WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. BIOTICS MIGHT NOT BE AS POWERFUL AS PSYKERS, BUT THERE IS THE ADVANTAGE OF NOT SNEEZING AND THEN SUDDENLY DAEMONS.
So, I saw those new Blood Angel successors, guys. I love them all for various reasons, though the Atlantian Spears or whatever they're called stand out for the simple fact that they don't have any red on them at all. In fact, their colors remind me a little too much of the Sons of Horus.
*stares in Inquisition*
I smell heresy.
Star-Bound
Chapter 23
Gathering
It was hard for Amalgamation's followers not to compare it to Abaddon. It radiated power, just like the Warmaster, and every move and word was filled with confidence, and it had no qualms about leading from the front when it was necessary.
However, where Ezekyle Abaddon was followed out of devotion, jealousy and fear, the Amalgamation of Hate was mostly followed out of the latter. Its control was absolute, and it maintained its power by mercilessly butchering anyone who showed defiance. Only one being in its army was beyond its reach, and he had no issues reminding it of that fact.
"Why did you kill him?" Iskandar Khayon asked as he watched a lesser champion's corpse fall to the ground. "He was useful."
Amalgamation's eyes blazed behind its helm. "He was incapable of moving beyond his position. I need lieutenants who can grow and change."
The former Thousand Son, now one of Abaddon's most trusted advisors, shook his head. "Not every warlord you coerce will become a member of your inner circle. If that were true, you'd have to listen to a hundred voices every day."
"His second will serve better anyway; I need eyes in Imperium Sanctus, watching Shepard's next moves."
Khayon raised an eyebrow at Amalgamation's sudden change in subject, and slightly more feminine voice, but didn't remark on it. Amalgamation had a habit of switching dominant personalities, and it seemed that the one most obsessed with Shepard had taken the reins.
"Her power makes scrying impossible, and Guilliman has tasked the Raven Guard and Inquisition with rooting out our more mundane spying efforts. We only know that she uses Vigilus as her main recruiting and resupply station, and that system can no longer be attacked by our forces."
"Then don't seek her out directly; search for the systems that will blind your senses in the future, and that is where she will strike." Amalgamation paused. "It is not yet time to move against her. This observation is only to ensure that we are not attacked before we are ready."
Khayon had to admit that that was an excellent idea, though he would never give Amalgamation the satisfaction. "Will we be moving into the Maelstrom proper today?"
"Yes. Once the forces there are bound to me, we will begin our campaign. Send word to the other lords, and tell them to push towards New Badab."
This was the part of the venture that Khayon had calculated to have the most risk. If Amalgamation's plan failed here, they would all die. Then again, his other option had been to languish in an Inquisitorial dungeon, his psychic powers blocked, forced to recount his story to wide-eyed Inquisitors for the hundredth time. Until Abaddon's agents had freed him from Terra—a feat that continued to amaze him—he had actually considered death as the preferable alternative. Abaddon had granted him some time to rest and recuperate, and had then assigned his old advisor to Amalgamation's mission.
Khayon was still unsure if the task was a show of trust, or a form of exile.
…
If there was one thing to be said about Amalgamation's forces, it was that it made no special distinction of allegiance, and didn't place one god's worship over the others. Dozens of different warbands, numbering nearly three thousand Astartes, now marched under Amalgamation's banner; joining them were over a million cultists, and hundreds of daemon engines. Most of the fleet was more ramshackle, made of up-gunned transports, with only a few true warships. Amalgamation's flagship wasn't the most powerful vessel; the Ruinbringer was a strike cruiser that had once belonged to a Space Marine Chapter that had long since been obliterated by the Despoiler.
The choice of command vessel, flying under the colors of the Black Legion, was deliberate—Amalgamation had the patronage of the Warmaster, and didn't need to fear an attack from its own.
As Khayon traveled down the halls of the ship, he met with the others in Amalgamation's war council. None of them wore the black and gold of Abaddon's legion, and only a few could claim to have fought in the Long War as long as he had.
"Prepare for anything," he said without preamble. "We do not know if the lord of the Maelstrom will greet us as friend or foe."
"I have heard that the Imperium has made strides in containing his actions," Maggotfather said. "I imagine that he will see us as reinforcements, honoring the Warmaster's pact of alliance."
