WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I FINALLY CLOSED THE WARP RIFT IN MY LIVING ROOM, BUT NOW A TECH-PRIEST IS IN MY KITCHEN, PRAYING TO MY TOASTER. AFTER WHAT I'VE SEEN, HE CAN KEEP IT.
Here's a math equation for you: Exitus sniper rifle, plus Mass Effect technology, equals dead everything. No, seriously, that would probably kill a building.
Star-Bound
Chapter 24
Summons
"Hold the line!" Hiral kept the Shepard Banner raised high with his organic arm, while his bionic one kept his bolter steady as he fired. He saw with no small amount of satisfaction that his target's head erupted in a fountain of gore.
On either side of him, Guardsmen of the Eleventh Vigilant Guard fired disciplined volleys into the approaching Orks. Heavy weapons teams, mostly heavy bolters and autocannons, added a throaty roar to the more sinister hiss of the lasguns.
"They're getting close," a soldier next to Hiral said, just loud enough for him to hear. "At this rate, the next wave will make it to the line."
"That's why we have bayonets, trooper," the man's sergeant said gruffly. "I expect you to have yours fixed by the time those bastards are ready for their next charge."
"Y-yes, Sarge!"
Hiral couldn't resist smirking; a few years ago, that had been him. Now, he was a grizzled veteran of over thirty planetary campaigns, and one of the most respected soldiers in the Crusade. There were even some Space Marines that held him in enough esteem to treat him as a warrior. Not bad for a man still in his twenties.
Of course, experience had taught him not to get overconfident. The one time he had let it all go to his head, he'd lost his arm to a Chaos Marine, and only the timely intervention of Saint Shepard herself had kept him from losing his head as well. He was putting all that experience to good use now on Gorgontia, a relatively minor system whose only value was for observation purposes. A small Ork fleet had moved in, and Shepard had decided to kick the squatters out. The campaign was going well, with two of the five planets already back in Imperial hands, and the other three expected to fall in just a few more days.
"Heads up!" a vox-officer called out. "Our section's getting reinforcements from the Tears!"
Hiral grinned; the Eleventh had been holding off a particularly savage tribe of greenskins for hours, and needed reinforcements to end the stalemate. Rather than let her 'kids' suffer further in a prolonged defense, Shepard had sent some of her best to counterattack the alien offensive. A small part of him wondered if one particular Sororitas would be among the reinforcements. Even if she wasn't, he wasn't worried; they always found each other after a battle.
The growl of Rhinos could be heard over the sound of cheering Guardsmen, and hundreds of Sisters debarked from iron-painted transports. Above, a dozen squads of Seraphim swooped down to land by their land-bound sisters, securing the area for ten Exorcist tanks. In all, an entire Preceptory had been deployed to reinforce the Guard.
Hiral recognized the particular Preceptory immediately; it stood out from the others in the Order of the Iron Tears by bearing golden wings around its emblem. Shepard had permitted Canoness Mallis' detachment to add her wings to their heraldry after they were officially made her personal force among an army already dedicated to her.
Of course, since Mallis' Preceptory was here, Hiral's eyes wandered over to the Seraphim, until he spotted a Seraphim Superior in particular. Almost at the same time, she turned to him and nodded; she waved the rest of her squad off, and then gestured from Hiral to the shade of an idling Exorcist.
Hiral carefully wrapped the banner around its pole and secured it with its silver cord, and then hooked it through a loop on his back. Only once he was sure that the banner was safe did he move from his position and join Rychelle by the tank.
"I see you're still in most of one piece," she said in a voice spiced with a hint of a Vostroyan accent, and tapped his bionic arm.
It was an old joke by now, but one she always used whenever they reunited. Hiral grinned up at her; her power armor didn't exaggerate her size like a Space Marine, but she was still a good few inches taller than him while wearing it.
"And I see you're showing up at the most dramatic moment," he retorted. "You all get that from Shepard."
Rychelle removed her helm and smiled back, before leaning in to kiss him. She was beautiful, with tanned skin only marred by a metal teardrop inset under her left eye, a common sight in her Order. Her black jaw-length hair shifted in the morning breeze—hair that Hiral had so often gently moved behind her ear as they lay together.
The two had become friends after the battle on Prospero, though Hiral had won Rychelle's respect after nearly dying protecting Shepard. They discovered more than enough common ground between them; both were pious, fiercely loyal to Shepard, and had a quiet sense of humor. It had taken almost five years for them to move past friendship; Hiral had still been very much an awkward boy, and Rychelle had barely known what romance even was. After some embarrassing moments on both sides, they had found a rhythm they could both dance to, and were happy, although they did occasionally suffer a round of teasing from those that knew.
"When do you have to head out?" Hiral asked, once they parted for breath.
"About twenty minutes." Rychelle cupped his face in her hands. "Knowing the Eleventh, you'll probably be right behind us when we charge."
