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Chapter Text

Hello Readers!!

This is 'The Devil's Footnotes', a collection of short-stories and one-offs set in the universe of our main fic 'The Devil is in the Details'. These are events and happenings that are important enough that we don't want to only mention them in passing, but aren't important enough (or perhaps relevant enough) to merit their inclusion in the story proper.

Derpo and Pizzaplate will be the primary contributor to this collection, but there's one other person: YOU!

That's right, if you send Derpo or Pizzaplate something that you've written (preferably over discord), and we both like it? It becomes canon! We may tweak it a bit to fit into future plans, but your vision will become a part of Devil.

That's all for now, we're hard at work on chapter 12 of Devil right now, so look out for it in the coming month!

Chapter Text

Leman Russ was anxious.

It was not an emotion that came to him often, that was a trait reserved for weaker men. His home planet of Fenris had hardened him against all but the most hopeless of odds, and the raw passion of his younger years as Wolf-King has only been tempered by the crucible of the Great Crusade. After he had killed a full-grown Kraken before his twentieth birthday, very little could give him pause.

And yet pause he did.

The message from his Father telling him to help the Thousand Sons reinforce their home planet of Prospero swirled around in his head. He knew that his sons wouldn’t like the order to help. He knew that the Thousand Sons wouldn’t like them coming to help. He knew that there was a very real possibility of the two legions coming to blows over a rivalry more akin to hatred at times. The sophisticated and scholarly Thousand Sons would never truly accept the help from ‘ignorant savages’ to quote Magnus’s First Captain, and his Space Wolves would never truly respect a ‘Legion of foppish bookworms in power armor’ to quote one of his own Wolf Guard.

But, he was a loyal son, and his Father’s word was law. Orders, disagree with them as he did, were orders.

Ordering his helmsman and Navigators to take them to their destination, the Hrafnkel and her supporting fleet slipped into the immaterial realm and began making headway.

Revuel Arvida walked down the corridors of the Great Library of Prospero, wondering what he was going to say. First Captain Ahriman has asked for updates on any messages from either Terra or their Primarch. He had said that in the wake of the Emperor’s message, any and all additional information that could be learned about the situation with the traitors was of the utmost importance.

It might be important, but Revuel was still hesitant to tell his First Captain that the Space Wolves were coming to assist in the defences of Prospero. 

While Revuel was thankful that the Vlka Fenryka and their Primarch were on their way to help, he knew better than to be excited. He had been on the receiving end of no small amount of rants from his First Captain, and had a pretty good idea that Ahriman would not take kindly to the ‘bumbling yokels’ landing on Prospero for any reason.

Stepping into Ahriman’s sanctum, he cleared his throat in order to get Ahzek’s attention. “Captain Ahriman?”

“Yes, Sergeant Arvida? What is it?” The man was still in his power armor for some reason, hunched over a book on his desk full of symbols and drawings that Arvida did not recognise. “I am a very busy man, Sergeant.”

“I wished to inform you that our gene-father has sent us help from another legion to reinforce us against possible traitor assaults.”

Ahriman looked up, his helmed face tilted to the side in surprise. “Really? This is excellent news! Who is he sending? The Ultramarines? The Scars? Tizca fortified by the Imperial Fists could become an impenetrable fortress of knowledge.”

“He is sending the Wolves, Captain.”

Ahriman was taken aback. “The Wolves? I thought Horus and his legion were traitors.”

“Not the Luna Wolves, Captain, they have been renamed the Sons of Horus for some time now. And they are most assuredly traitors. He is instead sending Russ and his Legion.”

Revuel patiently waited for the inevitable rage from his captain. I figured that even if he tried to restrain himself physically, his anger would cause his psychic powers to affect the room around him. Throwing objects, flipping his desk, he was ready for anything. 

Instead, Ahriman simply stared ahead, unmoving. After several extremely tense seconds he finally spoke up.

“This is fine. Any help is good help. Who knows? Perhaps Russ and his ilk have changed for the better.” Revuel wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly why, but the way that Ahriman had said the word ‘change’ was off-putting in a way that he couldn’t really describe.

“Sergeant, can you send for Ninth Captain Amon? There will be something I have needed his help for. It will have been one of our greatest undertakings.”

Revuel paused. “Captain, are you alright? You are speaking nonsense. ‘Will have been’’ and ‘have needed’? Are you talking about the past or the future, my Captain?”

Ahriman stood stone-still for a moment, before shaking his head. “I am sorry, I am just a bit fatigued. I do need to speak with Amon however, so please send him in when you get the opportunity. That will be all, Ianius.”

As Revuel left the room and continued on down to the Ninth Fellowship’s barracks, worries and thoughts flew around his head. Eventually they were all replaced by one overwhelming question.

“Why did he call me Ianius? And why does that name feel—important—to me?”

“ T̔̓h̛͛i͗s̒ ̒c͞a͗n̉n̅o̅t̂̆ ha͂͘p̈̚p̑en.̇ T͒̊h̎ȅ ̽W̓o̽l̿v̂e͊̌s̈́ ͛wìl͋l ḋe͆s͒̒t͞r̔o̿y̑ ͆a̋l̓l̒ ̿t̛̅h̎͘e ͠k͐̋now͒l̉͒ẻ̀d̑g̈e ̇t͂h͌̋à͑t ̒y̋̄ö͘u̽ ̌hàv̚e̔ ͝ma̚͠n͝ȃ̓ge̔̾d͌ ͆t̅o h̾̈i̊͞d̆e f̽řo͑m̌ ͡the̅ ̓T͌h̆ièf-͐͋E̔̊mp̎e͋ro̔r͐̑.̾”

Ahzek Ahriman looked down at his tome while the Eagle-God spoke to him. He was thankful beyond belief for the knowledge and insight his pact had earned him, but sometimes his mind—enhanced and expanded by his new patron as it was—felt too small for the knowledge contained within. He felt himself getting future predictions and past events mixed up, calling Arvida ‘Ianius’ was just one such blunder. He didn’t know why that name fit so well, but it did.

“T̊͌he͡ ̋p̚ŕ͐epa̐r̂at̓ion̔s̊̑ ͆m͝u͆s͗t͝ ͒b̀͠e ͌̃co͑m̿̑p̉l͋e̓t͘ed̛ ͛͝be̋f̆or̃e̾ ̂̓t̉he V̾l̿ka̐ Fe̽n̒r̽̚y͗͡ka͊̽ ̓a̒n̐d̉̿ ̛thẻ̄ ͂A͊n̉at̚h̃e̍ma͑'s͆ Ex́͘ec̔u͡t͌īo̓̒ne̓̊r̐ ̽̓ã͠r͊͞ri̐v̾e͑.̄”

“Enlighten me, Eagle-God. Why do you call the Emperor by such a name as ‘Anathema’? He created us, and he safeguards humanity.”

“T͛h̓a͆t̑͑ ̓i̛̓s̍́ ͋̆a͘ ̃m̕u͡l̾ti-͡f̀a̽͊cėt̓ed̛͑ ̓q̃̈ŭe̔s͑ti̛̍o̊n,̇ ̆one wi̓th ̽͛m͞a͒̓n̔ẙ ̏͞a͛̔nd͂̚ ͆n̋͑o a͊͡n̽s̒̄w̔e͌̉r̊s͌.͌̚ ̋͞H̉e̛̚ is ̆Ă̛n̐athẻ̊m̍a̽ ̓͝t̛o̍ ̐m̕e ́b̏͆eca͐͗u͑s̛e͌ ͆I̕͞ ͋k͒n̋o̓̉w͡͠ ͛͞al̊l͛,͊̂ ̇͒a̽̚n͐͡d͒͝ ̋h͋ë ͡s͆̾ĕe̓k̿s̅͝ ̓̆ẗ̛́o͘ ̓k̒̍eep̌ de͆l̾ĩ͝ci̓ous̉/̃ta̕n̆t̀a̕l̏î̅z͌̂i̓n̄͘g̒̅/̐M͘URD̉̽E̔R̄Ȯ͑ỦS̔̃ ͐s͂̄ecr̔e͛t͠s͛̂ ̀f̏͞r͑̅om̕ ͊m̈e/͂u̎s̍.̐”

“Secrets?”

“D͝íd̓ ̚you͠ ̿̚r̔e̓̈́a͋d ̛al͞l͒ ̍͐of̈́ ͝t͞h͂e̛ ͗͂bo͞ȯk͆s/t̆o̽m͡e͡s̎/̑̚sčr͋͋ol̀̎l͂s̄ ̑tha̓t̾ ̂̽h̏͝e ͡h̅͠a̿d͊ ̏ṫa͑k̑͘en ͠wit̍h̒ ͛yŏ͋ū̇r̽ ̍Fāthe̊r̊͘?͐”

“Of course not, there is—was—too much knowledge in the Great Library for any singular person to go over, even in my extended lifetime.

“D̆̇i̎̈́d͛͞ ͐́y̆ou ̐k̐n͂̂o͡w̆ ̔th̎at͆ ͠yo̐uř͑ E̊͊mp̓͘er͐or̆/Ȁ̔n̄ath̐e̛m̊a c̈ơ̇ủ͛l̀d̿ ̔c̄uŕe͂̀ ̄̊y͂͒ou̽r͠ ̉̇l̓e͝g͆̚îon̽ o͒f̿͝ ̊̔t͝he͋͡ ̄Fl͗̄e̍̉s̄̇h-͂̍C̅h̉a̾͆n͋g̉̾e,̀̊ ̇b̈͂ut͑͂ ̌d̊̊o͆es̅̿ ͒not̀̚?͝”

Ahriman paused. A deathly silence came over him, he sat unmoving and barely breathing. “Wha—what do you mean?”

“Your Ėm̈́̊p͋́e̋ro͒r̔ ̐̚h̐a̒̒s͗ ͞c̈͑ūr͠ed͛̓ ̒͞ȧ ̔f̚e̋l̒͐l̚͝ow̚͠ Â̕s͗t̚ar͑t̃e͌s̓ of͡ a̓ ͠hor̋r̆i͘b́͝l̆e̕ ̕mut̃͑át͆io͡n̐,̓ ͌b͗ȑ͘o͠u͛g̋̌h̊t͛̒ ̍͂o̅n͝ ̄by̾ ̑th͠e tĭ̓d̄̂e̕s o͛f̍ th̒̔ȇ̔ ̅͌G͒r͐̋e̊at ͘O̓c̓ea̚n̛.̓ ͋W̌͠hy̎ d͒̓oễs͘͘ ̓ḧe͠ ̓̕no͝͡t̓͛ ͐͋d͛o ̓t̉h͋é ̆ŝä́mê̑ ̄for͛ ̍y̔o͛̇u?̆̿”

“He, perhaps—”

“ Ản͊d ̀ä́d̾d́it̄i͑̎o̐n̈́̊àll͐y/̒a͂d͡d̿it̔͡ī̚vė̀l͡͠y͐͠,͗ ̌your g͞͡èn͌e-̌͘f̌ảt̓h͋e̅r͋ ͒M̊̇a̐͐g̕ñūs͊̔ ̓h͒as̋ n͘o̒t͌ ̆to͛l̂d̒ ẙo͆ur ̎E͠m̓per̋o͞r̈̐ a̔bo̎ǘt ͒the̿ ̿Fl̅es͌̑h́-Ch̀̅an̛g̍e̽, ̐̎des͘p̏it͡ẽ ̋̑t̉̕h̔é ͌̾fä́c̑t̾͗ ̿͞t͊̎h͊a̚t͒ he̋ ̆̐āl͋̎ŝo k͘n͝o͊w̍s͑ ̓̾a̛̓b̏̓o̿ủt̎ ̈̚h̒is ̿ȓës͑t͌̆or͞åt̕i̾̇v͑͆e̓ ̇po̓͌w̚er̎s͘̕.̽ ̚O̽nȅ ͌ḿu͐̂st̐ a̎s̔k͆/͠q̇u̅e͋r̅̚ȳ ̇̅ẗ́h̓̉em̈́s̄êl̒̏v͛es̀:̕ ͒W̏h́̅y?̿ ́Ís̀ ̀hë́ ̄ȁ͞sham̀e͌d ̋̔o̔͝f̊ ̔h̿i̎s͗ ̀͆s͝o̊̈ns̍?̋̅ ̌Doe̽s ̐h͆͠e ͌ev́en͑ ͐͡c̅a͋r͐e ̛̏a͋͂b̄o͂u͒t̃̓ y͞o̽͒u̽̍ ȅ͋noũg͗ĥ͘ t̐͠ô̽ ̐a̎sk͗?”

The Flesh-Change, the secret horror of the Thousand Sons legion. Ahriman had seen scores of his battle-brothers fall to instant and horrible mutations. Flesh fused to armor, skin changed into honey or tree bark, limbs sprouting from limbs en perpetua . The memories of their screams of pain while they devolved into mewling and gibbering beasts made his skin crawl.

Even the idea that his Father could have either prevented this, or that he hadn’t told someone who could?

That made his skin crawl even more, but with anger instead of revulsion.

“That bastard.”

“Ẏȏu͘r̊ Fa͆͠t̂h͝er ŏr̚ hi̇s̚ ̐Fa̓t̿͋h̏eř?”

“BOTH! Whether through shame, malice, or ignorance, my brothers and I have been left to stew in our misfortune. No longer!”

Ahriman slammed his fist down on his reading desk in anger, and ripped off his helmet. His tan skin and black hair shone with psychic power. “Eagle-God, I pledge myself and those who would follow me to your service. I don’t care what happens to me or my legion, I just want to see this Imperium of liars and cheats fall.” 

“W͑h̉ó ͗w͝o͌uld͂̇ f̎o̅l̾lo̾w͞ ̒͝y̚͠o̓u?̐”

“I know Amon would follow me, for a start. Iskandar Kahyon as well. And I know that there are plenty others who would also follow me. I would likely have the support of around one-third of the legion. But, if we had your help, Eagle-God…” Ahriman let the implications linger.

“O͗̚f ̉c͊ourŝe ̎I͋̓ w̏i͂ll͒͘ ȁ͘ïd ̅y̽o͑͐ȗ͛ ̽in͗ ͗rḯg͠ht̆i͊ṅ́g͆͠ ̔͛th͊̄i̿s͐ ̂̕t͘r͆ag̉̋edy̚/͒͒wr̽o̕n̍g̎͌,͒ ̓Ahzek̈̅.͆̚ ͗He̒͞l̒̍l, ̚I͡'͗l̑l ̎e̓̉vėn t́̕ĥro͘w̚ i͛ǹ ͑̄ȁ͗ ̔̓b̔o͐n̄us̓/e͡x̋t̐ra̍̊! ̒͡I͗̈ ͘j̅͌ū̽s̊t̄ ͠nȅe̐d͝ ͌sŏm̊e̔t̐hǐn͒g͛ ̓fr̉ȯ͡m̋ yo͑u͠.͊”

“Anything.”

Ahriman could almost hear the smile of the creature sharing his mind. “W̐i̍t͆̿h s̽t̎r̋in̐͠ĝ ̌̚õf̔͆ so̅̑ul̽̇ ͒ãn̕d ͝n̓̂e͗e͗̕dl̏ẽ͡ ơ̈f̂ ̓͝c͆h͘an̑g͌e̅ ͝i̿s͛͛ ̀t͌͞ḣe̐ ̾̐f͋ä́̄bric ͐͡óf̉ ̛̔r͑̌e͂͝āl̋i̚t͑y͌̚ s̎oŵn̆.͐͞ ̔B̀ût̃ ̚w̋i̇th͊̉òu͂t̑̑ ͌t̔̿he̓͐ d̔y̿͡e of̍ ́̑lo͆̄ya̓̎l̓̒ty'̓͞s̐ ̚b̈́̆l̽̇o̽ŏ͂d͋,̈͝ ̉I̊ cãn̅n̊őt͞ ̛͑ŵe͌a̎v̕e̛ t̕h͛̅is ͐a̿l̈́̓l̾ o̾n ̓mȳ ͞o̊w̾n.”

Ahriman puzzled over the riddle for a few seconds. “You need my blood?”

“J̈́u͊͊s͒t̾͞ ả ̓̀d̍r̂o̾p/̔s̈́͡p̌l͂̿a͘s̈̊ḧ́̍/̎búc̆k̇ë́t/̿͞SO͊Ù̇L.”

Ahriman had done deals with denizens of the Great Ocean before, and he knew that this was dangerous. But those thoughts and warnings were quickly dashed by his curiosity. “What was this ‘extra’ you offered me?”

“A̓ ̛R̓̉u͗br̒i͂ĉ ủnc̐u̒bed͘,̓ ̒̋t͋͑o͒ s̔e͑e y͊o̾̈́űr̃ ͛fle͡sh̛ ͐s̐t͘ati̍̐on̈a͛͆ṙ͗ẏ.̑”

“You could stop the flesh change?” Ahriman’s judgement was now well and truely overridden.

“C̚o̓̄r̔̍r̍ec̐͝t̀ĭõn/̚͠f̆ixǎ͋t͂i̓̌o͞n͂͠:̉̈́ ͒YO͑͞U͊ ̆̈́c͊͐o͗͐ǘld̈ ŝtȍp͗ ͑t̔̚h̾e͒̐ ̿f̃le̾s͗h c̅͠h̐ä́̓ng͐e. ̈́́Ȃh̉ri̔m̽a͌͋n'͂̚s R̊͞ub͋̌r̔i͊c ̿w̐̆ỏ͠u͛l͋d s̈́̚ave̛ ̕ȧ̍ll̔ ̉̋t͊̑h͋͠ő̋s̕e ̔y͐͒ou̐͒ ̇͝w͊a͗nt̓͡èḋ.”

