Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty One: Gold, Silver, and Steel

Location: The Surface of Luna

Date: 815.M30

Flanked by his Custodes the Master of Mankind walked upon the Lunar sands. He met his sons and subjects in the Fortress of Kepler Crater. The very fortress claimed by the XIII Legion at start of the Lunar Crusade. To Marcus, that felt like a lifetime ago. So much had changed in the frantic days to retake Luna. A Primarch lay dead, the warps malice had been laid bare. The three sons of the Emperor staggered forward, the living and the dead. An awful silence filled the Lunar void. Slowly the Emperor approached the body of Horus. Cupping the handsome face of his fallen son and touching the spike of ancient iron sticking from his eye.

Visible tension seemed to fall off the Emperor. Unlike a mortal's mere body language this was communicated by a semi-visible wave of esoteric energy rippling from him. Placing his hands on a shoulder of each living son he spoke: "Horus is dead, but not beyond my reach. You two did well in saving him. There were mistakes made today, ones I will spend millennia rectifying. Trusting you Kalib and Marcus was not one of them. The Custodes will take Horus to my sanctum. The battle is over, finish your duties and rest. It is well earned my sons"

Tears poured down the Primarchs faces. The desperate madness of war started to leave them as well. They had won, the Imperium had survived the Chaos Gods opening salvo. The Emperor rekindled the spark of hope within them. After a brief embrace and a few parting words, Marcus and Kalib left to take command of their respective legions. Efforts to sanctify and rebuild Luna would require the XI and XIII.

At the Emperors command, Horus was rushed to the Bucephalus and placed in a stasis chamber. Awaiting the attention of mankind's oldest and greatest mind. That and other matters would occupy the Emperor, but for now, he must finish the Lunar War. With Valdor and a squad of Companions flanking him the Emperor entered Luna. Following the path, his sons had taken to escape the duel of false-gods.

The Moon of Terra had been scarred by the conflict. That was becoming evident as the transcendent sense of Revelation focused on Luna. The cancer of Warp-Taint had been violently removed. Entire cities that the Creed of Four Phases once ruled were reduced to ash and slag. The silicate nature of the Moon had saved the satellite from being shattered. The Titanomachy blows had cracked it and ripped open country-sized fissures across the pockmarked surface. Swallowing entire cities and ancient structures like a ravenous giant. Then Angel-fire had spread across Luna. Psychic flames hot enough to burn the soul had traced the paths of Chaos Corruption like natural flames would a promethium trail. Melting lunar dust into massive sheets of milky gray obsidian. Adding celestial burn marks to accompany the battle scars and craters dotting Luna. It would take a thousand years and a great many resources to restore the moon. The Emperor had no such desire and if he had his way the Moon would remain in its damaged state for the rest of time. Sometimes the most efficient way to ensure a change in human development is to burn it into the species collective consciousness. Even now the Master of Mankind could feel fate shifting. That the word Luna and even Moon would be forever associated with the dangers of Chaos. Humanity would only need to look to its cradle-worlds sky to receive a bitter reminder of the Dark Gods malice.

The procession of Monarch and Guard continued into the deeps. The warm light of the Emperor proving a similar but contrasting source of illumination to the Angels Fire. Taking hidden paths and using esoteric powers to travel distances that had taken the Primarchs hours in mere minutes they were fast approaching the core. Still, even this abridged journey gained witness. The burnt and half-mad untainted survivors. Lacking most of there senses had still locked onto and witnessed the Emperor. Some cried tears of blood from burnt sockets, others simply went utterly mad. Loudly proclaiming for none to hear that God was real, and he is a thing of burning light.

The Emperor spared them no attention. He was the guardian of the human race, capable and willing of sacrificing everything to ensure the survival of his kin. Even so, the millennia had worn hard on him. The God-Emperor had forced him to reconnect with his increasingly distant humanity. This did not make him a saint or a god, just as casting it off did not. It simply made him more akin to the species he fought to save. Flawed and broken, but capable of anything and everything. The Emperor would spend the lives of trillions without a second thought if it meant saving existence from a Chaotic extinction. Then after committing such an atrocity, he would grieve. In the great game of survival, morality is a luxury rarely afforded.