Hiral nodded, though he couldn't stop the dread that briefly spiked through him at the thought of something happening to her. It was an old fear, one they had both come to terms with even before their relationship moved beyond friendship. Death was common for soldiers of the Imperium, but they took solace in knowing that if they did die, it would be in service to the Emperor, and Saint Shepard. They had decided that it would be better to have memories with a bitter end than to live wondering what might have been.
"I'd better return to my squad." Rychelle moved to put her helm back on, but Hiral stopped her, and pulled her in for a much more passionate kiss than before. When it was over, Rychelle blinked—eyelashes fluttering in a way that made Hiral's heart skip a beat—and smiled. "What was that for?"
"Luck," Hiral said simply.
"I have faith that everything will be fine."
"So do I, but that doesn't mean I can't also wish for a little luck." Hiral reached up and brushed her cheek with his organic hand. "I lo—"
Rychelle silenced him with a hand over his mouth. "You know the rule. You can only say that when we're not armed."
"Right, sorry." Hiral stepped back. "I'll see you after the battle?"
"As if you have to ask." Rychelle put her helm on, and her winged jump pack whined as it powered up. "Good luck."
…
The final push on Gorgontia was going well, in Shepard's opinion. Every front was moving forward, and casualties were relatively light; the Ork force was more suited to raiding, not a full occupation, while the Crusade was more than capable of handling some up-jumped raiders. That wasn't to say that the Imperials had it all their way, though; they'd suffered over four thousand killed or badly wounded, and a hundred tanks were reduced to burning husks.
Shepard knew that the Orks would lose what remained of their cohesion once their leader was killed. Scouting elements from the Necropolis Hawks and Stygies Skitarii had finally picked up his trail, and had been tracking him for days. Shepard was now eagerly awaiting their report.
"Your Holiness, Captain Loronin has just arrived," Carolya said quietly.
"Excellent, send him in." Shepard smiled as the Necropolis Hawks Tenth Company's captain walked into the strategium. "Captain, did you find him?"
Loronin's armor was dirty and scuffed from his time in the field, but he held himself up proudly. "We did, Saint Shepard. The beast is leading a salvage operation in a valley on Gorgontia III; the greenskins are likely trying to rebuild one of their ships to escape."
"Is orbital bombardment an option?" Shepard would rather kill an enemy with as little risk to her own people as possible.
"No, the valley contains one of the monitoring relays. The Mechanicus will insist that it be recovered and restored."
Shepard sighed. "So much for the easy way." She picked up a dataslate and scrolled through the forces available for the attack. "The Reapers have just finished clearing out their sectors; I'll have Helmin send in some Guard regiments to support their offensive."
Loronin had just removed his helm, and he smirked. "I wasn't aware that the Orks had done something to offend you."
"What are you talking about?"
"You usually send the Reapers against something that must absolutely be destroyed."
"Oh." Shepard chuckled. "Well, they're good at that."
It had been just over two years since the Reapers had joined the Shepard Crusade, and they had quickly risen to a dark prominence. Only Shepard's war council knew their true origins, so the rest of the Crusade only knew them as extremely thorough destroyers, leaving little of their enemies behind but ash and bone. It made them almost unapproachable in the field, though they became better, at least around other Space Marines or Shepard, when not at war.
"Please tell Zandtus that I'll be joining the Reapers' attack," Shepard went on, back to business. "I've got some aggression to work out."
Loronin bowed his head. "It shall be done."
…
What would later be known in Imperial records as the Slaughter of Valley Four-Delta began with the scream of dozens of engines. The Orks not inside the valley itself were slaughtered as Overlords turned the area into a field of craters and blood. Flying alongside the massive gunships were a new addition to the Primaris arsenal—the Stormfury gunship. Sleeker than the older Stormraven, it was armed with a spine-mounted laser destroyer, two wing-mounted missile launchers, and a chin-mounted heavy gatling cannon. Like its predecessor, each also held a squad of Astartes—Assault Intercessors, who leapt from the rear ramp to butcher the surviving greenskins.
The Overlords deposited the rest of the Reapers at the entrances to the valley. The Orks scrambled to meet them, but the outcome was all but assured. The Reapers marched steadily, each squad finding the best location to set up before unleashing a blinding storm of fire. Heavy Intercessors, clad in Gravis armor and carrying heavy versions of the various bolt rifle models, mowed down Orks by the hundreds, while covering Aggressors as they burned out hunkered down aliens with their flamestorm gauntlets. Eradicators, armed with melta rifles and multi-meltas, lived up to their name by reducing vehicles and scrap-forged buildings to molten slag. Anywhere the Orks looked to be making a breakthrough were countered by squads of Inceptors, falling from the sky to crush the xenos underfoot, or blasting them apart at close range with assault bolters.