Maggotfather was the latest to join the council, though he led a sizable force of Death Guard—though he had admitted to Khayon that he would likely have to join the Black Legion out of self-preservation. Compared to Khayon, Maggotfather was a pitiful excuse for a sorcerer, but his ability to rapidly create Poxwalkers to supplement their forces—and surviving his brush with both Saint Shepard and a returned Leman Russ—had earned him grudging respect among the others.
"Let us hope so," Lortan said, his voice little more than a rasping whisper. "If this becomes a fight, we will have a hell of a time getting out."
Lortan the Shattered was not of the Legions; rather, he and most of his Chapter—now named the Broken Princes, with purple armor edged in brass—had turned renegade, and then fallen to the path of Khorne. Unlike so many berserkers, Lortan did not howl in rage or demand immediate action. His hatred was ice, not fire, and his plans were efficient, designed to cause as much damage for as little expenditure as possible. He was a rare find, in Khayon's opinion, and Lortan had quickly risen to position of field commander.
Rinnik cackled. "You sound afraid, skull-seeker; I thought you would love a chance to claim so much blood."
"I would prefer to take an ocean of my enemies' blood, not a puddle topped with my own."
Where Lortan was the opposite of what Khayon expected, Rinnik fit his mold perfectly. When he wasn't overloading his nervous system with electric shocks and chemical stimulants, he and his pleasure-obsessed warband were fast enough to storm a bastion before the defenders even knew they were under attack. Despite their gaudy appearance—gold-painted armor with white gauntlets, helmets and boots—they took battle seriously, and each was a veteran of a hundred wars.
Only Amonhotep was silent, though Khayon wasn't surprised. The lord of the Soulsworn Brotherhood was an Exalted Sorcerer of no small ability, and like Khayon, had once been of the Thousand Sons. He and the other sorcerers of his warband had been among Ahriman's followers, and had been banished after the disastrous Rubric had been cast. Only the red paint on their shoulders hinted at their original Legion; otherwise, their Rubricae were unpainted, and their sorcerers wore silver-edged black armor, with red robes.
Amonhotep had been one of Amalgamation's first advisors, and had gladly shared his power with Amalgamation after it had promised him something. Khayon hadn't been privy to what was promised, but he knew Amonhotep; he and his followers were obsessed with undoing the Rubric, and restoring their brothers to flesh and blood once more. Khayon wished him luck, but didn't hold out hope; if Ahriman himself couldn't find a solution after ten thousand years, he doubted that Amonhotep would. Even if he did somehow find a way, Tzeentch was too fond of his toys to let them be taken away.
"Enough," Khayon said, interrupting the bickering before weapons were drawn. "There are three ways that this campaign can end—the two most likely involve us either winning our prize through violence, or we die trying."
Rinnik grinned; his mouth stretched too far, and his teeth had long since been replaced by sharpened steel. "For the sake of argument, what is the third possibility?"
"We somehow convince the lord of the Maelstrom to surrender willingly." Khayon paused; even Lortan and Amonhotep laughed at the suggestion. "Like I said, we are far more likely to win through force of arms, or die.
"So let's not fail."
…
New Badab was in a strange, perverse kind of balance. It had been corrupted for centuries, but had yet to become a true daemon world. Mortals could enjoy something close to normal lives in many places—albeit normal lives that could be snuffed out at the whim of their Astartes masters. The world had become a haven for anyone considered an enemy by the Imperium, but hadn't managed to kill.
At the center of that haven was Huron Blackheart. Once known as the Tyrant of Badab, he had become one of the most notorious Chaos Lords outside of the old Legions. During the final battle of Cadia, Abaddon had cemented an alliance with Huron with the gift of a Blackstone Fortress—an immense space station of alien origin, and capable of untold devastation in the wrong hands.
Of course, as was the norm between Chaos Lords, their alliance fell apart. While Abaddon continued his crusade to bring about the end of the Imperium, Huron was content to rule the Maelstrom, and the surrounding systems. He would launch raids at the head of the Red Corsairs, but only to take what he needed.
The Warmaster had decreed that that would end. Amalgamation would bring them under Abaddon's banner, one way or another, and the Maelstrom would devote its considerable resources to the Long War.
Of course, Huron was no fool, and had prepared his home for an attack, whether from the Imperium or a rival. New Badab was a fortress, garrisoned by his most loyal followers, and strengthened by mercenaries and slave-soldiers. It would take enormous effort and millions of lives to conquer his empire.
Amalgamation didn't have the resources to spare for such a campaign, and even if they did, they had no desire to get dragged into a prolonged war. Instead, they surprised the defenders with an attempt at diplomacy. It was a simple message, showing respect, but not deference; Amalgamation claimed to be acting in the Warmaster's interests, and had come with a mutually beneficial proposal.
