Chapter Text
The inner sanctum of the Imperial Palace was silent, no servant moved and even the Custodian Guard stayed away from the room that the Master of Mankind held court with his sons. Each of the chosen sons stood before their father and, depending on where they stood depended on what image of him, they saw.
To Fulgrim, he was an artisan, a poet, a great thinker bringing perfection to an imperfect world. To Ferrus, he was the master of the perfect melding between man and machine, the Omnissiah made flesh. To Rogal he was the great Ceaser, the man who brought not just continents but worlds under his control and his power. To Angron, he was the image of war incarnate; to kill those who would not follow his path was the only true way for a warrior god to be. Vulkan saw him as a master of fate, wielding his weapons that were his sons, in the battle for the future that could only mean one thing. Konrad saw him as the night stalker, the being that hunted in the night to bring justice to a universe that still had much to learn in the way of order. Lorgar, who gazed upon his father with the eyes of one who was vindicated in his beliefs, no matter how long it had taken, saw the great preacher, the man who challenged the unbeliever and cast him from his lofty perch into hells own fires. To Lorgar this was god as he had always been, since the first days of that ancient belief. Finally, The Lion saw him as he really was the master tactician, the alpha male of his species and a warrior without peer. He was a keeper of secrets and master of all knowledge; this was the man he saw as his father.
There was no denying it now, not now and not ever, his father had been known by so many names and no doubt god had been one of them. He did not blame him for at first, not wanting to have anyone worshipping him, all it had brought was misery and death. Persecution and horror, but that was then and this, this was now. His father was a warrior, an artist, a ruler, a builder, and a god all in one mighty, spell binding package. Who else could do the things he did, not even Magnus could do everything that his father had done and would do in the future. Whosoever denied the Emperors divinity now, well there was only one course of action left open for them and that was to be forever cast into the pits of hell whilst the true sons of the Emperor continued the Great Crusade.
They had all been summoned here; the news of Angrons success in destroying Prospero and many of its people, in the millions was the last count had pleased the Emperor. However, Magnus and his sons escape to a world unknown had not pleased him and as Rogal cast a wary eye at his silent brother, he could almost sense the fires of shame burning in his eyes. He had killed every one of his sons who had failed him when they had attacked The Photep. The human and Astartes crews of that World Eater vessel Angrons Wrath had certainly lived up to its name. Dorn had asked his father not to judge Angron so harshly, after all none of them expected Leman to side with his old nemesis. Still Angron had been made to endure the torment of his father’s disappointment; the scars would take a while to heal.
Finally, after waiting for him to speak, and they had been stood there a good seventeen hours the Emperor began to speak. His voice, like his face carried several aspects to each Primarch, which of course depended entirely on how they viewed him. It may have sounded gruff or soft, regal, or calm, powerful and menacing, all these and more. But, no matter how they saw him or how they heard his voice the words were the same. He opened his eyes and focused on Vulkan and Vulkan alone for the moment.
“I have a task for you my son, one that you and your Salamanders would excel in”
Vulkan moved to one knee almost immediately “Name it father and it shall be done”
The Emperor moved from his throne and came down to stand before the kneeling Vulkan; he rested his hand on his sons’ shoulder and bid him to rise. Vulkan did so immediately in one smooth fluid motion. “I want you to go to Chogoris, I want you to meet with the Kharn, I know he is there overseeing recruitment and seeing to the bolstering of his worlds own Imperial Army regiments, and it has been a while since he was last there, I believe.”
“Twenty-seven years last count father” Lorgar confirmed quietly.
“Thank you Lorgar. It will be a while before he will return when he is finished there this time. I want the mighty Kharn with us. Jaghati would be an exceptional addition to the ranks when he is here. His White Scars are faster than even the Lions bikers. I long to have the sons of Chogoris within my chosen circle”
“I will do as you ask father” Vulkan stepped back “May I take my leave?”
The Emperor nodded and watched as Vulkan strode out the throne room nodding to the two Custodians who opened the doors for him. The Emperor smiled to himself, always he had heard of the Lion, Horus, Guilliman’s victories, for their names were spoken high and proud along with Sanguineous, Russ, Dorn and yes even Lorgar, and yet he knew that Vulkan and the Kharn both had given much to the Great Crusade and were not lauded enough. This would bring Vulkan into his own light and his Salamanders too, he wanted all his sons to have victory, and even Angron would have a complete victory one day.