This was the Chapter at its finest—overwhelming the enemy with massed Gravis formations, supported by aircraft and reserves of melee-focused Marines. By the time the Warboss was encountered, the Reapers' advance was heralded by a field of blood and flesh that they crushed with every step.
Garask Brol himself fought the Warboss, while his personal guards dealt with the hulking brutes the alien used as bodyguards. Each of the elite Primaris Marines was also clad in Gravis armor; armed with short-range melta blasters on one forearm, and a power axe held in the other hand, they were the Deathwarders, a new formation created by the Reapers, but rapidly introduced to other Chapters. While it was theoretically possible for a Chapter to field an entire company of such warriors, the Reapers held the position in special reverence—to be a Deathwarder was to give up all possibility of advancement, to dedicate his life to the protection of an assigned officer forever. That wasn't the same for Deathwarders in other Chapters, but the Reapers saw the role as a permanent one.
The Warboss was a giant of a specimen; thick plates of metal were bolted directly into his flesh, and one arm was replaced by a crude bionic claw, with each of its three fingers replaced by a whirling saw. Brol, however, was an experienced and deadly warrior, and despite his bulky Gravis plate, he was able to avoid a deadly blow. He responded with a strike from his power scythe that nearly severed the Ork's leg, followed by another that separated the top half of the beast's head from the rest of his body.
Brol kicked the twitching corpse over, but his enhanced senses detected something behind him. He and the Deathwarders whirled to see an Ork spring from the shadows, holding what looked like a hammer made out of a metal pole and a rocket. Before the Ork could swing his weapon, or the Space Marines could react, a bolt of plasma arced down from the sky, reducing the Ork's head to a cloud of ash.
Shepard and the Alexian Guard landed gracefully; the Saint raised her plasma pistol to her lips and blew away the smoke. The pistol had been a gift from Cawl before the Archmagos had left Ultramar—a masterwork of plasma technology, nearly impossible to overload, and with a grip perfectly sculpted to fit Shepard's hand.
"Quite the dramatic entrance," Brol noted dryly.
"Hey, you guys did everything else, give me this," Shepard complained; she leaned around Brol to see the dead Warboss. "Oh, nice."
"I'm glad you approve." Brol noticed the corpse twitch, but two Deathwarders hacked it to pieces before he could act.
"I'd say they're overdoing it a little, but Carolya did the same thing yesterday," Shepard commented.
"The beast had the gall to touch you with its filthy hands," Carolya protested. "Death was its only fate."
"He was already cut in half!"
While the two women bickered, Brol oversaw the cleanup of the valley. Aggressors stomped through the corpses, burning everything with their flamestorm gauntlets to ensure no spores were left behind. Techmarines worked to repair the relay station in the valley, or at least prepare it for the tech-adepts who would bring it back to full functionality. The Reapers who weren't given active orders grouped up around one of the many Chaplains the Chapter had, who helped bring them down to a post-battle calm.
Most of the Reapers were gripped with a deep-seated rage; it simmered in their souls at all times, but they were able to control in when not in battle. Even then, most could safely channel it through their guns, and were rewarded with grim satisfaction upon seeing their enemies' destruction. Those who could not control their fury were relieved of their Gravis armor and took up the role of Assault Intercessors, Outriders bikers, or Hellblasters with close-range plasma incinerators. Eventually, their overflowing anger would recede, and they could return to their normal duties; most Reapers went through the cycle of rage at least once.
Brol nodded at several older faces that he passed; it still saddened him to know that only thirty-two members of his original company had survived crossing the Rubicon Primaris. None of them had any experience with high command; some had become sergeants to lead other squads, while most had had a spiritual awakening, and took up the black armor of the Chaplain. Every company had at least three of the sinister warrior-priests; they didn't have any real command authority, beyond what a captain—called Commanders in the Chapter—gave them, but their powerful oratory brought out the best in the warriors around them.
Oddly enough, Brol looked over the burning pyres and felt at peace. Killing aliens reminded him of better times, when humanity looked to the future with hope and excitement, not fear. Now, the Imperium was just as likely to go to war with itself as it was with aliens or traitors.
That was a belated reason why he was content to be part of the Shepard Crusade—its namesake had a very clear moral compass, directing her followers to kill only those who deserved to die, while protecting those who needed protection. Everyone in the Crusade felt like they were doing something worthwhile, with a sense of camaraderie that wiped away the politics that could tear apart other armies.
It made Brol nostalgic for the Great Crusade at its best, but he forced the feeling down. The forty-second millennium was a far darker place than he could have imagined, even with his crash-course in history and two years in the Shepard Crusade.
"Garask!" Brol turned around in his bulky armor; Shepard was jogging up to him, her expression far grimmer than before. "We have a situation."
"Another Ork attack?" If it was something truly bad, he would be surprised; the Orks had been a minor nuisance at best.
