WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I TRIED FIRING MY BOLTER AT A TREE, AND NOW MY SHOULDER IS IN ANOTHER COUNTY.

Now that the Inquisition's little fit is over and done with, it's time for the Shepard Crusade to head out!

After a little housecleaning, that is.

Star-Bound

Chapter 30

Hunt

The faithful were dying.

Blood pooled across the deck, seeping through cracks and staining the metal. The fresh viscera made the deck slippery, while the drier puddles were so thick and sticky that those who stepped in it found it hard to move. Not that the faithful were paying attention to the blood; they were too busy running from roaring guns and flashing blades.

The faithful were dying.

Outraged Sororitas hunted alongside grim-faced Scions and stoic Astartes, herding groups of panicked men and women into kill-boxes. Waiting for them were squads of Guardsmen from the First-Blooded; lasguns flashed and flamers roared, reducing crewmen and soldiers alike to burning husks.

The faithful were dying.

Within days of the purge's beginning, only a few of the faithful remained, barricaded in the bowels of the Vehemence. They were led by a preacher, an old man named Heltor; he stood tall among his flock, waving his chainsword and leading prayers.

"Lo, the Empress protects!" Heltor's every word had even the wounded back on their feet, eyes wild with faith. "Though Her champions hound us, it is but a test, one in which we will not be found wanting!"

"In Her name!" a woman shouted. "For Empress Shep—urk!"

Heltor jerked back as the woman's chest exploded from a well-placed shot; her body barely held together from the bolt round, and her innards splattered across three of her comrades.

"To arms!" Heltor drew his laspistol and fired over the barricade, only for his hand to get blown apart from another round from a bolt sniper rifle. He screamed in pain, even as he caught sight of a Necropolis Hawks Eliminator pull back behind his kill team.

A trio of Aggressors smashed through the flimsy barricade and filled the hall with bolt rounds. Soon, only Heltor was left, knee-deep in the remains of his followers.

"You…" he hissed as a Sororitas stepped over to him. "You blaspheme in the eyes of the Empress. She will punish you for this betrayal!"

Palatine Rychelle lifted her inferno pistol to the man's head. "Who do you think ordered this slaughter, heretic?"

There was a flash of light, and the last of the faithful died.

…

Shepard read over the report one more time. "And you're sure this was the last of them?"

Rychelle nodded. "Absolutely, Your Holiness; none who followed this heresy now live."

"Good." Shepard sighed and put the dataslate away. "That's one more thing we can put behind us."

The purge had finished just as the Shepard Crusade had reached Vigilus. Other than the forces brought to bear, the entire Crusade had been locked down; the story used was that the fleet had been infiltrated by cultists, but to prevent paranoia, Shepard had announced that they had a way to identify them. It had taken five long, bloody weeks—it would have taken less time, but Shepard had helped in the purges while also keeping the fleet safe—but the last of those who believed her to be a true deity were gone.

"On a slightly lighter note," Shepard said, "how's the new gear?"

Rychelle smiled. "It has performed excellently, Your Holiness; thank you for such gifts."

The newly-minted palatine no longer wore a jump pack; as an officer, she had to be more accessible, and not be the tip of the spear. Rather than a pair of bolt pistols, she carried an inferno pistol, and a power sword commissioned personally by Shepard; the golden guard of its hilt was sculpted to look like eagles' heads, with silver teardrops for eyes, and the blade was etched with the name and deeds of Constance Mallis on one side, and her favorite prayers on the other. Shepard had also given it a name—Remembrance—and had Rychelle swear an oath to always live up to her predecessor.

"I'm sorry you had to break them in with this kind of mission," Shepard said.

"Killing heretics is never a bad way to get used to new weapons." Rychelle shrugged. "You said so yourself, once."

"I did?"

"The words of any Saint are always examined for wisdom," Rychelle said. "Unlike the heretics, we do not turn your words into a divine proclamation… unless you are sharing a message from the God-Emperor, of course."

Shepard smiled bitterly. "Of course. If there's nothing else, please return to your duties, but remember that we could ship out again at any time."

"It shall be done, Your Holiness."

Once Rychelle was gone, Shepard turned to the only other person in the room. "Did I do the right thing?"

Darius, to his credit, took a moment to think about it. "I believe so, yes. Had you not stamped out this deviance, it could have created a schism. Like burning a few trees before the true blaze arrives, you have saved the forest."

"Doesn't make me feel any better about ordering thousands of people dead; they weren't evil, just misguided."