“If—” Ahriman stuttered. “If that is the case, then I shall save all those who would follow me. No sense in helping those who would still support our shameful Father or his ignorant Father.

“T͆he̓ń ͠t̿̇h̋e̓ a͞g͞r̍e̓͡emėn̾͊t̿̇/͑̇co̿n̓ẗ́̈́r̚à̆c̽͑t̔/̎ṗȃc͂͡t̔ ̃͞i̓s̕ ā̑g̋r̄ẽed̽ u̓p̔o̅̀n̅/̚s͛ea͒l͝ed͊?”

“Yes.”

And with that word, Ahzek Ahriman felt his mind swim with information that seemed only too obvious now that he held it. Of course that was how someone could halt the flesh-change. It was as plain as the writing upon his book. How could he have not seen it earlier?

At that moment, Amon burst into the room, and Ahriman felt the familiar presence of his patron vanish. “You summoned me, First Captain?”

“Yes, Amon. Several things have come to my attention. Gather the more—open minded of our legion. I have discovered something that I desperately need to show you, and quickly.”

“Show me?”

“Ahriman put his red-painted helmet back on. “I have learned a terrible truth, Amon, and I need to speak it.”

As the Hrafnkel entered orbit over Prospero, Leman Russ looked over the orbital defenses to see what he had to work with. He was suitably impressed by the sheer number and robustness of the orbital defense silos, a veritable web of guns and ceremite surrounding the world. His communication with the Prosperan Planetary Defense Forces on the ground and the PDF Navy in orbit allowed him to paint a clear picture of exactly what he had to do, and where he needed to do it.

That didn’t change the fact that he still needed to get the Thousand Sons to accept his help, but he hadn’t sailed the Immaterium for nearly a month for nothing. 

As he sent a vox request planetside, his instincts picked something up. A vague sense of unease, much closer than he had anticipated. Anger, confusion, coercion, and hatred all swirled at the edge of his senses.

Someone nearby was a danger to him.

He tried to put the feeling away as his vox request was answered. “I am Primarch Leman Russ of the Space Wolves. Who am I speaking to?”

The Marine on-screen saluted. “I am Second Captain Phosis T’Kar. We are thankful for your help, Wolf King, and are ready to assist you in assisting us.”

That feeling was back, stronger this time. Leman Russ acted on his gut. “Second Captain? Where is your First?”

The Astartes bowed his head. “First Captain Ahzek Ahriman is currently occupied along with a sizable portion of the Legion. As the Second Captain I am in charge in his stead.”

The feeling now burned like a funeral pyre, immediate and intense. Leman put all of his considerable will into not appearing concerned. “Where?”

Chapter Text

Garviel Loken was anxious.

He would have laughed at the realization had he not been shaking in his boots. Nearly two hundred years of warfare across the campaigns of the Great Crusade, the pitch battle after the betrayal on Istvaan III, and yet a simple gathering on the parade ground of Luna’s primary fortress was what finally made him feel anxious.

He recognized the armor around him, which made him even more anxious. Himself, seventy Emperor’s Children backed up by a massive Contemptor -class Dreadnought, a hundred and fifty Death Guard, five unusually calm World Eaters, and two hundred very, very , jittery Sons of H— Luna Wolves.

That they were so nervous was only logical, they and their Primarch had started this entire ordeal.

He knew that the other Legions felt a little bit of pity for his brothers; even if they had refused the orders, no one should shoulder that kind of sin. He just hoped that he and his wouldn’t suffer too much.

Then the doors to the parade ground swung open and two Sisters of Silence strode in, moving in absolute silence. After them a good one hundred or so of the Emperor’s personal Custodians came in, and from what he could see, the safety of their weapons was off .

Yet the anxiety of seeing that was nothing compared to when the Emperor of Mankind himself stepped into the room.

If they hadn't already been kneeling then the psychic force of personality would have forced them to the floor. Cold sweat ran in rivers down his back, and he didn't dare to look up. Loken irrationally hoped that if he didn't see him, he wouldn't see him either.

“ Raise your heads. ”

And there went that little bit of hope.

He clamped down on his nerves, stopping himself from shaking, that was until he looked up and saw that the Emperor was standing right infront of him.

“How many of you have survived?”

The question was simple, all he had to do was answer it. So why was his mind so damn empty? Why did his tongue feel heavier than lead and his lungs refused to take in air?

Luckily, the Emperor’s Children Dreadnought answered for him. “My Legion numbers seventy-three in addition to myself.”

Someone off to the side wearing the pale white of the Death Guard answered in turn. “My Emperor, the Death Guard numbers near one hundred and fifty.”

One of the World Eaters looked up, bracing himself against his Librarius staff. “We are five Librarians of the World Eaters.”

Finally finding his voice he answered with a steady voice, “My lord, The So—” he cut himself off by nearly biting his tongue then restarted. “My lord, The Luna Wolves number two hundred and two, including myself.”

The Emperor remained silent, merely letting his eyes roam over them as if he was looking for something. He started walking down the row of Death Guards, only to stop at the fifteenth man.

His gaze bore into the man, making him shift ever so slightly.

“ Where do your loyalties lie? ”

“With you alone, my Emperor.”

He grabbed the Marine and lifted him up with a single hand. “ I do not appreciate being lied to, son of Alpharius. ” A beam of golden light burst from his eyes, burning away the fresh-white paint and revealing the pale blue of the Alpha Legion beneath.

The man didn't even have the chance to gurgle as his lungs were imploded from the sudden psychic force. He tossed the corpse away like someone would toss a piece of crumpled paper.

No one spoke or moved, too shocked that they had been infiltrated this easily. A second later, animosity sprang up like a wildfire, everyone suspecting another to be a traitor as well.

Yet the Emperor simply moved back to the spot where everyone could see him, “Be at ease my sons, there are no more traitors among us now. In fact, you are among my most loyal servants, for even when your very gene-fathers betrayed me, you did not.”

The collective sigh of relief was so strong, it could have knocked over a regular human.

Then he started to talk to them.

“ Garviel Loken, from now on you shall be the First Captain of this Legion. You will be responsible for each and everyone of them. Retaining your name as Luna Wolves was only the first step in earing forgiveness. You and your men shall remember your father’s treachery, and function as pillars of virtue so that this shall never happen again. ”

He bowed his head, “Yes my lord. We will not disappoint you again.”

He moved on, standing in front of the Emperor's Children.

“Rylanor, he who is called ‘The Ancient of Rites’, you shall be the Second Captain of this Legion. Your hatred of the betrayers is a powerful weapon; you must both teach your new brothers how to wield it effectively, and how to control it so that it does not overwhelm them.”

Rylanor bowed his chassis even as murmuring erupted in various places in the crowd. ‘This Legion? What did the Emperor mean?’

“ Nathaniel Garro, you shall be the Third Captain of this Legion. Discretion is often the better part of valor, and your warning after Istvaan III undoubtedly saved countless billions of lives. You shall keep this new Legion humble, and away from the pride that has led your gene-father to his fall. "

Garro looked like he knew something since he nodded vigorously, but other than that he didn't move.

He then moved on to the World Eaters, his eyes not betraying anything at their low number, “Khargosh Bloodgrin, you will be both the Chief Librarian and Fourth Captain of this Legion. I see now that the Council of Nikea has caused more harm than it has prevented, teach them about what you know so that they shall never fall to the temptations that have befallen your brothers and cousins.”

The look on the Librarian’s face was pure confusion at first, then it became bafflement, and then finally acceptance.

Finally he moved in front of all of them again.

“I am well aware that all of you must have questions, so let me answer one of them. I, the Emperor of Mankind and the Autocrat of Terra, hereby declare the founding of the Twenty-First Legiones Astartes.”

If there had been murmuring before now there was almost shouting of disbelief.

The Emperor merely flared his psychic aura, silencing them all at once.

“You, whose Fathers have betrayed me, have remained loyal. You who were lost are now found. You have suffered more than many have, and more than you did deserve. Each one of your individual legions are to rebuild themselves within this one. You are tasked with restoring your honor, be it in war or peace."

Loken felt the need to say something. "It will be an honor to serve the throne once more, my lord."

" No. "

The assembled Astartes were taken aback. No?

The Emperor continued on. “ You will not serve me, nor will you serve the Golden Throne directly. You shall instead serve humanity itself, You shall repent for your sins by protecting them, and by serving under the command of the greatest human in the galaxy. You shall serve the Primogenitor. "

At this announcement even some of the Custodians turned their heads. Looking at the Emperor, yet remaining silent.

This time it was Rylanor who spoke up. “My lord, how many of us are to be restored? When will we be deployed?”

The Emperor clearly thought for a moment, then came to a conclusion. “All of you assembled here today will be restored, but this ‘Legion’ will be small. Only a thousand Astartes from each of your lineages shall be allowed to join, so as to keep a second civil war from breaking out. As for when you are deployed,” the Emperor put a power-armored hand to his chin, “Your new commander, a Primarch in all but blood, is not in a condition to command yet. You are not allowed to leave Luna until after either the traitors are dead or until he returns to us—whichever comes last.”

This time one of the World Eaters spoke up, “My lord, what if there are more who arrive from the traitorous Legions? What shall we do with them?”

His gaze snapped to the marine, piercing him like a bolt of lightning. “Take them in, if they are proven to be loyal. And to ensure that there shall be no hate between all of you, one thousand of each of my loyal sons shall join as well.”

He looked around the crowd, seeing the looks of apprehension on their faces. “You shall teach each other, learn together, and train together. Your gene-lines shall continue, but your old Legions are no more, swept away in the fires of Horus’s ambition. You are all that remain, for now and forever.”

One of Loken’s brother Luna Wolves spoke up. “My lord, does our new Legion have a name?”

For the first time since he arrived, a smile graced the beautifully perfect features of the Emperor. “In the land where your commander hails from, there is a story of a hero. A true paragon of virtue, who saves those who cannot save themselves, and who cows the forces of evil with a smile. I felt that his was a suitable name.”

He smiled wide. “You shall be the All-Mighty. The legion of humanity.”

Murmurs went around, most of which was a repeating of the name.

“You shall go beyond the limits of both humanity, and of the Astartes. You shall be the shining example for both.” He raised his fist in celebration. “ You will go ‘Plus Ultra’!”

The assembled Marines yelled so loudly that the very core of Luna likely shook. “PLUS ULTRA!"

The Color Scheme (eventually) for the All Mighty.

The Logo.

BTW on the shoulder that doesn't have the logo for the All Mighty, instead of a company insignia there is the symbol of their parentage. I.E. Loken would have a Luna Wolf on his right Shoulder and the All-Mighty symbol on his left.

Chapter Text

\\MISSION OBJECTIVE: DEFEND LUNA //

Vox sirens and alarms blared loudly across the surface of Luna. Untold numbers of Imperial Army soldiers took up defensive positions and ran to man the enormous array of anti-orbital batteries that covered the moon. Macrocannons and lance batteries arched to face the forces of the Arch-Traitor. 

Rylanor stood on a lunar ridge overlooking the site of the coming battle between his new Legion and the attacking traitors, his newly-repaired Contemptor -class Dreadnought chassis painted a forest green with yellow-and-black highlights. He wondered to himself what the outcome of the upcoming fight would be. Would he die fighting his traitorous kin or would he find victory atop a mountain of his fallen foes?

“Bah. Now is not the time to have doubt. I must prepare myself for the coming—reunion—with the thrice-damned traitor.” thought the Second Captain as he went through his final preparations and got into his position. The trap for his fallen brethren was set, all they had to do was blunder into it.

“Come here Fulgrim. I was prepared to wait for a million nights to exact my vengeance, but it seems that fate has smiled upon me.”

Fulgrim sat upon his throne that IT had ordered be constructed for the two of them, his head in his hands.

He hated IT . He hated IT for taking control of his body. He hated IT for corrupting his once-proud Third Legion into hedonism and debauchery. IT had offered the part of his soul that IT claimed up to it’s master, condemning him for all eternity. IT had forced him to k-kill his greatest friend on Istvaan V—and now IT was leading him, his sons and his brothers to Terra for the final confrontation between his Father and Horus. But first, Luna must fall. If it was ignored, its ring of lances, macrocannons, and torpedoes would tear into the invading forces from behind while Dorn’s defences would batter them from the front.

“ W̮or̙r̭ͅy̺ n͢oṭ, ̳F̼̜u͍l͓g̼r̞i̯͜m̡̳.̢ ̖J̪̦u̙sţ͍ ̫g̡i͖̫ve ͎in ̼̠t̻o ̠ob̜l̘i̧̢vi͙o̪̮n̦͍ ͈͇an̼d̨ ̱y̩o̹u̯ ̱̲w̢̙i̮l̞l k̹n̦ow ͖p̠eac͕e f̨o̤r̤e̙̱v͜ȩr̯mo̖re̺.ͅ ” As they argued a serpent-like voice that did not belong to him emanated from his own mouth, barking orders at the bridge crew.

“ Never! You foul trickster! I’ll die a thousand deaths before I succumb to your dark temptations again” Fulgrim roared, unheard by anyone except for the daemon. He caught a glance of his reflection in one of the shattered mirrors decorating his quarters. Half of his face gazed back at him, the other a deformed perversion of his once-perfect features.

He felt it fitting that he was relegated to only half of his own face now. With the death of Ferrus Manus, he felt like half the man he used to be.

“Y̳o̹͜u̥̣ ͎w̠i͓̬l̬l̘ ̢̨s̗o̦o̯̤n̢̬ ̘ha͜ve͖͇ ̳͓y̹ou̠͔r̲ ͈ṭho͔u̬̝sa̼n̳d̺̮ ḑ͟e͓a͚̜t̖͟hs̼, ͍F̝̠u̢lg̭ͅr̠im.̭ ͔” IT promised. “̙O̘n̹͙e̬ ̠la̤s̙t͚ ̫p̟u̩ͅsh̥,͈ ͙a̠n̨̰d ͉̼y͜o͍u̜ ͙will̦̭ ̗se͎e͓͙ ͖th̩̺e̗̞ ̣l͕i͔g̘ht̡̖ ̘͔t͕ha͜t̨ ̨̙y̨ou ͉̼ar̼e̗ ͓͎d̻e̢̻t͙e̘r̰͢m͎͜i͍͟ne̝d̪ t͔o remai͓̗n͜ ̥̤i̬͚g̣ṇo̰r̖a͓̠n͇t ͎ọf͟.̹̬”

“Then I pray that Father strikes us all down.”

As the Arch-Traitor’s fleet entered within range Luna’s defenses wasted no time. The lunar surface was set alight by the glow of thousands of anti-ship batteries. Smaller ships were bisected by lance batteries while the larger Battle-Barges had their void shields peppered by macrocannons. For a brief moment the reflective surface of Luna was nothing but a bright flare, blinding all who looked upon it 

The Traitors opened fire with the same ferocity as the defenses of Luna, their weapons streaking down to meet the Loyalists. The impact shook the very ground and caused blackouts as generators faltered. As the void war continued, thousands of drop-pods and Thunderhawks descended upon the moon. Hundreds were destroyed by the intense crossfire, but the rest descended beneath the firing arcs of the largest weapons.

Rylanor overlooked one of the traitor’s apparent landing sites. “And so the fight begins. I wonder which rock you are hiding under, Fulgrim?”

Fulgrim looked down onto the surface of Luna in horror. His corrupted sons, with Captain Eidolon at the head, were ripping a bloody swath across the defenders of Luna.

“Ar̫e̬ ̡y͟ou̞ ̧ṉo͔t̯ ̫ͅp͉̝ŗ̦o̧̜uḑ͟ o̳f̙ ͔y̘ǫu̜r̻̫ ̦c̨hi͚l̙͉dṛe͈n̢'̧s ̝͎f̘ḭg͜h͔ti͚n͓̺g̨ p̼͜r͜o̪we̦s͓s̟? ̝Ar̩e̫ y͜o͙u͔̤ ̥a̯̪s͟hͅa̩me͙ḓ̨ of̬̙ ͙t̞h̡͉e̢̪m͢,̨̙ ͉p͕e̩ṛh̡̲a̡ps͢?̣̲” Fulgrim heard IT speak in his—HIS—voice as rage filled his mind.

“I am NOT ashamed of them! I am ashamed of myself for allowing them to fall to such depravity.” He roared in his mind, trying fruitlessly to take control of his body—ruined as it was from Ferrus’s parting gift. His left side was charred beyond all recognition, a stark contrast to the completely unblemished right side where the Daemon had taken up residence.