"No, Dartan just got called to relay a message from Lord Guilliman." Shepard jerked her thumb at the nearest Overlord. "He wants us all to join him at Macragge as soon as possible. Something just came up."
Brol resisted the urge to smirk; the term 'something just came up' was a colossal understatement if a Primarch demanded their attendance. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, apparently we're making a stop on the way." Shepard tried to seem nonchalant, but even Brol's limited ability to read mortals could tell that she was apprehensive. "We'll be linking up with Corax and the Raven Guard."
Brol had to wonder what was so important that it would require the attention of not just a fighting force like the Shepard Crusade, but also two Primarchs. Whatever it was, he found himself growing excited at the idea of a worthy battle—one that he swore on behalf of his Chapter that they would not be found lacking.
…
It took almost ten days for the Shepard Crusade to withdraw from the system; there would be another two weeks that Gorgontia would be left undefended, but an army from the Mechanicus was on its way to handle the mop-up operation and continue the repair work. Another twelve days passed before the Crusade rendezvoused with the Raven Guard—ship-time, anyway, as Warp-travel made the concept of time a tricky thing at best. However, with Shepard's power protecting the fleet, those twelve days were actually peaceful; the time was spent recovering from wounds, reorganizing supplies, and celebrating another successful battle.
In contrast to the Shepard Crusade's fleet, which practically screamed its arrival as it exited the Warp, the Raven Guard almost went undetected. In fact, Dartan suspected that they only picked up the Raven Guard at all because they were allowed to.
Shepard waited in the Vehemence's hangar with most of her war council; only Dartan was absent, busy as he was with fleet operations. The Thunderhawk that glided through the void shields to land didn't appear different than any other she'd seen, but Shepard could swear that there was something about the gunship that gave it a narrower profile. The ramp lowered with a near-silent hiss, and Shepard got her first look at Corvus Corax in years.
The Raven Lord had changed dramatically since last they'd met. His armor was sleeker and less decorated, but it was also cleaner and showed no sign of wear. His talons and jump pack remained the same, but both had been extensively repaired. Corax's equipment wasn't the only thing different about him—his hair was cut short, and his face was clean-shaven. His dark eyes had less of a haunted look to them, replaced with a grim determination that came with rediscovering his purpose.
Corax smiled as he beheld Shepard. "Hello, Alexia; it has been too long."
Shepard tiredly grinned back; she had spent a few hours recovering after guiding the fleet safely through the Warp, but she needed another day or two before she would be strong enough to finish the journey.
"Hey, I tried to call, but all I got was 'I'm sorry, the Primarch you are trying to reach is busy killing bad guys'. You should check your messages every once in a while."
"My apologies, I've been making things more bearable for our people in Imperium Nihilus." Corax shrugged—a motion that would have caused a mechanical whine from any other suit of armor, but was completely silent for his. "Commander Dante sends his regards."
"I saw him last year; he mentioned you were making things easier for him." Shepard decided to be polite and nodded in the direction of the officer Corax had brought with him. "Lord Shrike, it's good to see you again. Did you get taller?"
Shrike tilted his head. "I crossed the Rubicon since last we met."
Shepard made a show of looking him over, especially the six different thrusters on his Phobos armor—four on his back, and two on his legs. "I don't think you have enough thrusters."
"I could have added two more on my arms, but then I would have had to give up these." Shrike held up his arms, and three beautiful talons popped out of each vambrace, like a lesser version of Corax's claws.
The Raven Lord chuckled at the exchange. "Come, let us talk for a while; I fear that we will not have many opportunities once we arrive at Macragge."
"Because your brother is going to keep us busy, or because he'll be doing all the talking?"
Corax smirked. "Yes."
…
Later on, Brol watched almost wistfully as Corax spoke privately with Shrike and Zandtus. They were far enough away that not even an Astartes could overhear them, but Brol could see the admiration in Zandtus' eyes, and the respect in Corax's.
"It's difficult not to be a little jealous, isn't it?" Phoros smiled, but it was bitter and sad. "My Primarch was killed millennia before I was born, and I will never know the kind of care the legends claim he had. And your Primarch—"
"Is a matter I would sooner forget," Brol interrupted gruffly; the Reapers had quickly developed a pathological hatred of their true progenitors, and even mentioning Mortarion or the Death Guard could blacken a Reaper's mood for days.
"My apologies," Phoros said with a dip of his head. "Still, it is hard not to wish we had what they have. Nearly half of the Emperor's loyal sons have been returned to Him, and Shepard is positive that at least two more still live. So many Chapters have hope that their father will return, but we are among those that do not even have that."
Brol nodded silently; he had only ever seen Sanguinius once while the Angel had lived, and that was still more than Phoros would ever know.
"If that hope is beyond you, why do you fight so hard for Saint Shepard?" That question had been nagging at Brol for some time; Zandtus had been part of the Crusade to find Corax, so his motivations made sense, but the Lamenters were still a mystery.
