MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I'M WORKING ON A NEW PROJECT WITH SOME GUY NAMED VASHTORR. HE SEEMS LEGIT.
I'm back, let's get this party started. Or finished, I should say.
Star-Bound
Chapter 38
Cyclops
Shepard's lip curled in a snarl as she hurled a beam of light into the face of a screaming daemon. It vanished in a puff of multicolored smoke, leaving the squad of Necropolis Hawks it had been about to savage unharmed.
"Many thanks, Lady Shepard," one said as they advanced further up the hill.
"Just keep your heads down," Shepard advised. "I can keep those daemons off you, but there's still a lot of fire coming at us."
As if to prove her point, an ensorcelled bolt round skimmed off the helmet of a Necropolis Hawk. His hand went to his head, but came away clean, while his brothers laughed at his human reaction.
The advance across Sortiarius was making steady progress, but the Thousand Sons weren't making it easy. Hordes of Tzaangors threw themselves at the Imperial forces every nine hours, and the many bastions across the planet were garrisoned by Rubricae and Sorcerers of considerable power. This latest strongpoint was the third Shepard had personally attacked, alongside contingents of Sororitas, Custodes, and Necropolis Hawks.
"We will be in range to assault the fortifications soon," Darius called out, and then deflected several rounds with his shield.
Darius hadn't strayed beyond ten paces from her at any point in the campaign; he and a handful of Custodes took up a permanent guard on her left side, while the Alexian Guard covered her right.
"We just need to punch a hole," Shepard replied, and turned to Blaise. "Temperance! Move in your big guns and cover our attack!"
"As you command, Your Holiness!" Blaise waved forward her Preceptory's entire complement of Paragon Warsuits—twelve in all—and waited for the right moment.
Shepard pointed Liberator at the top of the hill. "Charge!"
The Paragons opened fire with a mix of heavy bolters, multi-meltas and grenade launchers. While the defending Rubric Marines had no sense of self-preservation, their controlling Sorcerers knew that they couldn't stand against such firepower in the open, and pulled their forces back. The fire from the Thousand Sons slackened just enough for Shepard's assault to reach them.
The first of the attackers to claim a kill was Carolya, who cleaved the head from a Rubric Marine. Shepard flew past her, and blasted a Sorcerer to ash with her plasma pistol; she then smashed another Rubricae with Liberator. Bolt rounds filled the air in an attempt to shoot her down, but squads of Necropolis Hawks and Sororitas cut them down with sustained fire.
"Burn everything," Shepard ordered. "We can turn this location into an outpost, but I don't want any trace of these bastards left."
Squads of Retributors armed with heavy flamers quickly set to work, while the Astartes dragged the more intact Rubricae away to be destroyed with melta-fire. Shepard herself blasted apart any arcane symbols with her own power; she was determined not to let her people fall to sorcerous traps.
"We are nearing the primary citadel on all vectors," Darius reported. "If our advance continues at this rate, we will face the bulk of the enemy by tomorrow."
"Good." Shepard glanced around, and then gestured for Darius to follow her away from the others. "I've been getting… something from the Emperor lately."
Darius shifted slightly. "He has given you orders?"
"Nothing so exact," Shepard said with a grimace. "More like an idea of what's going on. He's doing what He can to limit Magnus' sorcery, but He was already pushing Himself against the other Chaos powers. This counterattack is stretching Him too thin. He can't protect everywhere at once, and the casualties are piling up."
"Is the Emperor in some kind of danger?" Darius asked.
"Not in the traditional sense, but He was just starting to get His strength back when this happened." Shepard sighed. "Now, He's expending more power than is healthy for Him. The longer this takes, the longer the Emperor will suffer."
Darius' hand tensed around the pommel of his sword; it was the closest to being stressed Shepard had ever seen him.
"I just thought you deserved to know," Shepard added. "If I was pushing myself this hard, I'd want someone to tell Carolya."
"Thank you for telling me," Darius said. "If anything, I am more at ease. If I was back on Terra, I would not have a way to help the Emperor, but here, I am at the source of His woe, and can do something about it."
Shepard thought about that for a moment. "Hey, did anything ever happen on your watch? Back at the Imperial Palace, I mean."
Darius hesitated, likely because he had to decide what he was allowed to tell her. "Nothing ever made it past the outer defenses."
"Then I'll just assume you guys are just that good at your job." Shepard grinned. "I mean, it's been over ten thousand years, and the Emperor is still sitting on the Golden Throne. That's a pretty damn good record, if you ask me."
Darius accepted the compliment with a nod. "All of us take great pride in that." He paused, and Shepard thought he was frowning behind his helm. "A gunship is approaching. Space Wolves."
"Huh, I wonder what they're doing here," Shepard mused, though she envied the Custodes' senses that allowed them to see something so far away. "They aren't supposed to be in our sector."
"We should be wary," Darius advised. "They are here without warning over the vox. It could be an enemy deception."
"If it is, it's one of the most obvious in the world." Shepard switched her vox channel to the one used by the Wolves. "Attention Space Wolf aircraft, state your business."
A familiar laugh answered her. "What? I cannot visit a friend?"
Shepard rolled her eyes. "I'm always happy to see friends, Lord Russ, but I'm not a fan of surprise visits in a warzone."
"Ha! At least your discipline is sharp." Russ' voice became serious. "We'll be landing at your position in a few minutes; there is something important I must discuss with you, and I cannot risk speaking of it over the vox."