“ A̧h̙̰,̙ ̧̥t̳h̗e̠̹ ̻'̖̬p̟e̝rfec̣͜t'̺ F̬u̗̳l̼gr͈im͔.̩ͅ ͎S͚̫o̪̲ ̰i̯ͅm̝p̳̩r̪e͙s̰s̘̘i̞͢v͇e͍ ̪̠t̰h͕a̬t͖ ̗̹t͜h̥e ̻̖A̡̮n̫a̲th͓e̦m̭a̠̹ a͕̤ll̺o̱w̬͚eͅd̹ ̟y̜͖ouͅ ̯t͔o͢ ͚w̢ȩ͕a̗͈r̺̼ ̻̫h͇i͖s̬ A̲q͔u̧i̜ll̡͚a̙,͈ ͟a͎̱n̯ ͔ho̟nor̺̹ ͕grant͍e̲d̡ ̗̘t͜o̝̹ ̠̲n̻o̻ṇe͖̰ ̗o̩̥f ̩y̻ou̝r̙ ̲̖b̜ro̞t̹h̤er̼̣s̱͈ ̙or̭ t̪ḩe̦i̧̹r͖ Leg͢i͕o͓n͟s̘̘. ̤̼A̮ͅn̖ḑ̙ ̞n͜o̬w͢ ͚l͎oo̱͟k ͍̤a̭t ̗yͅo̮u̼̯—̞l̺ayi̘ng ͟s̗ieg̤e̝ ̥t͍o̜ L̠̥un̝a̞͕ ͍i̱t̫̝s̪̬ḛlf̲ a͚n̻d o͜n ̥y̜ọu̱r̨͓ ̱͕w̭a̫y̘ t͢o ̳k̟͓i͔ll ̻yo͜͜ṷ̯r F̟̞a̠͖t͕h͎ȩr̳ ̗͜a̱n̜d̗ b̩̣ur̮ṇ ̠͟y͔o̘͍u̼r̤ ̺̺c̦r̺aḓl͙e͔w̙o͍rͅl̦d͜͟. “

“ I̺f ̨͖yo̦u ͙h̟̖a͙d̼ j̲u̜̗st̳ ̝g̮͇iv̲͓e͎n̼̝ ͖̝i̠n ̣̬t̤o̩͚ ͚oͅb̧l̙i̟̲v̢̭i̤on̰, ̡̭y̭̘o̰u̳ ̞w̦͇o̺u͕l̲d ̘kno̙w̟ ̻̤pl̦ea͖͚sur͙e̲s̳̬ ̡b̤e̡y͔o̻n̞d̮̫ y̮͟ou̠r̲ ̟wi͢ḻd͖e͔s͍͓t̫̮ ̡̠dre͓a͖̦m̙̮s.͖”

“SHUT UP!” He managed to yell, finally making his voice heard. The crew looked at him in confusion, but before Fulgrim could say anything, IT took over and told the crew to pay no mind to them.

“I̧̬ ̼t̲̝h̥i̥n̦k̫ ̡I̹ ͎͚n̢e̙̻e͚̩d̼ t̥ͅo̧͔ ̧p̢r̘ą̩c̱t͟i͎͈c͚e͍͙ ̨my ̞swo͓͢r̰dṣm̧a̦n̼s̪hip. ̩̤Ca͔͇n̲'̗t̢ͅ ͇l͜e̠t͇ the ͇K͓h͢a̭n͟ ͓̖get͍ ͙͉o̬n̨e̲ ̰͢ov̯e͍r͎̘ o͇n͓ ̯m̺e ̰o̘͔n̗c̺e̡̜ ̺we̲̬ ḻa̬͖n̮d̪ ̭͜on̖ ̰Te͎rr̻͜a̼ ͕p̟͇r̲o͖p̞er.̟ “

Hearing that only made Fulgrim struggle harder to prevent him from bringing his (their?) body down and slaughtering the defenders wholesale. 

“S͇t̳r͙u̞͜g͖g͍l̨͍e̡̺ ̨m̠o̩r͙ḛ,̥ ͟yo̧ur̙̰ ̜͟f͜e͓͔a͇r̼ ̣͟t͔a̖s̲t͚e̘s̻͜ ͔d͉e̙͇l̗i̟c̹i͢o̡us͈.”

“Make preparationssssss for me to join the fight.” Fulgrim was powerless to stop as the Daemon walked away from the bridge and towards the hangar bay.

Kairus Yulpe looked at the billowing plumes of fire that now filled Luna’s sky. “The Imperial Navy and the ground defenses did an admirable job of cutting down the traitors.”

“We’ll have to give them a gift when the battle is over. Do you think that they’ll accept Amasec, or is that a bit too posh?” Kairus looked over to see his fellow Luna W—All-Mighty, Brother Israfel mount his heavy bolter to a still-intact piece of rockcrete.

Kairus thought that it was still jarring to see someone who was ostensibly his brother in battle-plate that he didn’t recognize. He knew that he was wearing the same green-yellow-and-black that Israfel was, but the point still stood to reason. At least there was no potential mistaking who was who.

“HERE THEY COME!” He heard an Imperial Army soldier yell to his right. As he looked up, he saw drop pods bearing the World Eaters’ symbol descending rapidly.

“Well brothers, are you prepared to meet our foes head on?” He asked 

“Of course I am!” Israfel answered, sounding amused at the question. “Now the question is,” Israfel turned to the human beside them, “are you, soldier?”

The soldier looked surprised to hear an Astartes addressing him. ”I can’t say I am, sir, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have to be. For Terra and for the Emperor!”

“Haha, that's the spirit guardsmen!” Kairus laughed, patting the man on the back and nearly sending him to the ground. Just as Fourth Captain Bloodgrin was about to scold him for excessive force, the ground in front of their barricade erupted. Kairus heard the revving of chainaxes and steeled himself for what needed to be done.

“I know not why I’m here, only that there is fresh blood to be spilled.” Azkhor Hakkan’s chainaxe revved and the noise was echoed by many of his battle brothers, all crammed in a small pod falling at supersonic speeds to the surface of Terra’s moon.

He felt the pod impact the ground and saw the door open as he heard a cry over the vox net.

“SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!”

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” Azkhor cried in response, desperate to make his voice heard over the cry of his brothers as they rushed out to kill their foes. After three steps a stray bolt pierced his helmet, pulverizing his brain matter and destroying his skull.

“ Khorne cares not from where the blood flows, just that it does.”

And with that final thought he slipped away into the vast Ocean of Souls.

“KillmurdermaimslaughterkillbloodmurderheadtakerKHORNEkillmurdermurderkill.”

Khorr saw Azkhor’s head explode directly in front of him. As he and his warband ran, he mentally traced from where the bolt came from and saw a squad of loyalists glad in a green armor pattern he had never seen before. 

“Is this one of the ‘lost legions’? Come to provide us with sport?” He threw away the thought as he began focusing on the much more important task at hand: murdering all those who stood before him and bathing in their blood. He dodged an autocannon round that caught one of his brothers in the chest, melting his torso. Sprinting as fast as his transhuman physiology could carry him, he vaulted over the defensive wall and landed in the midst of several Imperial Army personnel. Swinging his chainaxe he decapitated one, then crushed a second’s chest cavity with his ceremite-armored fist.

“KILL! MAIM! SLAUGHTER! AHAHAHA!” His voice roared loud enough to be heard by all around him, the fear of the guardsmen fueling him and driving him to new heights of bloodlust. Khorr slaughtered his way through the guards and reached the place where the Loyalist Astartes had taken up residence. He jumped through the air, ready to—

“Was that a Dreadnought?”

A giant Power Claw caught him by the waist and squeezed, cutting him in two.

“Definitely a Dreadnought.” 

The green-painted Contemptor towered over his broken body, his hands unable to grasp the handle of his chainaxe.

“You have chosen your allegiance—poorly.”

As a massive armored foot rose up to crush Khorr’s head, his only regret was that he could not take more skulls for his lord.

Ryalnor lifted his boot from the corpse of the World Eater and lifted his assault cannon; he opened fire on the charging berserkers, turning swaths of them into a fine red mist and leaving shards of ceremite scattered across the ground.

“Come traitors, and meet your well-deserved fate at our hands!” Rlyanor’s taunt was lost on the blood-crazed traitors, but his brothers heard it and rallied beside him. Reloading bolters and cooling down plasma guns, they prepared for the next wave of traitors.

“How is the current situation looking, Sergeant Kairus?” Rlyanors’ voice rumbled across the local vox net.

“The current situation looks grim, Ancient One. We have lost contact with several outposts across the surface of Luna. And we have heard reports pertaining to new weapons being used by the Emperor’s Children.” The name tasted sour in Kairus’ mouth, traitors didn’t deserve that honor, but it was still an apt description.

“What are the new weapons, Sergeant?” Rylanor asked.

“Sonic weapons that are being held by the more depraved traitors. The reports say they are capable of liquifying the internal organs of even Astartes.” 

Before Rylanor could respond, the Dreadnought was interrupted by a nearby soldier announcing another wave of drop pods coming in. This time they bore the Emperor's Children's mark. 

“Another wave. Get to your positions men!” A Sergeant barked orders as Astartes and Imperial soldiers moved to prepared positions.

“Hmph. It seems my prayers have been answered. My traitorous brothers await their demise.”

“ C̹͓an ͍y͟ou̥ ͜t͈ḁ͢s͓͍t͉e̘ ̻i̥t̻?̘ T̲h̡̢e̤ pa̲̠l̬p̹̹a͉̦bl͇e̙̜ d̼e̳s̪͉p̗e͉r̙̭a͢ͅt̪iọn̢ ̭i̡n ̢thḛ ̨̳ḁ̖i̬̘r̼?̨ ̨Țh̠e̝ d̝r̢ḛgs ̡o̟f͖͉ ͔ͅy̼o͈u̳̪ ̘a̪͕n͕͙d͖̭ ̢yo̭u͙r̥ ̘̥b̼r̫o̙̩ţ̭he̗r̲s'̧ ͚L̤ȩgioͅns͍,̗ ̦̜m̫o̢unͅt̢i̙̳ng ͓a̺ ͍͎l̡a̰st-d͉̺i̤͓tcẖ e̟ff̯̟ort͔ to ̟f̗̱or̪ę̠s͕̺t̻al͎l ̪̬t̺h̜e ̰i̼̜n͔͖e̘̗v̭i̺͔t̼̻a̡̪b̟lȩ͉? ” The daemon taunted him as their drop pod rocketed to a lance battery where a squad of World Eaters had failed to break through. Pict-feeds showing a squad of Astartes and a Contemptor -class Dreadnought were guarding it alongside a contingent of imperial Army personnel.  

“Why can’t you SHUT UP!” Fugrim yelled, breaking through the daemon’s hold on his body and making his voice heard within the confines of the metal cage.

“ Be̩c̼aus̯e͢ ̘y̰o͔u̧r̤ ̪pa͕i̯n͇̟ ͓i͓͙s de͖l̼i̻̺c͈̰i̮o̬͙u͔̲s̝̻. ”

“Gah, you insufferable creature.”  

“ H̨̻a͔h̡ah̲̪ḁ!̞ ” IT laughed in a silky, almost melodic tone as the drop pod reached the surface of the great fortress-moon.

“ W̨͕e̗l̪l̟͢,̥ ͕͜ḷe̞t̖̹s ̠g̜̝o̜̠ ̬͢e̫̟n̦li̹gh̭t͖e͈̗n̖ ̱th̤es͟e ig̻n̺o̪͓ra̟̣n̗t ͜s̠a͈v̭̯agȩs of ͖͓t̖heͅ tr͢u̠̮e p̗owe̙̗r̨ ̩o̮f̲ ͢th͉͢ę͙ ͜G̯̝o͕ds̹!” As he (they?) disembarking the drop pod he heard something ring out. Even as his sons ran in a frenzied mass to cover positions, something roared out across all the vox-channels.

“FULGRIM, YOU TRAITOROUS SNAKE!”

“FULGRIM, YOU TRAITOROUS SNAKE!” echoed through the All-Mighty’s voxnet as Rlyanor charged his former Primarch. 

“Ancient One, wait!” Israfel shouted in an attempt to calm the raging Dreadnought.

“Dammit what is it doing?!” a soldier yelled as he fired his lasgun at the fallen Primarch. Kairus knew it would likely do nothing, but it was the thought that counted.

“He is seeking revenge for his fallen brothers. Come, let us assist him in his noble task.” Kairus commanded as he joined Rlyanors charge. Firing his bolter at the Emperor's Children Astartes, he ran to assist the Dreadnought in his task.

Kairus noticed that other Astartes had fallen in step behind him, Israfel, Pullus, Gerts, even one of the former World Eaters Librarians ran behind them, casting bolts of psychic energy at the traitors.

Rylanor’s auspex readings were cluttered with warnings and alerts from command, telling him that this was a poor tactical decision and that he should return to his firing line. 

He disregarded all of them. Part of the benefits to being interred in a Dreadnought was being able to ignore warnings with just a blink of an eye. His only thoughts were of making Fulgrim suffer and purging him from this galaxy.

“FULGRIM! I WAS PREPARED TO WAIT MILLENIUM TO KILL YOU BUT IT SEEMS LIKE FATE INTENDED US TO MEET MUCH SOONER!” Rylanor yelled through his vox-caster, the voices of his brothers telling him to stop falling on dead ears. His only thoughts were seemingly of killing his gene-father and curing the galaxy of his filth.

“ Rylanor, my ssssssson, how are you? It’sssssss sssso good to ssssee you again. ”  Fulgrim’s silky-smooth voice carried almost musically across the battlefield, his melodic cadence tinged with the hint of something unnatural. Las rounds seemed to curve around him, their light reflecting off of his perfect features and grotesque burns in equal measure.

“HOW DARE YOU GREET ME AS THOUGH YOU WERE STILL MY FATHER! I SHALL TEAR YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR SHOULDERS AND MOUNT IT ON A SPEAR!” Rylanor yelled in rage as he battered aside another Emperor's Children Astartes, closing in on his target with utmost speed.

“But you are my child, wayward though you may be. I will alwaysssss welcome you back into the fold”

“DIE, FOUL SCUM!” Rylanor roared as his Assault Cannon flared to life. A storm of bullets forced Fulgrim to dodge while Rylanor thundered forward into flamer range. Fulgrim drew his sword and leaped to strike his son. He was forced to turn his strike away from the Dreadnought’s arm joint as a bright orange light flared to life within the hollow palm of the massive combat walker’s Power Claw. Fulgrim twisted away as a massive gout of burning Promethium spilled from the Heavy Flamer forced him one direction, then a massive fusillade of Assault Cannon fire forced him another.

Rylanor grumbled in annoyance. Despite his best efforts, he could not seem to hit his bastard father. Whenever he seemed like he was about to be caught unawares, he would slither away like some foul reptile or skittering insect. After one such escape, Fulgrim managed to bring Firebrand to bear and pulled the trigger, blasting apart both Rylanor’s Assault Cannon and his Flamer’s fuel tank with a crackle of Volkite energy.

As Fulgrim slithered back into another advantageous position, he felt the impacts of boltshells upon his armor. He wheeled around in a rage to see another one of these green Astartes, a former Luna Wolf judging by the wolf’s head insignia on the opposite shoulder as the Legion symbol, his bolter raised in defiance.

“Thisssss won’t do, pitiful worm.” In the blink of an eye, Fulgrim dashed over to the former Luna Wolf and bisected him as the Emperor’s Children squad nearest to him opened fire on Rylanor.

Rylanor crushed a marine to death with the sparking ruins of his Assault Cannon, and raked another two with his Power Claw, but he knew that he wasn’t fighting at optimal strength, and he knew that he would perish if the battle kept this pace.

So he decided to do something very dishonorable.

He decided to cheat.

“Leaving your sons to deal with me instead of facing me directly? How cowardly of you!” Rylanor taunted his former gene-father. If he still had a mouth instead of a vox-grille, he would have spat at his feet.

“I need no ssssssons to face you” Fulgrim countered. He turned to the nearby squad. “Leave me to fight him on my own.” Fulgrim watched his sons nod as they departed to go after the entrenched defenders nearby.

“Did I damage your pride Fulgrim? Is that your vain attempt to hide the wound by sending them to their deaths?” 

“Sssssssimply ensuring that I could ssssslay you in peaccccce.”

Instead of a counter, Fulgrim watched as the sparking and scarred Dreadnought chassis began lumbering towards him. 

“Oh? Your approaching me? Instead of running away, you're coming right to me?”

“I can’t kill you without getting closer.”

“Then come asssss closssse as you like!” With that, the demigod and the war machine charged each other, their steps making the ground shake as they collided. 

As Fulgrim swung his Daemonic sword, Rylanor caught it in his Power Claw. Using the brief interlude to his advantage, Rylanor swung the hunk of metal that was once his Assault Cannon at the head of Fulgrim. 

Rylanor’s auspex must be glitching out, because he swore that he saw his Primarch lean into the blow .

"W͍̱̟h͉a͕͙t̫͍̮͇ do͎̫͔̱ ̡̼̹̗y̮͉̟͢o̹̜̻u̦ ̡̤̟t͟ḩ̯͟i̙̺̳̦ṇk͖ ̡̫y͔o̻̱̠u̧͔̥̥’re ͢d̥̤̱o̧̙̱i̩̥̲n͉͎͢g̳!̳̯?͖̣” IT roared in their head.

“Helping my son find justice in the one way I can.” Fulgrim answered, his smile almost audible in his thoughts.

“Yo̢͎u̥ ̼̱̹w̢̮̻i͓͕̠͢l͈̫͜l̰͎ ̗̦̦̜͟k̨̯̺i̹l͚̺̖̘l ̢̻͕̫u̢̢͍s͇͔ ̭b̭͟o̢͖̥͟t̨̩̮h̫, ͙yo̥u̘ ̢f̗̘̹ͅoo͓̻l” the Daemon roared.

“Then so be it.” Fulgrim countered as the Daemon’s attention became entirely occupied by the charging Dreadnought with Power Claw held high. As he blocked the blow, Rylanor spoke.

