered as his aura of power surrounded him with such intensity that he seemed to teleport to the side of his most esteemed son, leaving streaks of char wherever he moved.
Only to keep himself solemn in the presence was his mouth closed, though his inner turmoil escaped by his traitorous eyes glimmering with amazement.
The entire fleet of the Thousand Sons had failed to detect him, letting this lone wedge-shaped ship stay right atop the Grand Library.
A clean surface devoid of any imperfection; mirroring the sky under the unequivocal hardiness of metal; armor. A cleaver perfect to sever any enemy ship.
But it wasn't the craft that had his attention, instead, a color-less silhouette held him in awe, shaking him to the very core.
A blue tear from the depths of his soul slid through the Great Ocean, and he stood motionless, hands holding the fine marble tightly while the rest of his sons came to the balcony to witness this with their father.
The silhouette seemed so familiar to him, yet so alien. It reminded him of Him — it had no aura beyond what he could see, it was not a sun, but a mirage.
Before he could analyze it, for a second, whatever ethereal gaze this anima had; met his.
During an attosecond he blinked, recoiling from an unknown force that prevented him from understanding it.
In that unshackled moment grasped only by his soul he saw someone across the Great Ocean, the waves and storms from irascible warp were quelled into a silent sway; a bubble of calmness across the trembling Empyrean decorated by a celestine ephemeral cloud that blurred the lines between sky and surface.
So far, yet so close, encompassing a distance he couldn't fathom, yet he swore could traverse.
In 'front' lay the figure of a man walking right on top of the non-euclidean surface of the ethereal water, unlike Magnus, who could feel the wetness cover him up to his hips.
Holding one of its hands was another figure, nearly drowning in the sea of souls.
Yet, this infinitesimally smaller creature held a smile he could make out despite the ethereal mist of the sea of souls trying to cloud his vision.
With a nod, the more imposing one allowed the other to walk away. Spreading its arms it approached him, swimming desperately to hug Magnus.
As he approached, drops of the Ocean's azure waters flickered from this being's desperate stride, impacting his forehead; making all of his body surrounded by an odd embrace that both cooled and warmed him; sickening him while calling him closer.
Instinctively, his arms rose slowly, disobeying the desires of his mind.
The soothing feeling of the water disappeared altogether, his very being focused only on watching it come.
Every stride across the water beckoned them closer, forcing the entire warp to tremble.
Oh the breeze of the ocean revealed what his soul was unable to distinguish, he could finally understand the soft glow approaching him, textures that his skin demanded the Titan to acknowledge, interrupted by his conscious mind. It frustrated him; but he bruteforced this lock imposed into his core.
Slowly the mist receded, allowing him to make out the details of this man.
Hair, arms, legs, even the depths where clouded eyes were awaiting his gaze.
Now only just a few meters prevented the touch.
His movements became ever so frantic, accompanied with a loud sound that threatened to break his ears with its volume; but instead it made his spine shiver with an indescribable feeling reminiscent of warmth.
Right as he could see a pair of lips forming beyond the veil of this apparition, moving to reveal a simple syllable, he got pulled away, making him see into the depths of the skies of his planet, leaving the calm ocean a mere memory.
When he glanced upon the prow of the ship, the man was gone, leaving only a behemoth the size of a battle barge lying dormant in front the heart of Prospero.
His lone eye had instinctually blinked it seemed, flushing his soul back into the material world.
Only the waiting Capital of all that he'd built remained, waiting for their reckoning, for the thing that had approached him.
He had to speak no words to alert all defenses on Prospero, much less to warn his people of what would come, he didn't know what it was, but he was going to know very soon. He'd be sure of it.
Softly, the gales across the planet slid carrying orders, information, warnings… Hopes.
And just as the planet was waking up to this surprise; the people in the streets running whatever law enforcement and army units were on the planet for protection; dots appeared in the sky like new constellations.
The rest of the Athenian fleet had come. Colors of unseen flags painting the heavenly canvas above.
This was the 1st Maniple, the spearhead of the Quick Reaction Forces of Athena, his sea of thousands of ships.