Finally reaching the center of Luna the Emperor telekinetically blasted his way into the volcanic chamber that held his goal. Within what had once been the Inner sanctum lay two beings hovering between existence and oblivion. The body of the Angel was a burnt husk. Still glowing with a few faint sparks of power. It did not resemble the superhumanly compassionate women who had once been its host anymore. Approaching the Angel the Emperor reached out psychically. Touching his creation. The Angel was dying.

To his presence, it reacted with the simple joy of a creation responding to its creator. The Angel was a raw uncontrollable thing that the Emperor feared and had locked away. Yet it loved him in the way only the innocent can. Utterly devoted to its master to the point of madness the Angel would do anything to please the Emperor. Touching a gilded hand to its ashen head the Emperor whispered something. A long forgotten phrase in a language unknown to all except one. It was not a prayer but a simple eulogy to the dead. Practiced by a tribe that once called the Sarkarya Riverbanks home. It had accompanied the death of his Emperor's father and countless others. A small snippet of the boy from anatolia still alive within the Master of Mankind. Finishing he looked into the broken eyes of the Angel and spoke to its host: "I am so sorry my love. It's over now, you can rest."

With a thought, the final sparks of the Angel fused with the Emperor. Its golden energy turning a pale silver and hiding within the galaxy of souls. Not becoming one with him like the final traces of the host did, but kept by the Emperor as a separate thing. The Angel had returned home and the saint who the Emperor had loved joined with her ancestors, children, and friends. From across time, space and possibility.

Now the other occupant of the cavern awaited the Emperor's attention. A black stain of burning flesh oozed across the superheated stone. Inching its way away from the light it feared above all. The soul of Sagitari-17 had been neutered of its psychic potential and dark blessings. Left only with his human emotions and memories. Still anchored to the broken Chaos-Spawn that had once been his body. Fighting with every twisted neuron and muscle to escape the Emperor it wriggled along the burning ground. A telekinetic grip ripped him from the ground. Suspending the Spawn as its doom approached. Sagitari-17's mutant eyes gazed upon the glory of Mankind's rightful ruler true unbridled fear filled him. At that moment Sagitari-17 knew the consequences of every dark deal and shadowy scheme had come.

Even as he bled millions in the quest for Daemonhood Sagitar-17 had never once doubted the righteousness of his cause. Rationalizing the horrors committed as necessary to save his people. Now when the souls of countless innocents butchered by the Creed of Four Phases stared at him through the Anathema's eyes. Doubt and guilt crept into him. With the Custodes still flanking him, the Emperor spoke: "A reward fit for a Traitor and fool. I have use for you Sagitari-17. A thank you is in order as well. You will help teach humanity many valuable lessons."

With those ominous words, the Emperor ripped open space/time and teleported all of the chamber's occupants, including the ashes of the Angels host to the Bucephalus.

Location: The Bucephalus Laboratory.

Date: 819.M30 (Three days since the end of the Lunar Crusade)

With the intellect of the Primarchs, the industry of Mars and the Emperor's wisdom the Imperium rapidly recovered from the battle. Burned out husks of chaos vessels were dragged to forge-ships and melted down in great Zero-G furnaces and infused with Rune inscribed silver wafers. Adding raw adamantium and other more exotic materials to the Imperiums stockpiles. Millions of Auxilia and Legionnaires had faced the forces of Chaos and crushed them underfoot. The Imperium had proven itself capable of protecting humanity and earned the true loyalty of the entire Sol system. Outside of Luna, the damage was paltry. Casualties were more than replaced by Lunar refugees who added their technical knowledge in the sciences of genetics and voidcraft to the rest of Sol.

The rebuilding of Luna was starting slow but going steady. Scavenger-Clans burrowed through the wounded satellite collecting everything of value. Acting Lunar-Lord Petronilla Dorovna had rallied countless refugee groups to resettle the few mostly intact cities. Her charisma, psychic powers and a diamond-hard core of subordinates who were now fervent convert to the Imperial Truth did wonders for morale and efficiency among the shellshocked Lunarians. Fears of festering corruption were small. The Angel and later the XI Legion had been thorough. Now it was up to the stunned survivors to handle the shock of most of their world descending into madness and rebuild. The horrors witnessed and the salvation by both Angels of Iron and Fire had armed them against the whispers of chaos. Oaths were sworn by entire lineages to never again fall to the Warps touch.