Phoros' smile was slightly bitter, as he recalled old wounds. "We owe her a debt of honor; she saved us from our eventual demise. She also made us welcome, asking nothing more than she would anyone else. She didn't even demand our service after saving us, and merely extended an invitation." He stared off into the distance, at something only he could see. "I only know the stories of Sanguinius, but I like to imagine that Shepard embodies some of his qualities—his kindness, his generosity, and his righteous fury."
Now that was something Brol could agree on; Shepard was a war leader, yes, but outside of battle, she never made demands or expected total obedience. She asked if people would follow her, and would even fight for them without expecting anything in return. In that respect, the Reapers could understand the Lamenters' loyalty to her better than perhaps anyone.
"Speaking of fury," Brol said, "I noticed one of your men acting rather odd on Gorgontia. He was practically screaming as he ripped an Ork's head off."
Phoros winced. "Yes, it is something that happens to the sons of the Angel. We call it the Flaw; it is not something we like to discuss." He hesitated, then continued. "The one you saw act in such a way has been assigned to the Death Company."
Brol nodded in partial understanding; he had seen the Lamenters' specialized unit of suicidal black-clad berserkers, but he'd had no idea that they were afflicted by some kind of gene-flaw. He'd assumed that they were like his Reapers who had given into their rage—then again, none of the Death Company lived very long.
"How bad is it?" he asked.
"Not as bad as it is for other Chapters of my lineage," Phoros said. "It used to be worse, but it happens less frequently for our Primaris brothers. The most we've ever had afflicted was about thirty, and our recruitment outpaces those who fall to it."
"If there is anything my Apothecaries can do…" Brol hesitantly offered.
"It is appreciated, my friend, but I must decline." Phoros' smile was sad. "This is a burden we of Sanguinius' blood must bear."
Brol nodded again, and for the sake of his peer, he changed the subject. "Do you have any idea what Lord Guilliman wants us to do?"
"None, but I hope that he has not decided to disband the Crusade." Phoros tapped one armored finger against his chin. "We were doing well in finding the Primarchs, but Shepard hasn't made any progress since then."
It was true, the Shepard Crusade's appointed task had stalled; when asked, Shepard assured them all that the Emperor was focused on consolidating His power over the gains they'd made. He also wanted the Imperium to fortify the territory it had reconquered before launching new assaults. In the meantime, Shepard had not been idle, leading her Crusade into Imperium Nihilus to counter enemy attacks and relieve pressure where they could.
No one in the Crusade was complaining; it had become clear that they had provided hope, that rarest and most fragile luxury, to those they saved. They were proud of their victories, and were always eager to add more to their collective honor roll.
Hopefully, Guilliman would provide them with another opportunity.
…
When the combined fleet arrived over Macragge, Shepard had been summoned to the bridge with no small amount of urgency. At first, Shepard thought the planet was under attack, but when she arrived on the bridge, it wasn't fear that nearly made her heart stop, but awe.
"Holy shit," she muttered at the sight of the force in front of her.
Over a thousand ships from the Imperial Navy were present—mostly cruiser-size and smaller, but there were a good number of heavier vessels as well, including an ancient Apocalypse-class battleship.
What truly shook her was the number of Astartes ships; if Shepard's estimates were right, the entire Ultramarines fleet was there, including the Macragge's Honor, all resplendent in blue and gold. Moored alongside their cousins were dozens of Space Wolf ships, along with the repaired and refurbished Hrafnkel, and not far away was the Rock, the many ships of the Dark Angels, and vessels from over twenty of their successors.
Combined with the Raven Guard and the Shepard Crusade, this wasn't a force to take worlds, but one to conquer empires.
"It seems that Lord Guilliman didn't just summon the Raven Lord," Dartan said quietly.
"Whatever is going on has to be huge." Shepard tried to calculate how many people were involved in this operation, but she stopped when she realized that even a few hundred million souls was underestimating things. "Are we invading the Eye of Terror?"
"I hope not," Dartan chuckled, but Shepard looked at him with concern when his laugh turned into a horrible cough. "We have enough to do outside of that hell."
"Are you okay?" Shepard gently put a hand on his shoulder. "That didn't sound good."
Dartan gave her a grandfatherly smile. "Fear not, Alexia, I have already had a medicae take a look. It is a minor infection of the lungs, and it will be cleared up in a few days."
"Take that time to rest," Shepard said. "That's an order."
"But the muster—"
"Can go on without you until you've recovered." Now it was Shepard's turn to smile kindly. "Don't make me call one of the Sisters Hospitaller to sedate you for that time. You know I will."
Dartan sighed. "Very well, Shepard, but I insist you let me bring the fleet into formation before I retire—and I will return to my station if an emergency arises."
"Fine, you stubborn old goat." Shepard's playful grin took the sting out of her words. "How long until we're in formation?"