"The Emperor Himself ordered many such culls, both before and during the Great Crusade. According to our records, He was always aggrieved by it; as long as you do the same, you will retain your humanity."

Despite only being part of the Shepard's command staff for a few weeks now, Darius had become an instrumental advisor. Shepard had asked Helmin and Phoros to come up with a few hypothetical scenarios to test him, and he had not only passed with flying colors, but had offered ways to make the tests more challenging. Helmin had accepted the criticism with a laugh, though Phoros' pride had taken a beating, and Shepard had had to step in to soothe his ruffled feathers. Bruised egos aside, Darius' rescue of Shepard had earned him much respect among the war council, and he was welcome at the table.

Shepard picked up another dataslate. "Now that that business is settled, we can start bringing in those reinforcements from Vigilus; twenty new regiments of Guard, plus over a thousand new Sisters. A few more months, and our Space Marines will be back up to full strength—all we have to do is wait for Xem to rejoin us, and we'll be even better than before."

"You are patient," Darius commented. "Most commanders would not hesitate to seek more glory."

"Most of those commanders are probably dead," Shepard said dryly.

Darius was not the only one being tested; every so often, he would make a comment that suggested that Shepard could have done one thing or another differently, one that would probably end in disaster. She would counter with common sense, which effectively ended the tests in her favor. Shepard knew that Darius was constantly checking to see if she was truly fighting for the right reasons—just because he served the Emperor didn't mean he would be manipulated by someone who claimed to serve Him, and constantly sought to check if Shepard was the right person.

Shepard abruptly put aside the reports and stood up. "Okay, let's go for a walk."

Darius had his helm on faster than she could blink. "Where are we going?"

"To make sure I'm the only one who feels bad about what happened."

…

Shepard's first stop was the Oath of Fire. She could have summoned Blaise to meet her, but Shepard wanted to see some of the new Sisters before they faced true battle. Much to her pleased surprise, the new Sororitas had already been instructed that their Matriarch hated kowtowing, and merely gave short bows or made the sign of the Aquila as she passed.

"Hey, Temperance," Shepard called out as she entered the ship's command-chapel. "Do you have a minute?"

Blaise rose from where she was polishing her weapons. "For you, Your Holiness, I will always make the time." She nodded at Darius, who stood at a respectful distance, though not so far away that he could not get to Shepard quickly. "Shield-Captain."

Darius merely nodded back, even as he scanned the cavernous chamber for threats.

"I just wanted to check up on you, see how things were going," Shepard said. "No problems after today's operation?"

"None, Your Holiness." Blaise glanced away for a moment. "If anything, we are glad to be rid of this heresy; we can now truly put it behind us."

Shepard knew that she was mostly talking about how her friends had been keeping such a secret from her for years. "I heard some of our girls are being stubborn, even though I forgave them."

Blaise shook her head. "That does not erase the guilt they feel. They will serve as Repentia until they have washed away their sins in blood; theirs, or the enemy's."

"Right." Shepard tried not to think of the women who, obsessed with redeeming themselves, had tossed aside their armor to charge into battle with nothing but an oversized chainsword. "What about the new kids? Do they measure up?"

The shift it topic made Blaise smile. "If anything, they trained far harder than I anticipated. They are eager to fight alongside you."

"Just make sure they remember my biggest rule—I want soldiers for a whole campaign, not martyrs for one battle."

"Our duty only ends when we die, and we have no intention of letting you fight your war alone." Blaise put her hand over her heart. "Only the God-Emperor Himself would make us change that."

"Then I'm glad He hasn't said anything." Shepard paused. "Hey, how's Rychelle doing? No problems dealing with her new duties?"

"She has risen to meet every challenge, though she still has much to learn about command." Blaise looked thoughtful. "Despite her youth, I foresee great things for her. Perhaps she may even succeed me as Canoness Superior."

Shepard grabbed her friend's organic hand. "Please, don't let that happen for a long time, okay? I've lost too many friends as it is."

"I shall endeavor to stay alive for as long as possible, if only to hold back your grief," Blaise promised. "Still, Rychelle has great potential, and I would not see it squandered."

"Then live long enough to retire, okay? Maybe settle down on Vigilus and train more of our girls."

"I had not considered that," Blaise admitted. "Spending my twilight years teaching a new generation of holy warriors is not a terrible fate." She shrugged. "Perhaps when this Crusade is over."

