We were all made to be better, we were all made in the image of the Twin Primarchs. We were all told there was a greater purpose to all that we did, we were all told there was a plan but we were never given any plan. We were told that we are all liars, but can no longer tell who we are lying to.
The enemy, or ourselves.
022.M42
Ceramite boots stomped down the halls of the massive battle barge. Its halls reeked of profane influence, the sweat of baseline workers, and the wretched experiments of the Dark Mechanicum mere floors away. Such evils were necessary when you fended off time without the assistance of the Dark Gods' influence, sometimes you simply had to bear the terrible conditions. What stank to Elatus more than the remains was the ever present air of desperation that hounded the Shrouded Basilisks. They had been low on supplies before, but this was different. Their position had been compromised, their temporary hideout had been scouted by the Imperium, so the warband went on the offensive on an unprepared successor of the Iron Hands. They won the battle, but it only bought them time to retreat.
To compound on their unnaturally bad luck, they were cut off from any assistance and far from capable of making it back to the Unseen. Yes, Elatus figured this may be the end of them. Especially considering the staggering number of human agents the Xth legion had butchered, but their sacrifice meant precious seconds for the Alpha Legion to evacuate the planet. Elatus was not like some of his brothers, the ones that treated humans as equals but he was still a pragmatist. Good acolytes were hard to come by at times, especially as the millennia ticked by like endlessly refilling sand in an hourglass.
It felt as if they were always running out of an infinite supply of time. The longer the legion scurried around the galaxy like rats, the less they would command respect. It wasn't the same as other legions' ideas of respect, the Alpha Legion quite enjoyed being thought of as little more than myth, but it made some parts of life exceptionally difficult.
The one threat that kept them from oblivion was access to the Alpha Legion's ever robust web of contacts and information, so they had a plan to escape their slow burnout. A Dark Mechanicum priest on board had told them of a Manufactorum in the system. Destroyed by Drukhari incursions, and rife with supplies for them to plunder. Should they make it there, they could recover and repair their ships to escape back to the Alpha Legion's neutral space hulk. Elatus looked up, he should have been at the communications center by now, instead the hallway stretched forever in both directions. Endless shadows licked at the edges of the walls, tendrils writhed almost as if desperately seeking for anything to grab onto.
"... Enough, Scylia, I have no time for your games." The hallway warped and almost snapped back to being normal, a human woman in a Primaris Psyker's gown modified with the Iconography of the Basilisks leaned against a steel panel to Elatus' right.
"There's always time for practice, my Lord. Yes, our situation is dire, but we can't let our skills diminish. Lest we be dragged below by the tides of battle." Elatus rolled his eyes under his helmet and continued past the psyker. As one of the surviving agents at the battle, she had gotten a bit cocky as of late. Though Elatus felt she had no right to be after simply getting lucky.
"Regardless," Scylia said, "I'm here to save you a trip Lord. Your assignment has been determined. The others believe you're the best candidate to infiltrate the waystation keeping the fleet from sailing into the star system." Scylia handed Elatus a dataslate with a full readout of the station. It was stationed by a smaller contingent of Dark Angels, which would make things difficult. The interrogator chaplains were almost tailored to stop the tactics of the Basilisks.
"... I'll need ample preparation to infiltrate the first, is Telemateus certain this is the only way?" A foolish question, Telemateus was never uncertain about any of his own views. Even when he was wrong, the symptoms of a prideful streak that ran in the sorcerer longer than the warband's engagement record. Elatus turned to find Telemateus without waiting on Scylia to answer his question
Telemateus' chamber was a round room of stonework, metal cagelike decor, glowing glyphs in the walls, desks of numerous relics and trinkets, and an almost unnatural amount of books. Elatus had never stopped to think about the impossibility of how the sorcerer stored all of this in his room, the sheer volume meant he either had unseen storehouses or there was warp trickery at play. The former wasn't worth asking about due to its banality, the latter wasn't worth it because of the myriad potential answers that would make Elatus's head hurt.
Telemateus hovered just off the ground in the center of a carved sigil in the middle of the room, surrounded by warp energies. Cursed tomes and relics danced in the air in response to his invocations, emblems of the four gods shimmered faintly within the blue warpflame that encompassed his ritual. His voice was mangled into an incomprehensible language impossible to recite with the human tongue. Elatus ignored Scylia's warnings to not interrupt, and walked in without worry. The warpflame split, Telemateus turned in the air to face his brother.