"Several hours." Now it was Dartan's turn to smile. "Perhaps you should get some rest until then. It wouldn't do for you to appear before four Primarchs looking like you haven't bathed in a week."
Shepard grumbled to herself about stubborn old men as she left the bridge, annoyed that she hadn't gotten the last word.
…
"I'm telling you, Jonah, there's no way to incorporate a full platoon of your men for the escort," Helmin insisted. "If we include anyone else in Shepard's retinue, it'll start to look like we're trying to invade."
Vils sighed and leaned back in his cot. "I just want the Scorpions to be represented. Damn it, I should be going down there."
"Your wounds haven't healed yet, my friend." For emphasis, Helmin reached out and prodded Vils' neck, where a thick bandage covered one side. It had been sheer luck that the Ork bullet hadn't hit anything vital when it passed through him, and Vils had been given strict orders not to move for at least another week.
That hadn't stopped him from trying to get up and be part of Shepard's escort. Unfortunately for his soldiers, he had too much authority for any of them to really stop him, until one brave trooper called Helmin, one of the few people in the Crusade who outranked Vils, directly. The two men had gotten into a brief argument, but a lifetime spent obeying orders had worked against Vils, and he eventually backed down.
"Just promise me that she'll be safe," Vils said.
Helmin laughed. "Jonah, she'll be on Macragge, surrounded by Space Marines, and four Primarchs. I don't think there's a safest place in the galaxy right now."
"I know," Vils said, and then sighed. "But most of them aren't us. They aren't part of the Crusade."
"You're right." Helmin paused for a moment. "But there's one thing you've forgotten."
"What?"
Helmin smirked. "Shepard can take care of herself."
…
"Four of my sons have gathered together." Revelation took the stick Shepard handed him and tossed it into the fire. "I do not know what Roboute has in mind, but I do know that it can only be good for the Imperium."
"That's what I thought too." Shepard ignored the dirty look Revelation gave her as she roasted a marshmallow. "Anything new on finding another one?"
Revelation sighed. "No. I know for certain that the Warhawk lives, as does Vulkan, but I cannot discern where they are. Still, I feel that that will change soon; every victory against the darkness clears up my sight."
"Good to know." Shepard looked up at the sky; the stars seemed brighter than before, and she wondered what it meant.
"How are you, Alexia?"
Shepard blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"I have placed much responsibility on your shoulders," Revelation said. "For all your power, you are still human, and I have seen you reach your limits. How have you been?"
"Huh. Most people don't ask that. I'm usually the one who checks on everyone else." Shepard slowly assembled a s'more and chewed on it before answering. "Some days are better than others. Every time I save a life, or keep some bastard from attacking a world, it helps. Sometimes I think about David, Gregor, and all the other people I've lost, and it hurts, but it's an older wound now." She rubbed at her eyes. "I still don't know if I'm actually healing, or I'm finally getting numb to it all."
"I hope it is not the latter." Revelation prodded the fire as he spoke. "Your ability to care about humanity on a small scale is something I and my sons have long struggled with. We are simply beyond human, and thus, do not identify with humanity as easily. It is more of a concept to be protected."
Shepard scoffed. "See, that right there? That's why people say you're a god."
"That does not mean I have to like it." Revelation paused. "You will wake up soon. I wish you good fortune on whatever endeavor Roboute has planned."
"Thanks." Shepard held up the bag of marshmallows. "Want one before I go?"
"Goodbye, Alexia."
…
"Anyway, He said that every time 'the darkness' is driven back, His sight gets a little clearer." Shepard settled into a chair in Guilliman's sanctum. "I'm guessing He meant Chaos, but He can be vague sometimes. It pisses me off."
Corax nodded sympathetically. "He often acted that way, even when I left Him no room for anything but a direct answer."
Guilliman handed his brother a goblet of wine. "Even with the galaxy as it is, it is infuriating that the Emperor cannot be more specific."
"Hey, He's been pretty direct with me so far," Shepard defended. "It's just annoying when He uses metaphors and stuff. I hate it when my superiors don't get to the point."
"What are you three talking about?" Russ asked loudly as he and Jonson entered.
"Just griping about your old man." Shepard peered up at the Primarchs. "What happened to you two!?"
Russ had a black eye, while the Lion had a large bruise on his cheek. Both injuries were already fading, but it was still surprising to see a Primarch hurt in any way.
"Today was the first time Leman and I have seen each other since the Heresy," Jonson said stoically. "We… had some unfinished business to take care of."
Shepard blinked. "You two punched each other?" She shook her head. "Unbelievable. How am I more of an adult than you guys?"
Russ just laughed as he opened up a barrel of mjod that he'd brought with him. Like Corax, he had changed a great deal since Shepard had seen him two years ago. His grey armor was new, decorated with golden wolves on his greaves and vambraces, while the Aquila on his chest had the heads of wolves, instead of eagles. Rune-carved stones hung from his shoulders and belt. His white hair was cut to the jaw, and his beard was intricately braided. Though he still looked old, he had much more life and energy to him than before.
