About two hundred pages of comments back, someone opined that Cain needed to get some space marines. I realize that he got his first astartes in the new chapter, but my tired brain still came up with this. I'm sorry.
"Lord Astartes, we've received another vox-call from the enginarium."
Rogar The Unbroken, veteran of two centuries of continuous bloodshed and leader of his very own warband, the Sons of the True Imperium, closed his eyes in frustration. Whatever the reason for the call, it couldn't be good. "Report", he ordered curtly. "The rot has reached the generators for the Gellar-Field, Lord. Lord Techmarine Baldur expects them to fail within two standard hours.", the serf nervously said, "He requests an emergency translation into realspace at the earliest opportunity".
Many a space marine would have slaughtered the peon for being the bringer of Bad News, but Rogar had, once upon a time and long before the inquisitorial purge, sworn to protect all who were under his aegis, and he would stay true to that one oath even as he bartered away the rest of his soul one deed at a time; also, there weren't exactly a lot of replacements available for any further losses of helmsmen after the recent fleet-on-fleet action.
How could it have come to this, Rogar contemplated in the silence of the once-bustling bridge. Near nine decades of meticulous planning, careful raiding and ever-expanding pacts, torn down in less than one standard month.
In hindsight, he should have been more careful, more paranoid. The Sons of the True Imperium were made up of renegade astartes of two dozen different chapters and adherents of all four gods, but officially they still followed Chaos Undivided. He should have known that ambitious zealots would want to offer the whole warband to their own patron, but had - falsely - assumed that the current small-level rivalry between squads would stay stable for the time being. He had seldom been more wrong.
For the last decade, the cultists of Grandfather Nurgle, the Lord of Decay, had become more and more aggressive, even belligerent. Conflicts between warbands, planetary raids and summonings of greater daemons had all been on the rise, Nurgle's ambitions ever greater. The deathknell for his own warband, in contrast, had been almost subtle: Pusgut, captain of 3rd company, had tried to assassinate him. His fellow Nurglites detonated a series of plaguebombs and seized vital parts of his fleet. What was truly unexpected, however, was the sudden transformation of the remaining loyal Nurglites into Chaos Spawns, wreaking terrible havoc on his forces. Even then, the situation might have been salvageable - he had, after all, put down rebellions before. But Pusgut had gotten himself some strong allies: With a fleet of the Death Guard translating into realspace, led by that grox-son Typhus' flagship, the battle had become grim indeed.
In the end, only his battle-barge, the "Faithful Son", and two escort cruisers had managed to escape, and he had since lost the cruisers to the vagaries of the Warp. Now his flagship was poised to follow them into oblivion, courtesy of a final salvo of decay-filled ordnance from the "Terminus Est". If he ever got his hand on that thrice-damned, gods-forsaken whoreson Typhus...
With a deep breath and truly transhuman effort, Rogar wrestled his feelings back under control. Neither despair nor rage would help him now, he needed a cool head to survive. With the Gellar-Field about to fail and his ship mostly crippled, he needed to translate near a planet with either spaceship repair facilities or a spaceport with enough traffic so he could seize a warp-capable ship. Said planet must not be even moderately defended, because most macro-cannon batteries were trashed and of the nearly two hundred brothers he had managed to evacuate, only thirty were anywhere near combat effective. Once he regained his mobility, he could set course for the maelstrom and start rebuilding. While his previous pacts might be exhausted, he still had his newest trump card: More than eight hundred progenoid glands of pure Ultramarine gene stock, part of Ultramar's tithe of this century. It would, however, require extensive medicae facilities as well as a hellforge to get enough equipment for the battle-brothers to come.
Once more returning his focus on the present, he looked at the auspex. The emergency translation had thrown them far from their previous haunts, firmly into imperial territory. Now where would he find a safe haven... St. Agatha's Port? Too heavily defended for his current forces. Emperor's Light? A pleasure world with no way to supply his forces. Slawkenberg? Another vacation wo-, he stopped, his enhanced memory - courtesy of a Tzeentchian pact - stirring. There had been some kind of Chaos uprising about a decade earlier, the rebels had even managed to fend of some kind of rapid counterstrike. That sounded promising. He might even, thanks to the legends surrounding space marines of any kind, be able to just take over the entire planet and begin the rebuilding immediately.
Beseeching the three gods who hadn't - yet - abandoned him, he ordered the navigator to change course for Slawkenberg and return to realspace at the earliest opportunity.
-
"Faithful Son, our auspexes show ongoing entropy and decay of blessed machines. You are cleared for quarantine docking bay Q-02. Medicae personnel and emergency purgation squads are on standby. Any attempt to spread decay will be terminated with extreme prejudice."