"Have you come with a complaint about your task, brother? Or is this a mere social visit?" Elatus shoved aside a book that floated in his way, "I came to talk about the details of your plan. Remember? That was something we used to do regularly, unless your obsessions have made you forgetful." The warpflame flickered and diminished, Telemateus landed, "My plan? It's going to soon be your plan, who else could come up with an effective sabotage but the one carrying it out?"
"... You volunteered me to the others, didn't you?"
"Would you rather I have suggested Medon?" Elatus was silent for a while, "I'm glad you see reason." Elatus didn't respond still, so Telematus made a conciliatory gesture and motioned for the Chaos Lord to follow him over to a shelf of books. Their age ranged from old, to new, and even to ancient. Books of forbidden witchcraft, tomes full of ancient legends. Each from a world the Basilisks had been to, Telemateus fancied himself an archivist in equal measure that he was a sorcerer.
"It was my suggestion initially that we destroy the waystation instead of finding an alternate path. I recall something about this sector… Legends from serfs and primitive baseline humans, feudal planets speaking of the dead rising with bones cast in shimmering living steel." Telemateus grabbed a worn out leather bound book written in an antiquated gothic script, flipping it open with practiced hands despite the bulk of his armor's gauntlets.
"For once, your hoarding pays off for us, Brother." Elatus chuckled.
"The civilizations that were in this system were plagued with incursions from broken down beings of metal and a strange energy. Sporadic, without any perceived rhyme or reason behind them."
"Necrons, then. This system has an infestation of the metal monsters." Telemateus nodded, closed the book, and handed it to Elatus, "I believe you know why our choices are limited now, but where there are limitations there are equal opportunities. Awaken the tomb, we will make our way to the Manufactorum and be gone well before the Necrons become problematic." Elatus nodded, the sorcerer turned to resume his spell, but Elatus put a hand on his pauldron, "Assuming I do this, and I am caught. What sort of assistance will I have in escaping?" Telemateus shook his head, "That, I don't know. The planning part is up to you, I will be busy with other matters." Elatus slowly turned, and walked out of the sorcerer's chamber. Scylia was waiting for him, looking bored.
"Productive meeting, Lord?" Elatus couldn't tell if it was meant to be sarcastic or not, but knowing her it probably was. So instead of indulging her, Elatus walked away to review everything they knew about the planet. How was he going to single handedly infiltrate an Astartes outpost with no backup?
"Scylia… Have preparations been made for me to join the first legion? I'll need a cover story, records will have to be altered, names created and added to registries. How much time do we have?"
"I suppose as much time as is needed, Lord. Though all that needs done should be completed within six terran months, so long as we stay safe and out of sight. Last I heard we were approaching the edge of the system to hide within the orbit of an outer planet." Elatus nodded and started for the bridge. He'd need to discuss what resources they had available with some of his brothers. Scylia cleared her throat.
"There is another option, Lord." Elatus paused and waited for her to elaborate, as exhausting as he found the witch's cockiness she did have a habit of seeing what the augmented Astartes often overlooked. "A world like this, unimportant save one station, is much like an unused port beleaguered by storms. No one wants to send anyone to fix it up, what's the point?"
"The point is, it presents a viable option for later unexpected landings. If I am following your nautical metaphor correctly."
"You think in terms of necessity, Lord. Time spent in realspace scraping to survive the cycle has forced you to think in such terms. Think instead as if you expected all the resources you could need at your disposal." Elatus saw where she was going with this, and he had to admit he had gotten used to every year being a struggle to get by. For all the myths and legends of the eternally winding plots of the Alpha Legion, there were certain things they had no ability to plan for. The newly ascendant Harrowmaster could never have planned for the machinations of Belisarius Cawl to bring the primaris enemy to their doorstep. They could never plan around the inevitable march of time and entropy, and they may plan for it but they'd never overcome the crushing weight of the Imperium's sheer size. For ten-thousand years their brothers had worked to undermine a goliath by biting at its heel.
"Were I given all the resources the loyal legions have, I would demand someone send assistance to fix my station." Scylia snapped her fingers, inadvertently sending a few sparks of glowing purple into the air.