"I hope that you brought us here for a reason, Roboute." Jonson narrowed his eyes at Russ when the Wolf King belched after drinking, and then continued. "There is far too much to do."
"Trust me, I would not have called for you all had our objective not been important." Guilliman laced his fingers together and looked down at his hands. "I was recently approached by an ally with an interesting proposal. We have been presented with an opportunity to significantly weaken, if not completely destroy, an old enemy that has been a thorn in the Imperium's side for thousands of years. Furthermore, the destruction of this enemy could strengthen that ally in our shared war against Chaos."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I think you have our attention."
Guilliman smiled grimly. "We have a way to get a large-scale invasion force to Commorragh, and eliminate the Drukhari as a threat."
For possibly the first time in her life, Shepard was treated to the sight of three Primarchs staring in complete surprise. Even Russ choked for a moment on his mjod.
"How the hell did you pull that off, Roboute?" Russ put his drink aside, and looked about two seconds away from shaking his brother. "We've never been able to successfully navigate the Webway, and we could never use the same route twice."
Guilliman shrugged. "Follow me. My ally is waiting to meet you." He rose from his chair, but paused. "I would ask that you all swear not to immediately attack her, and to hear her out."
The request had the other Primarchs and the Saint wary, but the chance to permanently remove the threat of the Drukhari was too good to pass up. All of them had seen the results of Drukhari raids—whole cities emptied, their inhabitants lost forever, or reduced to broken husks for the amusement of their captors. The Imperium could defeat them in a straight fight, but the aliens were masters of hit-and-run warfare, and never stuck around if they thought the battle wasn't in their favor.
The Imperium would do much for the opportunity to finally avenge all the innocent people the Drukhari had tormented, and they would do it with a smile.
Shepard followed the Primarchs as Guilliman led them down the twisting corridors of the Fortress of Hera. She had never been to this part of the fortress monastery before, though that didn't surprise her; the home of a Space Marine Chapter wasn't open to outsiders, even a Living Saint.
Guilliman stopped just outside a door; it was fairly innocuous, with only a single instance of the Ultramarines' heraldry at the center. Shepard noticed that it was too quiet; there was no hum of generators, or even the distant footsteps of Chapter serfs or marching Astartes. Whatever was here, Guilliman wanted it kept quiet.
"Do I have your word?" he asked.
The other Primarchs nodded cautiously, and Shepard crossed her arms. "As long as your friend isn't with Chaos, I don't really care who they are."
Guilliman nodded and opened the door. Despite their oaths, the Imperials still nearly went for their weapons.
Waiting for them were three Aeldari. Standing in the far corner was the tallest and bulkiest example of the species Shepard had ever seen; his red armor was thick, and the fur trim and cloak on his left side seemed to move despite there being no breeze. A dozen of what looked like gemstones hung from his belt, and seemed to shine from within. His hand rested on the hilt of a shimmering blade that, to Shepard's eye, seemed absolutely flawless.
Meditating by the wall was another armored Aeldari, though his black and bone-colored armor was thinner, and covered by robes. Both plate and cloth were covered in alien runes, and Shepard swore they glowed whenever she didn't look at them directly. The Aeldari held an ornate staff in his hands, and a long sword was slung across his back. Shepard had no psychic talents, but she could feel just how powerful this one was, despite having the physique of a frail old man.
Unlike the other two, the third alien did not hide her features with a helm. She wore a red and black outfit that resembled an armored gown that looked like it had no place on a battlefield. Her pale skin was only marred by an angular tattoo over the left side of her face. Her long hair started white, but changed to black halfway down, and she had an ornate feathered headdress woven into the topknot. At her hip was a long, curved sword; the lower half of the blade was serrated, and the entire thing seemed to be made of polished bone.
"You have kept us waiting, Avenging Son," the woman said archly. Her voice was like flowing silk, but it had an otherworldly quality to it that set Shepard's nerves on edge.
"I was ensuring that we could speak without violence occurring." Guilliman did not mention that only the Aeldari had come armed to the meeting. He then turned to his brothers and Shepard. "This is Yvraine, leader of the Ynnari, a faction of Aeldari who have allied with us in the past. She is partially responsible for my own resurrection."
Yvraine smirked, and Shepard was reminded of why she didn't like the ancient aliens. They were too perfect; every move flowed like water, every expression told a thousand stories, and every word oozed with arrogance. It reminded her of the worst of the Asari, multiplied by a thousand.
"Why do you offer an alliance?" Jonson demanded. "What do you gain from destroying members of your own race?"
The Aeldari with the staff strode forward; while Yvraine was graceful, every move he made expended no more energy than was absolutely necessary.