After numerous diplomatic, military and infrastructure meetings to help guide the Imperiums recovery the Emperor managed to escape to his secondary laboratory aboard the Bucephalus. All the pressing matters had been dealt with and Malcador along with his Sons could deal with anything else. So now before any further steps were to be taken the Emperor would attend to his fallen son.

Stripped of his armor and laid out on a metal slab was the body of Horus Lupercali. The transhuman flesh was marred by numerous ugly wounds. Burns, lacerations and contusions beyond count. The speartip of destiny still jutted from his skull as an ugly reminder of Be'lakor. Horus's body was the current focus of the Emperor and the Cognatu Ferrum who operated numerous surgical servitors. Clad in plain white surgical scrubs the Master of Mankind continued his most ancient art. The remaking and remodeling of humanity.

Dark Age relics, biomancy, and ancient surgical practices were all employed in an exquisite manner. With a dozen tools gripped by his hands and mind the Emperor worked. Shrapnel was plucked from muscle and skin. Dried blood was washed away and fresher samples were taken to be cloned in great volumes. Warp-tumors born of unprotected flesh exposed to the Immaterium were excised with a mixture of blade and pyrokinesis. Meticulously, perfect organs and muscle became whole once again. Cloned tissue was weaved into wounds and the psychic imprint of Be'lakor and the gods was stripped away.

The body of a Primarch does not decay like a normal being. Once it is no longer capable of sustaining life it shuts down and works to preserve itself the best it can. The chemicals and tissues that had been bastardized to create the Sus-an Membrane worked hard to keep the body immaculate. This like every other molecule of the geneforged demigods had a reason. Being born of both Material and Immaterial a Primarch is never truly dead as long as something remains.

With a destroyed body a Primarchs psychic essence becomes an unanchored thing. Half-bonded to their father, half left to wander the Immaterium becoming something far greater and alien. Leading armies of the Damned, spreading bloody rage and redemption among its sons, reverting to its most primal unchained self. Becoming more like the Angel than anything else. A repaired or cloned body would be a transhuman powerhouse trying to fulfill a purpose it never could. Stunted and Golem-like they would try to be a Primarch and only succeed in being a parody of such a being.

If these two halves could be brought back together under certain conditions the Primarch may live again. It was, of course, a risky process. The soul might be too far gone, more god than man. Giving it flesh would invite disaster. This fact had led the Emperor to gift Horus with the Speartip of Destiny. The strands of fate indicated an attempt on the XVI's life or sanity was virtually inevitable.

To prevent the Dark gods from this victory a contingency was put in place. The Speartip of Destiny was a tool allowing for the absorption, direction, and storage of psychic power. Millenia of reverence and myth had gifted it with these virtually unique psionic properties. The extent and power of this had never been fully tested, but the Emperor had gambled. The spear-tip could if used correctly store a Primarchs spirit. Preserving it from the Warps madness just as a stasis box protected a corpse from rot. So with a subconscious suggestion to encourage self-sacrifice, in face of calamity instilled in the XVI from a young age. The Emperor hoped his gambit would work. The Chaos Gods would indeed kill Horus, but he would not stay dead.

Now with steady hands, the Emperor pulled the speartip from Horus. The ancient metal glowing softly in his touch. Placing it in a Gellar Box as an extra measure of protection. The Emperor continued working on the damaged nerves and bone. Neurons were woven through flesh and replaced with gene-printed copies where needed.

Using the access point provided by the fractured orbital socket the Primarchs brain was the next item on the agenda. The Emperor briefly considered erasing or suppressing the memories Chaos had injected into Horus. That notion was quashed by the reality of the situation. Even if he could do it with no other side-effects parts of those memories were most likely burned into the soul residing in the Speartip. Spiritual memories lacking a physical equivalent never led anywhere good. Blocking them away would only delay the problem. You can build the strongest barriers but a willful child will eventually find a way to crack them. So the memories would stay, the danger to his son was too great.

