Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty: The Lunar Crusade

Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna

Date: 813.M30 (Thirteen hours since the battle for Luna beguin)

Gouts of Plasma fire cut the Adamantium Door leading to the Inner Sanctum. Its hinges turning to slag and its bulk toppled over. The metal wailed a sad song as it crashed into the ground. At that exact moment Hashut ruptured into existence in the void above Luna. That traumatic event echoed in minds across Sol. For the XVI Legion, it was barely registered as a distinct element to the mind-breaking wave of malice that smashed into them. The gate had been warded, sealing the worst of the corruption into this "sacred" chamber. The stomach turning foulness that had seeped through it was nothing compared to this new discharge. Multiple battle-brothers had to fight down the urge to vomit. Nearly all of them flinched at the sensations bombarding them.

The Warp's insanity overlapped with realspace here in an unbearable way. By some horrid means, the Creed of Four Phases had turned the temple into a hellmouth. The heart of Luna was no longer a thing of steel, stone and dust. It had become a miniature Daemon World. A impossibly corrupt thing, more akin to the psychotic Crone worlds within the Eye then anything native to Luna.

Even to the Astartes enhanced senses, the inner sanctum looked like a void of hungry darkness. A yawning abyss that oozed evil and stared into their very souls. They were lucky, being blind to the Immaterium meant that the true horror while lay within escaped them. All but one of the strike forces librarians had the sense too mute their witch-sight and supernatural senses when the door came down. The fool who believed himself mighty enough to resist whatever came next died badly. His neurons overloaded from the impossible stimuli. Like a star flung into a supermassive black hole the Librarian's soul was devoured by the darkness.

Yet the mental burden weighed the heaviest on the Primarch. Horus did not look away from the abyss. He stared into it and let out a silent scream. For the many gifts his body and soul possessed let him see the truth. The inner temple itself was an eight sided chamber large enough to hold thousands of worshippers. Its walls and floor were slick with black blood. Bolts of energy flashed around the chamber, carrying psionic discharge that emitted blood-curdling screams with each eruption. The energy bursts lit the room for microseconds, casting shadows in Daemonic form and illuminating its occupants.

Twenty cultists, all super-charged by dark-energy sat prostrated around the central altar. Horus could see their souls flicker and twitch. Walking the tightrope between Daemonhood and spawndom. These were not the mere cultists they had butchered by the thousands. The twenty were the masters of this rebellion. Each a sorcerer and champion of the gods. Now, they sought the reward for their betrayal: to ascend and join the pantheon of Daemon Princes, empowering their masters to do this by drawing in warp-energy from the centerpiece of the chamber.

This was the source of the madness that tortured Horus and his sons. A crack in reality that stretched from the chamber's roof to the Primarch's gestation chamber a level below it. Nearly a meter wide it was a direct conduit to the Warp's foulest reaches. Yet the aura of insanity, the repulsion, the sheer wrongness it produced was not the source of Horus's pain. What made his soul spasm in revulsion was what happened when he stared into the rift. That occured because when Horus looked into hell, it looked back. The attention of the Dark Gods pressed on the rift. The eyes of the 1/4/8/16//64/108 Gods of Chaos were all focused on him. The Primordial Annihilator peered into the materium, and into Horus.

Horus Lupercali had seen the majesty and terror of his father many times. He had stared into the Astronomicon, even touched the galaxy of divine fire that composed the Emperor. Those blinding, borderline traumatic experiences were nothing in comparison to what he now encountered. Sheer utter madness crashed into Horus. In the Primarch's mind, a trillion terrible images scraped at his sanity. The suffering and torment of more mortals than he could ever count, feelings of betrayal and gut wrenching misery, shock and disbelief that only a victim of fratricide could understand, screaming billions fed to the primordial annihilator by its wretched servant. Gritting his teeth and gripping the Spear like a lifeline. Horus attempted to return the monsters stare.

That was a mistake for in that instant the horrific truth of the visions violated the Primarchs brain. A single horrible thought.

"You did this."