“Now” He turned to the others “I understand some Salamanders and World Eaters who did not wish to embrace the new order managed to find their way to The Thousand Sons and Space Wolves fleet”
Each brother looked at each other wondering how their father could know this; all apart from Lorgar “Typhus” He enlightened them before anyone could ask.
“You are seriously having a joke with me, a poor attempt of one at that” Konrad scowled disbelievingly.
“No brother I am not. Typhus and a couple of others are our spies in the camp of Horus; it really is them and us now”
“Gather round my sons, let us decide how best to proceed” The Emperor retook his seat and his sons sat round him on their own seats and to those who saw them, they might as well have been warlords making plans…. which indeed they were.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The White Scars mingled with the native peoples making sure that everything was as perfect as it could be, in the nomadic tribes that made up the populace fathers were instructing their eldest sons on techniques that would see them through the hardships of the tournaments which, the Great Khan willing, would see their names carry much honour as a son of the Khan. Amongst the populace and, in the shadow of the great Fortress Monastery of The Palace of Quan Zhou, the sons of the Khan walked, exchanging pleasantries with the older members of the populace and showing them profound respect. Like any Nomadic Tribes, the elders were seen as having wisdom beyond their great years. One of the giants garnered much awe and cheering as he strode through the busying crowds. The First Captain of the First Chapter was indeed a remarkable sight. His stature and honour scars speaking volumes and with the great Jubal Khan being here then that meant that the Great Khan himself would not be far behind.
The Khan himself was sitting in his massive throne room, thinking about the events on Prospero. Even now he was cursing himself that he could not be beside his beloved brother Russ when it came to fighting Angrons dogs. He respected Magnus for his wisdom, despite the way some of his other brothers viewed him, Magnus was a never-ending fountain of knowledge and now…. well now he was not sure what role the Thousand Sons would be able to play now. Many sons of the Wolf and the Crimson King had lost their lives defending what they believed in. He sat with his eyes closed, honouring the fallen from both Legions and looked forward to aiding his beloved Wolf brother against the enemies of man. Now however he was here to oversee the next choosing and, considering Prospero’s fate he wanted to ensure that his world was ready to defend itself from his mad brothers. Chogoris was a world of beauty and splendour, he had not spent all his youth uniting the tribes for it to all be washed away by his turncoat brothers and insane father, besides, he also had to deal with the Dark Eldar, although to be honest the savagery of the tribes made sure that those raids were inconsequential.
He opened his eyes slowly as Captain Noray Singh came before him; the Second Captain of the Second Chapter bowed his head low.
“My apologies my Lord, our astropaths have received a message for your eyes only” He handed Jaghati a data-slate and stepped back.
Jaghati took a moment to look over his Second Captain. His dark hair was tied up into a tall topknot and his moustache was beyond his chin. His battle scars and tribal marks made him second in stature to Jubal. Jaghati allowed himself a wry smile, he had chosen Noray himself, he had been one of the young warriors from his own tribe of the Talskars, and he had a fire in his eyes that much resembled Jaghati’s when he was younger, if he had ever been young. He had garnered many victories for the Scars and was rumoured to be Jubal’s successor should anything happen to him. The Primarch moved his attention to the data-slate and read it. His brow furrowed deeply and he stroked his long moustache slowly, a sign that he was not altogether certain about what he was reading or seeing.
“My Lord is something wrong?” Singh asked.
“Possibly, possibly not” Jaghati replied “It would seem my brother Vulkan would like to have a conference with me”
“And you believe him lord?”
“I do not know what to believe Noray, I do not want to believe that Vulkan is part of this madness but, I cannot discount that he might be. I will accept his request but I will not welcome him with our faces of peace. It will be a few days before he is here, time enough for me to oversee the choosing” Jaghati rose from his throne “Then I will see what the Great Fire Lord wants.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The Promethean made its way towards the White Scars home world. In his stratagem Vulkan sat listening to a holo-image of Lorgar. It crossed his mind that none of them had seen Valdor or the Sigilitte for some considerable time. Lorgar had taken up much of the Regent's former duties; he may have still officially been the High Priest of the Imperial Creed but he was more than that now. He had even killed his First Captain to stamp his authority for the last time over his Legion. Vulkan’s red eyes glowed eerily in the limited light of the Sanctum, listening not only to his brother but also to the chattering of the creature bound to his Gorgon forged hammer. It seemed to agree with whatever Lorgar said, but there was also an underlying chatter that told the lord of Nocturne that as a Primarch he was equal to all his brothers.