The first part of that was the truth; the second was anything but.
Huron didn't reply himself, but an officer among the Red Corsairs spoke on his behalf; he wanted to meet Amalgamation on New Badab's surface. They would parley, with no more than ten guards on either side, and nothing else around for one hundred kilometers. Any sign of treachery, even telepathic communication among psykers, and the meeting was off. Amalgamation accepted, but gave each guard specific instructions to follow, in case certain things went wrong… or right.
Khayon was among the guards, as were Rinnik and Lortan. Lortan was accompanied by three Terminators, and Rinnik brought four Raptors; the former chose his warriors after careful and meticulous consideration of their skills, while the latter seemingly acted at random. Only Khayon went without warriors of his own; he didn't need them.
Amalgamation had done its best to not fight directly if possible, so few knew its capabilities, but Khayon had seen it fight before. It was more than a match for all but the most powerful Chaos Lords, and even many Daemon Princes. It was taller than even Lortan in his Terminator plate; its armor, painted in the colors of the Black Legion, was covered in microscopic script, detailing its oath of revenge against Alexia Shepard. Hanging over its back was a sword, crafted by Abaddon's personal weaponsmiths; it looked like a longsword, the blade made of translucent blue glass, and enchanted to become strengthened by the bearer's hatred. That sword, named Griefmaker, could cut through a meter of adamantium as easily as flesh.
Khayon worried that it might not be enough.
…
Huron Blackheart was waiting when the Thunderhawk landed. Behind him stood ten veteran Red Corsairs; most were champions of martial skills, but Khayon saw one with a glowing staff and robes over his armor. A sorcerer meant to match him.
Khayon almost laughed; he could tell at a glance that his counterpart was a novice compared to him. If it came down to a battle of sorcery, it would be a short battle indeed.
Blackheart himself was much more impressive. Half his body had been vaporized in the final hours of the Badab War, replaced by powerful bionics and enhanced with the might of the Dark Gods. His right arm ended in a massive power fist, with a flamer's nozzle jutting out from the palm, and a power axe rested near his other hand. Skittering around his feet was a hunched creature that Khayon could sense held a strong bond with Blackheart; the creature looked him in the eye, and he could sense it trying to peer into his soul.
A single raised eyebrow from him, hidden behind his helm, made the creature hide behind its master's leg.
"Greetings, Lord Blackheart," Amalgamation said, with the tone one used when greeting an old friend. "I am honored that you would meet me in person."
"It is not you I am honoring, but your master." Blackheart's gaze was steady, analyzing every detail and assessing the situation; before he had betrayed the Imperium, he had been made a Chapter Master for many reasons, including his sharp mind. "Abaddon's actions have earned his emissary an audience. Tell me, what deal does he wish to strike with me this time? Does he wish for me to ambush yet another Primarch?"
Amalgamation's face was hidden behind its blank helm, but Khayon could sense its smug anticipation. "You misunderstand. I am not here to bargain, but to demand."
"Oh?" Behind Huron, his warriors tensed, while Amalgamation's guards mirrored them. Only the two leaders and Khayon remained calm.
"The Warmaster has grown tired of your independence, and demands that you submit to his authority. With your power under his control, our enemies will fall."
Huron's half-bionic face became even uglier when twisted by his scowl. "You have nerve, wretch. What makes you think that Abaddon can claim my servitude?"
"He won't… I will." Amalgamation crossed its arms. "I challenge you for leadership of your little empire. If I win, the pick of your forces will join me in destroying what Alexia Shepard is trying to build, and the rest pledges their allegiance to the Warmaster. If I lose, my forces will join yours."
"And what stops me from simply ordering your death by orbital bombardment?" Huron's scowl became a smirk. "I do not need to busy myself with a pointless duel."
"Oh, but I think you do." Amalgamation pointed to Lortan, whose helm had one lens replaced with a bulky scope. "My commander has been broadcasting this little exchange through my vessels, and to every one of yours; at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if everyone on or orbiting the planet who matters is watching. If you accept my challenge, you have a chance to remind everyone of your power; if you decline, you show yourself a coward, and no one will follow a coward."
Khayon almost laughed; the hierarchy of Chaos was as much pageantry as it was delivering victories. Any sign of weakness was just blood in the water, and the weak would break away from anyone they didn't perceive as stronger than them. Amalgamation had Blackheart trapped.