"Something to think about, then." Shepard smiled. "I should go, but do me one favor?"

"Anything, Your Holiness."

"Let me know when you gather the new girls together for a prayer; I want to be there."

Blaise smiled back. "It shall be done."

…

The Black Necropolis lived up to its name; its decks were wreathed in shadow, and it had many dark chambers where the Necropolis Hawks could congregate and discuss the teachings of Corax. The battle barge wasn't quite large enough to house the entire Chapter, but Shepard knew that Zandtus was aboard—specifically, in the strategium. Ironically, it was one of the most brightly-lit parts of the ship.

Shepard found the Chapter Master speaking in hushed tones to an Apothecary; both Astartes were wearing their helms, but Shepard had known Zandtus long enough to tell from body language alone that he was more relaxed than he'd been in weeks.

"Ah, Shepard!" Zandtus nodded at her. "I have good news."

Shepard grinned up at him. "Really? I love good news. What is it?"

"The newest intake of recruits for my Chapter was of particularly good quality; almost every one of them accepted the first stage of gene-seed implantation." Zandtus gestured to the Apothecary. "This is my Master of the Apothecarion, Idnis Rade."

The Chief Apothecary inclined his head at her. "Saint Shepard. Our initiates will take up to a year to become full Primaris, but we have many who were on the cusp of being Astartes. We will be at full strength again soon."

"That's great to hear." Shepard clapped her hands together. "I can't wait to see those boys in action."

"Do you have any idea when the Emperor will have us resume His mission?" Zandtus asked.

"If He knows our next destination, He's waiting until the gang's all here." Shepard shrugged. "No offense, but I'd like to have Xem's guns on our side before we head out again."

"Agreed," Zandtus said. "The Mechanicus provides excellent support, and their treatment of our weapons and equipment has helped us greatly."

"Plus, you know, all those guns." Shepard tapped her chin in thought. "Hey, didn't Garask and Malakim mention some kind of war-game between your three Chapters?"

"More like a series of honor-duels, and other competitions," Zandtus corrected. "Marksmanship, tests of strength, and so on."

"Ooh, it's like a carnival, only with power armor." Shepard laughed. "Are there prizes for whoever wins?"

Zandtus nodded. "The honor of using relics from our reliquaries in a battle of their choosing."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "If you don't mind me asking, what kind of relics does your Chapter have?"

"Our Chapter is young, and we do not have many," Zandtus admitted. "Our most treasured weapon is the Talonblade; a power sword presented to us by the Raven Guard at the start of the Indomitus Crusade. I had the honor of using it once; even without its power field, I slew a champion of the Word Bearers with a single blow."

Shepard gave a low whistle. "Damn, I wish I'd seen that. Let me know when those competitions start, if that's okay; I want to see who wins."

Zandtus chuckled. "It would be an honor, Lady Shepard."

…

In contrast to its name, the Star of Grief was filled with optimistic energy. As Shepard and Darius travelled through the ship's winding hallways, they even saw a pair of Lamenters laughing.

"I'm happy for them," Shepard commented. "A couple of years ago, they were so depressed."

"I have heard that they suffered from great misfortune for much of their history, though that has changed in recent times." Darius spared half a second to glance at her, but covered for the distraction by angling himself to defend Shepard from possible attack. "Your doing, I presume?"

"Guilty as charged." Shepard grinned. "They're still riding that high from doing so well in the last campaign, especially since they received commendations from four Primarchs. That's some validation if there ever was any."

Like his counterpart among the Necropolis Hawks, Phoros wasn't alone; a pair of Librarians stood with him, one of whom Shepard recognized. She grinned at Nemedon, who bowed his head in her direction.

"Saint Shepard, welcome aboard." Phoros seemed more relaxed than Shepard had ever seen. "I would have greeted you in person, but matters of my Chapter required my attention."

"Anything wrong?" Shepard asked, not offended in the slightest.

"Quite the opposite," Phoros assured her. "I have been dispensing honors to many of my brothers, and such ceremonies should not be rushed."

"Several of those honors were not his to bestow," Variel Rhacro, Chief Librarian of the Lamenters, said with some amusement.

Despite being nearly a century younger than Phoros, Rhacro looked ancient—a side-effect of his prodigious psychic power. He had yet to cross the Rubicon Primaris, but was only half a head shorter than Nemedon. He carried a force stave topped with a circular plate that bore the Lamenters' heraldry, which he leaned on for support; typically, he empowered his body with psychic energies to make himself fully capable on the battlefield.