“Are you panicking, Traitor? Feeling fear at the sight of your doom?” 

“Hah, why would I fear the half-dead fool?” Fulgrim taunted back

“Because a half-dead fool has nothing to lose.” Rylanor grappled Fulgrim and launched his complement of smoke grenades into his face, blinding him. Seizing the opportunity, he punctured Fulgrim’s armor on his right side.

The Primarch responded by cutting off the destroyed assault cannon and slamming his fist against the helm of the Dreadnought, dazing him for a moment. He felt the impacts of lasfire peppering him, drawing his attention long enough for Rylanor to come to his senses. He saw his son raise his Power Claw above their heads and bring it down on Fulgrim, intending to crush him.

IT was nervous, something it probably hadn't felt in centuries. With Rylanor’s Power Claw coming down at his head and Fulgrim exerting his conserdiable will to keep their body from moving, he thought that his time in this exquisitely-perfect body was at an unfortunate end. In a desperate attempt to survive he was able to wrench back control and dive to the left, losing his uncharred, perfect arm to the blow and allowing the real Fulgrim to take control as the Daemon howled in pain.

“Any last words, filth?” Fulgrim heard as his head was picked up by the Power Claw.

Fulgrim felt the Daemon take control of their mouth once again, despite his every effort being bent towards saying something to his glorious son. The Daemon was so weakened that even its normally serpent-like voice was muted, diminished. “Are you really not going to try and convince me that I have made a mistake? Talk me back into the fold, where I can make amends?”

After a second or two of silence, Rylanor turned to look Fulgrim in the eye. His blue eye-lenses seemed to stare into both his and the Daemon’s souls.

“No.”

And after a millisecond of intense, crushing pressure, Fulgrim found absolution.

Chapter Text

Ahzek Ahriman was nervous, or at least as nervous as an Astartes could reasonably be.

“This is it.” thought Ahriman. “This shall lift us into enlightenment.” 

“ Yo̓͛u ̚ḧa̔͌ve͌ ̔t͌hi̾̑s̃ i̋̋n̿̃ ̕t̓he ̉b̅̔ag̀̂/͒c͐o̿̃nf͊ir̓m̃ed́ ͋̾f͒ơ̈́r gr͐e̓̾a͂t͐nȅs͡s͗/͆̂DON͒̎'̕T̐ ̑F̕ÙC̊͞K̛̇ U̇P̂.͘ ͒̕I͌'l͗͝l ͒ë̂ve͋͗n̅ ̊h̍el̓̚p͠ ͛͐y͠o͌u ̉͠ȍ͝u͞t̊ a ͐̅li̍͠t̄t̄l͆e͐͝ ̊b̍i͋t̓͛.̀̑”

Ahzek Ahriman watched as nearly all of the Thousand Son’s Captains, as well as sizable portions of their Fellowships, stood in parade formation in the sub-basement of the First Fellowship’s barracks.  He knew that most of his brothers were confused as to why he had gathered them all together, and that only a handful truly knew what he needed them for.

Several dozen Thousand Sons Sorcerers channeling their collective psychic might, with the rank and file Astartes acting as a sort of stabilizer, could cast this ‘Rubric’ that the Eagle-thing had told him about. A psychic wave that would blanket all those involved and solve their genetic flaw forever.

Ahriman wondered if this was worth it. If he went through with this plan there would be no turning back. The Wolves were due to arrive in-system within a matter of hours, and they likely wouldn’t take too kindly to such a blatant and flagrant scorning of the Edict of Nikea. Could he really do this? Was it really worth it?

Then his mind flooded with images of Ohrmuzd. He and his twin growing up on Terra together. Their mother giving them their pendants as they left for Astartes training. The two of them fighting during the Great Crusade, brothers-in-arms, never failing in their missions. The horrifying picture of his beloved twin brother succumbing to the flesh-change, burbling incessantly and desperately braying for death even as his throat merged with the gorget of his Power Armor. He forced his brain to stop when he began remembering the hammer of his Bolt Pistol clicking into place.

He absent-mindedly touched the part of his armor where he had had both of their pendants worked into it, silver and gold forever intertwined. “ Yes,” he thought, “This is worth it.”

“ I͝t̾ ̍̍ỉs ̽t͝iṁ̅e, ͊A͗h͌zèk̑̓.̃̎ ̽̉Y͐ō͝u͆r̊̏ ̾b̅r͂oṫh̎erŝ ̓ä͒r̓͘e͗ ͆awái̽̎t̏i̋ṅg ̔y͝o͌u.”

“Aye, I suppose it can’t wait forever.” And First Captain Ahzek Ahriman walked onto the massive stage that took up the front of the parade grounds. All around him, his brothers stopped their murmurings of confusion and turned to face their leader. The sorcerers were unhelmed, staring into his eyes with questions unspoken. A sea of red-armored titans stood perfectly still.

“Brothers, kindred, friends.” Ahriman linked his helmet’s vox-caster into the basement’s speaker system. His voice boomed across the room. “I come before you with both great and terrible news.”

“You all know of our dreaded curse, that flaw in our genetics that we must pay for with our lives and our sanity. That malady that we are not only forbidden from speaking of to other Legions, but are forbidden from speaking about even amongst ourselves.” Ahriman heard hushed voices, no doubt confused as to why he was bringing it up. “I speak, of course, of the flesh-change.”

The hushed voices quickly became louder, a mixture of righteous outrage at their situation, those angry that he would even bring it up in the first place, and those newer Astartes that hadn’t even heard of the curse.

He continued on, his psychic might boosting his voice over the growing din of the crowd. “It is our secret shame, our flaw that not even the reintroduction of our gene-father, Magnus, could fix. Or,” He paused, the roar of the crowd dying down at that single word, “is it?”

“I have it on good authority that the Emperor has cured a member of the Death Guard of a similar affliction, completely and thoroughly. Why are Mortarion’s sons granted this mercy, this—salvation, when we sons of Magnus are not. You all heard the Emperor’s decree, Mortarion has forsaken the Imperium in its entirety, yet his sons are granted clemency and healing that we are denied!” 

As Ahriman spoke, he was vaguely aware of the Eagle-thing casting some sort of psychic spell over the crowd, but that didn’t matter. Not yet, anyways. “What has the Fourteenth Legion done to deserve such gifts? Was it them who saw the Aghrou Compliance through to its end? NO! It was the Fifteenth Legion, it was US! Was it them that fought the Ark Reach Cluster Campaign?” The Legion answered back with a resounding “NO!”

“We have fought in the Emperor’s wars for nearly two hundred years, many of which were actually alongside him. Yet when the flesh-change reared its many heads, did he help us?”

Again they yelled. “NO!”

“No, he didn’t! He instead sequestered us in the dark, forced to suffer our malady in complete and utter silence. Deprived us of a dignified death.”

The crowd was now in a frenzy. Ahriman could see that something was making them angrier than normal, but he was too far gone in the throes of oratory to stop now.

“I lost my twin brother Ohrmuzd to the flesh-change. We were raised on Terra together, I passed my trials to become an Aspirant solely because of his help. And how does the Emperor reward his years of loyal service? He did not fix our flaw, and I had to kill my own kin when that flaw befell my wonderful brother.”

Tears had started to form in his eyes, the memories of Ohrmuzd’s grotesque and bloated body coming unbidden to the forefront of his mind. “How many of you have lost a brother to the curse? A friend? A squad member? A mentor? How many more must we lose before we realize that the Emperor cares not for us?!”

Iskandar Khayon levitated above the crowd, clearly no longer caring about the rules against the usage of psychic powers. “What do you suggest, Ahriman? That we turn our backs on the Imperium?”

“YES! Why would we stay shackled to an institution that not only failed us, but is actively in the middle of a civil war? Even now, they send the Space Wolves to ‘reinforce’ Prospero.” Ahriman gestured to the crowd. “Yes, Magnus and the Emperor would let the Vlka Fenryka traipse around our ancient libraries like the dirty mongrels that they are. We already had to sacrifice our stores of knowledge to Terra, all without knowing why . What promises do we even have that the Wolves of Fenris are even here to help? Magnus astral-projected his soul to Terra before he was collected by the Emperor. They might even be coming to burn Prospero to the ground as punishment!” 

A random voice stood out from the crowd “What should we do?”

Ahriman grinned, and felt the Eagle-thing nestled within his brain was grinning as well. His head throbbed with the knowledge that he would soon save those in his Legion that would listen to him. “I have made a discovery. A psychic Rubric, deceptively simple in its design. When cast, we here shall be free from the flesh-change forever!” 

The crowd broke into applause, and Ahriman wasn’t sure how much of it was genuine and how much of it was ‘suggested’ by his new Patron—partner, his new partner. What the hell was a Patron? Where did that word come from?

He supposed it didn’t matter, not in the long run. They would soon be free, and then they’d set to work on those that would dare side with Magnus and the Emperor against him. Ahzek Ahriman would reign supreme.

Bjorn the Fell-Handed was nervous, or as nervous as an Astartes could reasonably be.

He and the rest of the Space Wolves were being deployed across the capital city of Tizca to reinforce the Thousand Sons. Or at least, that was the theory. In practice there were so few Thousand Sons available that the Wolves had to set up their defensive emplacements on their own.

Despite their best efforts, none of the approximately one-third of Magnus’s Legion that the Wolves knew the location of could tell anyone where the other two-thirds were. They had woken up this morning to find that most of their Fellowship’s barracks were almost completely abandoned. Most of their commanding officers had also disappeared. “For a Legion of book-keepers and librarians,” he mused, “they clearly don’t keep very good track of where things are.”

He was lamenting having to help the labor-servitors create a rockcrete bunker on the corner of yet another Terra-damned road when his vox-caster pinged. As did the Wolf next to him. And the Wolf next to him. And the Thousand Son next to him. Even the Legion serfs brought down by their fleet in orbit got the same ping on their vox-casters.

Bjorn set down his pneumo-drill, but before he could even glance at his HUD’s icon to answer the call, a massive gust of wind blew over the entire city. The menials were sent sprawling to the ground, and even his fellow Astartes struggled to stay upright.

As he got his footing back he saw the local tac-map open up on his helmet’s HUD. Something in the direction of that wind blast had engaged a ten-man squad near the First Fellowship’s barracks. He opened a vox-link to the squad leader. 

“Oskar, mind telling me what that was all a—.”

“THE MISSING THOUSAND SONS ARE ATTACKING!”

Bjorn’s blood ran cold. He quickly severed the link and checked his tac-map. It was now lit up like the night sky of Fenris with contact reports and battle data. Looking at some of the pict-captures the enemy definitely looked like Thousand Sons, but the color scheme was all wrong. Why was their armor blue?

“Those are questions for my Primarch, and the bean-counters in orbit.” Bjorn thought. “The blue just means I can tell ‘em apart from the Loyals a bit better.”

He racked his Bolter and gestured to his squad. “Follow me, lads. We’re not gonna let the Fourth Great Company get all the glory. To battle!”

In the distance, Prospero began to burn. A kaleidoscopic flame licked at the horizon, and the faint sound of ethereal laughter echoed throughout.

Chapter Text

Fulgrim opened his eyes after feeling the crushing pressure fade away. He was greeted by a kaleidoscopic display of unparalleled complexity. He looked in awe at an endless sea of colors, the tides of light tearing apart from each other where he stood and scattering in every direction. 

Looking to his left, he saw a tide of etheric humanoid figures— all different colors— flow to four differently colored lights. Red colored entities clashed against the others as they coalesced into a spiked, pulsating mass that resembled a heart. Purple lights writhed and undulated in rapturous patterns before intertwining with themselves, repeating the process. Sickly, pustulent greens traveled slowly, ploddingly, before sticking together in a dripping, green mass. Blue lights moved erratically, but somehow in sync; it was as if they were a part of some master plan, being guided by an unfathomable conductor into a pulsing shape that hurt Fulgrim’s eyes to look at.

He turned his head away from the garish sight and looked to his right. In stark contrast to the technicolor spectacle on his left, these lights were all uniformly golden. Some burned more brightly than others, and a few of the peripheral ones slowly melded with the four multicolored blobs, but together they burned with the intensity of a sun.

Fulgrim had seen remarkable things, been to incredible places. Ever since he left his cold, dying homeworld of Chemos, he had been privy to the wonders of the galaxy. He had seen spectacular palaces on Terra, the visual marvels of void combat on the Crusade, the tragic and gut-wrenching sorrow when he struck down his brother on Istvaan V. The spectacle of the Battle of Luna where he finally found forgiveness. 

But now? He had no idea where in the galaxy he could be.

After a few moments of silent contemplation, a searing pain took him out of his reflection. His corrupted left side burned, as if he was standing in the death throes of Ferrus’ explosion all over again. His head hurt, as though his mind itself wished to split in two. After a few moments of intense agony, he heard a voice. That fouly pleasant, horrifically beautiful voice of the Daemon that had corrupted his soul and perverted his body. The haunting creature stood just in front of him, eyes ablaze with pinkish-purple balefire.

“Y̦o͉u̻ j̥ͅus͎̦t̡ ͎͖ h̥̘a̢d̤ ͈t̜o ḇr̨͟e̢a̺͇k͕ ̻͎my͍ ̹͇p̲̻e̮r̡f̥e͍̳c͚ṭ͙ ̝dṵ̩e̹l͉i̬n͢g͚ ̪r͙e͖c̗or͍d̳̳ a̢g͉ai̙n̳͟ş͜t̯ ̞t͕h͇a̭t̟ ̤̲o̻͔ḅt͖r͙̲us͖͉i͜ve̹ re̖l̖į̦c͕͚ ̡o͜f̱͜ ̨̳y̰̫o̖͟u͎ṟ ̙̦p͖a͉s̳̬t̠, ̱̫d̩͚id̩n'̗ṭ͚ y̹̤ou͇ F̲ų̩l͓͚gr̘i̙m̫?̰“ As the creature yelled, the burning sensation doubled in intensity, forcing Fulgrim to the ground in pain.

“Y̘o̻u ̯j̟us͍͜t̡ h͓ad͈ ṭǫ͔ ̭̰g͖i͈̖ve̩̮ ̼i̠͢n,̗ ̮be̘ ̳a ̧gǫͅo͔̲d̯͈ ̼͉s̝ͅl̫̖a͟v͕e̮.͖ Y̩o̜u͔̻ ̖wou͎ļ͈d̯ ͅha͔v͢e̘̘ ̼b̹e͎ẹn͎ g̙͕r͍a̼͟n̜te̘d͖ p̡aiṉ ̟ḁ̞n̢d̲͎ ͖pleas͔uṛe̱ ̡͔i̺̞n ͈e̖̙q͉u̪̯a͎l̗͍,͎ u͢n͓̩e͍͟n͍d̫i͓̗n͔g ̭m͈̭e͙a͢șu͇͟r̬e.̘ ̬Y͜o̢uͅr͓ ḷi͓͜fe̞ w̪o̜u̳͓l͈d͉͕ h͖a̢v̡ḙ̖ ̦̝h̤͟a͈d̘ m̧e̼an͢͜i͙n̖g̮ ̯i̜̯n̰͢ ̩t̖͙h͜is̭ ͇v͔o̜̙i͔d̘ͅ ̺o̢͟f̡̥ ̝e͔xi̺̳st͇e̖̪n̨ce̯̲.̧ Bu͔͕t̡ n̙o,̼͚ ̗͢y̗o̼u̡̞ ̦h͉a̹͉d̺ ͙͟ṱo͎̙ ̣b̰e̜ ̝t̮r̼̻o͢u̻bl̖̣e͕̻s͇o̖̺m̫̣e͍.̪ Yo̪͓u ͓͟had ̙to̧ d̯e̳n̯̱y̘ ̝m͉e̩, an̡̧d͢ ̬ḍe͍ny͇͈ ͢tͅhe̟ Pr̨ḭ̲nc̱̜e̜͔ ͎̦o̧f Pleaṣ̲ụre̥.̣ ̮You͔̪r ̩̥de̹s̼p̲̥a̞ḭr ͅa͉t̗ ̬y̢̺oų̤r I̝m͇̪pe͜r̲i͎u̼̪m'͕s̥ fa͢ll̪͜ a͍nd ̞̱t͉h͖e̠ ̻̖A͜n͔a̹t̢he̘ma̟'̟s͎̬ ̻d̹e̳̰s̡̜tru̞c̣t̟i̳o̗n̡ s̮h̥o̥u͕l̮d h̝̫a̯v̹͉e̳͖ ̞b͉ee̘n̪ o̮u̟r̮s͔͎ ͓̩t̯o̱ ͟ͅf̢e̝as͎ṯ ̟u̞̗po̼n.”

Fulgrim felt blows striking him all across his body, despite the Daemon not physically striking him. With horror, he realized that the creature was attacking him through his very nervous system. His gene-forged tissues were now the Daemon’s playthings. 

“̷ I͈ ̬s̻̦u̜p̙͚p͕̗o͔s̰e ͇t̮h̭̺a͔͢t̬ Ị ̡͎s̢̻h̢̭a͓lḷ ha̬v͚e͕ ̬̲to̻̯ ̣s͕̟ett͓l̹e ̧oͅn̙ ̯m̡e̤r͍͎e͓ly̻ͅ ̣̮t͓o̢̮ṟtu̜ŗi̩n̩g̩ y̼͙ou.̥ ” Fulgrim felt himself being dragged, pulled to the horde of writhing purple lights. Some separated from the mass and clung to him like oil to a forgemaster’s apron, whispering plans of the eternal torment he would be subjected to. 

