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Chapter Text

???.M42: Sanctum Imperialis, Holy Terra

It is the 42nd millennium. The galaxy is at war, and humanity is besieged on all sides. Abaddon and Vashtorr's forces have launched the Arks of Omen and captured the Tuchulcha engine from the Dark Angels. Trillions of Orks rally to Armageddon under the banner of Ghazghkull Mag Ugh Thraka. Ravenous Tryanid hive fleets approach from the north. Necron tomb worlds awaken to reclaim their former glory. Drukhari raids fall upon defenseless worlds. Tau forces expand further and ally themselves with more xenos races. Yet, hope remains still. The primarch of the Dark Angels, Lion El'jonson, has awoken from his slumber. With his return, the Unforgiven are renewed, bolstered by thousands of redeemed Fallen. But this may not be enough to turn back the tide of doom. Thus, the God Emperor of Mankind reaches out across space and time, across universes, and across dimensions to recover one of his lost Primarchs. The Golden Throne pulses with unrestrained psychic might, sending shock waves as powerful as a nuclear bomb throughout the walls of the Imperial Palace. Even the ever-stalwart Companions retreat, their Auramite armor slowly melting away. The Emperor strains himself as much as he strains reality, crashing through infinite dimensions and timelines. His psychic presence claws away at the very foundations of existence itself until he comes upon a city called Los Angeles, home of the 11th Primarch.

11.M2: Los Angeles

Los Angeles. Sweet, sunny Los Angeles. Situated in California, Los Angeles is filled with endless sunshine, cheer, and movie stars. But like, everyone knows that the brightest star of them all is Barbie. Barbie's a cool, confident girl with fantastic style who won't shy away from a challenge. She's fun to be with and an incredibly loyal friend (to lots of people too). But of all of Barbie's friends, only four of them come to mind for lunch at Wally's. Ken (her dearest boyfriend), Raquelle (her frenemy turned best friend), Taylor (her shoe fairy stylist), and Carrie (her purse fairy stylist). The past few months have been pretty crazy for Barbie. Not only has Ken proposed to her (Barbie said yes, obvs), but Raquelle's been really nice to her! Raquelle hasn't tried to rip Barbie's dress, snub her, or even insult her since the movie premiere. Overall, life's been all right in Los Angeles. However, a mysterious golden warp portal appearing in the sky might change that…

"Heyyy girlfriend" Raquelle was wearing a blue, strapless dress with silver linings; the exact same dress she wore during Barbie's latest movie premier. Barbie and Ken were wearing matching pink shirts adorned with pictures of poodles. Besides them were Carrie and Taylor, who were too busy petting Sequin to notice Raquelle's arrival. Barbie turned around to see Raquelle, "Oh Raquelle, you made it! I thought you were busy,". Barbie stood up from her seat to hug Raquelle. "I'm glad that you came to Sequin's birthday feast" Raquelle reciprocated the hug before answering her, "Barbie! Of course I did. I'm not letting something as small as my new movie prevent me from hanging out with you guys." Ken let out a small cough, "Please Raquelle, it's like you're not even trying to hide your enthusiasm." Barbie and the others laughed at Ken's exasperation; even Sequin seemed to find it funny. Raquelle moved to Sequin's seat, eager to pet the birthday girl on the head. "Hey there Sequin! Who's the birthday girl? Yes you are!" Raquelle laughed as Sequin licked her face in unrestrained joy. However, Barbie was quick to grab Sequin. Barbie yelled, "Sequin! I know you're excited to see Raquelle but don't cover her in your slob!"

The whole gang spent the whole day celebrating Sequin's 13th birthday. At 10 am, Sequin got to eat a cake made by Aunt Millicent which was shipped straight away from Paris. The cake even contained a letter from Jacques entitled “To my dearest muse; Sequin”. At 11 am, Barbie held a hide-and-seek party for Sequin. To make it more interesting, every time Sequin found a player, she'd get a treat or two (or five, in Carrie's case). At 12 pm, the gang watched one of Barbie and Raquelle's movies while eating a bunch of popcorn. By 2:30 pm, the partying was over, leaving Wally’s employees to clean up. While Barbie and Ken were carrying Sequin to their car, Raquelle, Carrie, and Taylor were walking to the parking lot.

