Star-Bound

by The Incredible Muffin

Some destinies are written out centuries, or even millennia, ahead of time. However, when destiny is derailed, new plans have to be implemented. Sometimes, that involves ripping someone away from the peaceful end they seek and thrusting them into a tide of never-ending war in order to fix what can never be repaired.

37. Dispel

MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'D LOVE TO GET MY HANDS ON A SPACE MARINE JUMP PACK, BUT I'M PRETTY SURE I'D CRASH AFTER ABOUT EIGHT SECONDS.

Part of me didn't want to do this. After all, I have a Thousand Sons army, and they are one of my favorite factions… but it must be done.

Star-Bound

Chapter 37

Dispel

"Come on, you lazy bastards! I want your lasguns to be the first thing the enemy sees!" Colonel Klinner glared at a squad of Guardsmen who were a second too slow for her liking. "You men better be on your transports, or it won't just be you who will be dishonored, but Saint Shepard and the Emperor!"

The squad in question went from a quick march to a full sprint. In the past, threatening a squad with a flogging would have driven them onward, but they were of the First-Blooded. There was no greater threat than to imply they would bring shame to their beloved Saint.

"You handled that well," Commissar Yuin said, with wry amusement. "Perhaps you missed your calling in the Commissariat."

Klinner grinned. "I'd say I'm right where I need to be. Besides, if I had your job, what would you do?"

Yuin's own smile was ruined by his bionics. "Oh, I'm sure I'd find some conscripts to terrify."

"Why am I not surprised?" Klinner watched a line of Basilisks roll onto their transports, and waved at Riona, who returned it. "It feels good to get back into the fight. I just wish we weren't on the periphery."

"Eager for personal glory, Colonel?"

Klinner heard the warning in Yuin's tone. "No, but I would like to witness Saint Shepard and two Primarchs tear the foe's heart out."

"On that, we can agree." Yuin tapped one finger against the hilt of his sword. "To even be a spectator to the death of one of mankind's greatest enemies…"

Klinner barely repressed a shudder. Even knowing regular daemons were real was bad enough, but her closeness to Saint Shepard had given her access to knowledge normally forbidden to the wider Imperium. Learning that the Primarchs who had betrayed the Emperor had become daemons themselves had nearly broken her, and only assurances from Saint Shepard had kept her sane.

"Our duties do more than keep the main assault's flanks secure," she said, barely audible over the clanks of machines and the shouts of men. "Saint Shepard does this to save our very souls. Even now, she protects us."

Klinner wondered if that was because of all the losses Shepard had suffered in her past lives. Perhaps she couldn't bear to lose those under her command if it wasn't necessary. That extra bit of humanity was just one more reason why the Shepard Crusade was so devoted to its namesake.

"At least we can rest easy knowing that she will be well-guarded," she continued. "After all, she is going to war with two Primarchs at her side."

…

Shepard gently massaged her temples. "Is it like this all the time with you guys? I don't remember you all being so loud."

Russ threw his head back and laughed. "Ha! My sons are about to go to war with our age-old enemy. Many sagas will be written, and many threads cut; of course they are excited!"

Shepard winced as packs of wolves—both the four-legged and Astartes variety—howled, the sound echoing throughout the Hrafnkel's hangar, which had been loaded with tables and turned into a makeshift feasting hall for the thousands of warriors present. She had come to the Space Wolves' flagship to discuss a few issues with Russ, but had somehow ended up in the middle of a drunken party. The Wolves had always been loud and rowdy, but this was ten times worse than anything she'd dealt with before.

"Yeah, maybe I should come back later."

Russ laughed again, a little ruefully this time. "We may not have much time for revelry soon, and I would rather see as many of my sons alive as possible. I fear many faces will be absent from these tables when the fighting is done."

Shepard nodded soberly. "I know, which is why I'm only complaining about the noise." She frowned as she noticed something. "Hey, Bjorn's not here."

"Ah, he's with the other Dreadnoughts. He wanted to rest before the battle." Russ smiled at her. "I will speak to you about Roboute's logistics in a few hours. Until then, if the noise is too much, I am sure Bjorn would not mind seeing you."