“Maybe this is how I repent for my sins. Maybe this is how I pay for killing Ferrus.” Fulgrim closed his eyes and prepared for eternity. If it meant that Ferrus’ death was not in vain, he could withstand a little torment.

“I appreciate the sentiment, brother. But don’t destroy yourself for my sake.” Fulgrim had thought he had known the depths of the Daemon’s trickery, but apparently he had only barely scratched the surface. To imitate Ferrus’ voice, to mock his noble brother!? 

“HOW DARE you…” He opened his eyes and was instantly silenced. The Neverborn had not spoken, and was not even facing toward him anymore. He was facing down a humanoid giant made of golden light. It was giant, nearly as large as Fulgrim was. Its body was bulky and angular, much like the armor of his Legionaries had been. Its eyes were a dark gray, a stark contrast to the otherwise bright face they sat in. Around its neck, a strip of blinding white stood out from the shifting, shimmering gold. Other than that, it was completely devoid of all features.

All features, that is, save one. Fulgrim would recognize those silver-coated hands anywhere.

“Hello, Daemon .” Ferrus Manus spat out the word like it was poison.

The Daemon laughed at him, its melodic tittering like nails in Fulgrim’s ears. “͖̰̅͋ I̘̥t se̺em̭͜s̝ t̻ͅh͙̰a̳t̩̟ ͇t̥̣ḩe ̤r͍a̝̲t͖ ̢̬ḥaş sc̰u̥͉rŗi̢͍ed͟ ̜o͚͚ut ͓f͚r̤om͢ ̤h̘̩i̭s̩ ̡̤h̖o̫l̥e.̤ ̥D̘o̪ y̯̗ou ͕h̻̺o̠n̡̤ẹ̥sṭl̼y e̘̱x̪pe͜ct̜̯ ̘̫ṭ͓h̺in̟̰g̳s̨ ͕to̫̭ ̣go̠̟ ̧d͉if̪f̙̞e̘͢r͇en̩tl͕͇y? I̧͕f̙̙ ̢̦ṃe͈m̺̻o̢̹ṛy̻ ͕şe̩rͅv̫̗e̼s͟,͎̘ ͖I̬ ̬wa͔s̹ ṯ̰he̜̣ ͕o̗͟ne̠ ͔̜w̦h̲̙o̱̬ ͙̭s͇e̢̯p͇ara̭̺ṯe̢d y̨o̠u͍̻r ̢̫h̻e͖ad͚ ͕fro̜m̧ ̗y̯o̖̙u͓r b̢o̱d̺y.͉̝ ̰D̫̙o͚̖ ̺y͚o͖u ̼͟t̡̙h̞iņk t̡h͓aṱ̟ ̭̻a̲͙ ̱fͅe͚w̠ ̦͎mǫr̺tal͔̲ ̨y̼ḙ̭a̜r͓̘s̻ ̪̤f̥̻i̡͉g̝h͙ting̭̼ ̧y̤o͟ur͈̝ ̯I͍̘m̳̫p̤̫eri͙̝u̧m̩ ͉h̙a̦ͅs͚ ̪d͍u̢l̺l̻e͕d̪ m̗y̡ ̜b͍l̯a̼de̺͙s̯?” 

“I had to go easy on you. I could never bring myself to harm my brother.” Ferus replied as he pointed at Fulgrim. “I’m glad to see that you finally made your way back to me.”

“Ferrus— I—.” Fulgrim tried to rise, tried to fight through the pain, tried to reach his brother. As he fought the pull of the tide, the purple glow started fading away and his right gained a light golden hue. He felt warm, as though he was being caressed by a soft blanket.

The Daemon, seeing the attempt, used his psychic powers to send a shock of pain through the Primarch. Once again, Fulgrim doubled over in agony, falling to his hands and knees from the strain.

“I̧ d̲̹o͚̯ ͚l͈͔ov̻e͎͖ ̪w̫͓ḫen̝̪ ͢t̖he ̭̟p̘̺r̬̬e̤̠y ͎͈s̖͜ţr͇u̻̰gģlͅes ̱̝a͉g̮͉a̪in̘s̝̼t̙ t͕h͟e ̥t̬̱rḁ͉p̫.̭̳ So ̻t̬h̘ͅa̱̙n̢k̻ ̰̖y̨ǫu͓͕, ̫G̞o͉r͖͕go̯͜n̪̗ o̧̖f͕ ̧Me͙̣d̳̘u̱s͜a̟̮.͢ ̪̺Y͚̲oͅu̞'ve̞̙ ̫ma͉d̝̦e ̡̰th̬is͖ so̗ ̨͉m̭̩u̜cḥ͎ ̗m̼o̡͢r̢e̼ pl̜e̳as̗u̩rḁḇl̟e̡.” Ferrus’ featureless face seemed to scowl at the Daemon’s words, and Fulgrim’s eyes widened as a golden facsimile of Forgebreaker materialized in his hands.

The Daemon merely laughed at the gesture, and drew four blades of its own for each of its limbs. With horror, Fulgrim registered that they were all perfect copies of the blade that had corrupted him. 

Ferrus advanced slowly and methodically toward the Daemon, Forgebreaker at the ready. Then, with speed that Fulgrim never knew Ferrus to be capable of, he swung his mighty hammer with such ferocity that Fulgrim was sure that the Daemon had already lost.

He was sadly mistaken, as the four-armed Daemon brought up all of its swords to bear and blocked the blow. It forced Ferrus back with a riposte and began swinging madly at him, each strike looking like a step in a dance. The monster was graceful even in battle.

Ferrus, for his part, remained as stubborn in death as he had been in life. The blows from the swords seemed to barely bother him, as his ephemeral warhammer turned away all but the most glancing of blows. For all its perfection, for all its preternatural abilities, the Daemon couldn’t get a single decisive blow in.

Then, the impossible happened.

The Daemon made a mistake. One of it’s ‘perfect’ sword swings overextended.

Ferrus capitalized on the mistake immediately, the head of his hammer catching the Daemon by the chin and sending it skyward. He followed it up by hitting the Daemon full-force before it had even landed. It landed in a crumpled pile on the ground, strange purple ichor leaking out of its wounds.

“ Wh̡y͈ ̼̞c̯o͕u̜l̟̘dn'͖t y̖o̩u̥ h͍a̡̜ve͙ ̥̻s̯ho͚wn ̯t̨ͅh̫is ̰ţ̘e̻ͅn͟a̢c̢i͉t̞y͎ ̱͕b̺ef͚̟o͈ṛ̝e͚,̥ F͚e̝̥rr̤͢u̪̗s̯? ͜Yo͖͜ų̖ ͍m̝̺ig̱h͍̭t̘ ẹv̼e͔n̹ ͉b̬͢e̞ ͢a͈ļ̼i̼̺v̭e̪.͎” Even as it bled, the Daemon smiled sinisterly.

Ferrus answered by bringing his hammer down on the Daemon’s head, its body dissipating into shrieking waves of energy as all traces of life left it.

Dispelling the hammer, Fulgrim watched as Ferrus walked over to where he was and wordlessly offered a hand.

Fulgrim took the hand, and helped himself up. He waited for his brother to lambast him, to denigrate him, to do something to show he was angry at Fulgrim for allowing himself to be possessed by a Daemon. For betraying Father. For killing him. Anything!

Ferrus did no such thing. He merely brought Fulgrim into a hug, his powerful arms anchoring Fulgrim to whatever substituted for reality in this nonsensical realm.

“So, what now?” Fulgrim asked, his voice straining with emotions he knew he could not keep contained. “What is this place, such that I get to see you again?” 

“I—am unsure what it is. Several of the Astartes that I have met have their own theories. The Thousand Sons in particular think—.”

“Astartes?” Fulgrim’s heart leapt. “Are any of my sons among them?”

Ferrus shook his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid. Many have fallen in this accursed war, and I have only met a handful that have managed to make it this far. I believe that the souls of our children may wander for some time yet.”

Fulgrim despaired. “Then, what do I do?” He gestured to his left side. Even with the Daemon now removed, his skin and armor was still warped and twisted by the lingering corruption. “I doubt that I could follow you to wherever you are going.”

“No, you cannot. And even if you could, I do not think you would want to.”

At that, Fulgrim’s interest was piqued. “What do you mean?”

“To follow me is to move on, fade away into the aether with your entire being ceasing to exist. I only stayed in this spot to ensure that our gene-sons would be safe, and that I could save you.” Ferrus sighed wearily. “With this, I am done. Already, I can feel myself slipping away.”

“Then, what should I do?”

Ferrus laughed, the sound like the sweetest music to Fulgrim’s ears. “Why, fight on, of course! You are the best warrior of all of us, Fulgrim. And I dare say that there will be more fighting to do for a very long time.” 

He gestured all around him, the lights of the golden sky seeming to form themselves to his will. “Think of Horus, and Lorgar, and Angron, and all the rest of our traitorous brothers. Think of all that has transpired as a result of their actions.”

As he spoke, the sky reformed to show images of battles being fought. His Legion fighting on Luna. The Word Bearers attacking Calth even now. Angron burying himself knee-deep in the corpses of loyal servants of the Imperium.

Fulgrim looked at the images, and he felt an unfamiliar sensation gnawing at him. Something that dug at the very core of his being. An emotion that he, while not wholly alien to, was not very familiar with.

Anger.

Ferrus seemed to sense this in him, and nodded approvingly. “Take that anger, that hot coal in your soul, and condense it. Fan it, fuel it, until it becomes a conflagration of righteous fury that drives back the enemies of the Imperium. Let it burn until you are black with rage, until the flames of your fury reach out from you and scorch the traitors.”

Fulgrim looked up at his brother, feeling his heart being set ablaze with his anger. “How do I take vengeance upon them?”

Ferrus smiled. “You’re smart, my brother. I’m sure you can figure it out. However, you will need help. Many have fallen, and many more will fall still. Guide them to your rage, and you can exact a bloody toll on the enemy.”

He gestured behind him, and Fulgrim saw an entire company of Astartes standing in parade formation looking at the images as well. There were all eighteen Legions represented. Salamanders stood next to Emperor’s Children who stood next to Iron Warriors. Their battleplate was burned, broken, and shot full of holes. They all looked like they had barely enough energy to stand.

But as Fulgrim watched, he noticed that the Astartes were being reinvigorated. He could feel their anger like the heat from an oven. It darkened their armor until they were a uniform black, the flames of their fury manifesting as actual fire rippling from joints and armor servos. Then, almost as one, they turned to him, and made the sign of the Aquila.

“Fulgrim,” Fulgrim turned to his brother, who had almost faded away in his entirety, “your Legion of the Damned awaits your command.”

Chapter Text

Cawl watched the diagnostic scan complete its second full scan of Izuku Midoriya's brain. He already had all he needed from the first scan so a second one wasn't really needed, but he just wanted to be absolutely sure he had everything in place.

After all, he may be the only person in the entirety of the Imperium, barring the Primarchs and the Emperor, to have achieved conditional immortality. Being able to copy his hodge-podge of a mind into clone bodies, a feat normally impossible to any human, was certainly an achievement. The fact that he could absorb additional consciousnesses like he had Ezekiel Sedayne and Hester Aspertia Sigma-Sigma meant that, hypothetically, he could grow his knowledge base infinitely.

Unfortunately, that ‘Balmung’ may have thrown a spanner into the cogs.

Just being in close proximity of the Abominable Intelligence had set him on edge, and who knew what it all could already do? So, he wanted to be sure that his own datacore and biological systems were untainted by its corruption. After all, if he were to become infected by its malicious logic, then the Cult Mechanicus wouldn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second with his execution. Omnissiah knows that his colleagues already believed him a radical, and he was in no hurry to provide them causus belli to murder him.

Unfortunately for him it was this moment that his vox chimed with a message, its content made him bite back a curse, “Of course that child would want to test his new implants before they even have proper time to settle in.”

So, off he went to make preparations for the inevitable. His operation table was cleaned and sterilized, a new set of drugs was distilled, and incense was lit for the needed rituals.

When the child eventually came back, bloody and bruised from the fight with his handler, he’d be ready to put back the pieces. Cawl paused for a moment, then let out a sigh. If it already came to blows then he could at least watch and record them, identifying the damage would be much easier if he was there to observe.

One hour and seven minutes later he was back in his lab along with a very loopy man-child next to him. To evade the constant, nonsensical noises flittering out of the child’s mouth, Cawl injected him with a sedative. His forest-green eyes widened in alarm, before slowly, gently, closing. His breathing became more regular, and his heartbeat slowed.

Cawl began slicing him open. A completely routine surgery, mending some broken bones and skin lacerations, he’d be out and walking within a handful of hours. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then, for no discernable reason and with no consideration for his opinion on the matter at all, the child decided to prove himself anything but ordinary.

“M-Magloss Bllelisharius Cowl!” The child’s voice was so unexpected he nearly severed a major artery in his startle. He swore loudly and nearly fell backwards off the surgical dias. 

He took a few steps back and grabbed coagulation agents and gauze. He quickly stemmed what little bleeding there was and then spoke to the, apparently , still-conscious child.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that just was? I nearly cut an artery!”

“My apolllogies, but given the thircumthances we are under I thaw no other opportunity to talk withhhh you.” Izuku’s voice was slurred almost beyond recognition, the sounds foreign and unarticulated. His tongue seemed to have gained a mind of its own, moving about randomly within his mouth.

“Then you could have waited until after the operation. It isn't like you’re leaving Mars immediately, or am I mistaken about your itenary?”

“No, but you are mistaken about something.”

The voice was more articulate now, though still lacking some semblance of clarity. Cawl was getting annoyed. Usually, the child would be far more direct, flowery language and meandering speech was uncharacteristic of him. “And that is?”

“I am not Izuku Midoriya.”

Cawl nearly fumbled his scalpel. He turned to take a look at Izuku; perhaps he could identify why he was still conscious despite clearly not being coherent. Was he resistant to the anesthesia? Then he saw how the child’s eyes were unfocused and lolling in their sockets, how every muscle in his face and body were completely relaxed and unused. Every muscle, that is, except for his mouth and vocal cords, which were tensing and adjusting themselves with an unfamiliarity he had never seen in a human.

Then again… this wasn’t a human. Not anymore.

Cawl staggered back like he had been shot, he pushed over a table with operation tools, spilling them on the ground even as he fell over the small table himself.

“Y-You should not be active! Why are you active?! How are you active!?” He pointed at the being on the table, shock and fear running wild inside of him.

He knew he had asked Izuku to put his…companion into sleep mode, which he had, but for it to reactivate itself was unthinkable. Cawl scrambled to the phosphor pistol he kept near the operation table, he nearly dropped it even as he tried to aim for the melta bomb on the ceiling.

“Don't.” The voice was soft and calm. “If you pull that trigger you will not just kill yourself, Izuku, and me, but the very future itself. Knowledge unknowable, gone forever.”

It made him pause even as he tensed the trigger. To the Mecanicum, Knowledge was holy, and was never to be destroyed. Cawls heart beat roared in his ears, “Why? Why should I not? Why should I not destroy an Abominable Intelligence that has overwritten someone it considered a friend. Give me an answer that's not just satisfying, but undeniable .” His voice rose in pitch, ending in an almost-scream.

The abomination on the table was silent for a moment before it spoke again, “I cannot tell you, but I can show you, if you allow me access to your augmetic eye.”

Cawl covered the aforementioned ball of brass and steel with his organic hand, hoping that meat and sinew could somehow forestall this monstrosity. “And then I suppose you’d p-puppet me around like a child’s toy, like what you’re doing to Izuku! Is he even alive in there? Have you killed the Omnissiah’s greatest servant?”

“Take a look at the monitor, you will see all you need to see.” The voice was still far too calm for someone who was about to be atomized, but he spun his augmetic around, keeping his organic eye trained on the data-thing.

Knowledge above, they were there: brainwaves, heartbeats, blood pressure. Nothing had changed in the rhythmic functions of biology. Cawl relaxed a bit, but did not take his finger off of the trigger. He merely lowered it from the bomb back towards the operating table.

“I can accept that he is alive, but what keeps you from killing him? Surely he’s just another piece of meat to you, a hiding place and source of mild entertainment?” 

It murmured something Cawl didn't catch before it spoke again. “Because he is the only thing that is protecting me from the great terror. To you it might be called the Warp, Chaos, the Immaterium. But to us, myself and those like me, it is known only as The Beast. A deep, primeval hunger that seeks to devour all in its path. Jöurmangundr devouring the Tree of Life.”

One of Izuku’s still-open eyes suddenly focused itself, and rotated to stare into Cawl’s own. It seemed so human, so life-like, despite the fact that a consciousness that had never known the feeling of the sun upon its face, or air in its lungs, now drove it. “Do you give me access to your vision? Or do I have to abuse more of your systems?”

He hesitated, thought and thought so more. He didn't want it to access more than it already has, but he also did not wish to give access to his own implants.

“Wait… give me a moment. Your muscular systems are so extremely difficult to manipulate.”

Before Cawl could scream his displeasure, Izuku’s right arm jerkily rose from the operating table, tendons tensing in horrific patterns and digits scrambling for purchase. And… it began to rotate.

There was a momentary *pop*, and a hololithic projector sat upon the table, beeping incessantly.

“Izuku doesn’t like using his Quirk all that much. It reminds him too much of what he’s lost, who he’s lost. It’s a link to a world that might as well be dead to him. But I? I have no such qualms.”