Phoros gestured to Nemedon. "Our young friend's recent display of power, and show of command, earned him the rank of Epistolary."

Shepard grinned up at the youngest Lamenter in the room. "Congratulations!"

"My thanks." Nemedon struggled with himself for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at his Chapter Master. "I have lived for over two centuries. I am not that young."

Phoros scoffed. "I have led this Chapter for more than three centuries. You are young, and always will be; just accept it."

Shepard couldn't help but be delighted at the byplay; sometimes it felt like the Space Marines forgot what it was like to be human, but moments like this brought that humanity to the forefront. It was especially poignant for the Lamenters, who had only recently had cause to be anything but miserable.

After everything she had been through lately, this was the kind of reward she needed.

…

Shepard's next stop was a shooting range aboard the Vehemence, one reserved for high-ranking officers. It was one of the only places she could gather Helmin, Vils, and the commanders of the First-Blooded in one place that wasn't a strategium.

"You were off by two inches," Vils said as he examined a target through his scope.

Riona scowled and put down her lasgun. "If one of my Basilisks was off-target by only two inches, that crew would still get a commendation."

"Well, yeah," Shepard said, as if it were obvious. "The explosion would kill that guy no matter how many inches off-center it was."

"It's why she's in artillery," Losvor stage-whispered. "She wouldn't have made it in the infantry."

The other officers laughed at Riona's expense; for her part, the duchess-colonel pouted like a child and handed her lasgun to Losvor.

"I'd like to see you get perfect shots on a moving target."

Losvor grinned. "I'm a Duranian Ranger; I could hit a target like that in the dark."

To prove his point, Losvor put five perfect shots in the center of the Aeldari cutout in quick succession, then another three in the head. Vils checked, and found that each shot was so perfectly placed that it looked like two shots, not eight.

Riona stared. "What."

Losvor shrugged. "Marksmanship tests are required to advance in the ranks, on top of other responsibilities."

"Wait, is that why I hardly ever see you?" Shepard asked. "Have you been here when you weren't running things in your regiment?" She paused. "How the hell did Borran get the job?"

Losvor sighed at the mention of his predecessor. "He may have been an arrogant pig, but his aim was as true as any Duranian."

Riona nodded. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but I like the change."

Further conversation halted when another target on the range abruptly exploded. Shepard slowly turned to see Sren, calmly reloading a grenade launcher. Like the rest of his regiment, he stayed a good distance away from the others, thanks to his smell.

He shrugged. "I did hit the target. You just can't see because it exploded."

Shepard looked back at the smoking remains of the cutout. "That's cheating, and you know it."

"No one complained when I brought the grenade launcher."

"We all thought you were doing maintenance on it!"

"And you all bought that, despite the fact that I am no Tech-Priest."

Sren wore the mask of his regiment, but Shepard would have bet the considerable fortune she'd made in the Empire that the man was smirking at them.

"You're an ass," Shepard declared. "Now pick up a rifle and actually aim at a damn target."

"As you command, Your Holiness."

…

Six more months passed, and the Shepard Crusade continued to gather its strength. Despite its importance to the Imperium, the Administratum was as slow as ever, so reinforcements and supplies arrived at a pace Shepard was unused to. It did, however, give the many fresh recruits time to acclimate to their new comrades, gaining valuable training and hard-earned wisdom from the veterans.

Shepard, for the most part, was left to her own devices. She was able to balance her humors after the deaths of so many of her soldiers and friends, and was able to handle the usual horde of Ministorum priests with more patience and grace than usual. In fact, the only thing that bothered her was the constant bombardment of messages from Space Marine Chapters from around the galaxy. After finding three missing Primarchs, every Chapter who had yet to regain their gene-father was petitioning her to find theirs. There was even the occasional plea from Chapters whose Primarchs were known to be dead, such as the Angels Encarmine and the Sons of Medusa.

At first, Shepard had been annoyed, but she quickly recognized the messages for what they were—pleas from sons who missed their fathers on a spiritual and genetic level. She knew David had missed her terribly after she'd left, and the bond between Astartes and Primarch was unlike anything she knew. All she could do was promise to search for those Primarchs still alive, and apologize to those Chapters whose fathers were not.

"I'm not sure what I would say to them if I had to look them in the eye," Shepard admitted to Brol one day. "How do you tell someone who's missed their Primarch for ten thousand years that there's no way he's coming back?"