"Ominous." Shepard held up a hand when Blaise and Captain Torlim approached. "We'll be waiting for you. Shepard out."
"What is happening, Your Holiness?" Blaise asked.
"Not sure yet," Shepard admitted. "I'm hoping to find out soon."
…
Russ had clearly seen battle; his armor wasn't damaged, but it was dirty and spattered with wrong-colored blood. Despite that, his smile was wide as he strode down the ramp of his gunship and swept Shepard up into a rough embrace.
"Good to see you on the field of battle once again, my friend," Russ said as he set her down.
"Every time you do that, I feel like I'm five," Shepard complained. "Seriously, though, what brought you all the way out here?"
Russ took a moment to survey the site of Shepard's victory. "I want you to join me for my attack on Magnus."
Shepard frowned. "I thought the plan was to have you get his attention first."
"It was, but I'm changing the plan." Russ shrugged. "I may have learned a few tricks for fighting daemons, but Magnus will certainly know that we are up to something if I go into battle without our greatest weapon against Chaos. Besides, if your power can blind him to the strands of fate, it will make for a more even fight."
"That… actually might work." Shepard crossed her arms. "Every time I fight the Thousand Sons, it's like they don't know how to react to me."
"Your very presence disrupts their connection to Chaos, much like the All-Father; He could send daemons running just by being on the same bloody planet."
"Yeah, I'm not that good, but I can help win a fight." Shepard considered her options. "I'm guessing I'll need to bring a bigger strike force than what I've got here."
"A good idea," Russ said. "Bring Astartes; we'll need as much firepower as we can muster."
Shepard raised an eyebrow. "That better not be an insult to my girls. Primarch or not, nobody messes with them in front of me."
To her surprise, Russ conceded the point with a bob of his head. "No offense was meant; your Order fights like Fenrisian women, and that is a compliment. However, their faith disrupts the enemy's sorcery, and we need them to hold their positions."
"Yeah, okay, that makes sense," Shepard admitted. "Still, I'll keep some of them with me for the attack, but I'll see if I can get the Reapers to join up. They're not a big fan of traitors." She paused. "I mean, nobody on our side is a fan of traitors. You know what I mean."
Russ chuckled. "Then I will leave you to your preparations. I have other assaults to help, and packs to gather."
By the time the Space Wolves had left, Shepard was already speaking to Darius. "Get Brol on the line, and have Blaise send more Sisters our way. We need to get ready for the big push."
"At once," Darius said. "It is past time we end this battle."
…
Guilliman watched impassively as his strategy played out on the screen in front of him. He had known that attacking the base of operations of any Primarch would be a challenge, but this campaign was frustrating him. In some theaters, entire Chapters of Ultramarine successors were bogged down by sorcerous traps and counterattacks. In others, the Thousand Sons were quickly and rapidly routed, usually by the Space Wolves and their successors, or the Shepard Crusade.
It made sense to Guilliman; after all, the Wolves had been able to fight sorcery long before Magnus turned against the Imperium, and Shepard's power robbed the Thousand Sons of their greatest strength. It was just galling to see his own sons unable to fight as well as they should against the madness that was the Thousand Sons' sorcery.
"My lord," Marneus Calgar greeted as he entered the strategium. "I have news from Shepard."
Guilliman nodded, almost absently; to most, it would have seemed dismissive, almost insulting, but Calgar had long since learned that the Primarch always had ten thousand matters on his mind, but could still hold a conversation without issue.
"Speak, Chapter Master."
Calgar paused, but only long enough to check that the hexagrammatic wards that Tigurius had set up were still active. With the Thousand Sons, there was no such thing as too much protection against psykers.
"Apologies for the delay in reporting, but for operational security, the messages were delivered in-person."
"Inefficient, but regrettably necessary; continue with your report."
"Lord Russ is mustering a force to bait the thrice-damned Magnus into open battle; Shepard is with him, though neither divulged the details of their plan, so that the enemy could not divine their intentions."
Guilliman nodded again. "The Thousand Sons' strategic disposition is not dictated by logic or efficiency, but the whims of Chaos itself. By combating with instinct, they can be as unpredictable as our foe. Do what you can to keep track of Shepard's movements, Marneus, and alert me the moment they engage my traitorous brother. I will not let them fight alone."
…
Brol peered at the massive citadel before them; they were well within range of any conventional weapons, yet not a single shell had been fired. Granted, it didn't look like a conventional fortress; instead, it looked like an enormous pyramid, forged of silver and gold, and dotted with blue flame that seemed to dart about with no discernible pattern.
"What are they waiting for?" he asked.
"For their master's instructions," Russ said. "The Thousand Sons are ambitious bastards all, but none of them would dare go against Magnus if he told them to wait."
"Even to the point of defying common sense?" Brol gripped his power scythe tightly. "They may be traitorous bastards, but they are still Astartes. They can't have thrown away their tactical abilities."
"By its nature, Chaos has no order," Russ warned. "What seems obvious to us is often a convoluted scheme to achieve something that has no value to the sane."
"Then I hope we put this entire world to the torch soon," Brol said. "I want nothing more than to return to a place where things make sense."
"As do we all." Russ glanced at him. "How have your men been handling this campaign? I recall many within the old Legions who could not comprehend the kind of madness we're fighting now."
Brol chuckled. "We took a page out of the Sororitas' book—don't try to understand the heresy, just burn it on sight."