That did not mean alterations could be made. The Chaos Gods had forced every horrid memory of the Heresy. Plucked from the traitor's victims, and the Warmaster himself into Horus. After the tragedy of Davin the XVI Primarch became a true Slave of Darkness. Believing the primordial annihilator had freed him when the opposite was true. The Gods had puppeteered him and watched the galaxy through him until the Seige itself. Every memory and sensation the Four had devoured while looking through the Warmasters eyes had been what broke Horus. The suffering of trillions is not something a Primarch can bare lightly. but they can. Watching themselves commit such acts and know truly they were responsible for damning existence is another thing. So to save Horus the Emperor would provide a single shift in the memories. He disassociated the Primarch from his alternate copy. Instead of feeling every action and thought of Horus Lupercal, Horus Lupercali would witness them. Hopefully, this would be enough.

With those alterations finished the Emperor had one last task before attempting a resurrection. To fix the destroyed eye. Psychic feedback had burned it away, leaving a perfectly bare socket. A Primarch could naturally regrow something like an eye and the process of sculpting such a complicated thing was beyond the time and resources the Emperor currently possessed. A cybernetic replacement designed to detach from regenerating tissue would make do for now. Linking wires to neurons with ease a mortal man would tie his shoes the Emperor inserted the eye.

Suddenly a blast of psychic sparks erupted, frying the cybernetics circuits. Electric smoke poured out of the rapidly breaking eye as the Emperor removed it. Puzzled he checked the socket, no damage, the nerves seemed fine as well. Curious now the Emperor tried another replacement and was met with identical results. After a third attempt, the Emperor checked the genetic hard drive within the Primarchs spinal column and was greeted with a surprise. The psycho-genome markers that were in charge of the Primarchs right eye were gone. Deleted by the psychic backlash of the Primarchs death. It took a moment for the Emperor to realize the symbolism. By some cosmic chance or more likely interference, the Eye of Horus had been destroyed in a duel with a Dark Prince. Was it the Four playing a cruel prank? Or a marker of something far more profound? Time would tell.

Leaving the socket bare the Emperor prepared the Speartip. Ordering the Cognatu Ferrum to engage multiple safety measures and psionic barriers the Emperor prepared to resurrect his son. Channeling his own psychic power into the spear the Emperor caught the sleeping soul within. Like a Man-of-War carried along by a tidal surge the soul was swept from the spear. Protected by the Emperor's light it flowed through immaterial currents into the flesh and brain of Horus Lupercali.

With a great implosion of psychic power, the Spear was emptied and the first flickers of life returned to Horus. Like some Revenant of myth, the Primarch bolted up. A blood-curdling scream erupted from the demigod's reborn lungs. With volume to burst human ear-drums, the roar continued. Playing both roles of parent and medic the Emperor worked to calm his son. The memories may have been dampened but they were horrific.

As some semblance of sanity came back Horus looked at his father. The Emperor hoped relief or confusion would paint the Primarchs features. Instead, mad-fury contorted them. With movements that outmatched any human but were clunky and slow for a Primarch. Horus lept from the table and grabbed the Emperor by the throat. In a hoarse whisper, he spoke one of the dark truths revealed to him by the gods. And as he did white fire erupted in his empty eye-socket. Psychic energy playing the role of eye and leaking warp-energy from the Primarchs very essence. Signifying the catastrophic damage inflicted on both the mind and body of Horus.

"You knew, you knew this would happen! From the first moments, the warp-tainted bastards thought of treachery on Luna you knew! Father, you watched the gods corrupt and drive most of Luna to damnation. At any point, it could have been stopped! So why? Why did my sons, countless innocents, Zamora, and…. and I die?" Howled the Primarch

With a grip that was both tender and adamantium strong the Emperor removed his son's hands from his throat and with a thought pushed Horus back. The simple chirurgeon garb the Emperor wore shifted with its occupant. White fabric hardened to golden plates. Kilos of transhuman muscle sprang into being as the Emperor took the form of Battle-King. Clad in beautiful terminator armor and armed with a shining talon he stood over his son.

With force of will that could make legions kneel he cowed his half-mad son. Forcing Horus to a knee and stifling any further attacks that would hurt the Primarch more than the Emperor. With one eye of fire and the other of flesh, Horus glared up at his father. Wrath and fear were evident in his eyes.

"You know why Horus, you saw just one possible fate the Four attempted to inflict upon the universe. I did everything and anything that was necessary to prevent that grimdark future." Responded the Emperor with cold fury in his eyes.

Memories flickered through both father and sons eyes. The horrors of that possible future collected from both the God-Emperor and the Dark Gods.