"That is the danger of hope," Brol said tiredly. "If it fails to manifest what is expected, then it can be utterly crushing."

"I've learned the hard way that even the slimmest of hopes are worth fighting for. And sometimes, even without any hope, we don't have any other choice but to fight." Shepard watched from a balcony not far from the Vigilus Senate as platoons of Deltic Scorpions ran drills. "When I was fighting your Chapter's namesake, it felt like there was no hope at all."

Brol watched the exercises for a moment. "May I be honest, Saint Shepard?"

"I would hope you always were with me, Garask."

"When we first fought together, on Auramus… when I saw what the Death Guard had become… I gave up hope. We were trapped, with no way off the planet, and an army of monsters was wearing us down. The only reason my brothers and I fought at all was because our hatred outweighed our despair."

"We all figured we'd die on that planet," Shepard reminded him. "But life has a way of surprising us—usually in a bad way, but sometimes it's something good. We survived, and you now lead an entire Chapter of Space Marines."

"I think about that often; as the highest-ranking officer, I know that I had to take command, but I have always seen myself as a warrior first."

"And I never saw myself as a leader, and certainly not a hero. Like I said, life has a way of surprising us." She sighed. "Let's change the subject before it gets too depressing. Are you, Raquilon and Malakim participating in the thing that's coming up?"

Brol shrugged. "Unlikely. If one Chapter Master were to defeat the others, it might cause friction between our warriors."

"That's kind of a shame; you and Malakim have similar combat styles, and it would have been cool to see you face off. Did you guys at least agree where you're holding the events?"

"Ah, yes." Brol smiled, and his scars stretched. "The Reapers have the honor of hosting."

"Cool. I'll bring snacks."

…

Shepard watched with no small amount of interest as Space Marines from three different Chapters engaged in one contest after another. Only those who had volunteered for security details remained in their armor, while the rest wore simple tunics and trousers in the colors of their respective Chapters.

Some of the contests were not particularly inventive; there were tests of strength that involved lifting the heaviest weights possible, and duels with training weapons, or with fists. Others, however, were more interesting, like a shooting competition that had the competitors blindfolded and forced to rely on their other senses to hit the targets.

Despite being on good terms with much of the Militarum forces within the Crusade, the Space Marines had limited non-Astartes visitors to the contests. Shepard, of course, had been most welcome; others included several higher-ranked Sororitas, including Blaise, along with Darius and a handful of Custodes, who were there for added security.

Shepard cheered along with a small crowd of Necropolis Hawks as their latest champion of the duels, a lieutenant from the First Company, artfully disarmed an enormous brute of a Reaper. She then turned to see another Reaper, this one in Gravis armor, walk up to her; Shepard smiled sympathetically at Brol.

"Sorry about your man," she said, gesturing to the defeated Reaper. "He did well, though; even made it to the semifinals."

Brol nodded. "Even though we have been knocked out of this event, I am unsurprised. Our cousin Chapters have more experience than most of us, and even then, combat such as this is not our specialty. I am pleased that we lasted as long as we did."

Shepard smiled. "Your boys have been doing well across the board, though."

"Indeed." Brol gestured for her to follow him. "Would you walk with me?"

"As long as we don't miss the finals for the dueling," Shepard said. "Malakim and Raquilon asked me to bless the winner."

Brol nodded again; as they walked, they took in the sight of Astartes competing, and the sound of cheers and good-natured taunts.

"This reminds me of the best moments of… of the old days." Brol made sure not to mention the Great Crusade; even here, in the hold of the Reapers' battle barge, the Furious, it was unwise to mention their true origin.

"How so?" Shepard asked.

"During those days, it was common for cousins to compete whenever they met." Brol's eyes softened, and he chuckled. "I remember the story of when Sigismund fought Sevatar; they fought for hours, until that bastard son of the Night Haunter cheated, but it took an underhanded blow to force a draw. Those were the days where legends were made."

"We don't need legends," Shepard said, not commenting on long-dead heroes and villains alike. "These days, we need living heroes to stand against a very real darkness."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," Brol said with an amused smirk, "what about Primarchs?"

Shepard waved his words off. "They're in a whole other league, they don't count." She opened her mouth to make another smart comment, but she hissed in pain and nearly doubled over had she not grabbed Brol's arm. "Ow, shit!"

"Saint Shepard, are you all right?" Brol made sure not to make a scene, especially since Shepard was doing the same. "Shall I call for an apothecary?"