Not by size but by number did the Colossi of his fleet overshadow the Battlebarges of the Thousand Sons, flying not to envelope the planet, rather focusing in a graceful flight above the blue dome of the capital; letting their countless escorts fly across the magnificent landscapes of Prospero.
None made planetfall, instead painting the sky like they were oleum decorating the eternal canvas of the void.
Communications were amiss, save for the general outline of their flight zone for the admirals of the Sons so prevent any collision between the presumably allied forces.
During this moment, the onslaught of doubt within Magnus' soul shifted.
Hidden beneath the fire in his eye only his closest sons could feel; was a glimmer of dread.
That tiny speck of blue hidden in the depths of his soul coalesced with painful contrast to the ethereally warm moment he shared with that enigma.
His lips dried up, neck tensing.
Once more, his eternal mind conjured a vision, one less personal, but just as impactful.
The image of the 2nd hammered against his mind.
Standing in a hill, surrounded by insurmountable odds, blinded by fear, might and the hope to save untold trillions. An act so valiantly stupid as it was reckless and marvelous.
What might've crossed in his eyes as the last drop of blood from his body left him, right as both xenos and those he trusted the most clawed apart the rests of his body after managing to save the Imperium from defeat in the Second War.
Untold ships firing around him, pleading for explosive salvation, cremating the ground.
Desperation boiling into a breaking point, causing his astartes to lose themselves against everything and everyone to save him.
In that time, though, Russ, Horus, himself, Mortarion, The Nucerian, the regretful 11th, Guilliman — all primarchs discovered in that moment — came to his aid; while his children wailed, screamed and wept at the final image. Breaking Malcador's orders sponsored by Him to reach for his dying hand.
Who would be there for him, if the search for the truth that would liberate humanity brought him to the ultimate demise?
Would his executioner hesitate to incinerate his broken body like the Wolf did?
As if sensing this turmoil, cautious, someone sprang up: "Father, a message is coming through," - Ahriman said, materializing a parchment of luxurious silkaethe, a warning from the communication spires of the Fleet. - "they call themselves the Palatine fleet." - That term was known to those who studied the mythical past of Earth.
Kalliston immediately shared with his father an image sent from the 41st Achaemenid Patrol Line, the weapons of the fleet, those that were visible; were pointed at seemingly random directions, dismissing the presence of the Thousand Sons' forces.
Calmly, Magnus hummed as he analyzed every possible implication from what information was being shared with him. Then, he firmly said: - "Tell me what they ask from us, Ahriman."
The predilect son nodded, his eyebrows rising as he read and re-read the words in front of him before relaying them. - "Admiral Basileus, asks for permission for his fleet to celebrate in Tizca, and for the Quartermaster to visit you, Lord Magnus." - In his voice there was doubt, uncertainty, disbelief at the wording, yet he couldn't shake off the possible ominosity it perhaps hid.
With finality, Magnus replied. - "Allow them."
With the rise of a hand he contacted every officer across the entire planet
He knew that every gun was pointed upwards.
Cyclonic torpedoes even were lined up, in case of a last-ditch effort to bruise the brunt of his Father's envoy.
He had not expected the numbers they arrived in, though. This was not a mere invasion, fleet,
Now, it was time to welcome the Dux.
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—
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A/N: Sorry for the odd chapter, but I really can't continue the story till I define who'll be the 2nd primarch.
Also, I mainly prefer if the primarchs are purely male; since, well, I'm re-starting the new chapter of The Ultimate Ploy. Though again, as with anything with me, I'll defer to my readers' wishes.
So, the whole introduction in Prospero will have to wait till the next one.
Thus, I had to write something within the boundaries of showing the progress of the Crusade that also began planting the idea that the Athenians had an effect in the setting beyond just fluff for when the meat of the story comes to the grill.
I hope you enjoyed it, nevertheless. And that it's a nice enough placebo for when I do publish the "real" second chapter.
Also, yeah, the first primarch to be visited will be Magnus. Second to be served will either be Perturabo or Konrad lest someone votes enough times for another Primarch.
First come, first served after all, so thanks to MSG1000 we got Magnus as the first on the line.