*The XII screaming and crying as crude drills lobotomized him. Replacing mortified nerves with a tool of ancient hate.*

*Choking choirs of the Golden Throne as a thousand psykers were plugged into it*

*Betrayed sons reclaiming the Luna Wolf on the dying world of massacre *

*Billions torn to pieces and used as brick and mortar, building a cathedral of evil to entrap an Angel.*

*Drops of blood and ripped skin falling to the ground as VII sought penance for failing his father.*

* The Galaxy burning in a feast for the Gods as the Despoilers legions marched. *

*An age of war, where there is no peace or morality in the stars. A time of monsters, tyrants and lunatics dueling over the ashes of existence*

Horus snarled at the memories and spat back: "I understand that the Primordial Annihilator must be stopped at any cost but why did you do such foolish actions? Letting a cult fester within Luna, sending Zamora to his death, these were not the acts of one worthy of being named Master of Mankind."

The Emperor did not react, Horus expected another thunderstorm of rage or worse. What he got was in some ways far more painful. With a monotone and almost unsure voice, the Emperor said: "It seems I overestimated you Horus. You and your brothers are mighty and intelligent. In raising you I hoped to impart some of my wisdom and experience. Some have, but other lessons and concepts are still beyond you. It seems eons of existence and understanding cannot be learned. Even by a Primarch. This is partially my mistake. I expected too much and assumed you and the others understood. Get dressed, this must be rectified."

Even in his anger and confusion the sense of disappointment and sadness that Horus felt from his father was incredibly painful. Despite the recent events he did love his father and valued his opinion and respect over virtually anything. Feeling ashamed at his initial reactions and still in whatever passed for Shock within a Primarchs mind. Horus donned the plain uniform his father had provided and followed the Emperor. Hoping for answers. On some level, Horus wondered if his shift in attitude was less him coming to his sense or more his father realigning them.

Location: The Bucephalus, War-council chamber

Date: 819.M30 (Three days since the end of the Lunar Crusade)

In the days after the salvation of Luna, the Primarchs had gone about their business. Cleaning up any straggling Chaos vessels and other duties. For each of the nineteen, they had managed to get back to a semblance of normalcy. The shock of the Chaos assault and the fall of Horus had worn on them.

Marcus and Kalib were both evasive in answers. They told their siblings a brief summation of the events within Luna. Neither Primarch seemed to have a clear answer but the message was understandable. Something terrible had happened and Horus was dead. Shock had rippled through the brothers and rumors started to circulate within the Imperium. A Primarch dead? Such a thing seemed impossible. Each of the Primarchs reacted according to their nature. Some bared fangs and called for vengeance. Others analyzed the possibilities and planned. Denial and disbelief were also common. Some such as Phillip Lot, Primarch of the XVII Legion believed that Horus was not truly dead. The Emperor had given them all life once before, what is to say he could not do it again.

When the Emperor called for his sons they rushed to the Bucephalus. Nineteen Primarchs (The youngest split into two bodies) arrived in the Gilded Capital ship eager for news. The Emperor had not been seen or heard from for days. Under Malcadors orders they had done their duties and waited. The XVI Legion had reorganized under its Lord-Commanders. Morale was low and questions were many among them. The Primarch and the near entirety of the Legion martial elite were dead or severely injured. Still hope burned in the Sons of Horus. Like the XI and XIII Legion, they had received many merretts in the Lunar Crusade. For now, they held out hope for good news and held their heads high. After all, it was the XVI who liberated numerous besieged loyalist outposts and lead the initial evacuation attempts.

Gathered in the War-Council Chamber the Primarchs were oddly silent. Nineteen brothers sitting or standing around the massive strategy center. In this room, an entire interstellar campaign could be planned, organized and conducted. Usually bustling with Custodes, Admirals, Generals, Astartes, and every other branch of the Imperial military. Now it's only occupants were the quiet Demigods.

Twenty minutes after all of them had arrived its doors swung open once again. Like a golden dawn, the Emperor's light poured into the room. The Primarchs bowed as their father entered. Only noticing something else behind him once the door shut behind the Emperor. Horus Lupercali stood there. Alive but clearly not well.