Russ snorted, and then looked over his shoulder at the Sororitas elements joining their attack. Just over fifteen hundred Battle Sisters, led by Canoness Evelina, and seconded by Palatine Rychelle; Shepard had initially only wanted a small force of Sororitas to accompany her, but Blaise had insisted that a substantial number of the Order of the Iron Tears join her in destroying Magnus.
"I think there's a good chance of that happening today." Russ gripped the hilt of his sword. "Just leave Magnus to me and Shepard. Keep the rest of his bastard sons off us."
"That is something we can definitely do." Brol spotted Evelina waving him over. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Russ."
After a nod from the Primarch, Brol headed to the Canoness, who was carefully wiping down her power sword. "Canoness, did you require something of me?"
There was a wheeze from Evelina's helm as her life-support system filtered the poisons still coursing through her. "I wished to convey a message from Saint Shepard. She apologizes for not being able to speak to you directly, but she wanted to meditate, to ensure that the power of the God-Emperor was at its best."
"Considering the situation, I understand." Brol gestured to her with his scythe. "What is the message?"
"She requests that you take overall command during the upcoming assault." Evelina shrugged. "She says that she and Lord Russ will be too busy with their battle to handle wider command."
Brol nodded. "Then I will do my utmost to live up to her trust."
Evelina was about to speak again, but the ground shuddered violently, and any non-Astartes were knocked off their feet. Brol helped Evelina up, but as soon as he looked back towards the citadel, he froze. There, standing not twenty paces from the Imperial line, was a figure Brol had only seen images of.
Magnus the Red was huge, by Primarch standards, standing almost a full head taller than Leman Russ. The spot where his eye should have been was a blank patch of red skin, and his red hair fluttered, despite the lack of a breeze. His armor left his arms and head exposed, but only a fool would believe that the Crimson King was vulnerable. In fact, Brol suspected that his appearance was an illusion, because he looked exactly how he did during the Great Crusade, but Guilliman had described him as a towering monster, with enormous wings.
Illusion or not, Leman Russ walked up to his traitorous brother with a swagger that bordered on arrogance. Shepard hung back; whatever was going to happen would be between brothers.
"Magnus," Russ said.
"Leman." Magnus smirked. "You look old."
"And you're not really here." Russ sniffed the air. "Even before you turned your back on the Emperor, I could smell the corruption on you."
Magnus crossed his arms. "I turned my back, you say? The years must have addled what's left of your mind. I was loyal, you wolf-loving barbarian. I made a mistake, and Horus convinced you to kill me, and my sons. Every action I took after you destroyed my home is entirely on your head!"
For a moment, Russ was silent; then, he nodded. "You are right."
Even Magnus looked taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"You are right, brother." Russ shook his head. "My Legion was full of hypocrites. We looked down on you and yours for your use of psychic powers, but we used those same powers. We only called it by a different name."
"Are you apologizing, Russ?" Magnus looked both incredulous and delighted. "Truly, your exile has opened your eyes."
"Don't mistake me, I still intend to kill you today." Russ drew himself up proudly. "I know the truth. You were given a chance to come back to the fold. Father offered you a place at his side, but you refused. I remained loyal, even when so many in the Imperium thought I pursued my own agendas."
Magnus sneered. "And why did you stay loyal? You had a Legion at your back; you could have carved out a kingdom for yourself."
Russ grinned. "As the Lion once said, loyalty is its own reward."
Magnus was quiet for a long moment. "I thought I would share one last dialogue with you, old warrior. I believed that, after so many millennia in the Warp, you might see things as I do. Instead, we will finish what you started on Prospero, but you will not burn my home a second time. I will tear off your limbs and fuse you to a stone; I will rip off your eyelids and lock your gaze in place as I murder your sons before you. Then, I will bring your shattered body to Fenris, and burn those primitives on that wretched world while you watch, helpless. Finally, when you have nothing more to lose, only then will I allow you to die."
Despite the softness of his words, everyone within a mile could hear him, as plainly as if he'd spoken directly into their ears. Behind Magnus, his shadow grew and twisted, sprouting wings and horns, while the cackles of gibbering daemons could be heard on the wind.
Finally, Shepard had had enough, and she shattered Magnus' illusion with a beam of golden light. As soon as he was gone, the Imperial forces let out a collective breath they hadn't known they'd been holding.
"Are you all right?" Shepard asked Russ.
The Wolf King sighed. "I suspected he wouldn't be open to talking. I knew I'd have to kill him, but part of me still hoped…"
"He's your brother," Shepard said when he trailed off. "Despite everything, you don't want to kill your family."
Russ nodded. "Regardless, I won't hesitate to hand out the deathblow."
Shepard patted his arm. "Even if you do, I'll be there to make sure he doesn't try any magical bullshit."
"That's what I'm counting on." Russ' eyes narrowed as the lights around Magnus' citadel grew brighter. "It's beginning. Let's finish it."
…
The battle took place in the midst of what the Thousand Sons called the Changing Ridgeline. It was an apt name, for even Shepard's powers couldn't completely stop the terrain from altering every so often. Footing was unsteady at the best of times, and many of the heavier vehicles on both sides were forced to skirt the periphery of the battlefield, where vicious tank duels took place.