"NOOOOOOOO!" Was all Horus could manage as the full terrible consequences of his twisted equivalents actions played out. How Horus, the Warmaster of Chaos set the Galaxy aflame. Cancerous whispers oozed from the rift and flitted around Horus, spreading more of their despair and corruption.

"You are damned to this. The destiny of the XVI is written into the tides of fate itself. You shall destroy all your father strived for. Become our greatest servant and reveal the primordial truth to all!"

The Primarch frantically gripped the Spear-tip like it was a rock to cling to as he was buffeted by the waves of pure, cosmic horror, his superhuman grip cracking its crystalline coating as fast as it could regenerate. What could best be called a seizure tore at Horus' mind and body. More information and emotion than even his mind could handle slammed into his consciousness. The suffering of every single innocent butchered from Istavaan to Cadia dueled for his attention. A drumbeat of warp-energy thrummed through him. Its message simple and terrible:

"Submit to your fate and the agony stops. Surrender to the Truth and be free!"

Horus Lupercali screamed and screamed until his throat was bloody and raw. Twitching and frothing at the mouth, he fought with his entire soul against the evil. The psychic fire of his gift anchoring him ever so slightly. His sons clustered around him, shock and panic painted across their faces. Horus was aware of them, of every thought and feeling. Responding to his emotions the Chaos Gods whispered another threat.

"I wonder, how long your sons will last under the weight of your sins? Which one do you think will die first? Do you think he will die proud? Or will he feel nothing but shame and regret for the path you would lead him? Embrace us! Submit and be what you were made to be! The ultimate conqueror! A master of the Stars. The Everchosen champion who starts the next chapter in the Eternal War!"

Visions of Horus Lupercali clad in dread power. Marching at the head of Black Legions. Casting down the Emperor and ruling as the Dark Emperor of Mankind. Elected by the Primordial Truth to rule in their name for all eternity. Horus resisted the temptation. He fought it better than any being could be expected too. He knew though, at the back of his mind, he knew a terrible truth. Eventually, he could crack. It might take days or even years but eventually he would fall.

Desperately he reached out to his father. Hoping against hope the Master of Mankind would be his salvation. It was only then when the Chaos Gods let the Emperor's message through. A simple warning meant to help sons. He could not aid them due to the Dark Gods interference. It could not have come at a worse time. To the Primarch's tortured and maddened, mind it was the ultimate abandonment. Horus was crushed, his fate sealed.

Using the last ounce of sanity and willpower he possessed Horus made his decision. He would not allow himself to become a tool of evil. His tenure of duty would be short but it would end in the only acceptable way. For only in Death Does Duty End.

With a single shaking hand, Horus unlocked his breastplate and let the massive slab of Adamantium and machinery fall to the chamber floor. Gripping the Speartip by its jagged edge he let out a roar of defiance before ramming the blade through his primary heart. The Longinus had struck down a living god once before. It could do it once again.

Light erupted from the wound as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper into the Primarch's chest. In a detonation of sacred energy it erupted. A wave of Anathema-Flame roiled through the Chamber. Disrupting the ritual and breaking the Darkness' hold power over Abaddon and his Battle Brothers.

The light faded and the Astartes looked upon their Gene-Father. Slumped to his knees and with a rictus of agony distorting his face. Horus Lupercali had fallen, slain by his own hand. The Speartip of Longinus erupted from his chest like a beacon of light. The Lupercal had been damned by an Unholy blade. The Lupercali was instead saved by a Holy one.

Shock and grief filled his sons. They knew what their father had done. He had sacrificed himself to save them all. Raising up his Power-Sword and crying tears of righteous fury, Abaddon charged the twenty cultists. His anger was a pure thing, not the mindless bloodlust of Khorne. His grief was untainted by Nurgles touch. His desire for vengeance was not perverted by Slaanesh. Pure hope for redemption and salvation clean of Tzeentch's machinations. His emotions were purified by control and purpose. Untouched by Chaos, Abaddon the Redeemer struck down the evil.

Bound into the ritual and focused on controlling the immaterial energy that was becoming increasingly wild, the twenty cultists were weak things. Easily hacked apart by the XVI Legion. Like a tumor exposed to searing flames, the cult leaders boiled away to a black sludge. Panting slightly, Abaddon looked around the Chamber. He did not know how to shut this gate but he knew he would guard it until the Emperor could arrive. Horus would not die in vain, he would not allow it.