The Primarchs emitted various exclamations of surprise and joy. Moving to embrace him and see to their thought lost sibling. To their shock instead of greeting them, Horus recoiled. Unknown to his brothers' visions of another reality flickered through the XVI mind. He saw the worst of each sibling. How the charming elegance of Iskandar could become serpentine depravity. Or how Konrad's psychic gifts and moral compass might lead him into nihilistic madness. Of all the two he feared most was Dante and Phillip… He could not bare to even look at either of them. For entirely different reasons. The sight of another Horus breaking the weeping Angel as the IX begged for an answer. Was far too much to dwell on. Antithetically Horus had been always close to Philip. So the thought of his immediate younger brother orchestrating his and the universes damnation was stomach turning.

Raising a gauntleted hand the Emperor motioned for them to give Horus distance. Eddard being firstborn spoke first: "Father, we believed Horus to be dead. I see that is not true, what in Terra's name happened within Luna. We thought the Moon would be destroyed?"

Shakely the palid Lupercali answered: "I did die. I drove a spear of psychic power into my very hearts and soul. All in an attempt to deny the Four victory."

Silence again filled the chamber. Such an idea seemed ridiculous but the evidence was plain to their superhuman senses. The slight lurch to Horus's movements, his copper skin a sickly pale, and the lines of surgical scars along with the missing eye. In their brother, they could see a kind of animal aggression and stress. Like an apex predator captured and experimented on. They could smell and even see the immense regenerative properties at work to heal the numerous wounds. Horus had indeed died, and badly it seemed. Only for the Emperor to bring him back to life. A single shared thought independently entered the Primarchs mind. How, and at what cost had this been done?

At the Emperor's command, they all took seats around the central table. Twenty-two mammoth chairs awaited the Imperial royal family. Sitting down the Emperor summoned a holo-projection of two objects. The moon and the Speartip of Longinus.

Gesturing to them the Emperor began speaking: "Horus led the main assault into the cult's headquarters. Originally he was to secure it and cut off the enemy command. Then await my arrival so the warp-rift could be closed. My delay by the Primordial Annihilator aspect known as Hashut prevented me from assisting. The Primordial Annihilator used this opportunity to directly attack Horus through the rift."

Another hologram appeared showing helm-camera footage of Horus staring into the rift and screaming: "At that moment with my consciousness occupied. Chaos unleashed an extremely devastating psychic assault. With the intent of corrupting your brother. To give some context the power used would have been enough to drive multiple planets to insanity. With rescue not possible and the Warp-Cancer seeping into his mind Horus sacrificed himself to stop the corruption."

"Why did he not reach out for our aid? We are linked psychically and together we could have stood against this." Asked Magnus.

Bitter laughter from Horus answered: "You don't think I tried? If I managed to make contact with any of you the insanity would have simply spread. I would not damn my brothers for my weakness in facing the dark gods unprepared. Even death was not enough to cleanse that… horror."

The Emperor continued: "Horus drove his gift, the spear of Longinus into himself. Killing his body and absorbing his soul. It was kept locked within the spear tip and not cast into the warp. Making resurrection possible. Without similar circumstances, such a feat is impossible This only occurred through my countermeasures and a certain amount of cosmic happenstance. Anything can die, even you my sons. Do not forget that."

That sobering thought rippled through the chamber. "With Horus fallen the Primordial Annihilator were forced to another plan. Using the leader of the cult as a host for Be'lakor: A particularly old and powerful neverborn. With only the XVI Legion elite facing it, I decided to enact another failsafe was necessary. At my order Malcador unleashed an experimental weapon to destroy Be'lakor and seal the rift." said the Emperor

Images of the Angel now appeared. Its light was blinding even diluted through pic-feeds. "That is the Angel, similar to Arik Taranis it is a prototype for you my sons. Raw power given purpose. Unstable, dangerous and incredibly destructive. It succeeded in banishing Be'lakor back to warp. Injuring it so thoroughly I doubt it will be able to partially manifest for thousands of years. With Hashut cast into the deep, I could turn my attention to Luna, and used the Angel to shut the rift"

Not a word was said for a solid minute. Breaking the silence Horus spat an accusation: "So now they know the events. Are you going to tell them the rest of it? Or keep it hidden like so many other things."

With an iron-hard gaze, the Emperor looked at his sons and spoke: "I allowed the corruption and infiltration of Luna. This insurrection occurred according to my will. It was necessary for the survival of the human species."

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