"Well played," Huron admitted. "Shall we do this now?"
"No time like the present." Amalgamation drew its sword and spun it twice; the blade made an unholy howl as it cut through the air. "But I propose a battle between all of us; you and yours against me and mine. It will give those watching a good show."
Huron raised his axe; the odds of someone managing to kill Amalgamation had just risen tenfold, even if there were more enemies to deal with.
"Very well."
There was no warning, no salute of respect; both sides acted in the same instant. The tension exploded in an eruption of violence, noise and blood.
Khayon could have killed Huron easily enough; Blackheart's psychic powers were nothing compared to his. However, in order for this challenge to work, Amalgamation had to be the one to defeat Huron. Instead, Khayon focused on his counterpart; the other sorcerer's psychic defenses barely held against Khayon's might, and he was so focused on keeping the more powerful sorcerer from snuffing out his soul that he couldn't react in time to his physical attack. Khayon's sword, forged from shards of Sanguinius' blade and given to him by Abaddon, slid under the force staff that was too slow to block. The blade severed one hand at the wrist, and kept going into his chest; Khayon channeled a fraction of his psychic might through the blade, and the other sorcerer's torso exploded in a fountain of gore.
Rinnik cackled as he and his Raptors fired up their jump packs; they crashed into their opponents like meteors, knocking two of them off their feet in a shower of ceramite chips. Rinnik himself fought with a powered blade mounted on each forearm, and a bolt pistol held in each hand; he shoved one blade through the throat of a Red Corsair, and pressed the pistol in his other hand into the eye lens of another before firing.
Unlike his Slaaneshi comrade, Lortan fought in complete silence. Bolt rounds bounced off his Terminator plate as he steadily advanced; he fired a melta blast from his combi-melta that severed the arm of a Red Corsair, then finished the job with a vicious blow from his spiked power maul. His warriors were as hard to kill as he was, but the other Red Corsairs—none of whom were Terminators—ran circles around them, hammering them with bolts as they searched for a weakness.
At first, it seemed that Huron held the advantage over Amalgamation; he had centuries of experience, and the advantage of two weapons over one. A backhanded blow from the Tyrant's Claw sent Amalgamation tumbling, and was then bathed in burning promethium from the built-in heavy flamer. Huron's aim was thrown off when Amalgamation emptied an entire magazine from one of the two bolters it had locked to its thighs into the Tyrant's Claw. The Chaos-blessed weapon wasn't damaged beyond superficial scratches, but it gave Amalgamation a clear shot, and it charged.
Huron had faced such situations before, and his power axe swung at just the right moment; the blade bit deeply into Amalgamation's right pauldron, and he could feel it connect with the flesh beneath. Anyone, even an Astartes, would have paused or flinched for at least a fraction of a second after receiving such a blow, but Amalgamation didn't react in the slightest. Instead, it dropped its bolter and punched Huron in the face; his bionics whined in protest, and he could feel one of his remaining teeth shatter in his mouth.
Amalgamation's sword slashed horizontally; there was a shriek of tearing armor, then a weighty thud as Huron's left arm was severed at the elbow, landing in the dust with his power axe still clutched in one hand. Huron roared in pain and rage, and smashed the Tyrant's Claw into Amalgamation's chest; armor crumpled, and the talons carved right into where a heart would be. Again, there was no reaction, and Amalgamation stabbed through Huron's foot to pin him in place. It threw a barrage of punches, cracking open Huron's armor and tearing away the bionics that helped keep him alive.
With barely a grunt, Amalgamation shoved Huron to the ground; the Tyrant's Claw slid out of its chest, but instead of blood coating the talons, there was… nothing. It was as if Amalgamation's body wasn't even made of flesh.
"Congratulations," Amalgamation said, without a trace of pain in its voice. "That was the hardest I've had to fight in some time."
Huron barely worked up the strength to spit at Amalgamation's foot. "F-finish it, then."
For a moment, Amalgamation ignored him; instead, it drew its other bolter and placed a perfect shot into the throat of one of the remaining Red Corsairs. Moments later, Lortan and the other Broken Princes gunned down the others. Of Amalgamation's escort, two of Rinnik's men were dead, and one of Lortan's warriors had lost an arm, while Huron was the only survivor among the Red Corsairs.
Amalgamation knelt so that it could better look Huron in the eye. "Do you want to die? I would imagine that you do not."
"You know nothing about me," Huron hissed.