Wracked with grief and combat-haze, the Astartes started to relax and absorb the shock of what occured. This was a mistake. It provided an opening for the Twenty First Cultist. A lance of warp-energy that sorcerers called a Doombolt lanced out from the Rift. It struck Captain Hastur in the chest. Searing his organs to ash and rapidly mutating his body. Where the noble Astartes once stood was now a foul Chaos-Spawn.

Before the new threat could be addressed by the surviving Astartes, the rift shimmered. Out of it walked the leader of the Creed of Four Phases. Soaked in corruption and empowered by the Gods themselves, Sagitari-17 had arrived to crush the heretics.

Snarling at the Astartes the Lunar Fiend spoke in an unearthly voice. "So the False-Emperor's bastards come. You fools defied the gods and rejected ascendance when we offered it. I wove the secrets of divinity into your flesh and you repay me with bolt and blade. No matter. My ascension is at hand. Luna shall join the constellation of Chaos, just as I shall join the pantheon of Princes!"

Igniting his Power Sword and leveling his Bolter Abaddon growled in response: "You will die painfully and I swear that your False Gods will follow soon enough."

Smiling cruelly, Sagitari-17 raised his hands. Clasped between them was a blood-stained goblet. Lifting the blasphemous artifact to his lips he drank its content. The blood of a Daemon King filled him. The essence of Be'lakor acting a the final component in his ritual. After drinking his fill, Sagitari-17 cast aside the empty vessel and laughed. "The gods granted me twin tools too ensure your demise" he laughed. "Witness the power of Chaos!"

A storm of dark, hateful energy poured from the rift. An inky tidal wave of malice that flooded into Sagitari-17. A legion of demonic voices laughed as Sagitari-17 roared in pain. His flesh twisted and bent as the Dark Master entered him. Great obsidian horns and ragged wings erupted from his head and back, oily scales rippled across his skin. Be'lakor the first Daemon Prince possessed Sagitari-17 and walked the materium once again.

Location: The Emperor's Laboratory, Terra.

Date: 813.M30 (Ten hours since the battle for Luna beguin)

The Emperor's Laboratories were arguably the most fortified and hidden location within the entire Sol System. Designed by the Warmasons and the Emperor himself to keep anything unwanted from getting in and anything uncontrolled from getting out. Theoretically, it was the safest location to be during the nightmarish battle that rampaged across the Void and celestial bodies of Sol.

This in no way calmed or reassured Arik Taranis. When Malcador had pulled him away from the War council and down into the labyrinth of scientific and occult equipment. He felt nothing but stress and worry. This was unusual to the old warrior, very unusual in fact. The fact that it was unusual gave him no solace, for he knew the reasons for his concern were warranted. First, whatever was news important enough for Malcador to journey down here during the worst of the fighting and bring to him had to be bad. Secondly, this, or an earlier rendition of it, had been his birth place. The place where he had been brought into existence screaming and in agony.

Malcador had been tight lipped about the reason for this journey, only that it was an utter necessity ordered by the Emperor himself, and that Arik was needed. So the Lighting Bearer and First Lord of Terra marched past nervous technicians and frantic Adepts, headed to a certain vault hidden within.

It was a massive and ugly thing, more fit to be in the Shadow Cells than the Laboratories. This was intentional of course. From Arik's knowledge, this vault was used by the Emperor to conduct experiments on the Shadow Cells occupants or create things that would soon join them. A squad of Shadowkeeper Custodes opened its Adamantium door and accompanied them into it. Within were many apparatus that defied knowledge and in the center of the chamber a very large sarcophagus.

It was layered with inscriptions and wards that glowed white hot. Its metal surface seemed to shimmer with heat. Something very powerful was locked within it. Malcador approached it and gestured for Arik to follow. The two of them stood before it and the Lighting Bearer could feel the inferno of psychic energy trapped within.