"Well, I suppose that answers the question of their allegiance" Aldrik commented, as the battle-barge prepared to follow the transmitted course into the facilities of the spacehulk. And hadn't that been a surprise, to not only see a spacehulk in stable orbit around Slawkenberg, but to find it turned into a gigantic naval base. The remains of their own auspex detected enough weapons trained on them to vaporize an entire fleet, making any attempt at disobedience futile. "Slawkenberg obviously still follows the True Gods, minus the Grandfather, and they seem to have repair facilities, too. It'd seem your prayers worked." "Indeed, brother", Rogar grunted, "but taking control of this system will be much more difficult. Space combat or even the threat of orbital bombardment are out, and thirty warriors can't subdue an entire planet by themselves. Keep your wits about you. We must discover their weak points, the leaders and commanders we need to subvert, the vital areas we must control. Once their leaders have fallen to the legendary space marines, the rest of these mortals will gladly fall in line."
They fell silent as the "Faithful Son" entered the docking bay and shut down its engines. Outside, a large reception committee was assembled. Rogar identified the lead figure as some kind of heretek with its entourage, but the platoon of hulking figures in void-sealed power-armour of unknown make was unexpected. As he started the process of ingratiating himself with the leader (?) of these orbital facilities, teams of well-equipped medicae entered his flagship th recover the wounded, while Mechanicus teams began to inspect the hull and spray some concoction on the parts affected the most by Nurgle's decay. This rebellion was obviously more successful than he'd thought. His soon to be realized overlordship promised to be great indeed; he started to grin.
-
We were on the last part of our return journey from Adumbria, when the BORGs received the surprising news over our ansibles. A battle-barge filled with renegade astartes had made port on Emeli's Gift after a disastrous battle with the forces of Decay. Now High Enginseer Db-01-Iota asked for orders how to handle these new "guests". Amongst my companions and the council members added to the discussion via their own ansibles, opinions differed. Some viewed these space marines as a threat to the safety and integrity of our rule, while others interpreted the arrival of these transhuman warriors as a sign or even gift from their heretical gods. Unfortunately, all of them agreed that they ought to be assessed in person by none other than their glorious liberator, me. Sharing even a planet, nevermind a room, with bio-engineered killers was not one of my secret desires, but I couldn't think of a way to refuse the entire council without losing face and opening myself up to eventual insurrection. At least I managed to persuade the council to meet the astartes as one, as "a gift of the gods as impactful for the future of Slawkenberg as this" ought to be discussed by the entire council.
Yet as I thought about the upcoming meeting, I realized that this could be my chance to finally let someone else steer this entire heresy. To wash my hands of this entire travesty, fade into the background and make my way back to some God-Emperor fearing world. I would just make the leader of these space marines the leader of Slawkenberg and the entire "glorious uprising". I would, for a short time, remain an advisor to ease the transfer of power, before letting the "gods-touched warriors" run the show. To avoid just getting killed by some ambitious transhuman, however, I had to show them that they needed our help in managing Slawkenberg.
I gave the order to see to our new compatriots' wellbeing, to see them settled, and to show them our great achievements in all matters military, scientific and social. As we continued our journey, only two days from home, I felt pure elation for possibly the first time since my arrival on that planet; nothing could go wrong with my escape.
-
"Everything rests on their council, and especially their "Liberator"", Rogar told his closest advisors and comrades. Over the past day, by order of said Liberator, they had gotten insight into nearly every part of Slawkenberg's society, and despite himself, he was impressed. In the absence of Decay, the population worked efficiently, the hereteks developed new great weapons, vehicles, and even spaceships seemingly every day, and the Blood God's forces trained with tireless fervour. And everywhere he looked, people praised their Liberator, the fallen commissar Ciaphas Cain. "With Cain, and perhaps his council, gone, the planet will fall to us with a minimum of fuss", he declared. Baldur, his chief technician, disagreed: "While Cain is certainly the lynchpin of the entire uprising, I'm not confident we can take him in a straight fight. Even accounting for the usual exaggerations in propaganda, he seems to have Khorne's favour. You have seen the video of him nailing an inquisitor to the Corpse-God's altar with his own sword, and he seems to have surpassed that feat many times since." "Don't be a wuss" Aldrik retorted, "we have slaughtered mortal warlords by the dozens, if the the hundreds, before! Cain still is a baseline human, he doesn't even exhibit any gifts of the gods". "None that we have seen in the vid-casts, but that doesn't mean anything. Everything about this rebellion screams planning, efficiency, forethought. Need I remind you that the reason our strength is back up to over one hundred warriors after a mere two days is due to an unknown, incredibly effective healing agent? That our ship is being repaired in record time as we speak? There is more to this Cain than we know, much more, and we shouldn't rush into conflict with a warlord who invites astartes into his innermost sanctuary like it doesn't worry him in the least."