The most important part of the battle, however, fell to the infantry. Thousands of Rubric Marines and many times that number of Tzaangors charged, flew, or were teleported into combat. They were met with the bolters and blades of Astartes and Sororitas alike; sorcery and mutation met discipline and faith in a battle that devolved into a hundred smaller engagements.
Shepard, knowing that she had to keep her power in reserve for the most critical moment, watched with her heart in her mouth as those who had sworn their lives to her service fought and died in her name. All she could do was watch, and hope that Magnus entered the battle soon.
At least Russ was keeping the battlefield relatively stable. He rushed to each section where it looked like the Imperials were losing, and turned the tide; he fought with a hundred of his greatest warriors, including Bjorn, and each of them would earn legends equal to the greatest Space Wolves. But it was Russ who stood out the most, and not just because of his Primarch-level skill and strength, but his weapon. Instead of his sword and axe, he carried a golden spear that radiated the same kind of light as Guilliman's sword; it was the Spear of Russ, a weapon forged for him by the Emperor, and thus capable of permanently destroying the minions of Chaos.
Still, Shepard was worried; just before the battle, Russ had revealed the weapon to her, and confided in her that he wasn't sure how long the spear would hold against a threat as powerful as Magnus the Red.
And so, she watched, and waited, and hoped.
…
Josephine sang the Thirteenth Hymn of Purity under her breath as she crushed the skull of a Tzaangor. That was the eighth one she'd killed by herself, and the eleventh she'd shared credit for destroying. At her side, Katarin fought in stoic silence, always blocking when Josephine swung her war-pick, and attacking when her sister defended. They and the rest of their squad maintained their formation around Palatine Rychelle, who glowed with a soft light as she butchered her way through even more of the detestable mutants.
"Traitor Astartes ahead!" Rychelle called out. "Lock shields and advance on them!"
Without hesitation, Josephine stepped into a shield-wall with her squad. Ensorcelled bolts hammered against them, but their shields had been thrice-blessed to ward against such evil, and only one of the Sisters was wounded. By then, they had reached the squad of Rubricae; unlike the Tzaangors, the empty suits of power armor were more difficult to destroy, even with their powerful weapons. Josephine's war-pick punched through a Rubricae's chest, only for it to punch her in the face; her helm shattered, and she was knocked on her back.
When she came to, she could only see out of one eye, but that was enough to see Katarin lifted up by the neck of the same Rubricae. Katarin tried to bury her war-pick into the automaton's head, but it caught her arm mid-swing and tore it from her body in a wash of blood.
Josephine screamed in rage and denial; she snatched up Katarin's weapon from her severed hand and smashed it into the Rubricae's knee. It dropped Katarin as it fell, and was distracted long enough for her to draw an inferno pistol with her remaining arm and vaporize it from the waist up. A few moments later, and the fight was over, leaving Josephine to do what she could for Katarin's wound.
"Continue fighting," Katarin told her, voice tight from the pain, but she managed to keep a steady grip on her pistol. "I cannot hold a weapon and a shield, so I will cover you."
Josephine attached Katarin's weapon to her sister's belt, then recovered her own. "You will not be wounded again, sister; we swore to Saint Shepard that we would not die, and I intend for us both to keep that promise."
"Of course," Katarin said. "Besides, if I were to die, you would probably get lost aboard one of our ships within the day."
"If you are making jokes, Sister Katarin, then you are fit to fight," Rychelle cut in, though there was a hint of amusement behind her stern voice.
"Always, Palatine," Katarin said.
"Good." Rychelle pointed with her sword. "Because more are coming."
Josephine's smile was fierce. "Then let us not keep them waiting!"
…
Brol watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the Thousand Sons before him were slowly driven back. Some of the destroyed Rubricae were restored with sorcery, but for every one that rose again, two more would not. The loyalists had taken casualties, yes, but they had a Primarch in the field, while the traitors did not.
Brol had never had much interaction with the Thousand Sons during the Great Crusade. He had met a few during the rare times when the XIV and XV Legions campaigned together, and he had always seen them as aloof and arrogant in their power. If there was one thing that he still agreed with Mortarion about, it was that psykers were exceptionally dangerous. The few Librarians within the Reapers were still offered respect, but the safeguards surrounding them were extreme, even by Astartes standards.
These sorcerers, however, would be afforded no mercy, and the Reapers would take no chances. Whenever possible, each sorcerer's head was crushed or split apart, and Eradicator squads would burn what remained to ash, just in case.
A furious roar caught his attention, just in time to see a Helbrute, a twisted mockery of a noble Dreadnought, charging down a hill that had spontaneously risen up. It barreled into a squad of Heavy Intercessors, ignoring the bolts that hammered its writhing sarcophagus, and smashed one of them into paste.
"With me," Brol hissed, and his squad of Deathwarders followed after him.
The Heavy Intercessors fell back, though another of their number was snatched up by the Helbrute's massive fist and crushed. Still, the survivors escaped so that Brol and his Deathwarders could open fire with their melta blasters. The Helbrute itself was no sorcerer, but the Thousand Sons had infused its hull with protective enchantments, and a glittering barrier protected the abomination from much of the damage. Some got through, though, and part of the Helbrute's shell ran like melted wax.
Brol ducked under a clumsy swing of the Helbrute's arm, and drove his power scythe through the weakened part of the machine's hull. Rather than oil or smoke, iridescent blood poured from the torn metal; more blood ran down the Helbrute as the Deathwarders hacked it apart with their power axes. One of them was injured by a flailing fist, but in the end, the Helbrute was destroyed.