"No, I think…" Shepard took a long, ragged breath. "I think the Emperor was just giving me an early warning that He wants to talk to me. Not now, but soon." She looked up at Brol. "Don't tell anyone, not yet; I want to finish the competition. Let's not ruin the fun just yet; these guys might not have it again for a long time."

"As you command, Saint Shepard."

…

"You have crappy timing, you know that?"

Revelation chuckled. "I cannot say that that was something people accused me of."

"Well, it's true." Shepard tossed another stick into the fire; while it was not as big as it could have been, it blazed merrily in the cold air. "You have something for me?"

"The Imperium grows stronger every day, especially the half that remains within my light. Even the half cloaked in darkness stands taller with the Lion, the Wolf, and Raven fighting hard." Revelation's smile dimmed. "But I sense growing opposition. The Dark Gods became aware of another of my sons at the same time I did. A champion of blood now seeks the head of one of my noblest sons, intending to claim it before you can rescue him."

Shepard barely hesitated. "Point me in the right direction, and I'll find him."

Revelation smiled again. "You must find him, my friend; I do not know how, but I sense that my son knows something important to you, specifically. I see threads connecting him, you, and a vengeful shadow."

"No offense, but I figured something like this would happen at some point." Shepard looked up at the night sky, at stars that had changed almost forty thousand years ago, but were locked in place by a god's memory. "Someone always has a bone to pick with me when I try to get something done."

"I wish you good fortune, my friend." Revelation's voice began to fade. "And I look forward to unraveling this mystery with you."

…

Mere hours after the Astartes tournament had concluded, Shepard had ordered all elements of the Crusade to prepare for departure. Everyone had already been hurrying, but when she added that the Emperor Himself had given her a command, haste nearly became panic. There were several near-accidents, but the entire fleet was ready in record time.

As fortune would have it, preparations were nearly complete when Xem-Beta's ships arrived in the system. Nearly a hundred vessels swiftly fell into formation with their counterparts among the Imperial Navy, and for the first time in a long time, the Archmagos joined the war council in person.

"Xem, your timing is impeccable," Shepard said, and gave him a hug when he entered the briefing room.

"It is good to see you as well, Saint Shepard." Xem-Beta would have pulled back, but Shepard refused to let go until he awkwardly patted her on the back with a mechadendrite. "I have news to share, but it appears that it may have to wait."

"Yeah, you've missed a lot." Shepard gestured to Helmin. "Stevron will get you up to speed as soon as we're done here."

Rex was practically vibrating in his seat as everyone got settled. "You said that the God-Emperor contacted you again, Your Holiness? Please, tell us what He said!"

Shepard grinned and held up the wayfinder. Floating in the jar was another feather, but instead of the sleek black of a raven, this was a proud brown eagle's feather, with a white tip.

"We're going to find Jaghatai Khan. The Emperor found out that he discovered something important, something vital to the Imperium, and everyone in it. The Emperor doesn't know the details, but He stressed how important this mission is; this is one we absolutely cannot fail. Hadrian, I want the priests to impress on the troops that this is a direct order from the Emperor, and we have been chosen to carry it out. Understood?"

Rex's eyes glistened with unshed tears at receiving the words of the Emperor. "By your command, and the command of the God-Emperor, it shall be done."

"It will take at least two more days to be fully prepared," Dartan cautioned. "Some of our ships are still being rearmed."

"That's fine," Shepard assured him. "This mission is urgent, of course, but we're not getting this sprung on us at the last second. We have time to do this right, which is why I'm asking now: is there anything urgent that requires my attention?"

"Two matters, Saint Shepard," Xem-Beta said. "The leadership of two allies request your presence before we depart. I am obligated to inform you that the protocols for meeting them can be… strange. However, I have informed them that neither you nor the Omnissiah have the time for every ritual, and that I will act as intermediary in your stead."

"Thanks for that," Shepard said, then waited for a moment to see if anyone else had anything for her. "All right, people, let's get to work."

…

When Xem-Beta had told Shepard that he had gone to find reinforcements, she had thought he would just bulk up his own Stygies army. She knew he had petitioned for other forces, but she didn't expect anything too extreme.

Her expectations had been thoroughly exceeded.

The Shepard Crusade had its share of super-heavy vehicles, but there was something far grander when it came to Imperial Knights. Their sloping, polished hulls and proud banners practically glowed with noble purpose. Even a single Knight was a thing of engineering beauty, and Shepard felt her heart skip a beat when she saw five of them in their secure cradles.