“Try and sway the Khan Brother” Lorgar gently said “The last thing we need is the fate of Prospero to befall the peoples of Mundus Planus”
“With Angron’s actions Lorgar, it is safe to say that Jaghati will not be so willing to be swayed” Vulkan reasoned “In fact he will have his home worlds defences ready to react to a moments action”
Lorgar cocked his head a little “Do as your heart tells you brother, you are part of a bigger destiny now, no more will they sneer at the Great Drake himself, and no more will the Salamanders be seen as a small insignificant Legion.”
“And if father cannot have his way?”
“Then you and I both know brother it will be war; we are trying to avoid such a conflict but if it must so then so be it.”
Vulkan nodded and inclined his head towards his brother and broke the connection. Somehow, he knew that was already happening, the incessant voice of his warp gifted hammer had already told him the sparks of war were beginning and if he was honest, he relished it, he touched the symbol etched onto his hammer, the eight-pointed star of chaos undivided and thought he heard the laughter of thirsting gods.
~*~*~*~*~*~
On the other side of Holy Terra as it was now becoming known was a land in the Pan Pacific area known more for its climate and its harsh conditions that made it ideal for training not just Astartes or Custodes but the Imperial Army too. Deep under one of the oldest rocks in the centre of this land that had once, millennia ago been a colony for an empire to send its convicts, a small group suddenly had an inkling of what those ancient peoples must have felt like. They had been here for weeks, waiting for a chance to get their charge to safety. It was getting harder with the Black Templars enforcing the new Imperial Creed upon the billions of Terran citizens and with the Gal Vorbak looking for the Sigilitte; they had to take their chances. Amon sat beside Valdor and looked out upon the desert land that was a large part of this continent. The Custodes did not have bonds of brotherhood like the Astartes, they fought individually even when they fought together, however, Amon and Valdor were friends, and when Constantin Valdor had decided to take the Sigilitte out of harm’s way, Amon had gone with them. With eight others they alone were responsible for keeping the former Regent safe. Neither man knew what had happened to their master deep under his palace, all they knew was he had changed and none of it was good.
“I cannot believe Magnus is crippled” Amon finally spoke “He would be the only one to subdue the Emperor…. listen to me talking about subduing the mightiest Psyker that has ever lived, who would have believed I would be uttering such words Constantin”
Constantin shrugged but said nothing, his gaze watchful, his duty clear, get Malcador to safety. They would not be safe for long, eventually they would have to move on, but if they could get off planet and reach Horus then the Sigilitte would be safe. Then and only then would he be able to honour his fallen Custodes, and there had been a few. Amon cast a glance at his Commander, of them all Valdor had been with the Emperor a long time, he may even know the Emperors true name but whatever they shared it was gone now.
The whoreson Lorgar would hunt them down because he would not forgive or forget the slight Malcador played in the shaming of his sons. Correction, perceived slight, Frag, he would not be surprised to discover that this was all that blasted Theologists fault in the first place.
“This is more than Lorgar could cook up Amon” Amon span round to see Malcador approach them both and scowled a little. “Forgive me warrior, your thoughts are angry enough for me to pick up, I meant no intrusion”
“My Lord, you should not be here” Amon recovered his annoyance “We are camouflaged by our cloaks, you are not and if the Emperor should see your imprint….”
Malcador held his hand up “I am masking my signature, and I am tired of being cooped up like a chicken”
There was a silence before Malcador gave Valdor a meaningful look. Valdor heaved a sigh and told a somewhat reluctant Amon to check the perimeter of the rock on which they were perched. Amon was not one to shirk his duty but nor was he one to leave the two most respected individuals in their group. However, when Valdor Constantin said to do something, you did it. Even though their master was now a total stranger to them, Valdor still spoke with the authority that he had been given centuries ago.
Malcador sat his frame down and looked out across the desert landscape. “The ancients of this land called this rock Uluru,” He mused “It was sacred to them; you have seen the cave paintings?”