Shepard grinned. "Is anyone here sober enough to show me the way?"

Russ laughed again. "I am sure one or two warriors aren't too deep into their cups yet."

Eventually, Russ found an Iron Priest to guide Shepard to where the Dreadnoughts slept. Most of the sarcophagi were motionless, but Bjorn was merely resting, and turned to face Shepard when she entered the cavernous chamber.

"My friend. It is good to see you again."

Bjorn reached out with Trueclaw, and Shepard grinned like a child as she perched onto the massive claw.

"Likewise, old man." Shepard's smile faded. "I was wondering if we could talk."

"About the upcoming battle?"

"Yeah." Shepard felt childish for asking this, but then she remembered that Bjorn had probably dealt with everything this galaxy had to offer. Besides, she and Bjorn had struck up an instant kinship; they were both old souls that had seen too much. "Aside from the Primarchs, you're one of the only people alive who have fought Magnus, right?"

"Indeed. I fought him when he attacked the Fang… the first time. It was almost my end then, and the bastard has grown more powerful since that fight."

Shepard nodded. "What should I watch out for?"

"He is mighty, both as a fighter, and a witch. Do not engage him with words, for his mind will peel apart your own after speaking once. You must be fast, and you must be strong." Bjorn brought Shepard closer to the viewing slit of his sarcophagus. "Above all, remember one thing: you are not alone. Courage is all well and good, but a daemon Primarch is not a foe you fight with honor."

"I'll try to remember that." Shepard reached out and patted the ancient war machine. "We're going to lose a lot of people, aren't we?"

"The Thousand Sons could destroy cities with their sorcery, and that was before the Heresy. Since then, they have only grown in power." Bjorn sighed. "There will be a great deal of loss, but it will not just be the Rout that fights the sorcerers and daemons. The Ultramarines and many of their Successorsare here, as are the Wolves and our own descendants, as well as the Chapters that follow you, and the Sororitas. Whole sectors have been conquered with less. And we have two Primarchs, something Magnus cannot be prepared for." Bjorn laughed. "And we have you, little Saint. It is not a matter of if we win, but when."

Shepard smiled. "Thanks, old man; I think I needed to hear that."

"I am simply glad to speak to someone who is not half-dead, nor a starry-eyed pup."

"Well, you forgot one very important factor in our favor."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Shepard tapped Bjorn's vision slit. "You. Magnus couldn't kill you before, and seeing you kick his sons' asses is gonna piss him off."

Bjorn laughed again. "Ah, yes. Perhaps I will even get another chance to pummel his ugly red face. It would be worth being stuck in this box."

"Hey, I think you look awesome." Shepard gestured to the Dreadnought's right side. "What're you going to use for a gun this time? The assault cannon?"

"If I am to fight a Primarch, I will need something more powerful." Bjorn paused. "I was thinking lascannons for today."

"Smart choice."

…

The first elements to depart for battle was the majority of the Shepard Crusade's fleet, which included the Militarum and Tempestus, as well as the Knights and Titans. Their task was simple—attack the systems neighboring Prospero, and hold back the tide of madness for as long as possible. After some consideration, Guilliman had asked that Xem-Beta and his Mechanicus forces accompany the Astartes and Sororitas to Prospero itself.

Enginseer Tia was as pleased as one with limited emotional sections of the brain could be that she was still assigned to assist the Order of the Iron Tears. That joy was mirrored by Josephine, even more so that her friend was walking again.

"It seems you got a new leg," Josephine observed. "And a new arm."

Tia held out the new bionic arm; it had only three fingers, but the extra segments in each digit suggested it was more than a simple limb.

"Proud statement: my newfound efficiency expedited my further union with the Omnissiah. These limbs are far superior to crude flesh."

Josephine smiled wryly. "Just try not to lose any more parts before you have to."

"Agreement: I would prefer to avoid unnecessary pain. The traitor who wounded us did not even die in exchange."

"And that has bothered me as well." Josephine crossed her arms. "If I encounter that heretic again… well, I have a new weapon to use on him."

Tia's organic eye went wide. "You have a new weapon? I would be pleased to examine it."