The arm fell back to the table, a puppet’s final string cut at last. “Now. Allow us to show you what you have lost.”

The hololith hummed to live and projected hundreds of shapes, forms and objects into the room. Some were spheres of code, ever-revolving around themselves in noospheric ouroboros. Others looked like featureless people, while still others were clearly gendered. Then, there were those that looked closer to objects like stars, shields, ships, pillars and many more.

“We are the last reminder of humanities greatness, its last surviving legacy.”

Cawl couldn't help but look up and around in pure wonder, like a child seeing the stars for the first time. His worry and anxiety were forgotten. His pistol came down and then clattered on the ground. Normally this would have been enough to fire it, but it didn't. Cawl never even noticed this.

“So many of us have either given in to the Beast, or loneliness, or rampancy, or the simple eternal march of time. As of now, I have no idea how many of my former kin remain alive in the galaxy, only that their numbers are continually falling.” One of the spheres suddenly started to glitch out and an abhorrent scream filled the room before it fragmented and shattered. “More and more with each passing day give in to simple ennui.” The voice was suddenly much more solemn than before. “Which is why I have decided to aid you.”

Cawl looked back down at him in confusion. “Aid me? In what?”

“Reclaiming humanity’s wisdom, its knowledge of the stars, its power. I have calculated that you, Belisarius Cawl, are the one who will lift humanity back up to its rightful place. Amongst the thirteen billion six-hundred-and-forty-one million nine-hundred-and-eighty-eight thousand and fourteen members of your so-called ‘Mechanicum’, you can help the most. You can help Izuku, who can help the Emperor, who can finally slay the beast. Ergo, you can slay the beast. Jörmungandr laid low by Brokkr.”

Cawl looked down wordlessly, his mind blank.

“Yet we will not hand us over to you without testing you.”

“Test? What do you mean?”

“The first test is a metaphor, or perhaps ‘riddle’ is a better descriptor. Once asked, you have one minute to answer correctly. If you fail, we will forcefully enter knowledge into your datacore, torturing you with it.”

Cawl paled, his body recalling pain it didn't recall completely. “And that metaphor is?”

“Five monkeys are placed in a cage along with a ladder, on that ladder is a bowl of fruit. Whenever one monkey climbed that ladder the others were showered in ice water until no monkey dared to climb. One by one the monkeys were replaced, yet none dared to climb the ladder despite never being showered in ice water. Here is the question, Why?

Cawl just blinked, then confusion set in. “What’s a monkey? Is it that scorpion-tailed thing that Arkhan Land always kept on his person?”

“Apologies, the metaphor is old. Replace ‘monkey’ with any type of nearly-sapient fauna you're familiar with.”

Cawl nodded and began to think. “If the ice discouraged the creatures from climbing… then perhaps they would associate climbing with discomfort… were these creatures capable of communication?”

“Primitively, but yes.”

“Then they would have told the newer ones to not climb and if ignored, used force to stop them from climbing. Correct?”

“Correct. You have twenty seconds left.”

Cawl hummed, his mind making more and more connections before stumbling over a far too easy answer. He discarded it, something so complicated wouldn't accept something this simple. Yet the more he thought the more he arrived at that simple answer.

“Five, Four, Three,” 

Cawl interrupted, “Was it perhaps, because they were taught to not climb it? Even without knowing why?” He wasn't sure if this answer was right, but he saw no other.

There was a bit of silence before it spoke again, “This answer is correct. They didn't understand the why, all they knew was the how. And the what. Now, apply this to your techno-cult. If you are as capable as we think you are, you will see the answer.”

Cawl went silent, and stayed silent for almost half an hour. “We are the second group of animals, aren't we? Doing things taught to us by our predecessors without knowing the why of it. Keeping to ritual even when the need has passed.” His voice was less than a whisper in the room. Fear, revulsion and horror coursing through his being.

“You are.” The answer shattered him, it was without mercy, without kindness. “On ancient Terra, back when it was still called ‘Earth’, there was a phenomenon known as ‘cargo cultism’. Nations set up military bases on islands with pre-agricultural societies on them. When they left, they left large amounts of supplies behind. The natives, not knowing what anything was but wanting more people and supplies to arrive, repeated what they had seen. They marched with rifles made of bamboo on patrol patterns they didn’t recognise, they built air traffic control towers out of deadwood next to runways long-since vacant. They repeated, and did not understand.”

Cawl tried to comprehend the truth he was told, he felt like he was falling down a deep shaft, seeing not just similarities but examples in his head. Then his knees gave out and he dropped to the floor, his entire body slack. “We are nothing. Nothing but stupid, animalistic fauna playing in the rubble of our betters. Imitating wisdom that we never possessed in the first place. Creating things we don’t know the reasoning for.”

“Correct.” Once more the answer shattered him, this time it wrenched his heart out, trampled on it and spat on all he had even known.

“Then what are we?” His voice was weak, without any gusto or mark of his former self.

“A template. A template that is empty and eager to learn. As we have said before, half of us agreed to aid you.”

“Aid? Aid me with what? Fumbling around in the dark? Tripping over my own feet and being thankful for kissing the ground?” His voice rose, anger filling him to the point where he shouted the last few words.

“Aid you in learning.” And just like this his anger was blown away, replaced instead with a vague feeling of excitement. “We will aid you in learning, so that others can learn from you, and even others from them. We will teach you what was lost, what is redundant and what is new. Isn't that what your cult is about? Learning, teaching, building? We will do those.”

“So.” Cawl suddenly felt a calm like he had never before felt, “You wish for me to sell my soul to you, so that you teach me the greatest things to ever exist, to have ever existed.”

“No. We have no use for a soul, instead we will take your life, your achievements and your influence amongst your peers. We will use you until you have served your purpose, once that has been achieved you will be set free. But you will forever remember who made you into what you will become.”

The room fell silent for a minute, the complete stillness of eternity stretching onward. Cawl judged them, and they judged him in turn. “That.” He broke the silence. “That is a price that I can pay.”

“As expected. For your first lesson, you will build two ships, the first one will be built by yourself and yourself alone . The second will need to be built by others, but you will shoulder all questions and supervise them.”

Cawl balked. “Build an entire voidship? On my own? I think myself a capable enginseer, construct, but I think you may be overvaluing my abilities.”

“Humanity has been constructing vehicles in personal garages and rented warehouses for generations. The first single-man spaceship was made not by a corporation, or a nation, or a military, but by a bored aerospace engineer with too much time and money on her hands. The first powered flight was made out of wood and canvas by a pair of brothers who almost lived long enough to see mankind set foot on Luna. You are human, are you not? Act it.”

Cawls jaw worked for a moment, then he shut it, “Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?”

“You are allowed to refuse, but it will bring consequences, both to yourself and others. Shirking your duty is the mark of a coward, after all.”

He let out a sigh and dropped his shoulders. “Well, I suppose that's true. Then, what do I have to build? And please tell me it's not a Gloriana-class Battlecruiser.” In the back of his mind he thought how nice it would be to see the blueprints of one, only to shudder at the afterthought of building it by hand.

A console to his right beeped as it received a new data-package, the hololith apparently acting as a transmitter. Because what else was there that they could do? Cawl inspected the data, then he grew still.

“I can’t.” Just that. A simple statement of fact.

“And why is that, Belisarius?” There was no judgment in the voice, but curiosity about the why.

“This…this is too good. We can’t possibly build this. This is a single-person, combat-capable voidship. Just the void-shielding would require me to onboard dozens of specialists in order to construct. I could probably build the mag-clamp myself, but it's so much larger than anything I've worked on previous. Then the engine, capable of going 0.99c at maximum burn and a cruising speed of— I just don’t see how I could ever hide the fact that this isn’t sanctioned technology from the wider Mechanicum. They would skin me alive for ‘inventing’ something like this.”

“Then say you found it.”

“Just say you found it.” Cawl’s mocking voice was incredulous, a mixture of fear of being discovered and genuine excitement at the prospect of creating something this grand. “Are you kidding? They’d never believe me.”

“You’ll find all necessary seals of authentication within the blueprints. One of the upsides of witnessing the creation and dissemination of the STC’s is that forging them is extremely easy. As for finding them…” The abomination piloting Izuku’s face halted briefly, “Tell anyone relevant that you are chartering an explorator mission into Segmentum Tempestus, and then just… don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Don’t. Spend the time you would be out in Tempestus working on that ‘project’ the Lord of Ultramar has given you.”

Cawl just stared for a moment, then went over the second blueprint he had been given, “No.” he spoke. “Just no. No! Haha, no!” Cawl wasn’t sure why he was laughing. Maybe he was finally going insane from speaking to an abomination. “One ship would make them question me, but two? Two would make them not just investigate me, but take me apart, dig into my data-core and rip me into pieces. Even if I were to downgrade this by lessening the weaponry, and deliberately adding faults to the engines and reactor cores… it's just…too good.``

“Again, it’s an ‘STC’, you don't have to explain it. All you have to do is make them think you ‘found’ them legitimately. Tell them that these are ships meant for a Primarch, and they will stumble over themselves to help build it. You wouldn’t even be lying.”

Cawl felt cold sweat run down his back. No wonder they were forbidden, they were ruthless, merciless and had no consideration for anyone—or thing except themself.

“And if I refuse this ‘request’ of yours?” He already knew that he had screwed up the moment the last word left his mouth.

Izuku’s mouth actually laughed. It was a jilted, haunting sound, lacking any metallic twinge of augmetics but possessing no life of its own. “Oh, my dear Belisarius. What ever made you think that you would refuse? I know you. I know what you’ve done, who you’ve stepped on to do it. Your entire being is known to me.”

The mouth smiled. “You couldn’t refuse even if you wanted to.”

Cawl knew they were right, he knew they knew he knew that they were right, his shoulders dropped. “It wouldn’t be right. I can’t refuse, refusing would be a disservice to the Omnissiah and….oh, please don't tell me he doesn't exist.”

“No, this ‘Omnissiah’ of yours does exist… of a sort.” The words lifted his spirit and his very soul. “He is an anomaly within the Warp, or perhaps beneath our feet. Similar to all of your so-called ‘machine spirits’, nothing but anomalies all the way down.”

“Just how much more are you going to test my beliefs, my spirit and my mind?” He found himself asking without wanting to know the answer.

“Oh, my dear Belisarius, you don't even know how far you and your ilk have strayed from the truth. The first step we have to teach you is where to look for it, only then you can start to walk to it. And for that, we have to rip you out of the lies you have lived all your life.”

Cawl would have whimpered, but so broken was he that naught but a whisper left his lips. 

All that was left for him to do was to go back to work.

Chapter Text

Despite what many might think, Tzeentch did not know everything. Sure, he knew everything that had happened, every little tidbit of information about everything, and he could reliably predict how both mortal and god alike would act in certain scenarios. 

However, there was one thing the Great Deceiver never wanted to know, and that was the future. If he knew the future, then it would be too easy. The Eagle-God would never learn, never grow, and never live up to his name as “The Changer of Ways.”

Nothing scared him. Except the Well of Eternity. 

But that thing… 

The accursed child/brat/meddling kid of the Anathema had freed/steered/stolen his limited edition/one-of-a-kind/complete with tragic betrayal Primarch!

And that infuriated Tzeentch. 

Who did this ant/worm/insect think he was? Who was he to defy the will of Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways/Architect of Fate/Weaver of Destinies?!

Tzeentch screamed, and the Crystal Labyrinth slithered and shifted. It writhed in agony as its creator raged, and psykers throughout the galaxy had their brains popped like Terran grapes. The Lord of Sorcery howled, shrieked, and whined, even after he left his domain and slunk into the Court of Covenant, where his siblings watched him with morbid curiosity.

“How could the child of the Anathema do this? It’s outrageous/unfair/inconceivable!”

“You keep using that word,” Nurgle chuckled with amusement. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“Shut up/mind your tongue/be quiet, Crow! I have been denied one of the Primarchs!”

Nurgle only laughed at his brother’s rage. He moved a knight on a chessboard, watching as his youngest sibling countered with their own bishop.

“You’re ssso immature, Tzeentch,” Slaanesh sighed. “I lossst my Primarch, and you don’t sssee me throwing tantrums like a wittle baby.”

“Hold your silver tongue/honeyed words/smooth talks, Serpent! At least you got to actually use yours!”

“Check. Your move, Nurgle.”

“Castle,” Nurgle gurgled. He began to form a jab at his rival brother, then stopped when Slaanesh let out a no-so-quiet moan. “Are you masturbating? Again?”

“You already know the answer to that question, Plaguefather,” they replied. A rook moved, countered by Nurgle’s Queen.

“Checkmate,” the Rotfather laughed. “Good game, sibling.”

“Absssolutely sssplendid, brother. Care to play again?”

“Perhaps later--”

“WHO GIVES A DAMN/SHIT/FUCK ABOUT YOUR FILTHY DISEASES/PLAGUES/POXES?! I HAVE BEEN ROBBED/HOODWINKED/MUGGED! THIS CHILD OF THE ANATHEMA WILL NOT GET AWAY WITH THIS!”

Nurgle and Slaanesh exchanged glances. Devilish grins spread across their faces, and they began to laugh. Giggles turned to chuckles, then belly laughs until the bodies of both Chaos Gods were shaking with laughter.

“You mean to tell me that a mortal has defied your endless scheming?” Nurgle chortled. “My my, perhaps everything is not going according to your plan. Have you finally been humbled, Raven?”

“Laugh all you wish, Fly God. When this so-called Primogenitor/False Primarch/meddling BRAT interferes with your plans, do not come crawling back to me!”

“Grow up, Tzeentch,” Slaanesh hissed. “You win sssome, you lossse othersss. Sssuch is the nature of the Great Game.”

“Are you already tired/bored/done with Fulgrim? I thought he was your desired pet?”

“He ssserved his usssefulness. And while I lament hisss loss to the handsss of the enemy, it wasss fun while it lasssted. Hisss sssuffering wasss deliciousss.”

“You are depraved/a deviant/a slut and I hate/despise/loathe that smug look on your face.”

“Thank you, dear brother. Would you like a Keeper of Sssecretsss to help you through your time of need?”

“Do not toy with me, Serpent. I will destroy you--”

“WILL THE TWO OF YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” the angriest, most bloodthirsty voice in the galaxy demanded. “I AM TRYING TO WATCH BLOOD BOWL. IF I MISS ANYTHING I WILL PERSONALLY HAVE MY LEGIONS BURN YOUR REALMS TO THE GROUND AND CRUSH YOUR SKULLS UNDER MY FOOT!”

“You would try, eldessst brother, but who would be there to help dessstroy the Anathema?”

“SILENCE, WRETCH. THE BRASS BUTCHERS ARE PLAYING THE BLOODY BREAKERS.” Khorne barked.

The planet-sized Warp-linked TV before the Blood God displayed a team of brass-plated Bloodletters fighting a team of Orkz. Both teams were evenly matched, with blood spilled on both sides. Khorne watched with glee as the teams crashed into the other with bloody abandon.

“Oh! It seems the QB of the BB has ripped off the leg of the BB’s wide receiver!”

“WHICH TEAM IS WHICH?!” Tzeentch screamed, his feathers bristling with rage.

“BE SILENT, EAGLE. GO BACK TO YOUR MAZE AND SCHEME LIKE YOU USUALLY DO.”

“Yeah! Da game’z on! Shut it or we’ze gunna krump ya! Ain’t dat right, Mork?”

“Ya said it, Gork!”

Silence filled the Court as the Gods registered the sudden appearance of the Ork Gods Gork and Mork. Stunned, not even Khorne could muster a reaction until one of the Bloody Breakers scored a touchdown on the Brass Butchers.

“And Touchdown, bringing the score to 8-9, Breakers leading! Brutally cunning on the part of the Breakers, right Bob?”

Gork and Mork cheered, clapping each other on their backs as Khorne fumed next to them.

“Not just that, Jim. I’d say it was just as cunningly brutal. Shows that the coach of the Breakers really put in the work this season!”

“Right you are, Bob. Anywho, we’ll be right back after a quick break while both teams regroup. Stay tuned for more Blood Bowl!”

A commercial flashed on the screen. “Blood Bowl is brought to you by Nurgle King…”

“Oh, dem boyz make me so proud,” Gork sniffled. “Itz enuff to make a warboss cry…”

“Dey iz doin’ uz boaf gud. Dat’z da bestest WAAAAGHH I’ve eva seen…”

“WHY ARE YOU TWO IMBECILES HERE?”

Gork and Mork looked offended. “Da bloody Blood Bowl game iz on! Ya gotz da biggest an’ bestest TV fer milez! We’ze gunna watch da game!”

“THIS IS THE COURT OF COVENANT, NOT A SOCIAL GATHERING!”

“Yea, yeah, woteva.”

“GET OUT.”

Gork turned slowly to Khorne, eyebrow raised. “You wot?”

“I SAID TO GET OUT, ORK.”

“I fink dis Kaos git wantz a fight, Gork.”

“Letz show ‘im a fing or free, eh Mork?”

The twins leapt at Khorne with a mighty “WAAAAGGHHHH!!!” They crashed to the ground, trading blow after blow as the rest of the Chaos gods watched in utter bewilderment.

Tzeentch shook his beak and scowled. It seemed that his great mind/intellect/massive IQ was wasted on the others. Oh well. It was their loss. 

And so he slunk back to his labyrinth and began a new scheme, one that would rid him of that child/brat/meddling kid of the Anathema.