"A worthy kill, High Commander," one Deathwarder commented. "A shame it is forbidden to take trophies from the servants of Chaos; the frame of this thing would have looked good on the Furious."
Brol shrugged. "Then we shall take pride in knowing that we helped bring down one of the Imperium's greatest threats."
He just hoped that Magnus actually made an appearance on the battlefield; if he decided to turn tail and run, then this entire campaign would have been for nothing.
…
Shepard's first inkling that something was wrong came when Carolya shouted a warning, and a Custodian put himself in the way of a sorcerous bolt. Amazingly, he didn't die, but he collapsed in an unconscious heap; Shepard leapt over him and fired a wave of golden energy, countering a second bolt and staggering the Thousand Sons that had teleported so close.
The remaining nine Custodes were moving before their brother had finished falling. Their guardian spears and sentinel blades fired a stream of finely-crafted bolts that punched through several Rubric Marines and a Terminator, just as they finished manifesting from the shadows. The Thousand Sons opened fire with their inferno boltguns; a Custodian staggered from several wounds, and one of the Alexian Guard was torn apart.
Enraged, Shepard flew towards the Thousand Sons; she smashed three Rubric Marines to pieces with Liberator, and turned a Terminator into an uncorrupted, if empty, suit of armor with a beam of golden light. The remaining Alexian Guard and Custodes charged in her wake and smashed into the traitor force.
The hairs on the back of Shepard's neck stood on end, and she whirled at the last second to block a barrage of solid shadows with a golden barrier. She glared at the source—a sorcerer of prodigious power, riding a daemonic disc. His ornate armor was covered in robes, and his helm sprouted several enormous horns; his black staff was festooned with symbols of arcane power, which he leveled at her.
"Alexia Shepard," the sorcerer said in a low, refined voice. "I am Azhek Ahriman, Arch-Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons. You have come to kill my father."
Shepard shrugged. "To be fair, I came here to kill a lot of people. He's just on the top of my list."
Ahriman chuckled. "You honestly believe your borrowed power can stop one such as Lord Magnus? And I thought he was arrogant."
"I think I've got a shot," Shepard admitted, and then grinned. "Of course, I could be wrong, which is why I brought the Primarch who kicked his ass already."
"If you believe a Primarch can defeat what my father has become, then you are just as deluded as the rest of your rotting Imperium." Ahriman's hand crackled with power. "But I cannot let you interfere in my lord's duel."
"You make it sound like I care what you want." Shepard countered Ahriman's attack with another pulse of light, but her first indication that that had been a distraction came when a curved, serrated sword cut her arm off at the elbow.
She bit back a scream and flew out of reach of the Terminator that had severed her arm. As she dodged the gunfire of the rest of the Terminator squad that had teleported behind her, she hurled Liberator into the one that had wounded her, blowing open its chest and helm, but by the time her weapon returned to her remaining hand, sorcerous tendrils snatched her from the air and slammed her to the ground. Ahriman loomed over her, power gathering around his staff as he leveled it at her head. Words that should not have fit in a human mouth began to form, but before Ahriman could finish his incantation, searing beams tore through a Terminator, and the ground shook as loyalist reinforcements arrived.
Shepard didn't know the identity of the Brutalis-pattern Dreadnought that came to her rescue, only that it had the colors and heraldry of the Reapers. Unlike the Redemptor, the Brutalis was designed exclusively for close-quarters fighting, with a pair of massive fists, and two multi-meltas built into its chest. The bolt rifles built into its arms fired as it charged, and then it was among the Terminators, crushing one with the sheer weight of the impact, and then destroying several more with its hands.
The distraction the war machine caused was enough for Shepard to heal, and then she went after Ahriman. The Arch-Sorcerer tried to put some distance between them, but Shepard was faster; she vaporized his disc with a beam of golden light, and he fell to the ground. Ahriman tried to raise his staff, but Shepard smashed it out of his hands, and with a savage swing, Liberator's blade plunged into his chest. That still wasn't enough to kill a Space Marine, so when Ahriman raised his hands to cast another spell, Shepard drew her plasma pistol, pressed the barrel under his chin, and pulled the trigger. Her power stripped away his arcane defenses, and his head was reduced to ash.
"One down," she muttered, and turned to the Dreadnought; it had a few rents in its chassis, but was otherwise fit to fight. The Terminators, on the other hand, were all dead. "Damn, you didn't waste any time; thanks for the help."
"It is my honor to serve, Lady Shepard," the Dreadnought said. Shepard didn't know if it was designed into a Brutalis, but this one's synthesized voice was deeper than that of any other model she'd heard.
"Well, it looks like the rest of our area is clear," Shepard said. "I'll link up with my team; you'd better get back to your brothers."
"It shall be done."
As the Dreadnought stomped off, Shepard marveled at how fluidly it moved. The Reapers' natural resilience meant that many of their wounded refused to die, and were excellent candidates for Dreadnought sarcophagi. Their Techmarines' relationship with the Mechanicus in the Shepard Crusade meant that they had plenty to go around, and though young, the Reapers already had more than twenty of the devastating walkers.
Carolya landed next to Shepard on a plume of fire. "Your Holiness, are you well?"
Shepard nodded. "I'm fine. What about the rest of the team?"