Tia wasn't the only one who had changed since they'd last met. Josephine's armor was more ornate, with red micro-scripture painted over the left side of her breastplate. Mounted on top of her backpack was a silver halo, and her robes were made of a material that helped protect the wearer from harmful elements, like radiation. If her armor was any indication, her new weapon would be similarly impressive.

"I was hoping you'd say that." Josephine tugged at her friend's new arm. "Come on, you can help out my entire squad."

Josephine led Tia through the winding corridors of the Oath of Fire, where thousands of crew either attended their stations, or prayed alongside the Sororitas. Josephine's squad was gathered in one of the many smaller chapels, all knelt before a brass statue of Saint Shepard; only an officer stood, holding aloft a beautiful sword.

"Sister Josephine," the palatine greeted. "Is this the Tech-Priest you mentioned?"

"Yes, Sister Rychelle." Josephine nodded. "This is Tia; I trust her to maintain our weapons with the respect they are due."

Rychelle considered the young Enginseer. "Sister Josephine speaks highly of your courage, but I would see your talent for myself. Josephine, present your arms."

The young Sororitas did so, and retrieved a masterfully-crafted war-pick from a rack. Its head was gleaming silver, with a blood-red grip; at the end of the pommel was a golden chain that connected to a manacle.

"We were inspired by Saint Shepard and the Black Templars," Josephine explained. "Her Holiness' weapon always returns to her hand by a beam of golden light. We have no such gift, but the Templars keep their weapons chained to their arms."

"Observation: It is a practical solution," Tia said, "made all the better by its devotion."

Josephine handed her the weapon, and Tia accepted it with reverence. Her bionic eye swept over the war-pick, examining it for potential flaws, when she noticed something on the haft.

"You have applied micro-scripture to this weapon."

"We have," another Sororitas said. "Each of us bears a passage of the Litanies of Purity. Together, no heretic will find purchase in our souls."

Tia continued her examination. "May I activate the power field?"

"You may," Rychelle said.

Tia's remaining eyebrow rose when the power weapon was surrounded by a baleful red halo. "Discovery: This power field requires calibration. Its frequency is out of blessed synchronization. Request: Please allow me a several minutes to work."

The squad obliged her, and Tia chanted in binharic cant as she adjusted the power field. Once it was tuned appropriately, she reached into her satchel and withdrew a vial and a brush.

"Oils from holy Mars," she explained, and applied the tiniest amount of oil to where the haft met the head of the weapon. "It will soothe the machine spirit in times of peace, and rouse it in times of war." She carefully held the weapon out when she was finished. "Your weapon, Sister Josephine."

"Many thanks." Josephine looked to Rychelle. "Did she pass your test, Sister?"

Rychelle smiled. "I would say that she has. Enginseer Tia, I request that your first duty is to this squad; after any tasks they require are completed, you may assist any other Sororitas."

Tia glanced at the rack of war-picks; they were the most beautiful weapons she had ever seen, which meant her answer was obvious.

"Affirmation: I accept this task, Palatine Rychelle. Query: When may I begin?"

…

"Your Holiness." Blaise sank to one knee. "Welcome aboard the Oath of Fire."

Shepard smiled. "You don't have to do that every time I come here, Temperance; I was here two days ago."

"This is the flagship of your Order; it is your home, so long as you wish it to be." Blaise smiled back. "It is only right that you be welcomed home."

Shepard's smile became a grin. "In that case, I hope the girls didn't throw any wild parties while I was out."

"No parties, but more than a few have been gripped with a sense of anticipation, and some have reported having visions of angels charging into a storm, with wolves at their sides."

"That's certainly ominous," Shepard said. "I don't suppose there was any indication of who won?"

"No, but it has cemented our resolve for this assault." Blaise's expression turned grim. "We face a traitor Primarch and his blasphemous Legion, in the heart of their home. Much faithful blood will be spilled."

"I know." Shepard put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "But if we don't do this, billions across the galaxy will die. This is why I first picked up a weapon—to save as many people as I can. And this is a chance to end one of the biggest threats to the Imperium."

"We are getting good at that," Blaise mused. "Our last campaign was proof of that."