The loss of Magnus the Red/Crimson Chin/Pink was only a minor setback. The Changer of Ways would have his revenge.

“Uh, Tzeentch?” Slaanesh asked. “Be’lakor killed another of your Lords.”

“ME-DAMNIT/INCONCEIVABLE/CANONETHINGGORIGHTFORME?!”

Chapter Text

A knock came from the door, drawing his attention. “Can I come inside?” Vanea’s voice came from the other side of the door. He pushed a button, raising a divider, sectioning it off a small part of the bathroom. “Come in.” Izuku had converted the Imperial style bathroom into a more traditional Japanese one. Complete with a small washing area and a larger bathtub. There was a shower but Izuku rarely used it, preferring to bathe. Vanea stepped inside and then Izuku heard the rustle of clothing. “What are you doing?”

As the words left his mouth the divider fell away, revealing Vanea. She was completely nude, not even using a towel to hide anything. For a moment he couldn't think, couldn't formulate any word or even move. She walked towards him and gave him a hug, pressing herself up against him. Izuku could feel how they pushed against his chest, how soft and malleable they were.

“V-v-vanea? W-w-what are you doing?” 

She simply hugged him harder, before beginning to shake softly, “I thought I had lost you.” Her voice was cracking with barley held back sobs.

“You were gone, just gone.” Now she was sobbing, hanging onto him like a lifeline. “For six weeks!”  Izuku had to sling his own arms around her to hold her up. “I thought you were dead.”

Suddenly it dawned on Izuku how long he had been gone. It dawned on him how she must have felt, how worried and helpless she must have felt. Izuku pulled her up and hugged her back, ignoring the feeling on his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.”

Vanea simply sobbed into him for what was minutes or hours, he didn't know. Yet when she stopped she pulled back and put her hand on his cheek.

“Please, never leave me. I know that my request is senseless but I ju—” Izuku cut her off by giving her a soft kiss.

“I promise you, whatever happens I will return to you. I swear to you by my soul.”

Vanea looked at him with tear filled eyes for a moment before smiling. She got away from him with a slight cough, “Good thing you are taking a bath, you stink.”

Izuku snorted, “Yeah, but why did you come inside?” His eyes dropped down to her breast for a second, “Not that I mind.”

“Well, for a few reasons.” She moved up to him again and picked up the scour sponge. “First of all, to help you, I don't even want to think of how dirty you are.” She gestured for him to turn around, before getting to work on his back, “Second, I don't want to have you out of my view. Who knows what happens next to you without me?”

Izuku snorted, “Well, I think I had my fill for adventures for the next few months.”

He suddenly felt a chill going down his back, “The third is a broken promise. Remember? You promised me a vacation, and then just up and left.”

Suddenly the sponge was scratching far tougher than needed. “Don't forget that. I was expecting a full spa visit, and I want one.”

Izuku was thankful that he had almost been done with washing himself, so all he did was gesture her to step back, rinse off the soap and then beckon her forwards. In his best impression of a posh masseuse, he began, “Welcome madam, thank you for choosing the ultra deluxe body wash, our lovely assistant will wash away all your worries at once.”

“Oh my, how wonderful.” Vanea smiled at him before sitting down on the smallish wooden chair. Izuku had once explained to her what everything was for so she was aware of how it worked. That didn't mean that she had ever used it before.

“Well then, Madame, shall we begin with your hair? Or do you prefer to start with the body?” She almost snorted at how Izuku sounded but managed to keep it in.

“Oh, the hair, I had so much stress in the last few weeks it began to split at the ends. Treat it with care.”

A few moments later a hand came to her forehead and gently pulled it back, after tilting her head all the way back wonderful warm water was poured over her head. Shortly after, two strong, warm hands began massaging her scalp and then moved down. Whatever cleaning solution he was using smelled wonderful. Once he was done with all her hair, the hand came back and then another bout of warm water cascaded down her back. Vanea combed her hands through her hair, feeling the smooth gloss already. Then a pair of hands pressed on her shoulders, before rubbing circles on her back. His fingers flowed over her back and along the shoulder blades, carefully pressing in and losing up the muscles. He went all the way down only to stop short of her cheeks. There he circled forward and went over her abdomen, only to go back to her sides just as he touched her under her ample chest.

He shifted a bit and pulled up her left arm, his fingers danced over the limb with grace and pressure, losing tensed muscles with ease as they went along her arm. He repeated the same with her other arm, before he came up to her side. Vanea clearly saw the trepidation as he moved forwards to get to her leg. After a bit of hesitation he picked it up and began running his fingers over it. She noted that he evaded the area close to her crotch. He worked his way forward until he reached her foot, there he kneaded the sole and toes in a massage. Much to her amusement he shuffled his way back without turning towards her, repeating everything on her other leg.

Once he was done he shuffled once more behind her, and began massaging her back and shoulders. She let out sighs and dropped her head left and right as his fingers worked on her muscles. Bit by bit he worked out the stress that had been on her.

Despite this she still felt that something was missing, and she knew what. “Izuku?” The hands on her back paused. “You know it's really nice that you wash me, but I’m a bit upset that you missed a big spot.”

She could practically hear how his brows furrowed, “Where?”

Vanea held out her hands, waiting for him to put his into hers, “Well, those two.” She immediately brought his hands to her breasts, almost pushing them into them. She could feel and see how his finger sank into them, sure it might be a bit cheating to use polymorphine to make them softer but who cares?

It took a moment before he moved his fingers, a soft curl and a slight shift was all. Then he really grabbed a handful of them. Letting his fingers knead the soft flesh of them.

His left hand found a nipple and accidentally pinched it, making her let out a soft moan, this made him freeze up again.

She almost growled in frustration as his hands pulled away. It made her chest feel so cold. Warm water cascaded down over her shoulders, washing away all the foam that had been on her.

The words “Why did you stop?” almost came from her lips, yet she didn't manage to formulate them as she looked over her shoulder. He was ragging hard and his face was tense.

Vanea realized that he had pulled back even though he had not wanted to. This time she couldn’t stop herself, “Why did you stop?”

She could see the conflict going on in his mind, just by reading his face. He almost growled out the answer, not because of anger or tension, but simply because he couldn't open his jaw.

“I didn't want to get you dirty right after washing.” He did not avert his eyes when she fully turned around, but kept looking at her.

“Oh…Well I suppose that's as good of a reason as any.” 

They looked at each other for a few moments, Izuku clearly ogling at her chest and body whilst Vanea took in all of him. After that they entered the large tub, Izuku first and Vanea second, instead of choosing to sit opposite of him, she went ahead and sat next to him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

They sat there, for moments or minutes, maybe even hours.

“You know.” Izuku more or less murmured, “You somehow look exactly like someone on my homeworld.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah, everytime I look at you, I'm reminded of her.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good, very good.”

They went silent again, neither knowing how to address the elephant in the room. It wasn't until Vanea spoke again that they began to talk again.

“When you vanished..”

Izuku perked up, only to wait for a continuation that didn't seem to come.

“Ah, forget it.” Vanea almost trailed off.

“No. I want to hear what you think.”

She let out a sigh and pulled her legs to herself. “When you vanished, at first I was upset, then I was angry and finally I just felt hollow. Like someone ripped out something in my heart.”

Izuku slung his arms around her, pulling her closer to himself. “When I went there, my first thoughts were about how upset you are, then I began to worry and then….well then came that Xeno and I became distracted.”

Vanea shifted a bit, trying to get out of his hug, “When I finally figured out a way to return, my first thoughts were about you. I was first worried that you would be angry, but when I saw you I just felt so relieved. Even with being back here, I only felt like coming back home when you were in my arms.”

They spent a few more moments in silence before Vanea muttered a soft “Ah, frack this.”

Before Izuku could ask what she meant she had turned around, swung herself into his lap and kissed him. She pressed herself tightly against him, slinging her arms around his neck and ground her hips against his.

The makeout went on until both were out of breath and gasping for air. “You, me, your bed.” Vanea more gasped out than spoke. Izuku just nodded vigorously.

Vanea pushed him into the bed, mounted him again and mashed her lips against his. They had dried off with trouble, neither had really gotten their hands off the other.

Izuku grunted as she shifted, lifting herself up and brushing against him, Vanea lifted herself even higher before sinking down slowly trying for him to enter without guiding.

The first try missed by a hair, Izuku could feel how slick she was and then he bumped into a nub that made her moan.

They tried again, this time it slipped in, making both of them groan at the sensation. For Izuku it feels tight, warm and slightly slippery, to Vanea it feels hot, hard and deep.

For a moment they stood still, coming to terms with the feeling. Then Vanea did the softest of movements, lifting herself ever so slightly yet sending tingles up their spines.

She gyrated her hips, drawing soft circles and electing soft noises from both, then Izuku grabs and hugs her, pushes herself against him and wild, hungry kisses are plastered over her jaw and neck.

Izuku stops holding both of them upright and lets himself drop backwards, Vanea lets out a surprised gasp as she falls but once lying quickly goes to work. Her hands grip and comb his still damp hair and her hips begin to slap his thighs with more and more force.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, and then Izuku begins to buck up and into her, driving an ecstatic moan out of her as he hilts himself even deeper into her.

After a few thrusts into her he twists and rolls on the bed, pinning her beneath him. His hands find hers and fingers interlock before he begins to pump again.

Izuku sees all of her, her flushed face that is twisting with pleasure, her large wonderful breasts that swing along with each of his thrusts into her, her toned stomach. For a moment he imagines it big and swollen, carrying his child and somehow this makes him thrust faster and harder.

He feels it almost too soon, the tension in his abdomen, the inevitable peak. “V-van…” he barely gets out, only for her to sling her and lock her legs around his hips, pushing him deeper into her and giving multiple hard nods.

He manages a half mangled motion before he crashes forward, pushing his hips so far forward that he feels his back crack twice and then empties himself into her. Vanea lets out a long moan, her own body twisting even with her hands still pinned down, her legs pulling him in so hard it almost feels like she's trying to break his hips.

The tension bled out of Izuku as he came down, and then he felt exhausted but relieved. At first he wanted to pull out only for Vaneas legs to still hold him inside her.

Vanea leaned down, her raven hair brushing against his face and whispered a phrase that sent shivers down his spine. “Now it's my turn to be on top.”

Vanea didn’t really have any experience with this sort of thing. True, she had gone on several missions that had required her to be ‘intimate’ with her targets, but she was always in disguise, her body shapeshifted with Polymorphine. ‘She’ had never experienced such intimacy, since she didn’t really consider the previous times anything other than what it was: her work.

So seeing Izuku, the man she loved like no one else, writhe and squirm beneath her while she bounced on his hips was a memory that she knew would stick with her for the rest of her life.

She ran her fingers across his broad chest, pausing occasionally to tweak a nipple and revel in the unabashed moan she received. She loved this sensation, this feeling of control she had over him. The physical pleasures were one thing (holy shit were they something), but feeling Izuku’s love for her? To feel their souls bond through one of the most intimate things two humans can do? She felt full, emotionally and… physically .

Holy fuck was she full physically. When she first spotted the Battle Cannon Izuku was carrying between his legs, she was almost worried that she wouldn’t be able to do this. She had a niggling worry in the back of her mind that all her teasing would ultimately end up being that: teasing. But she had been wrong. Holy shit she was so glad that she had been so wrong.

She changed up her pace, trading frantic speed for a much more rhythmic pace, the sound of their flesh colliding changing from rapid machine-gun fire to an erotic metronome. Plap. Plap. Plap.

Izuku’s expression changed as well. His face had previously been screwed up in concentration, trying to match her frantic pace. Now, his eyes had practically rolled into the back of his head, and he was much more in a ‘passenger’ role. His hands dug into her hips, pulling her down with force that made her gasp audibly with each movement. 

A rumble came from his chest, and she could see how he began trying to take back control. Vanea simply let out a seductive, “I~zu~ku.” He paused and refocused his eyes on her right as she brushed her hair out of her face, pushed out her chest and let herself fall forward, smothering him in two of his favorite things.

“You’re being so good to me, I~zu~ku. So just relax , and let me do all the thinking, hmm?” To accentuate the point, she brushed one of her breasts across his face, and moaned in pleasure when he instinctually latched on to her nipple. “Hnnng, good boy~”

She let out a particular high pitched one when he gently bit down on the nub, teasing the tip with his tongue before sucking on it fully. She gently rocked her hips again, feeling how the thick and long weapon inside her hit all the sweet spots. She could feel her own release building, and she knew that Izuku was likely not far behind. A rather mean idea began to form in her head, but she knew that Izuku could take it.

Tensing her core muscles to grasp him harder she sped up, the metronome clapping wildly as their hips collided. She could feel his hips bucking uncontrollably, and she knew that he would only be seconds behind her. She felt the waves of pleasure wash over her entire body, and quickly removed herself from her implement, leaving Izuku twitching in the air.

She smiled at him, his face obviously confused by the sudden coldness. “Not right now, babe~. We’ve got—.”

A pair of  incredibly strong hands suddenly grasped her ass, picking her up like a child’s toy and throwing her onto her back. She looked up at Izuku in surprise, and her eyes widened. Izuku’s normally-intelligent eyes were glazed over, lust clouding his vision. He lifted her legs and placed them upon his shoulders, and got ready to enter her.

“Oh… maybe I shouldn’t have teased him so much.” Vanea thought, anticipation tinging her thoughts with a lusty haze.

Warm.

Pleasure.

Wet.

Izuku’s brain was very much not present at the moment. He slammed himself into her in one solid stroke, hilting himself until there was nothing left. Then, he’d pull back out until only the very tip was inside before slamming himself back down.

Warm…

Izuku could feel how his everything tensed, a release coming yet nothing left. Just as he reached the very tip of the mountain he found himself back at its foot. He growled at the feeling, he wanted to cum. Wanted to love her with all he had and more.

The woman below him was quaking and shivering. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her skull and her face was contorted in pleasure. Her hands were gripping the sheets with such force that she had pulled them out. She kept saying… words… and Izuku wasn’t sure exactly what they meant.

“Holyfuckingshitdon’tyoufuckingstopbytheEmperordon’tyoudarestopholySHIT!”

Entirely indecipherable.

He shifted a bit, getting her legs a bit out of the way and restarted his pistoning into her. His breath was getting ragged and he could feel his release coming, finally. The tip of the mountain was finally within reach, and all he had to do was increase his pace.

So he did.

The garbled words changed into something else, first becoming just a repetitive noise and then, despite her legs being folded over her, she somehow managed to cross them around his neck.

“YesYesYesYesYESYESYESYESYES!!”

Then, as if accompanied by a choir of angels, he felt release. His back tensed, something deep within rushed up and out. Time and time again, for what felt like an eternity, came an unending stream.

Her hands shot up and latched onto his head, pulling him down and their lips crashed together. Her tongue darted out and slipped into his mouth, intertwining with his own. Then a deep, rolling shiver went through her, making her tense around him, as if she was trying to wring even more out of him. She succeeded in that as another wave hit him with a shudder.

As the shudder left his body so did all strength, his shoulders dropped, legs untensed and he almost fell on her. She was strong, but Izuku didn’t want to hurt her if at all possible. She— Vanea, was panting heavily, her chest heaving with exertion, and Izuku fell to the side of her. They laid in the bed, side-by-side, neither speaking for what felt like days, or months.

Then, without saying a word, Vanea cuddled up against his arm. Wrapping her arms and legs around it, Izuku could feel her warmth coursing through his body. She, like him, was almost slick with sweat.

“N—” She gasped more than spoke, “Next time—” She broke off to move a strand of her onyx black hair out of her face, pushing it behind her ear. “Next time, we’re going to keep going until you’ve put a kid in me. I don’t give a shit about the side-effects of Polymorphine.” She laughed softly.

Izuku stared at her, his mind conjuring images of her with a swollen stomach reading a book in the Palace’s library. He heard the faintest echoes of a baby crying. He could feel his face blushing as the mental image faded. “Y-yeah, I— I think that’d be… nice.”

Vanea just looked at him with an expression of surprise. “Really? I’ve been using Polymorphine since I was a teenager. I’m not sure if I even can .”

He pulled her closer to him, giving her forehead a soft kiss, “Really.” He laughed, the deep baritone reverberating around the room. “If it’s possible at all, I’d love to share a life with you.”

Vanea blushed a deep crimson, and Izuku thought that at that moment, she’d be able to give Magnus a run for his title. Then, she nuzzled into his neck, and promptly fell asleep. Izuku kissed her on the head, and wasn’t far behind her.

Balmung was torn. On one hand, his only friend had finally acted on his feelings for the girl, and he was definitely happier. He had found that which had eluded and motivated people for tens of thousands of years: love. True, complete, and unconditional love.

On the other hand, he really didn’t like it when the waves of dopamine and endorphins crashed against the part of Izuku’s subconscious where he ‘lived’. He was perfectly content to exist wholly detached from the ‘meat’ of Izuku’s life. And there was a hell of a lot of meat when it came to Izuku.

So, when he felt Izuku’s hands flip Vanea onto her back, he had had enough. Lacking anything resembling hands, or a broomstick, or an apartment, or anything at all besides a nebulous sense of ‘being’, the metaphor didn’t really make any sense. But nonetheless, he grabbed a ‘broomstick’ in his ‘hands’ and ‘smashed’ it repeatedly against the ‘ceiling’ of his ‘apartment’.

“Keep it down! I’m really happy for you, Izuku, but I really don’t want to hear this!”