"I hear you, Baldur, but we have always prevailed before. A mortal, even if he were blessed by the True Gods, will not be a challenge, and neither will his council. We will cow them into submission, slaughter any who oppose us, and take control of the planet and its facilities. And then, I will wring that pus-boil Typhus' neck and make him suffer. Come now, our new destiny awaits."
-
"A giant!" and "Ciaphas, your luck has finally run out!"
Those were the only thoughts my terrified mind could hold as the leader of the stranded astartes entered the council room. Nine feet tall at the very least, built like two ogryns, and clad in terrifying power armor festooned with dark talismans and the skulls of fallen foes, the supreme predator stepped forward. As his terrible gaze briefly scanned the room and unerringly found me, I realized I couldn't look away, my body seemingly paralysed. I tried to order Malicia to defend me, but no sound came past my lips; the best I managed was a feeble, miniscule twitch of a few fingers. God-Emperor, why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why weren't they helping me?
The mass-murdering superhuman stopped a few steps into the room, still holding my gaze for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, I managed to calm down somewhat: He didn't seem intent on immediately butchering me where I stood, so my plan might still be viable. With every second that passed without the corpses piling high, a strange elation befell me; I felt that I had never been closer to an end of the nightmare my posting to Slawkenberg had thrown me into. A brief period of easing the space marine into his new position of authority, and I could sneak onto a ship, freed from all responsibility and accountability, and start my life anew as an anonymous, God-Emperor fearing citizen. The corners of my lips involuntary began to curl into a relieved smile.
-
Rogar knew well the effects of transhuman shock on mere mortals, and had chosen his equipment accordingly. In his lavishly decorated artificer armor, with his archeotech plasma pistol and relic blade at his hip and his two closest advisors and companions half a step behind him, he was set to shatter any thought of resistance the feeble mortals of the Liberation Council could offer, and take control of the entire planet in one fell swoop. Yet a couple of steps into the hall he felt a sudden unease. A quick look around the council hall did not lessen his disquietude: Most of the council members had started at his entrance, but swiftly composed themselves. An armored figure in the corner concerned him greatly, with its inhuman grace, every predatory movement filled with killing intent. Some kind of deathcult assassin? No, more likely a powerful daemonhost, intended as the perfect bodyguard and summoned into a suitable vessel. Its threat could not be discarded lightly, especially with the council members readying themselves for possible conflict, as their fight-or-flight instincts set in.
But it was the leader of Slawkenberg's insurrection himself who truly made him uneasy. The seemingly unremarkable - mortal - human had not even blinked at his entrance, when his presence had previously given even other astartes pause. Instead, expressionless orbs sought and found his gaze, giving no hint to the thoughts behind them. As the Daemonhost radiated ever more killing intent and made to stalk forward, a mere twitch of his fingers was enough to make it desist.
Abruptly off-balance, Rogar opened his senses to the Immaterium, to be forwarned of any attacks through the Warp. What he saw was enough to make his two hearts skip a beat: All his second sight could perceive was a storm of chaotic energies filling the entire room, the favour and attention of three of the True Gods swirling thickly around the council members, coalescing around their respective favourites. But in the middle of that vortex, like the eye of the storm, was a sphere of calm centered on the Lord Liberator.
And suddenly, Rogar understood. All the rumours he had heard about Ciaphas Cain fell into place, the duels with the greatest foes to be found, the ascension of his paramour, the careful increase of industrial power and weapons development. Everything made sense, and he cursed himself for not heeding his comrades' warnings. Before him sat not an ordinary mortal, but a true chosen of Chaos. Not for Ciaphas Cain was the prostration before the Emyprean so many human - and astartes - warlords committed, begging petty daemons for even pettier trinkets and baubles. The Lord Liberator did not submit to Chaos, but subdued it, painstakingly preparing his ascension over the course of decades with unbridled power, unbending will and unfailing attention to detail.
A warrior like him would brook no disrespect, tolerate no disobedience.
Against such a being, there could be no victory.
With welling bitterness, Rogar thought of the path that had led him here. Was any of it truly happenstance, or had it been planned by the warlord in front of him since the very beginning? In that moment, Cain's lipped quirked up in a victorious smile, granting him the answer he really did not want to know. How many other plans, intricate and inescapable, were being made, evaluated, and changed behind those unfeeling orbs which had not for a moment let up their gaze?
Well, maybe it wouldn't actually be that bad, Rogar mused as he prepared to do what he must. If that vortex of godly favour and attention around Cain's advisors was anything to go by, even as a second fiddle his own ascension - and vengeance against Typhus - would be well taken care of.
-
My face froze again, this time in the beginnings of a rictus grin, as the transhuman started to move again.
With two swift steps, he came to a halt in front of me, and took a knee. His deep, solemn voice reverberated through the entire council hall. "The Sons of the True Imperium are yours to command, Lord Warmaster."
I wanted to scream.