At Malcador's instruction Arik held his hand above the engraved lid. It was a beautiful thing, portraying an Angel made of fire. That was what not caught Arik's attention, however. What did was what was carved where the Angels heart should be. An ancient numeral Zero. Disturbingly similar to his own.

Before he could ask a lash of telekinetic energy cut his palm. A few drops of crimson fell onto the numeral before Arik drew his hand back. The Lightning Bearer whirled on Malcador and asked: "what is the meaning of this Sigillite?"

Malcador quickly retreated from the casket and gestured to it. The thing shook with thunderous energy and one by one, the glowing runes adorning it faded. Arik moved away as well and again demanded an explanation.

As the seals became undone the ancient Sigillite started to speak: "You are a prototype. A first attempt to create a Primarch. Your body was crafted in a near miraculous process unrivaled by any attempted in human history. Due to your experimental nature you have suffered many biological failings. Yet you still live and have survived the impossible. This was not simple luck. Physically, you are extremely similar to the finished product. Aside from a few adjustments and modifications, you are a Primarch."

Pausing as the sarcophagus started to glow white-hot. Malcador erected a powerful Kine-shield around it, to protect the vault and its current inhabitants. "Do you know why you are different from the Twenty?" continued Malcador.

Arik shrugged: "I always figured I was incomplete, a rushed product. A blunt instrument for a brutal era."

Increasing the power of the Kine Shield as the last few seals broke Malcador spoke: "There is some truth to that. Yet that is not the true reasoning. A Primarch is a being of incredible power, a perfect body of transhuman might coupled to a Soul of god-like brilliance. You were the prototype for the that body. Spiritually, you are barely psychic. More akin to a mortal of extreme willpower than a physical god."

Finally, the lid of the sarcophagus blew off. Malcador caught it telekinetically and worked to shield the chamber from the brilliant light that erupted from rest of the container. Arik reached for his blade and prepared for whatever came as Malcador spoke: "You are the prototype for the physical aspect of a Primarch. The weapon sealed within this crypt is your other half. The prototype of a Primarch's soul."

The eruption of flame died down. The sarcophagus settled momentarily before a Star floated out of it. Arik's transhuman sight adjusted and he could see the true form of the light: a human women, clad in fire. She was naked, and would have been beautiful if not for the pattern for vicious burns marring her flesh. She was being burned and healed constantly by the psychic flames, a vessel not fit to contain a Avatar of Mankind.

Slowly, the women landed on the chamber floor. Her eyes opened and Arik was reminded of the Emperor. The womens eyes were balls of golden flame, just like when the Emperor's wrath was piqued. The flames surrounding her solidified. Forming a pair of massive wings and a blazing sword.

It floated towards Malcador and Arik and spoke. "THE ANGEL OF VENGEANCE RISES! WHAT SHALL BURN IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME?"

Malcador responded. "Luna is tainted by the Warp. Cleanse it with fire and save those loyal to HIM."

Arik tensed as it looked over him. This "Angel" was a great and terrible thing. Of all the things the Emperor created, this alone rattled the Lighting Bearer. This was a weapon meant to burn trillions. An insane living weapon of exterminatus, akin to the countless horrors of Old Night. Mankind's wisdom and power turned to extinction. For Arik, it was like looking in a mirror. All his flaws and sins magnified for the galaxy to see.

The Angel grew brighter and brighter as Malcador spoke to Arik. "Once the Emperor finished crafting the Angel within the Warp he attempted to summon it. Originally we hoped to use you as its host, to test that process but were unable too. So instead it was bound to a truly lovely women. A compassionate and loyal mortal who strove to help mankind."

The thought that he had almost been used in this experiment and that this Angel of Vengeance had once been an innocent women sickened Arik.

"Why didn't you just seal it away or put it into a warriors body?" Asked Arik.

"We discovered it was simply too useful. Terra was infested with neverborn horrors beyond your legion to fight and too numerous for just myself and the Emperor to deal with. And for its host… well the Angel is thoroughly mad. It is a vengeful and terrible being. By letting a pure hearted sacrifice contain it we hoped to control its more destructive tendencies. As the unification wars died down the Emperor locked it away. Only his or a Primarch's blood can unlock its wards. Hence why you were needed. Now we can only hope it will bring us salvation."