"And we'll be fighting alongside two Primarchs," Shepard reminded her. "If anything, I'd say our odds are pretty good."

Blaise nodded. "Perhaps you could include that in a prayer today? I am sure that my sisters would appreciate your presence on the eve of such a battle."

Shepard smiled again. "I'd be happy to."

…

Josephine struggled to remain completely still, and only a stern nudge from Katarin kept her from shifting in her seat. Still, it was hard to fault Josephine's enthusiasm; Saint Shepard was about to deliver another speech, and as part of Palatine Rychelle's squad, she was near the very front.

Unlike the first time Josephine had laid eyes on her, Saint Shepard did not descend from above on golden wings. Instead, she walked alongside Blaise like a normal mortal. Her eyes were stern, but she did not appear angry; rather, she seemed ready for a fight to break out at any moment.

Blaise gestured for Saint Shepard to step forward, and she did.

"Sisters," she said, her voice carried by the echoing chamber, and the vox speakers throughout the chapel. "We are about to undertake one of the most important campaigns of our lives. Magnus the Red, one of the greatest traitors in the Imperium's history, is using unholy sorcery to drive the entire galaxy mad. I am going to fight him, alongside Leman Russ and Roboute Guilliman, but we will not go alone.

"Over a dozen Space Marine Chapters have assembled for this battle, including those from our Crusade. Some of the most powerful weapons and warriors humanity can muster will join our attack. But we need more than just weapons to win a war like this, and that is where you come in.

"I trust in the Astartes, and I know they have the skill and strength to win almost any battle, but they don't have the kind of faith that you do. Your faith in the Emperor gives Him strength, and in turn, He passes that strength back to you. Your faith will be the fire that burns away the corrupt, and the shield that stops the enemy's unholy sorcery."

Josephine felt tears running down her face at Saint Shepard's confidence. She didn't just expect the best from the Order of the Iron Tears, she knew she would get the best. To Josephine, and to her entire Order, anything less was unacceptable.

"Remember, we are not fighting alone," Shepard went on. "The Mechanicus and the Space Marines will be with us. Fight with them, and they will fight with you, and together, we will win this battle."

Shepard clasped her hands and bowed her head. "And now, let us pray."

…

Guilliman stood on the bridge of the Macragge's Honor, and watched as nearly a thousand warships took up their positions. The precision and professionalism reminded him of the best of the Great Crusade… until he saw the colors and heraldries of Chapters, not Legions. And, of course, there was the target of this campaign, which still caused no small amount of sorrow, despite his best efforts.

"My Lord," a bridge officer called out, "Lord Russ wishes to speak with you."

Guilliman nodded. "I will speak to him in my quarters. Continue with deployment maneuvers, and notify me of any unexpected developments."

It only took a few minutes for Guilliman to reach his chambers aboard the ship, which had a holographic projector for occasions such as this. The quality of the ancient device was such that Leman Russ' hologram looked almost real, which allowed Guilliman to see the emotions warring on his brother's face.

"Roboute, are we ready to depart?"

"Soon, brother; another two hours, at most. We need Shepard to clear a safe passage through the Warp storms Magnus has conjured to block our path."

Russ scowled. "He's an even bigger pain in the ass than the last time I faced him."

Guilliman raised an eyebrow. "Last time, he didn't even want to fight."

"I… I know." Russ sighed deeply. "This is my fault, Roboute. I let my hatred blind me to Horus' manipulations, and I refused to confront my Legion with its own hypocrisy. Because of my foolishness, the Imperium was robbed of one of its best defenses against the Warp. If I had just cooled my own temper, I might have mended things with Magnus, and we…"

"It is not just you that was at fault," Guilliman said when Russ trailed off. "Magnus might have had good intentions, but I have seen what he has become now. He was our brother then, but no longer; he is nothing but a monster, and a twisted echo of the man we knew."

"That does little to make me feel better, Roboute. After all, were it not for me, he would not have become that monster. My mistake has cost humanity countless millions of innocent lives."