Four of them were small, barely taller than a Militarum Sentinel walker, though they were superior in mass, armor and firepower. Two of the Armigers were Warglaive-pattern, with a melta lance for one arm, and a stubby chainsword for another, with a meltagun atop the carapace. The other two were Helverin-pattern, with a long-barreled autocannon variant on each arm. The four Armigers surrounded their leader, like lesser warriors kneeling to their lord.

The Knight Preceptor loomed over everything else in the massive transport; like the Armigers, its hull was quartered white and blue, with a red eagle's head painted on each shoulder. Its right arm was a massive chainsword, nearly as long as a Leman Russ tank, while its left was an exotic lascannon variant that Shepard had never seen before.

The man commanding the Preceptor was quite fit for someone who rode in a war machine all the time. He was tall, with bionic eyes that glowed blue, and an immaculate uniform that matched the colors of his Knight. He bowed at the waist at Shepard's approach.

"Fair greetings to you, Saint Alexia Shepard," he said formally. "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Horatio Lesk, pilot of Iron Fidelity. I have come at the behest of the Adeptus Mechanicus to aid in your noble quest."

Shepard took a moment to take in the formal speech, and smiled. "It's a pleasure to have you with us, Sir Lesk. May I ask what House you serve?"

Lesk smiled back. "I serve no House, my Lady, for I and my children have taken the oath of the Freeblade. We go where honor demands, and where we may do the greatest good for the people of the Imperium."

"Then I think you'll fit in just fine." Shepard tilted her head. "You said that your children came with you?"

Lesk gestured to the Armiger suits. "Yes, my fiercest daughters pilot the Warglaives, while my cleverest sons ride the Helverins. I promise you, they are as dependable as any good soldier, and I will lead them well."

Shepard nodded, though privately, she wondered if Lesk was that confident in his children's abilities, or didn't care. She couldn't imagine ever taking David into battle.

"I wish there was more time to get to know you and your kids," Shepard said, "but we're getting ready to ship out."

Lesk grinned. "Excellent! I was hoping for a chance to prove our valor to you, Saint Shepard! Glory to your Crusade, and glory to Him on Terra!"

…

In contrast to the brightly lit transport of the Knights, the gargantuan vessel holding the Titans was almost oppressively dim. The thousands of Mechanicus personnel moved with grim purpose, as if every action was a prelude to a bloody deed.

Then again, Shepard mused, a single step from a Titan could crush a platoon, so perhaps it wasn't too far off.

If the Knights had been impressive, then the Titans of Legio Atarus were awe-inspiring. Their brass and red colors gleamed, even in the bad lighting, and Shepard swore one of them growled as hundreds of tech-adepts performed maintenance on it.

Shepard had initially been skeptical of Titans; they seemed too unwieldy and too resource-heavy to be practical, and if one leg was damaged, then it was as good as dead. However, while she had never fought alongside the God-Machines before, she had read dozens of reports that showed that a single Titan was often worth an entire army.

Of the Titans to join the Shepard Crusade, the Legio Atarus had sent eleven of their engines. The mightiest were a pair of Warlord Titans; standing over thirty meters tall, they stood side by side, armed with weapons that could destroy a small city. Further away were three Reavers; only about two-thirds the size of their Warlord brethren, they were still heavily armed and armored. The other six Titans were Warhounds; unlike the other Titans, these were hunched, almost bestial, and barely taller than a Knight. Their weapons were far lighter as well, with only a single weapon per arm. Still, they were terrifying to behold, especially when they were gathered together like this.

"Glorious," Xem-Beta said, his voice barely heard over the clamor. "Truly the greatest expression of the Omnissiah's might."

"I can't say I disagree," Shepard replied. "Who's leading them?"

"Princeps Jyn, who commands the mighty Vindicatio Aeterna." Xem-Beta pointed to the Warlord on the right; it carried a pair of enormous missile launchers on its carapace, a volcano cannon on one arm, and a macro gatling blaster on the other. "She has requested that you meet her on the bridge of her Titan."

"Isn't that unusual?" Shepard asked.

"It is, but your deeds have earned you such favor." Xem-Beta bowed his head. "I will remain here, for I have not been given that permission."

It took almost twenty minutes for Shepard to be brought to the Titan's head; not only did she have to make her way through the crowds of workers, but several tech-adepts had to anoint her armor with blessed oils before being allowed entrance. By that point, Shepard was ready to punch someone.