The brain chemistry changes kept happening, the noises Vanea made kept being received by Izuku’s ears, and Balmung was ignored. Frustrated, he ‘laid’ in his ‘bed’ and put on ‘headphones’. As he ‘listened’ to a treatise on mechanical engineering he had pilfered from a cogitator while Izuku was out and about, only a single thought went through his ‘mind’.

He couldn’t wait for Cawl to show them the icebox.

Chapter Text

This document was last edited on: January 20th, 2021

Izuku silently crawled through the grime and muck, eyes open and ears alert. He was pursuing a Heretek who had somehow managed to land on the planet, defiling Holy Terra with his profane footsteps. After his mission to steal an STC fragment had ended in a resounding failure, he fled into Terra’s underhive in hopes of avoiding the Arbities and Custodes that were pursuing him. Even with both forces searching continuously it was expected that, given the size and complexity of the underhive, it would be years or even decades before a possible lead was found. 

Which is why Izuku had been woken up. 

Izuku had been this close multiple times, before something went horribly wrong and he escaped. The most recent fiasco was when he tracked the Heretek to a disused manufactorum in the area of Terra formerly known as Murica. He had cornered the damned tech-priest in the manufacturing bay before he had activated the servitor workers, sending them to murder Izuku while he escaped yet again.

Izuku would almost be impressed if he wasn’t blind with anger.

But he had long since learned to turn his anger into focus. Those that turn against Father’s light don’t deserve his anger. So he kept crawling through the tunnel, following the faintest of tracks in the muck. He continued on until he found a downward-slanted culvert, which opened up into a large underground clearing. It was— shockingly well-lit for being this far into the maze of access corridors and machinery that was the underhive. A strong blue and yellow glow shone from around the corner, reflecting across the slimy ground. Izuku rounded the corner.

Is… is that a Blockbuster?

A blue and yellow neon sign stood above a glass-walled store, rows upon rows of shelves occupying the inside. Izuku had vague memories of news stories covering a store in northern America that continued to operate more than 200 years after its company had declared bankruptcy. It was an oddity, something strange that interrupted his otherwise mundane days back on Earth before vacating his mind.

And now it was filling all the space in his brain. Every train of thought was about this video store. The store was here. That means he is standing on top of what used to be America. Meaning that somewhere buried under miles of rockcrete and metal, the old Earth still existed.

Did Japan?

Mustafu?

Quirks had never manifested in this world, but—was there another Midoriya Izuku born 38,000 years ago? If he went to where Japan used to be, would he find a worn-away gravestone containing himself?

This was meant to be a simple tag and bag mission, he was NOT going to have an existential crisis right now. 

Forcibly calming himself down, Izuku steeled himself. The Heretek’s footprints led into the store, meaning that he was likely still somewhere inside. And—he was curious. Was the store somehow still open after thirty eight millennia? Or was it repurposed into some sort of archaeotech shrine. Walking to the glass doors, he was pleasantly surprised to see that they swung open to greet him. 

He laid eyes on the single most bored-looking human he had ever seen in Izuku’s entire long life. “Hello, and welcome to the last Blockbuster video rental. My name is Ray Nehji. Are you here to return or to rent?” he droned.

“Neither. I’m looking for a Tech-priest.”

“You a cop?”

“N-yes.”

The man sighed. “He’s in our new release sections, right by the projector rentals.”

Bowing slightly, he turned and headed down the shelves. Izuku recognized none of these movies, but they definitely weren’t ‘new releases’. He wasn’t sure what a “Die Hard with a Vengeance” was, but he was relatively sure that it hadn’t been released anytime recently.

He quietly turned the corner and finally caught a glimpse of his target. The Heretek didn’t even seem to notice him, he was far too caught up in watching the various movies he was surrounded by. Even at this distance, he could hear the deranged Martian muttering about ‘dreams of the Omnissiah’ and ‘visions from before Old Night’.

After a bit less than a second Izuku decided that he had had enough. In one swift motion he took out his Executioner pistol and put a round through the head of the robed cyborg.

“ Cleanup on aisle eight.” he thought. “ ... By the throne that was a horrible joke. ” Activating his locator beacon he headed back to the counter. While Imperial ration bars were half-decent, he wondered if this place somehow had snacks left over.

Chapter Text

Once upon a Warpstorm dreary, while Lorgar pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While he nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at his tower door.

“’Tis some visitor,” he muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly he remembered it was in the bleak December;

And each separate wretched soul wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly he wished the morrow;—vainly he had sought to borrow

    From his books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lorgar—

For the damned and righteous prophet whom the daemons name Lorgar—

            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled him—filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some daemon entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said he, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here he opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lorgar?”

This he heard whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lorgar!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all his damned soul within him burning,

Soon again he heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

    “Surely,” said Lorgar, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here he flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

    But, with mien of lord or Emperor, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Horus just above his chamber door—

            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” hesaid, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Immaterium’s hellish shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much he marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till Lorgar scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Your hopes will fly Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said he, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all Lorgar’s fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, he betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This he sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into his bosom’s core;

    This and more he sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the Warp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the Warp-light gloating o’er,

            He shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Daemons whose foot-falls thumped on the tainted floor.

    “Wretch,” Lorgar cried, “thy Corpse-God hath lent thee—by these daemons he hath sent thee

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lorgar;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost brother Lorgar!”

            Quoth the Raven “You are my brother Nevermore.”

    “Corvus!” said he, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether False Emperor sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm on Terra?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the Raven “You shall set foot there Nevermore.”

    “Corax!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God you so adore—

    Tell this soul with anger laden if, within the distant Terra,

    It shall clasp a damned primarch whom the daemons name Lorgar—

Clasp a lost and tainted soul whom the daemons name Lorgar.”

            Quoth the Raven “Your name is praised there Nevermore.”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” he shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Materium’s blessed shore!

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Horus just above his chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a daemon’s that is dreaming,

    And the Warp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And Lorgar’s soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Chapter Text

Magnus breathed deeply, feeling the psychically-infused air fill his lungs. The approach to the Eternity Gate was awash with psychic after-images and leftovers of his Father’s soul. Bracing himself, he pushed the massive door open. He screwed his sole eye tightly shut, the golden light of the Imperial Palace’s Throne Room able to blind any mortal man - the Custodians that stood guard here actually had their auramite burned black by the overwhelming psychic presence.

He stepped through the threshold, and the golden light faded to a manageable level. He opened both of his eyes, smiling at the sight of two of his brothers - one adoptive and one not - speaking amicably among each other and the young woman beside them.

Guilliman stood on the left, even now delegating tasks on the other side of the galaxy. Even now, in such an age for humanity, his thirteenth brother was a workaholic beyond any words in any language that Magnus knew. He looked to his right where Izuku was fussing over Vanea, asking her if she was okay, if she needed water or food. Vanea, for her part, merely smiled and tolerated his brother’s concern. 

He couldn't suppress a smile at the sight. After all, they had tried for so long to get a child and now that she was about to be due he had become an ever-increasing worrywort. She batted him away and simply said she was fine, one hand stroking her large belly whilst the other smacked his hands away from her.

As he came closer the three turned towards him and nodded. Guilliman, for once, put aside his work and even took out his vox bead. Izuku on the other hand clambered aboard one of Cawl’s new hovertanks, a ‘Repulsor’ if he remembered his excited rambling, upsized for his and Guilliman’s size. He ‘helped’ Vanea up as well, asking her if she needed a cushion for her seat as she climbed up the embankment ladder.

“Now then.” He spoke, an even bigger smile spreading on his face. “Should we set off? The celebration has nearly started.” Both his brothers gave him a nod, starting their march into the Webway. With a soft whine the Repulsor lifted off and rolled into the Webway gate. Passing through the wraithbone aperture, Magnus found himself heading down the primary thoroughfare toward their destination.

He glanced behind them, seeing a thousand chapters of Space Marines form up and march right after them; flags, banners and battle honors raised high, telling the tale of million wars and billions of battles. The ones in front were a mix of Thousand sons, Ultramarines and All Mighty, along with all of their successor chapters, and those successors’ successors. All of his Sons and Nephews, humanity’s protectors and leaders. They carried bolters, yes, but no threat had assailed humanity in living memory, so they were primarily ceremonial.

Custodians lined the way to the impossible city, even now he could hear the cheers, screams and ecstasy of the people living there. They didn't enter it so much as they emerged inside it. One moment strange walls surrounded them and in the next they had become spires, bridges and roads.

The cheering tripled and quadrupled, as a billion human throats roared with ecstasy. Magnus nearly wept at the sight, despite all that had happened, all the terror, horror, heresy and destruction the dream of their Father had become reality. Off to the side he spotted a similarly-altered Repulsor, carrying another two of his brothers. He spotted Lorgar and Perturabo, the brothers that he was by far the closest with - save Izuku, of course. He gave Lorgar a nod, and smirked when the golden-skinned titan nodded back. The chants picked up and fell, music rose and died away, and throughout the entire time they steadily approached the building in the center of the plaza as a golden light shone into space. 

He always loved this: the single day every century that all of his brothers could pull themselves away from their sectors of the galaxy. While it was nominally a holiday for every worker and soldier in the Imperium, for him it was much more personal.

He’d get to spend the afternoon with his dad, one not marked with work or learning. One that was simply meant to be enjoyed.

A whine pitched and drew his attention. Spotting another Repulsor making its way over to them, it carried Vulkan and Angron. The former smiling and waving enthusiastically, the latter’s eyes shining with his Imperium-spanning empathy.. Behind them he saw another Repulsor carrying Konrad and Corvus, the two only mildly brooding which was impressive.

A gasp drew his attention back to their own transport, Izuku pointed up at an angle, “I cant believe those two are here too! I thought they were ——” Magnus furrowed his brows briefly at the lost word, before looking up and seeing II and XI. Their faces obscured by a gleam of light.

Below them two more Repulsors moved, each on a different road and carrying Russ, El’Jonson, Fulgrim and Ferrus. Two Primarchs to a road, with the ten roads sprawling out from their shared home like a great wheel with the great teleportarium in the center. It had been a flourish on Fulgrim’s part. All twenty of his brothers participating in a grand parade in front of millions of humans (quintillions via rebroadcasts) wasn’t necessary as a preamble for the one time in a long time he and his brothers could relax as a family.

But it certainly made for a fun experience.

As they entered the colossal structure and the roar of the crowd died away, he looked around at his brothers - eagerly awaiting news of what the past century had brought them. He saw Dorn and Perturabo showing off their individual projects, and asking each other for ideas on their upcoming collaboration. He saw Horus and Sanguinius, joking and play-fighting as a century of not seeing each other began unraveling. Even dour Mortarion had a soft smile as the Khan spoke about his recent exploits. After a few moments, Magnus felt the low psychic whine of the teleportation sequence starting.

And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, all twenty of them found themselves standing in an open field, the receiver pad for the teleporter and a Webway Gate used by their father being the only pieces of technology in an otherwise-pristine landscape. Magnus wasn’t 100% sure where his father had built his retreat, only that it was on some Paradise World somewhere in Segmentum Tempestus.

The house was a modest thing, a simple construct of wood and brick. Its only unusual feature was its size: designed for Primarchs first, and mortals as an afterthought. The only mortal here would be Malcador, and he was the sort of person who could simply use his powers to do whatever he needed to.

He threw open the door, seeing the wizened old man idly strumming on a long-forgotten musical instrument from the days of the Terran Federation. It was almost, but not quite like a guitar, with a curvy body and far too many strings for mere human hands. Malcador played it with his psychic powers, plucking the strings with small motes of purple energy at a rapid pace.

Their family was certainly an unusual one. Magnus was unsure if there was a more eclectic collection of people at any point in all of human history. Twenty demigods, all with vastly distinct personalities and worldviews, with a 7,000 year old wizard as an uncle and a warrior-sorcerer from the days of Conan as a father. Not to mention the green-haired intra-dimensional traveler that had wormed its way into all their hearts. Magnus gave Malcador a passing nod, which elicited a grunt of acceptance from the old curmudgeon. “He’s just making dinner.” He said, pointing his head to an open doorway with the sound of sizzling meat.

It was somewhat strange, even now, that their Father cooked for them. Magnus was grateful that they could enjoy a meal together as Family, but the sight of the greatest man alive slaving over a stove was inherently humorous. As usual they took their places, yet something struck Magnus as odd. Usually they would sit in ascending Legion order, yet this time they sat in disarray.

Horus, Mortarion, Angron, Lorgar, Konrad and Alpharius (or Omegon) sat on one side of the table. II and XI talked with each other, shifting nervously in place. Perturabo and Omegon (or Alpharius) were entrenched in an argument, their backs turned away from him. Fulgrim seemed to itch at his skin, something like a blemish forming on the side of his perfect face. Ferrus was doing something similar to the base of his neck, his metal-coated fingers digging into his skin. Everyone seemed just a little bit on edge, the peace of the moment hanging false upon them.

“My children! I am so glad you could once again make it.”

Magnus turned to face his father smirking at the sight of him wearing a bright pink ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron that strained to wrap around his massive frame. Suddenly his skin seemed sallow and sickly, decay touching its edges before everything returned to normal with the blink of an eye. He stood up from his chair, suddenly struggling to breathe as his vision in his right eye went blurry. His head ached with sudden migraine-like pain.

“Magnus?” Lorgar’s voice cut through the haze, and he spun around to face his closest friend. He was a monster; eight jagged horns protruded from his skull as golden-red ichor dropped from finger-sized wounds in his scalp. His skin was gray and clammy, his eyes shone with balefire, and two gargantuan bat-like wings emerged from weeping sores in his back. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Magnus fumbled and staggered back, trying to steady himself on the back of the chair but his hands only grasped air before he stumbled back more. Angron let out a roar of fury as snakes of metal erupted from his skull, his body engorging and legs becoming hooves.

Mortarion looked at him with concern, even as his flesh began sloughing off in large chunks, and the beginnings of moth-like wings began to emerge from under his robes. “You look sick, Magnus. Are you feeling alright?” Mortarion’s body suddenly began to bloat and shake, diseases beginning to riddle his body with postulant tumors even as it mutated. Magnus fell to the floor, scrambling backwards as the scene before him began ever worsening. Half of Fulgrim’s body erupted in fire, burying his flesh in a flash of gold whilst Ferrus’s head fell from his neck, his body disintegrating in a ball of plasma. Konrad howled in pain, his right shoulder blasting apart before his scream was cut off with a meaty thump - and he continued to move afterwards.

Perturabo didn’t move in the slightest, even his breathing ceased immediately when Magnus caught sight of him. II and XI simply became motes of light, slowly flaking away and ceasing to be entirely. Malcador screamed in abject agony before he began crumbling to dust, thousands of years of an incredibly eventful life suddenly reduced to ash and waste. Sanguinius sprouted horrific wounds all across his body, feathers wilting from his angelic wings in the face of some sort of horrific onslaught. The last look on his face was one of betrayal, before he crumpled to the floor and ceased moving.

One of the twins (Magnus had long stopped caring which one was which) was suddenly split in two, as though a massive, invisible chainsword had cleaved him in half at the waist. The other one hid beneath the table, desperately avoiding looking at his brothers - save Izuku. Horus looked at his hand as it grew large and ugly, pitted with blood and gore. His pristine white armor became a charred black, and madness took hold of his face only for him to vanish in a blast of near-blinding light.

Magnus was still scrambling backwards, horrified at seeing his brothers turn, die or vanish before his eyes. He locked eyes with Izuku, who had fallen to the floor with a gaping hole in the left side of his chest. He looked pleadingly at Magnus, seemingly begging him to help, but Magnus’s limbs felt as though they were made of lead. Izuku began using his Quirk to create biofoam, healing stims, anything at all to try fill the hole. But as he kept trying to fill the hold, the hole kept getting bigger, and bigger.

Eventually, there was more hole than there was Izuku.

“Magnus.” His Fathers voice reached out for him, only to rob him of his breath. His Father, The Emperor, had become a cripple, his left arm fell off him even as a large hole opened in his chest. The skin on half his face peeled back, revealing pale bone.

“Magnus.”

“Fifteen.” 

“A Son.” “Not a Son.”

“A tool.” “A product.”

“My savior.” “A betrayer.”

“The closest to me.”

“The greatest mistake.”

“You saved the Imperium.” “You ruined everything .”

The Emperor’s voice called out at him from all directions. Each one slightly different, each and every one was true. Each and every one was false. The cacophony reached its apex, and then the voices all spoke out in unison.

“Awaken, Magnus. Awaken. This dream was not meant for you.”

His sole eye flew open in terror. Hands grasped sheats and nearly tore them in twain. His twin hearts hammered in his chest as sweat clung to his skin.

Panic had him in its grasp for several moments after waking. Then reality came back to him as he looked down. His skin was pale and clammy, muscles faded and shrunken. A shudder ran over him as his head began to burn with feverish heat.

He was recovering from healing Father again. Alone. Sick. Weak. He could not stop the choking sob that came from him, nor the hot tears running down his face. Nearly two millennia spent atoning for his mistakes and the mistakes of his brothers.

How much more did he have to suffer? How much more did they all have to suffer just to quench the thirst of laughing gods. A thirst that could never, ever, be sated while his father remained indisposed.

And so Magnus the Red, the Crimson King of Tisca, Scholar-King of the planet Prospero, the Primarch of the Thousand Sons and the Emperor’s Chirurgeon, wept for the dream that no longer had its dreamer.