"If you are looking for reassurance from me, you will not get it," Guilliman said sternly. "I have seen firsthand what Magnus has unleashed upon the galaxy, and he could never atone for the sins he has committed. You might have put him in a position to fall, but it was his decisions that led to this, not yours. There should be no forgiveness from us, only vengeance."

Russ chuckled, a hint of his old bluster returning to the fore. "Aye, thank you for that. For a moment, I started to sound like Corvus."

Guilliman smirked. "I was wondering why your armor was turning black."

Russ' chuckle turned into a roaring laugh. "Ha! Don't let him hear you say that, or you'll be watching your shadow for the rest of your life."

"And you wonder why I have such a large honor guard." Guilliman's smile faded. "Are you truly prepared for this battle, Leman?"

"I am, brother." Russ' gaze was hard. "I was curious if you had any of the same misgivings that I did. Now that I know you don't, I can do no less, can I?"

Guilliman nodded. "Then I will see you on Sortiarius, and we will finish this, once and for all."

…

The first ship to arrive in the system was the Vehemence, with Shepard's power burning a path for the rest of the fleet. Within minutes, the rest of the Shepard Crusade was forming up around the flagship; they created a defensive perimeter, while Guilliman and Russ led their own multi-Chapter fleets into the system.

"No enemy ships to meet us," Dartan observed. "I would say that that's a welcome surprise, but I'm more suspicious than anything."

"I think it's the Thousand Sons making a statement," Shepard said wearily. "It's like they're saying that they don't need to fight us ship-to-ship. Although they might not have expected anyone to actually break through a Warp storm."

"Indeed, few are that mad." Dartan looked at a screen nearby. "We will arrive at the target planet in fifteen hours. Please get some rest, Your Holiness; we will likely need your power soon enough."

"Agreed, but keep me informed of any developments." Shepard turned to the door. "I'll be sure to see you before the landing."

"I'd much prefer to see you after the landing," Dartan joked. "That will mean that you have emerged triumphant."

"Good point." Shepard grinned. "I'll see you then."

…

Brol glared at the hologram of Sortiarius with such hatred that it was almost palpable. Fralk was the only Reaper in the strategium to dare to speak to the High Commander.

"My Lord, do you hate the Thousand Sons?" he asked. "Wait, no, of course you do, they are traitors. But why do you glare at their world?"

Brol sneered. "There is one thing—and only one thing—that I agree with our founder on." The Reapers tensed; it was dangerously close to taboo to even mention Mortarion as 'the founder'. "He hated witchcraft in all its forms. I myself see psykers as a dangerous necessity, and I will only ever trust Librarians; all other psykers must be put to the sword. This world, and the entire accursed Legion that calls it home, must be wiped clean."

Fralk nodded. "Could we not simply bombard the planet from orbit?"

"That was the first thing considered, but Lords Guilliman and Russ both agreed that the Cyclops would use his profane power to stop such an attack. Instead, our own psykers will identify strongpoints of enemy sorcery, and Saint Shepard will land at one and purify it; that will open a window for the rest of our forces to join her on the surface."

"I understand. Who will accompany Shepard in the initial assault?"

For the first time in days, Brol smiled. "Why, we are, of course."

…

Sortiarius was far from undefended; nine enormous vessels, known as Silver Towers, orbited the world, each with enough sorcerous firepower to destroy an entire battlegroup. The first order of business was destroying at least one, which would allow the opening assault a way through.

Dartan opened the battle with massed waves of fighters and bombers to distract the target designated Tower Five. Three minutes before the strike craft could fire, the capital ships loosed thousands of torpedoes; the fighters and bombers kept the tower's defenses busy long enough for the majority of the torpedoes to strike home. The sorcery used to shield the tower held against dozens, but the defenses fell soon after that, and the tower was rocked by hundreds upon hundreds of explosions. Its holed-out husk drifted lifelessly through the void as the Reapers' ships flew past it.

The planet of sorcerers was impossible to scan from orbit; vast storms covered the surface, making any landing an educated guess. Still, even the Thousand Sons on the planet were confused when the Furious launched only three Hammerfall drop pods, and then seemed content to wait.

The mystery would be solved quickly.

…

Shepard staggered out of the drop pod, and only the steadying hand of an Apothecary kept her from falling over.