"Exactly, we can work to confirm this but I would bet my entire cargo on there being endless requests for reinforcements." Scylia paused, and waited for the Chaos Lord to continue with her original line of logic, it was better for baseline humans to allow their Astartes leaders to come to a plan's conclusion on their own. Even if she was already going to suggest what he eventually said, it was safer this way.
"We need not create a new identity for a Dark Angel that never existed… If I co-opt the identity of one that already does." Scylia's caution was largely unnecessary, Elatus had considered a similar plan but had no assurance such requests for reinforcements were even being made, nor did they have any idea where they'd find a group of First Legion astartes to take the place of. Scylia may have had a point, but Elatus could see all the myriad complications leaving bodies behind could cause. "I'll have a word with Damastes, see if we can find anyone for you to imitate before we cast off once more." Scylia bowed in her usual over the top manner, and left. For days, Elatus reviewed everything and in time he felt as though he'd been stationed there his whole life.
He'd already gotten familiar with the command structure, personnel, he even knew which targets would have to be eliminated for plans to proceed. Their chief librarian, interrogator chaplain, captain, and various sub-commanders would all have to meet very unfortunate ends if the Necrons were to properly knock out the station without impediment. While others in the Alpha Legion or other traitor Astartes took great joy in the demise of the loyalists, Elatus saw it as little more than a means to an end. After all, the Basilisks had a vested interest in ensuring the Great War continued under their terms. Without an Imperium, there was no war. With no war came no benefit to the warband.
His attention was grabbed away from the book of local myths Telemateus had given him but his Vox buzzing and coming alive with the voice of Damastes, "We've found your new face, Brother. A squadron of Infernus Marines and a Techmarine have been dispatched to assist the First Legion with an infestation of local Xenos wildlife that's been damaging their equipment."
"Am I imitating a Techmarine?"
"With your lack of training? Of course not, you will be entering as the last survivor of the Infernus squad. Their ship will be passing into the system soon, Telemateus will assist you in procuring the body. Join us in his chambers with the Witch, we will strike at once."
The squad aboard the small transport was anxious, idly examining their various promethium weapons to try and fend off some of their nerves. Their assignment had been simple: reinforce an out of the way backwater relay station, clear out some Xenos pests, and await proper reinforcements to rotate out the garrison that had been there prior. The Techmarine on board with them, already distrusted by the other Astartes of the Dark Angels, had entered the transport bay. Alerting them that several larger ships had translated into realspace before them, bearing no signifiers of their allegiance or origin. They were like ghosts floating in the void, awaiting an unwitting transport like theirs to fly into its range of foul influence. Warp presence filled the transport, the marines all took refuge around the hold, preparing for enemies. Each of them caught a glance of a shadow flicker at the edge of their gaze, a couple drew bolt pistols on the shapes flittering out of sight.
The warp disturbance burst open into a warp portal, out of which came daemonic monsters of pitch black, drops of inklike ooze flowed behind the creatures as they leapt at the Marines. Fire and Bolt shells flew, punching through or incinerating the monsters. A trio of Astartes in antiquated armor stepped through the portal into the hold, a shot flew from a Bolt Rifle and shattered through one of the defenders' helmets. A human followed after them, flanked by a group of cultists with simple slug throwers before the portal closed. Her eyes burned with purple light, and with a wave of her hand the inky monstrosities all spasmed and exploded with concussive force. The defenders were thrown from their cover, just enough for Elatus, Telemateus, and Medon to pick them off. Medon charged forward, bellowing a warcry and bringing his poweraxe down onto the head of a recovering marine, splitting it with a crunch and brief gurgle. One remained alive, struggling to get up after Telemateus struck him down to the ground with a bolt of warpfire. While Medon entertained himself with the soon to be dead Techmarine, Elatus drew two chainswords and approached who he would become. His signifier read his name as "Armaros", so Elatus at that moment ceased to exist.
Armaros spat blood on the ground before his killer, "Who are you to interfere with the business of the first legion?!"
The former Chaos Lord raised a chainsword and put its idling chain against the Marine's breastplate. The teeth revved, sending metal sparks soon followed by blood and viscera to the ceiling and walls, "We are Alpharius, and we are all liars."