"On the contrary; your story is widely known, and even if I don't have all the details, I know enough to guess the rest." Amalgamation held one gauntlet over the hole in its chest; there was a pulse of Warp-energy, and then the wound closed, followed by the hole in the armor. "Survival is your greatest desire, while power is a close second. If you didn't want to live, you would have simply let go after getting cut in half. That kind of determination only comes from someone who refuses to die, if only out of spite. I can appreciate that, so out of respect, I will offer a new deal.
"Serve me in my campaign, help me get my revenge, and you can take my place at the Warmaster's side. Rather than a defeated has-been, you will be a rising star in Abaddon's court."
Huron blinked. "You would step down for another?"
"My entire existence hinges on the life of Alexia Shepard. Once she is dead, I intend to follow her into the hell she deserves. I have no intention of living after she dies."
"And what if I say no?"
Amalgamation held its sword against Huron's neck. "Then I kill you right now, and your only victory will be that you'll prove me wrong about you."
Huron could feel his strength leaving him. He was dying, and as much as he hated to admit it, Amalgamation was right; survival meant everything to him.
"We have an accord."
"Excellent." Amalgamation rose and turned to Khayon. "Get him fixed up; I want him to introduce me to my new army."
…
It turned out that Huron's resources were greater than even Abaddon had estimated. Centuries of hoarding everything he could get his hands on, only spending lives and materiel if it meant getting more than he started with, had created a small empire.
Hundreds of capital ships—mostly cruiser-size and smaller, ideal for the raids Huron preferred—and tens of thousands of transports, along with everything needed to keep a fleet prepped and ready. Millions of mortal soldiers—undertrained and ill-equipped, but fanatically loyal to their masters—and countless mutants could be gathered at a moment's notice. A handful of Titans had also recently pledged themselves to Huron—and, now, Amalgamation. Most importantly were the Astartes; nearly ten thousand in all, ranging from veterans of the Legions to renegades who had only recently changed their allegiance.
Then there was the jewel of Huron's corrupted fleet—a Blackstone Fortress. Given to him by Abaddon as a way to cement their previous alliance, it had a small fleet's worth of firepower, and contained a vast trove of ancient technology.
Of course, not all of this would be chasing the Shepard Crusade. Most, in fact, would be joining one of Abaddon's fleets further up in the galactic north. Only the Blackstone Fortress, the best ships and soldiers, and—most importantly—about four thousand Chaos Marines were added to Amalgamation's fleet. Combined with its own forces, Amalgamation had nearly seven thousand Astartes in its service, and several millions mortal soldiers; entire sectors could be conquered with a force like that.
"I'm surprised that this Saint warrants such a response," Khayon commented as he examined an alien symbol in the Blackstone Fortress' command deck. "Normally, Lord Abaddon would handle such a threat personally."
"I know Shepard." Generally, Amalgamation's voice maintained its tripartite quality, but sometimes, when its hatred was truly roused, it became one booming tone. "I have fought her in every kind of engagement. I know her strengths, her weaknesses, and when my forces are ready, I will inflict upon her such atrocities that not even the gods will want what is left of her mewling soul!"
Khayon raised an eyebrow at the rather impressive declaration; he had hoped to get a rise out of Amalgamation, but not like this. "On the subject of Shepard, what is her weakness?"
"It is simple, really, and one that has no place in this galaxy." Amalgamation leaned forward in its throne of dark stone, as if sharing a universe-shaking secret. "She cares, sorcerer. Not necessarily about the common mortal, though she fights for them as well. She is a war-leader who values the lives of those she fights alongside. The bonds she forges will turn comrades into friends, and friends into family. Break them, break her; she will either lose her focus, or fall into despair, and when that happens, she and her pathetic followers will die."
"You are right about one thing," Khayon said. "Such attachment will not last in this day and age."
"Like I said, I know her." Amalgamation leaned back. "Now, speak to Maggotfather; he mentioned a Death Guard bastion near the Eastern Fringe. They are using it as a staging ground against the T'au, but most of their forces have left for the next stage of that campaign. I'm sure there are plenty of bioweapons that will be helpful for us."
"Mortarion is personally fighting against those xenos," Khayon pointed out. "He will not be pleased by our actions."
"By the time he finds out, it will be too late. Once an opportunity arises, Blackheart will strike. His expertise in such operations will be invaluable. When those munitions are mine… then we will finally begin."
…
"The runes are… disquieting."
"They often are."
"The Thrice-Slain is mustering its armies, its ships… the humans will suffer."