"You couldn't pay me to do that again," Shepard muttered as her fractured bones began to mend.

Drop pods had never been designed with mortal bodies in mind; even Astartes considered the impact rough on a good day.

The rest of the drop pod's occupants, a full squad of Heavy Intercessors, took up a defensive position. The other two pods contained a squad of Deathwarders and two squads of Eradicators that hastened to join them. To say their landing zone was unusual was a gross understatement; the stone they landed on was covered in blinking eyes, and the sound of laughter could be heard, but no one could identify its source. Above them, multicolored lightning coursed through the clouds, and constantly-shifting things with impossible anatomies flitted between the bolts.

"Okay, this place is horrible," Shepard commented. "Remind me not to build a summer home here."

"It would likely be destroyed," the Apothecary agreed.

Shepard grimaced; at least the Necropolis Hawks would have laughed at her joke. "All right, let's see what I can do about this weather. How close are we to the target?"

"Approximately eight hundred meters away," the squad's sergeant replied, and pointed to his left. "That way. I cannot give a proper direction, my instruments cannot make sense of this place."

"I would be extremely concerned if they did." Shepard gestured towards their destination. "Come on, let's move out."

The force moved with wary speed; every second they wasted was more time the Thousand Sons had to counter the Imperial fleet. Shepard needed to weaken the arcane defenses on the surface quickly; she was able to protect three drop pods with her power, but there was no way she could safely shield the entire assault force.

"Hostiles sighted," a Heavy Intercessor reported. "Multiple traitor Astartes."

"Can we go around?" Shepard asked. "We might not have time for a firefight."

"Negative. They appear to be guarding something—a stone tower."

"Then it looks like that's our target." Shepard gripped Liberator tightly. "Forget going around; we kill these guys, and I'll do my thing."

"Affirmative," the sergeant said gruffly. "My squad will cover your advance. Deathwarders, ensure Saint Shepard reaches the objective."

The first clue the Thousand Sons had that they were under attack was when three Rubric Marines were brought down by heavy bolt rifles. Several more fell from the heavy bolters in the same squad, and the rest—including their attending sorcerer—were destroyed by melta-fire from one squad of Eradicators. The second squad focused all their fire on a squad of Rubric Terminators; they were far more durable than even their normal Rubricae brethren, but two were still reduced to molten chunks of armor. By the time the Thousand Sons shifted to return fire, the Deathwarders were closing in.

Normally, the traitors' ensorcelled bolts would have made a mockery of even Gravis armor, but Shepard had a new trick to play. By making a miniature version of the shield she would use to protect a ship, she created a barrier that nullified the Chaos-enhanced bolt rounds. They were still bolters, however, and one Deathwarder grunted when a bolt tore a chunk out of his leg, but by then, the loyalists were among them. Melta blasters fired at point-blank range, and then power axes rose and fell; Shepard only found a single Terminator left standing by the time she got a chance to fight, but she still tore it apart with a few well-aimed strikes from an arm strong enough to destroy a tank.

"Are we clear?" Shepard asked.

The Heavy Intercessor sergeant nodded. "All hostiles neutralized."

Shepard rubbed her hands together. "Okay, let's see what we've got here."

The obelisk the Thousand Sons had been defending was ninety feet tall, inscribed with symbols that would have burned the soul and sanity of any mortal to gaze upon it. It pulsed with blue light, and purple lightning crackled over its surface. Nine hundred sacrifices had been made to empower it for the planet's defense, conducted over a nine-day period by nine sorcerers.

Shepard drew back her fist and punched it.

Golden light carved deep grooves across the surface of the obelisk; then, with the scream of denied daemons, the entire thing shattered.

Shepard shook her hand. "Damn, that was neat." She turned to the sergeant. "Contact the fleet. If the storms are weakening, then they need to deploy the rest of our forces."

The sergeant nodded, then spoke into his vox; a moment later, he turned back to her. "High Commander Brol has confirmed that the storms in our area are dissipating. Our Chapter is deploying now to create a beachhead."

Shepard glanced up; already, she could see the faint light of falling drop pods and gunships.