With that the Angel lifted from the chamber floor. In a gout of fire it disappeared. The Unborn Primarch journeyed through the Warp. to cleanse the Solar System in holy fire.

Location: The Iron Gold, Flagship of the VII Legion (Terran Void Space)

Date: 813.M30 (Eleven hours since the battle for Luna beguin)

Rogal Mauer, the Primarch of the VII Legion, had been given command of Terran Defense. Protecting mankind's cradle was an important duty, one he embraced. Mauer was a skilled Void-Admiral. Not quite at the level of Alexio or Tengri, but skilled nonetheless. Under his command Terra and its Void-space had been protected from the hordes of cultists and Daemons, forming a final invincible bulwark around Terra. He would Protect Terra and try to distract as much of the enemy away from his Father's duel with the Hulk-Daemon.

His legion acted as the Imperium's shield as the XI, XIII and XVI struck as its sword. This duty was palatable to Mauer. He was a dutiful son, and would stand against the Imperium's enemies. Defending Terra was his purpose after all. The Primarchs were built for War but they were more than simple weapons. Even after the galaxy was safe for mankind they would have a role to play. Rogal Mauer knew his and happily embraced it. The heart and soul of the Imperium were his to fortify. The Solar System and the other Capital Systems of mankind would be sheltered by the Emperor's Praetorian.

Even as the Imperium's shieldbearer, his Legion was not fangless. The VII Legion's Champion, Sigismund, led the VII Sword Brethren who even now rampaged through the enemy ships. A mighty sword to cut down the enemies of mankind. So far the battle had gone well. Enemy battle group after battle group were crushed. Their maddened attempts to attack Terra crumpling on Rogal's bulwark.

An urgent Astropathic relay pulled the Primarch's attention from the battle. It was straight from Malcador the Sigillite. "A new weapon against the darkness has been unleashed. It flies for Luna. Ensure its arrival and continue your duties."

Before Rogal Mauer could inquire more, he suddenly felt the presence of whatever the Sigillite had let loose. A new star of psychic fire appeared above the Palace. A spark of light flitting away from the Astronomicon and up into the Void. It burned bright in the firminant before becoming a comet of golden flame shooting away from Terra.

Every warp-sensitive soul from the Palace to Luna felt it. An unstoppable desire for vengeance and destruction, the Emperor's wrath made manifest. Following Malcador's orders, a shard of the VII Legion Fleet entered parade formation around the Star. They were not the only ones to notice this new being. A massive battleship of dubious origin broke away from the Chaos fleet. The possessed slab of metal and corrupted machinery charged to intercept the new Star. The near-space-hulk roared a fearsome challenge through the void. A daemonic asteroid to counter the divine comet.

At Rogal's command, the Imperial fleet opened fire on the Battleship. Macro-shells and lances smashed into it, desperately trying to shatter it before the hulk collided with the Emperor's new weapon. The Primarch gripped his sentinel blade's hilt tightly as he watched. He was about to give the order for one of the escort crafts to ram the enemy battleship. Anything to slow it down enough to let the new weapon escape.

Before he could, the Angel-Star accelerated, moving to counter charge the possessed battleship. Shock rippled through the Iron Gold's bridge. They could do nothing more, impact was iniement. When the Angel struck it did not detonate or flatten against the battleships armored prow. Rather, it punched through it like a drop of molten metal hitting parchment. The Angel ripped through the cultist ship, leaving scattered debris and a gaping hole into the void that greedily swallowed the wailing demonic crew of the now doomed battleship. The Imperial Fleet tracked its progress with each bulkhead and deck detonating in a shower of molten metal and psychic fire.

Then, as easily if it had been passing through hard vacuum, the Angel cut through the battleship. Burning it out and leaving a drifting hulk in its wake. The VII Fleet was left to mop up the Chaos Horde as the Angel of Vengeance entered Lunar orbit. It blazed a flaming arc along the moon, heading towards its north pole. Once it reached its destination the Angel descended. A meteor of holy flame ready to strike into the Heart of Luna.

(edited by Klickator)

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!