"They always suffer. Many of the mon-keigh openly welcome their suffering, and believe that it brings them closer to their primitive god."
"And they would be wrong; much of it only feeds She-Who-Thirsts."
"Speaking of suffering… have you changed your mind about my proposal?"
"After much consideration, yes. The gains far outweigh the risks involved, as long as we can convince the humans that it is in their best interests."
"Guilliman is honorable, inasmuch as their primitive kind can be. He will uphold his oath of allegiance if my plan is phrased correctly. The return of three more Primarchs will embolden him, and his confidence in our joint success will tip the odds in our favor."
"Very well. Make your overtures, Yvraine, and I will peer into the skeins of fate to find the best chance of success."
Eldrad Ulthran waited until he was alone in his meditation chambers before turning his attention back to the runes swirling around him. He removed his ornate helm and set it to one side, choosing to peer at one rune in particular with nothing blocking his eyes.
Half-truths were common in Aeldari society; Eldrad had not lied when he said that his attempts to divine the future were disturbing, but since Yvraine had not asked for elaboration, he had not given it. Something had changed in recent years; a delicate balance between order and Chaos had been disturbed, but for once, it was against the Dark Gods. However, when Eldrad had tried to locate the source, he had been surprised.
"It should not be possible," he murmured. "Only the human Emperor could make the Chaos Gods recoil in such a manner, and all would know if that one had somehow been revived and could leave the Golden Throne. No, something else has happened, and I must find the answer."
Short chapter this time, but it was more of a quick update on what Amalgamation has been up to, and some setup for the next arc. Also, it's the holidays/new year, and I don't really feel like writing a huge chapter. Also-also, I don't think I'll update again until after New Years. I'll see you then!
Anyway, a couple of things I want to talk about in this chapter. We get to see Khayon, my absolute favorite Chaos character. If you haven't read the Black Legion books, I implore you to do so. They are incredibly well written, full of awesome action, suspense, and even some good humor, which isn't something you'd expect in 40K. Oh, and Khayon is stupidly powerful; apparently, he made Magnus kneel to Abaddon when the Warmaster was gearing up for the Black Crusades. Just let that sink in—a single sorcerer, one who wasn't even in the upper ranks of the Thousand Sons Legion back in the day, made Daemon Primarch Magnus the Red bow in subservience. This guy could probably take on Tigurius and Mephiston at the same time and not break a sweat.
We also get to meet Amalgamation's lieutenants. Lortan, Rinnik and Amonhotep are all original characters, but here's a neato facto: The colors and backstory of the Soulsworn Brotherhood are what I use for my small (but growing) Thousand Sons army. After rereading a lot of Horus Heresy stuff, I found myself really drawn to them; Magnus is kind of an idiot sometimes, yes, and his sons were arrogant, but the fall of one's own making is often the most tragic. Also, I've never had a psyker-heavy army before, and Thousand Sons are pretty good… here's hoping they don't get nerfed when they get their Ninth Edition Codex.
For those of you who are upset that Huron lost, remember that Amalgamation was forged to be the foil to someone given a metric shit-ton of anti-Chaos powers. Amalgamation has to be damn near OP for anyone who isn't a Primarch or Shepard. Also, Huron hasn't done a whole lot, other than occasionally cosplay as Shao Kahn and watch death matches in his arena and give armies to the winner. His biggest thing in recent times was to briefly capture Guilliman and what was left of the Terran Crusade, and he only did that because Abaddon said "Yo, dude, here's a Blackstone Fortress, go nuts." And he had help from Greater Daemons. Basically, the only reason anyone cares about him is because he's the only Chaos Marine character who has rules and a model that doesn't come from one of the Traitor Legions, and the Badab War was awesome.
And finally, we have a brief bit from Yvraine (no jokes about her and Guilliman, please) and Eldrad. To quote Gandalf, "Things are now in motion that cannot be undone."
As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon as an eBook or physical copy. Sales make me happy, and being happy makes me want to write more. It's like an addiction, only it makes me productive, and doesn't make people want to have an intervention.
If you don't want to buy my book, but still want me to write more than a couple chapters a month, please consider supporting me on P-atreon (link in my profile). If I ever get enough donations, I'll be able to make fan fiction a full-time thing… and maybe try a 40K/Star Wars crossover.
Star Waaagh! 'nuff said.
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Next Chapter: The Shepard Crusade goes on, but a summons from Guilliman brings Shepard into a campaign that could change the balance of power for an ancient race…
Muffin within, Muffin without!