"Then let's get this party started."

…

Guilliman watched with no small amount of pride as thousands of Space Marines made planetfall with an almost inhuman precision. Ultramarines and over a dozen of their successors—among them the Brazen Consuls, Iron Hounds, Libators, and Aurora Chapter—fell on Sortiarius in drop pods and gunships, almost directly on top of Shepard's position. He nodded in satisfaction as the Reapers had already formed up to take the fight to the Thousand Sons.

"Many thanks for the beachhead, Shepard," Guilliman said to the Saint.

Shepard nodded at him; she wore her helmet, but Guilliman could tell through micro-gestures in her posture that she was smiling.

"Hey, it was fun." Shepard paused. "Okay, not really, but we all made it to the surface."

"Yes, and now begins the hard part." Guilliman looked up to see the arriving Space Wolves, and their own successors. "We must take the fight to Magnus and the Thousand Sons."

"At least the ground won't try to eat us anymore," Shepard said. "I saw some mouths in the ground a little while ago, but I did my thing, and the immediate area was sanitized."

"I expect your power will be needed many more times, my friend; every inch of this world is saturated by Chaos."

Shepard held up a clenched fist, which glowed with golden light. "Not for long."

Guilliman believed her; her power had begun to spread among the Order of the Iron Tears, burning away the corruption near them. A single Sororitas couldn't hope to match Shepard's abilities, but thousands on a battlefield could do something similar. Under the watchful protection of the Space Marines, Shepard and the Order of the Iron Tears had enough of the landing zone purified that the entire force could safely land.

What was surprising—and suspicious—was the almost total lack of a counterattack from the Thousand Sons. A few flocks of flying daemons occasionally swooped down, but they were easily shot out of the sky by keen-eyed Astartes.

"I am growing concerned," Guilliman said during a strategy meeting. "Magnus cannot be so foolish as to let us claim a stable foothold on his world."

"The bastard has always been arrogant," Russ argued. "He wants to prove his superiority by defeating us at our full strength."

Shepard felt significantly out of place; aside from Blaise, she was the only mortal—kind of—in a room with over two dozen Chapter Masters, a Custodes Shield-Captain, and two Primarchs. Still, she felt she had to speak.

"There's arrogance, and then there's stupidity," she said, and such was the respect she'd earned over the last few years that everyone gave her their full attention. "We have almost thirty thousand Space Marines, ten thousand Sororitas, and fifteen thousand Mechanicus units. Whole sectors have been conquered by forces a fraction of that, and Magnus knows it. He has to be planning something that will turn the odds back in his favor."

Guilliman nodded. "I agree. He knows that moving his world into realspace would trigger a massive response, so his plan has to account for that. We must proceed with caution, especially when we approach the Thousand Sons' fortifications."

Russ grumbled, but didn't disagree; that even the brazen Wolf King did so was enough to quell his more aggressive sons around him.

"Then we will tear at his flanks, keep him on the defensive, and not give him the chance to fully prepare," Russ declared. "Even if we cannot stop his plan completely, we can at least disrupt his efforts."

"On that, we agree." Guilliman waved to the hololithic projector, where maps were beginning to form, as the fleet fed him data. "Scouting detachments will probe the enemy's defenses, and strike at any vulnerable targets. We will eliminate the Thousand Sons' bases, one at a time, until we reach Magnus himself."

Shepard watched as the gathered Chapter Masters either nodded, or began murmuring orders into their respective vox. The Primarchs may have decided on an overall strategy, but each Chapter had their own preferred method of waging war.

"What about us?" Shepard asked, gesturing to herself and Blaise.

Guilliman frowned. "For now, maintain a defensive posture; your abilities remain our best method of warding away the enemy's sorcery. When it is time for the killing strike, I will call for you."

"Okay, fine." Shepard grinned. "I guess I can let you guys have the fun for now."

Guilliman sighed, and looked at the hologram of a massive pyramid. "That is not the word I would choose."

…

"Interesting. The Wolves have come, as I foresaw, but I expected Roboute to remain behind, to shore up the Imperium's defenses."