"The wounded Custodes have been taken aside to heal, but they will not be able to fight on today." Carolya's eye narrowed. "Two of the Alexian Guard have gone to the God-Emperor's side."
Shepard winced. "Damn. I'm sorry."
"You were fighting for your life, you have nothing to apologize for." A shudder ran through the ground, and Carolya tensed. "Is this accursed land shifting again?"
Shepard felt her blood run cold as a looming monster came into view. "No. This is something much worse."
…
Russ skewered another Sorcerer, but had no time to feel satisfaction for his kill. Only instincts sharpened by many lifetimes fighting the powers of the Warp saved him from meeting the same fate as his latest victim. He rolled to one side as the blade of a glaive nearly as long as he was tall came crashing down.
"You move quick, for your old age, brother," Magnus taunted, and drew back his polearm for another blow.
"And your one eye still can't hit anything," Russ retorted. "You always were lacking as a warrior."
"I do not need to kill you with such brutish methods," Magnus said dismissively. "I could kill you with but a thought."
"Then why don't you?"
Russ barely deflected Magnus' blade, but was unable to stop a fist the size of his torso from punching him into a nearby boulder.
"Because this is far more fun." Magnus raised his free hand; multicolored lightning crackled around his fist, and his wings spread wide. "But, if you insist that I show you the true measure of my power, then I will oblige you."
Russ rolled again, and lightning left a crater where he'd been just a second earlier. He charged in close, intent on getting inside the reach of Magnus' glaive, and succeeded—but before he could pierce his traitorous brother's flesh, the haft of Magnus' spear shrank, and now it was a sword that blocked Russ' spear. Still, Russ managed to whirl and dodge Magnus' counterattack, and scored a shallow cut across his brother's thigh.
The Cyclops bellowed in pain as a weapon that could kill lesser daemons wounded him. It was a pain he had felt before, when Ragnar Blackmane hurled the spear into his eye, long ago. Held in the hands of one created by the Emperor, that pain was magnified, and Magnus stumbled. Russ would have run him through, had Magnus not lashed out with his sword; it bounced off the haft of Russ' spear, and cut across his face. Now it was Russ who roared in agony as he stumbled back, his left eye torn from his skull. Magnus gestured with his free hand, and the stone under Russ' feet groaned and shifted, turning into tendrils that dragged him halfway underground.
Magnus rose, and smirked as he saw the wound on Russ. "It seems I am no longer the only cyclops."
Russ struggled, but with Magnus' will behind it, the stone was unyielding. He froze when Magnus rested his blade against his throat.
"I am gracious in victory, Leman. I will allow you a final oath to Father; perhaps an apology, for failing to kill me twice."
Russ sneered, and opened his mouth. What came out was not a word, in the traditional sense; the human mouth was not capable of the motions required for what he said. Magnus screamed as unreal blood poured from his ears and eye; Russ coughed up blood as the cost of his actions caught up with him. Had any Space Wolves or Thousand Sons clearly heard what he'd said, they would have died on the spot, but the maelstrom of battle, ironically, protected them from all but a deep sense of unease.
"What…" Magnus gasped out. "What was that? How do you know Enuncia!?"
Russ grinned around a mouthful of blood. "I spent a long time in the Warp, brother, and I learned a great deal—including some secrets Father wanted to keep buried."
"And you called me a witch," Magnus said with a sneer.
"I thought you'd approve," Russ said, still grinning. "After all, I found some profound truths of the universe, all while sailing your precious Great Ocean."
"It has only bought you another moment of life, Leman." Magnus raised his sword again, only to be struck in the side by a pair of lascannon beams; he whirled, and saw a Dreadnought stomping towards him. "You!"
"No more running, traitor!" Bjorn the Fell-Handed charged as he fired again. "This time, I will see you dead!"
Magnus stopped the next volley of las-fire with a wave of his hand; he gestured, and the beams turned in place, and then hammered Bjorn's ancient frame. The Dreadnought staggered, but kept going, and slammed Trueclaw into Magnus' leg. The Crimson King scowled as the claws dug into the wound Russ had inflicted—the same wound that refused to heal. Bjorn reached back to strike again, but Magnus had no intention of letting him; with a single swipe, his sword cut Trueclaw from Bjorn's chassis, and a second impaled the ancient Dreadnought through the center of his sarcophagus. Bjorn's frame twitched, and then went limp; Magnus then casually tossed him off his sword with a flick of his wrist.
There was a scream of rage, but it was not the howl of Leman Russ that Magnus expected. Instead, it came from above, and when he tilted his head back to look, he was nearly blinded by golden light.
Shepard streaked down like a vengeful comet; her rage fueled her power, and in turn, that power stoked her fury to even greater heights. For the briefest moment, her wings were the size of continents, and her light outshone the sun.
Magnus raised his sword, and channeled every drop of his psychic might into blocking Shepard's strike. Power that could destroy Titans in seconds, cities in minutes, and worlds in hours, all focused into a single weapon. It was the power to fell the mightiest warriors in history.
Against a power crafted to be its antithesis, fueled by a god who never wanted to be one, Magnus' arms shattered. The ground underneath him cracked and shook, and the talons on his feet snapped as they struggled to hold off an apocalyptic blow.
Shepard's weapons included more than the one in her hands. Her wings reached out, almost like an embrace, but when they touched Magnus' own wings, his sizzled and boiled away like water on a hot plate.