Valdor nodded “For less enlightened times”
“This was a sacred site to the ancients; one story had that there was a war between the creator beings and the resulting bloodshed caused this rock to rise coloured red with the blood spilt. Given the current situation there might be some ironic symbolism in those tales of the past and today”
Valdor glanced to the heavens “He will find us eventually Mal, you know Lorgars accursed Gal Vorbak are on our tails”
Malcador nodded “We need to get to the disused station at Alyce Springs, get off world and head for either Ultramar or The Vengeful Spirit”
“And how long can we travel before he picks up your Psyker imprint? Mal you are powerful but you are not him, no one is, if stories are to be believed then with Magnus gone there is no one to stop him”
“Magnus is not gone Con; he is severely wounded but he is powerful in mind.”
“And you have seen it?” Malcador nodded “So then has the Emperor”
Malcador was about to retort when then colour seemingly drained from his face and he turned his face southwards, Valdor felt it too. It was power and terror on a primeval level, a contained rage that seemed to encompass the air around them and permeate through to their bones.
“He’s come with them” Malcador whispered.
Valdor got to his feet and called his men out. With swift instructions he gave the care of Malcador to Amon, Tzeun, Ramas, Torn and Arten. He cut off any disagreements and arguments telling them their only mission was to get Malcador to Horus or Guilliman, they were Custodes and the protection of the Regent was their duty.
Amon swallowed and rested his hand on Valdors’ shoulder “We will not meet again, will we Constantin?”
“Do your duty Amon and fates willing I will see you there, if not…. then I will see you in the next life when we battle side by side once more”
Amon nodded and with his men and Malcador they began to move, leaving Valdor and the last of the loyal Custodes to the Imperial Truth, to face whatever wrath was coming their way.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Garl Hanal, one of the newest members of the Gal Vorbak not only felt pride at serving in what had essentially become the Primarchs bodyguard but, also the Elite unit of the Word Bearers. They marched to Lorgars orders and right now, under the leadership of the mighty Argal Tal, the Crimson Lord himself, they hunted with the Emperor. Their task had started a few months ago when Constantin Valdor and some of his own elite Custodes had gone AWOL with the former Regent, The Sigilitte The father of mankind, already annoyed by Angron’s failure to bring back the Crimson King and his elite cadre had a rage so incandescent that he sought to hunt down his oldest friends and punish them. Lorgar had sent the Gal Vorbak to aid the Emperor and although it had taken a long while to pick their scent up, finally they had. He looked around him and felt pride that man had, once upon an age managed to live here. It had seemed inhospitable to him, but it was the genius and strength of man that ensured that now the Hive cities made this land liveable. He wondered why the Emperor had not filled this desert with towns or villages but then he could see why, the Emperor had left this desert the way it was as a reminder of what once was before the wars that boiled the oceans away and turned much of the landscape to molten blasted glass.
“First time in Australasia?”
He turned to see Brenton Harg, and nodded “This would be a good place to train brother”
“We do what the Primarch and our Lord God tells us to do, and right now we are hunting. Argal-Tal requires you and I to scout ahead, so let us allow the blessed beasts to come to the fore and hunt our enemies”
Hanal nodded, holstered his bolter and closing his eyes allowed the demon inside him to come to the fore. He had been chosen for the Gal Vorbak because of his scouting abilities and his devotion to the creed of Lorgar. He had been killed then reborn in the fires of the Gal Vorbak; his body changed. Hanal was already a well-muscled youth before the changes that had made him an Astartes now with the merging of his body with the demon Arc’alatha the hunter he was even bigger. His face altered; red eyes replaced his human eyes; fur came out along his body then hardened into spikes. Two horns erupted from each side of his head curling inwards like a bull’s horns. His face altered until he looked like an ancient Minotaur, his mouth filled with razor teeth and with a nod from the Crimson Lord he and Brenton Harg, already changed to his demonic half Arcata the destroyer lopped off ahead.
The Emperor turned to the Gal Vorbak, “Malcador and Constantin are to be kept alive, and I will face Constantin, is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord” the Crimson Lord bowed his head, his hearts hammering in his chest as his deity spoke to him and his brothers.
Satisfied that his word would be obeyed they continued onwards and the Emperor gripped his sword. He did not want to kill his old friend, he could use Constantin’s strengths, and all he needed was persuasion.