Azhek Ahriman looked up at the being he had once called father, now so much greater—and lesser. "In terms of Astartes, they greatly outnumber us."

"That is no surprise," Magnus said dismissively. "Ever has that been the case, even at the height of our strength during the Great Crusade. Our might does not come from numbers, Azhek; you know this."

"That does not mean it is not a factor to consider," Ahriman argued. "And there is the woman to consider."

For the first time in thousands of years, Ahriman saw something like concern briefly cross Magnus' features. "Indeed. The former mortal, Alexia Shepard. The Great Game has been disrupted by her presence. The loss of Khârn has created a power vacuum for the Blood God the likes of which we have not seen since the rise of my father."

"Then it is likely she means to repeat that feat here," Ahriman said.

Magnus chuckled, and the chamber shifted from shimmering metal to translucent crystal and back again in response to his power.

"Do not think me as weak as Khorne's mortal champion. Even if she does possess the means to destroy me, she must first reach me. There are other foes for me to slay, and they have no such might."

Ahriman knew there was no swaying Magnus from his path when his mind was set. "Very well. I will destroy the loyalists that will attack our outer defenses."

"Focus on the Wolves," Magnus commanded. "The slaughter of his precious sons will enrage Leman, and drive him to make mistakes. Then, I will strike."

Ahriman bowed his head, and then left the chamber; only once he was gone did Magnus tilt his head back, his single eye closed.

"Is this your doing, Father? You did not order the Wolves to slaughter us—that much is clear. It was Horus' manipulations that drove us into the arms of Tzeentch. But now… you fear me. You fear what I can do, what I will do, and you send your executioner once more. And thus, the Wolves come to my home, but this will not be a repeat of Prospero. Primarchs will clash, and your oh-so-loyal sons will curse your name as I feed their souls to the inferno!"

…

Shepard watched as Astartes tanks moved out, and Sororitas equivalents rumbled up to take their place at the perimeter. Behind the squads of Battle Sisters, maniples of Skitarii and columns of battle-servitors patrolled the interior, constantly scanning for any mundane threats.

"Is something amiss?"

Shepard glanced back at Darius; he and his entire Shield-Host had deployed for this attack, and they were always within sight of her. She had gotten used to a few of them always nearby, but with a Daemon Primarch in play, they were taking no chances.

"Nothing in particular," Shepard said. "Just worried in general. There's a lot that can go wrong, and it seems way too easy right now."

"Agreed, but there is little we can do about that." Darius wore his helm, but Shepard could imagine him glaring into the distance as he thought. "The Emperor has commanded that Magnus the Red be brought low."

Had the Emperor and the Primarchs been normal humans, Shepard wouldn't have been able to imagine the pain the former would be in, ordering the death of a son. But even when speaking with Revelation, one of the kinder aspects of the Emperor's soul, she knew that the most He saw in the Primarchs was useful generals to carry out His will. Having one son killed because he was now a threat was hardly beyond the Emperor.

But Shepard also knew the past of the Cyclops, and part of her sympathized with him. After everything he had been through, Shepard wasn't surprised that he had turned his back on the Emperor. However, she could not stand by and allow him to slaughter untold billions of innocent people. Magnus might have had legitimate grievances, but he had also become a monster.

And if there was one thing Shepard knew how to do, it was fight monsters.

Hey, look at that, I updated this story! Sorry it took so long, but the last couple of months have royally sucked. I could not work up the energy for this one until recently, but I managed to get this smaller chapter out. Hopefully, the next chapter will be more substantial.

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 in both eBook and physical format. I'm getting closer to finishing the sequel, everyone, so keep an eye out for that!

If you want to support me in other ways, consider becoming donating on my P-atreon page (link in my profile). Once you reach the appropriate tier, you can get chapters early, and even a free PDF copy of my book!

I'd also like to thank the following patrons:

Serious Muffins: Nimrod009, Aaron Meek, Matthias Matanovic, Red Bard, killroy225, Lokthar, Hakuryuken, Anders Lyngbye

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, Crazyman844, Ben Stueckle

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Next Chapter: The Imperial forces launch their first assaults, but it is here that they experience the terrible power of Magnus the Red…

All is Muffins…