"My brethren of the Craftworlds have come under attack by our darker cousins," he said, in a voice that echoed just how much he had seen and done. "For all that they claim that their methods stave off She-Who-Thirsts, it only delays the inevitable, and they know it. Now, they try to offer up the souls of their brethren to extend their own lives. But this is a devil's bargain, one that the Dark Prince has no intention of honoring."
Shepard realized that he was talking about Slaanesh, the Chaos God of excess and decadence. If the Drukhari were killing their Craftworld cousins to give to that god, then it could be a tipping point against everyone who stood against Chaos.
"What do we need to do to stop this?" she asked, before she could help herself.
The Aeldari nodded at her. "You are the one called Shepard, yes? I am Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe. If we are to stop this darkness before it grows beyond our ability to fight, then the Drukhari must be broken. While their fleets are attacking our Craftworlds, Commorragh is vulnerable, but if you were to attack it, the Drukhari will come running to save their one true haven. When that happens, we will have a chance to prevent many of their souls from being claimed by the Dark Prince as well."
"Their power base will be broken," Yvraine continued. "They will not have a way to launch any meaningful attacks on your worlds."
Shepard turned to the Primarchs. "Sounds like a good deal to me."
"Indeed," Guilliman agreed. "Had I not thought it worthwhile, I would not have called you here."
"But they are Aeldari," Corax warned. "You know as well as I that their motives are always hidden, even when they speak the truth."
"Such obfuscation merely wastes time," Yvraine said, her silky voice tainted with impatience. "You deal with material matters, yes? Then let me be clear—my people, the Ynnari, require a true base of operations, and you do not want the Drukhari to attack you any longer. This deal is simple—we will guide you to Commorragh, and you will destroy all who oppose you, but we will claim the city for our own purposes. Guilliman knows that we oppose Chaos as much as you do, so this will only benefit us all. Anything else is for the Aeldari to know, not you."
Shepard clenched her fist and resisted the urge to punch Yvraine in the face. From the way Russ snarled and Jonson reached for a blade that wasn't there, they felt similarly. The Aeldari made it sound like she was speaking to children—especially slow children, at that.
"We may never have another chance like this," Guilliman said. "Removing a blight like the Drukhari so that we may all focus on greater threats is a logical move."
When she thought about it rationally, Shepard knew he was right. She also knew that she would agree to the alliance, but not solely for strategic reasons. The Drukhari raided for pleasure and for slaves; Shepard's own parents had been murdered by Batarian slavers when she was a child, and Eliza's mother had been mutilated and killed by Dark Elves. If there was a chance that she could prevent future suffering for even one family, how could she refuse?
"Okay." Shepard stood next to Guilliman and nodded at Eldrad. "I'm in. When do we go?"
"As soon as our fleets and armies finish resupplying," Guilliman said, and smiled when his brothers stood next to him as well. "Once we begin, we will not stop until Commorragh is taken."
And that's the beginning of the next arc! I hope everyone had a better beginning to this year than I did. I would have had this chapter out sooner, but, uh, let's see…
My dad and my grandfather both got covid. My dad is doing better, but only just. My grandfather lost that battle and died shortly before posting this chapter. My grandmother had a stroke, and is not doing well. And my uncle died. All of this happened within the same week. This has been a crappy start to the year, and has done exactly nothing to help me get motivated to write.
Anyway, moving on.
The Reapers! They're super-focused on heavy infantry assaults, because for all they hate their progenitors, the Death Guard's tactics still worked. I made up the Deathwarders unit to give the Primaris something like an Assault Terminator unit. In-game, I'd give them a 5+ invulnerable save, just because. I also created the Stormfury gunship, and there will be other stuff as well.
Now, for the big stuff: the invasion of Commorragh. Let's be honest, the Drukhari haven't done much for the plot overall in… a really long time. It's time to take them off the board, but Commorragh is pretty big. Nothing less than a multi-Primarch assault is going to dislodge them—oh, wait, we can do that now! We have Ultramarines, Raven Guard, Space Wolves, and the Dark Angels Legion-in-all-but-name, not to mention a shit-ton of other Imperial forces, and the Shepard Crusade. All they needed was a way into the Webway. Hello, Eldrad.
As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can get it as a PDF on my website (link in my profile), or on Amazon as an eBook or physical copy. I'm getting close to finishing the sequel, so now's a good time to get caught up!
If you don't want to buy a book, please consider donating on my P-atreon (link in my profile), as it helps keep my stress levels down as I continue to search for a job. Know that every donation not only gives me a little more time to write, but higher tiers also get rewards, including a PDF of my book at the highest tier!
Speaking of which, thanks to the following pastry-themed Patrons:
Serious Muffins: SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225
Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844
Ultra Muffins: Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll
Next Chapter: Commorragh comes under siege, and Shepard's rage reaches new heights as she beholds what the Drukhari do in their own home…
All is Muffins…