Magnus roared in pain, and he stumbled back, but he wasn't the only one in agony. For an instant, Shepard's power had been on the level of a god, but her body was still human. Her own arms snapped, followed by her spine, and then her legs, and she collapsed in a heap. Vaporized blood hissed from her pores, and her veins burst; her organs were torn apart from the force of the impact, and she died before she hit the ground.
Even as Magnus willed his broken flesh to heal, a soft, golden light enveloped Shepard's body. Her eyes flickered open, and her shattered limbs stitched themselves together. Magnus' wings were still half-formed when Shepard rose to her feet and picked up Liberator—and she wasn't alone.
Without Magnus focused on keeping him bound, Russ tore himself free from his stone prison. The wound on his face had stopped bleeding, but his eye remained gone; even so, he was a Primarch, and it would take far more than losing an eye to stop him.
"Let this be finished," he said, and charged.
Magnus desperately parried his first thrust, but the second stabbed him in the wrist. Russ pulled with all his strength and yanked Magnus off-balance. Shepard rose on golden wings and smashed Liberator into the Crimson King's head, shattering one of his horns. Magnus tried to grab her, but she flipped Liberator around and stabbed him through the hand; she slammed his hand to the ground, and with that arm now pinned, Russ tore his spear free and jabbed it into his brother's neck. He stepped in close and drove his fist into Magnus' jaw; daemonic bone cracked, and teeth flew free. Russ grabbed Magnus' remaining horn and pulled his face into his waiting knee; when Magnus reeled back, Shepard scorched the flesh from his face with beams of light.
By now, Magnus realized that he was dying; between the spear Russ held, and Shepard's powers, they had the ability to end his existence. In his pride, the Cyclops could not accept that, and lashed out once more; his cracked sword cut Shepard's legs off, even as she threw Liberator into his half-melted eye. At the same time, Russ collided with Magnus' chest, shattering what remained of the Crimson King's armor, and driving his spear into his heart. Magnus fell onto his back, his energies spent, and the spear passed through his back and into the ground.
"Any last words, Magnus?" Russ asked, breathing heavily. "If it's one last attempt at sorcery, know that I will rip your jaw off before you finish."
Though blind, Magnus turned his head to face his brother. "Lorgar was right, Leman. There are gods, for what else could manifestations of such power be? Father tried to deny them, to starve them to death, but He failed. Killing me will only enrage them, and you will fight them forever, as punishment for what you have done today. Chaos… Chaos always finds a way to survive."
"Maybe so," Shepard said, stumbling on regenerated legs. "But you sure won't."
Shepard placed her hand on the Spear of Russ, already plunged into Magnus' heart; golden light slid down the spear and into the ruptured, corrupted organ. Every open wound began to glow with the same light, and his flesh began burning away to ash. It spread further across Magnus' entire body, and he started to fade away; he looked at Russ, but when he opened his mouth, no words came out. The last thing to vanish was his eye; there was malice in his gaze, but also a deep sadness, and Russ could not bring himself to meet it.
In the skies above, there was the sound of a thousand undone plans, and a scream of denial as a god lost its most powerful pawn.
…
All around the galaxy, the Thousand Sons felt the death of their father, and the shock undid many of them.
T'sathis Vhorr, Exalted Sorcerer of the Cult of Time, lost his grip on his enchanted staff in the middle of a skirmish with a Mechanicus force. Without his protection, the staff was destroyed by a stray bolt of plasma, and with his temporal anchor sundered, his body and soul were scattered like raindrops across all of time.
During a ritual to bind a pack of daemons, Astorthas the Inconstant lost focus, and his perpetually-changing flesh erupted from his armor. Even by the standards of Chaos, his form was too fluid to maintain, and the Cult of Mutation lost one of its greatest leaders in an explosion of corrupted skin and blood.
The Prince of Liars, a sorcerer who went by a different name for each person who met him, stumbled in the middle of a lie during negotiations with a force of Emperor's Children, and accidentally revealed his greatest truths. The offense this caused his would-be allies to butcher him in a rage.
Lord Kataklystis, an Exalted Sorcerer of the Cult of Magic, was disrupted in the middle of a spell that would have incinerated an entire world. The eruption of uncontained sorcery turned his entire thrallband into ash, and the Militarum regiments that would have died continued their training exercises without ever knowing how close they came to death.
…
Khayon collapsed, as it felt like a piece of his soul abruptly burned away. He forced himself to his feet and exited his chambers aboard the Blackstone Fortress; he had barely closed the door behind him when he nearly collided with Amonhotep. The Exalted Sorcerer's ethereal features flickered like a flame in the wind, but Khayon could still see the terror on his face.
"He is dead," Amonhotep said, his voice a whisper.
Khayon nodded; only his power armor kept him from visibly trembling. "Magnus. He is gone."
Neither of the former Thousand Sons held any special reverence for their Primarch. Khayon had been the one to force Magnus to his knees before Abaddon, and Amonhotep had hated his father with a fervor matched only by his hatred of the Space Wolves. Still, there was a connection—psychic, spiritual, genetic, or a combination of all three—that all Space Marines shared with their Primarch; loyal or not, willing or not, a Space Marine knew if their Primarch was dead. The Iron Hands had known it when Ferrus Manus died to Fulgrim, and the Blood Angels had felt it when Sanguinius fell to Horus; the Night Lords had known it when an assassin had killed the Night Haunter, and the Sons of Horus had been broken by it when he died at the Emperor's hands.