The bridge of Vindicatio Aeterna was as dark and oppressive as the ship that carried it, but Shepard supposed that the bridge crew didn't need lights when they 'saw' through the Titan's sensors. Two men, both extensively modified with bionics, occupied their stations, and paid her no mind; they were Moderati, extensions of the Princeps that helped pilot the enormous walker.

Shepard immediately realized why Princeps Jyn wanted her to come inside the Titan, instead of meeting her outside. She was little more than a withered torso and a head, her body punctured with dozens of cables and suspended in an amniotic tank. If not for the occasional twitch, Shepard would have thought she was dead.

"Welcome, Saint Shepard," Jyn said, her voice surprisingly soft and young as it came from a speaker mounted to the tank. "I am pleased that you were so quick to meet me."

"It was my pleasure," Shepard replied. "I'm honored that your Legio sent you and your battlegroup to join us."

"Many among my comrades wished to have the honor of joining your Crusade, but there are many wars beyond yours. You have done much in a short time, but tell me—why should my Titans walk for you?"

Great, Shepard thought, another test of character.

"I suppose I could give some long-winded speech about serving the Emperor, or bringing light to the Imperium," Shepard said. "But I'm going to give you a simple reason, without any of the pomp and circumstance." She leaned forward, so that her eyes were level with the empty sockets of Jyn. "People need us. Human, Astartes, Primarch, it doesn't matter—in the end, people need our help, and I'm damn well going to do my best to give it to them. If you don't think that's a worthy cause, then you can pack up and leave."

For a moment, Jyn was silent; then, soft laughter trickled through the vox. "A rather crude speech, but your point is made. You remind me of my sister; she burned with the desire to do good, and when she was deemed unfit to crew a Titan, she joined the Guard."

"She sounds like fun."

"She was. She fell defending a civilian convoy from Orks some thirty years ago; I believe that was the death she wanted." Jyn laughed again. "Very well, Saint Shepard; for the people of the Imperium, Atarus will walk."

…

Far, far away from the Shepard Crusade, a warlord sat on their throne and brooded. All around them, advisors and lesser warriors reported readiness from the many factions that made up the army.

Khayon nodded in satisfaction. "Our forces are ready. We can begin as soon as you give the word."

The Amalgamation of Hate leaned back in their throne. "The word is given. We enter the Warp, and we take the prize before Shepard. The Imperium will not have another Primarch."

Khayon had no love for Amalgamation, but his hearts beat a little faster at the thought of killing a Primarch. He had humbled Magnus for the Black Legion, and had helped Abaddon kill the clone of Horus, but those had been stepping stones in assuring the Despoiler's power. This was war, plain and simple.

If he had one regret, it was that they were going to kill the Khan, of all Primarchs. It was his belief that, had the White Scars been present when the Wolves attacked Prospero, the Khan would have sided with the Cyclops. Now, a demigod with a wisdom Khayon could genuinely respect would be his target.

"Set course for the Octarius Sector."

Sorry for taking so long with this chapter. There's a lot going on right now, including me getting so overworked that I got sick. I'm feeling better, but I could use a vacation.

Anyway, the religious schism ends before it begins, and Rychelle gets some sweet gear, and Shepard has her usual 'visit everyone after a mission' deal. After that, the Shepard Crusade needed a little break, which, thankfully, they got. Everyone is rested up, resupplied, and ready to kick ass once again.

Oh, another reason why this chapter got delayed was because I was reading the newest Siege of Terra book, Warhawk, and I had to make sure that nothing revealed in that book would conflict with what I'm about to write. Fortunately, I think I can make it all work.

And we're headed to Octarius, people! There's a little war going on there, you might not have heard about it. There's just a bunch of Orks fighting an even bigger bunch of Tyranids. And there's Imperial forces. And Necrons. And Death Guard.

And that's just the stuff off the top of my head!

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. More sales means more drive to finish the sequel (it's almost done, I swear!).

If you don't want more things to read (impossible, I know), you can always donate to my P-atreon account (link in my profile). If every single one of you donated at even the lowest tier, I'd be just about set, and could write almost nonstop! Could you imagine getting updates from me at least once a week, instead of once a month?

And now, I'd like to thank those people who are just awesome like that:

Serious Muffins: Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, killroy225, Lokthar, DrkShdw

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844, Ben Stueckle

Ultra Muffins: RangersRoll, Adam Costello

Next Chapter: Crusades cross paths, and heroes meet legends!

For those we cherish, we die with muffins!