Now, another Primarch had been killed, but this one had been thought beyond the reach of death. That brought another thought to the two sorcerers: if a being as grand and powerful as Magnus the Red could be unmade, what might happen to them?
"We must tell the Amalgamation," Amonhotep said, leaning against his force staff for support. "If Shepard is involved…"
"Then we must stop her soon," Khayon continued. "If the Imperium has another victory like this, our cause is doomed."
…
Shepard stared at the ashes of Magnus the Red for several seconds; then, she turned her back and knelt by the shattered remains of Bjorn. She rested her hand on his broken sarcophagus, and let the tears fall.
"We will take him home," Russ said tiredly; he hesitated, then pulled his spear from the ground. "He will not be left on this forsaken world."
Without the will of Magnus, and with most of the sorcerers on the planet dead, Sortiarius was quickly becoming a dead chunk of rock. Soon, it would be uninhabitable, and the Imperials needed to leave.
Shepard nodded, and got to her feet. "I'm not going to let this place be a reminder of what we lost today, and I won't risk some other enemies dig up some magical secrets. As soon as we're off the planet, I'm calling for Exterminatus for the entire system."
Russ raised an eyebrow. "Even Prospero?"
"Without Magnus, the Thousand Sons are dead." Shepard looked him in the eye. "If there are going to be any records of them left, let them stay in books. Everything else will burn."
"Agreed." Russ gently held out a hand, and rested it against Bjorn's chassis. "But first, let us take our dead away from this place."
…
The butcher's bill for Magnus' final strike against the Imperium would never be fully tallied. Even if the Inquisition hadn't suppressed all knowledge of it, there were simply too many lives taken for the Administratum to ever count them all. The only estimate was that the number was in the billions, and far more would forever be haunted by nightmares of the horrors unleashed upon their worlds.
Unlike many of Shepard's campaigns, the slaying of Magnus the Red would never be immortalized in song and legend. The Inquisition would only ever reveal that the Shepard Crusade had stopped heretical sorcery, which wasn't even a lie.
For her part, Shepard had no intention of ever being reminded of this war. She watched with an almost dispassionate look in her eyes as the Imperial ships reduced Sortiarius to molten glass and chunks of rock. Over the coming days, the same fate would be visited upon every world in the system, while Shepard waited for the rest of her Crusade to reunite with her.
"Your Holiness?"
Shepard glanced back. "What is it, Temperance?"
Blaise bowed her head. "The Space Wolves wished to let you know that Bjorn's remains have been interred in a place of honor, at least until they can bring him back to Fenris."
"Thank you." Shepard raised an eyebrow when Blaise stayed put. "Was there something else?"
"Lord Russ asked that you be given this, as a token of friendship." Blaise held out a small necklace, with a medallion shaped like the symbol of the Space Wolves. "He said that he forged it from a fragment of Bjorn's armor."
Shepard's eyes stung as she accepted the token and put it around her neck. "Thanks, Temperance. Hey, since we've got at least a few days before the rest of our guys come back, I want you to do something."
"Name it, and it shall be done."
Shepard took a deep breath. "I've been putting off learning what's in the omni-tool, and that needs to change. I'm going to read those files, and I don't want to be disturbed; it's time to find out what the Emperor really wants from me."
First off, I want to apologize for taking so freaking long with this chapter. I've been trying to write this story for months, but it's been really hard. I enjoy writing fictional conflict on a ridiculous scale, I really do, but not when it's overshadowed by real-world conflict that could potentially drag us all into World War 3. Basically, blame Russia for throwing me off my groove. And, you know, invading Ukraine and killing innocent people.
Anyway, back to fiction. I really wanted another duel between Magnus and Russ, but there were always going to be consequences. In this case, I've turned Russ from Thor to Odin, and I killed off Bjorn. That dude had all the plot armor, and should have been killed off by Magnus during the Battle of the Fang. Not this time, Bjorny-boy!
Also, Shepard has the backing of the Emperor, fueling the powers of the Old Ones that can perma-kill the forces of Chaos. If it had just been her against Magnus, I don't think she would have won, but Russ has spent ten thousand years getting ready for this kind of showdown, so giving him fragments of Enuncia to work with sounded cool. I just hope that Magnus' death was done well. I felt bad doing it—the Thousand Sons are my main army, and I love my dusty boys—but there was no way Magnus was going to get redeemed. Sorry, everyone. And if Magnus wasn't going to survive this, there's no way Ahriman would.
Oh, and those sorcerers that died off immediately after Magnus was killed are all canon. They were in the Ninth Edition Thousand Sons Codex.
As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can find it on my website (link in my profile), and on Amazon in both eBook and physical format. I'm getting closer to finishing the sequel! I've got less than 2 chapters to go, and then edits.
If purchasing my book isn't something you want to do, I would also appreciate any and all donations to my P-atreon page (link in my profile). If every single one of you readers donated at even the lowest tier, I would be able to afford a place of my own, and be able to update at least one story every week.
Speaking of which, I'd like to thank the patrons who are just so awesome:
Serious Muffins: Nimrod009, Aaron Meek, Matthias Matanovic, Red Bard, Lokthar, Hakuryuken, Anders Lyngbye, Kristen Tyler, Patryk kawalec
Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, Crazyman844, CherryGoesBoom
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Next Chapter: Shepard learns the fate of a friend, and learns the next step in the Emperor's plan…
All is Muffins…