Raquelle caught up to Carrie and Taylor before asking, “So, where did the both of you go?” Carrie and Taylor jumped around to face Raquelle, and fate had the misfortune of allowing Carrie to speak earlier. “Oh we went to see Princess Graciella at Gloss Ang-” Taylor nudged Carrie in the ribs with her elbow as a frustrated look appeared on her face. Carrie looked nervously at Taylor before continuing her sentence, “What I meant was that we went to see our totally non-royalty friend who lives in Los Angeles county, not Gloss Angeles”. Carrie tried her best to look convincing, but she could never keep a straight face, nor could she ever craft a convincing lie. Raquelle tried to hide her disbelief, but she did pry even further. "Gloss Angeles, huh? Sounds really familiar to me." Carrie let out a nervous laugh before coming up with yet another story, "Of course it's familiar! It's from that old TV show. You know, the one with the fairies and wings right?" "What TV show? All I remember is my dream. Both of you were there, and you had wings," Raquelle crossed her arms and stood closer to the duo "Is there something that you guys aren't telling me or Barbie?" Carrie and Taylor burst into laughter, dismissing their trip as nothing more than a meet and greet. "Ooo please dahling. What do you expect us to be, fairies? All because you had a fantasy dream?" Raquelle was just about to admit how silly the whole thing was when a sudden crack filled the air. A large golden portal appeared in the sky, pulling everything towards it. Barbie, Ken, Sequin, and Raquelle were all sucked into the portal, while Carrie and Taylor used their wings to resist its pull "Aaaah! Ken! Raquelle! Sequin!" Ken tried to grab Barbie, but his grip was slipping. "Barbie! Hang on tiii-" Carrie and Taylor, seeing no other option to save their friends, hesitantly let themselves get sucked into the portal. "Taylor, this feels really weeiiiird!"

???.M42: ???

Barbie awoke in a golden, endless realm. Any lesser being would have fainted from the sheer force exerted on her body, mind, and soul. But Barbie was no such "lesser being". No, she was Barbara Millicent Roberts, progenitor of the Emperor's Angels Legion, and the 11th Primarch; a child of the Emperor. Barbie looked around, instantly recognizing that this realm was her Father's. Barbie looked upwards before bellowing a challenge to the Emperor. "FATHER! Why have you summoned me? Come forth so that we may discuss matters directly!"

The sky grew dark and a storm coalesced. Golden lightning poured forth from the clouds. With a mighty, thunderous boom, the Emperor materialized in front of Barbie. His armor-clad body radiated power and authority, yet Barbie stood strong. The warp-construct opened its mouth, the sounds escaping its maw resembling thunder more than a human voice. "MY DAUGHTER. AT LAST, I HAVE SUMMONED YOU FROM YOUR WORLD. FRET NOT, MY 11TH. I DID NOT SUMMON YOU FOR ANY PALTRY REASON." Barbie scoffed at the Emperor, seemingly undeterred by his might. "That much is apparent, Father. But why now? Not even the Horus Heresy caused you to summon me." The fires within the Emperor flared up as his body grew in size. "DO NOT MENTION HIS NAME, DAUGHTER." Barbie's fury could not be contained by her mind, so she let forth her supreme rage. Eyes glowing with rose-colored energy, Barbie stood closer to the Emperor.

"AND WHAT WILL YOU DO? LEAVE YET ANOTHER OF YOUR CHILDREN OUT OF THE ANNALS OF HISTORY! First Herobrine, then me, and now Horus?" Barbie stared at the Emperor's golden eyes, waiting for him to back down. "IF YOU THINK THAT MY WILL SHALL FALTER UNDER YOUR GAZE, THEN YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN. HOWEVER, I DIGRESS. I SUMMONED YOU TO GATHER YOUR BROTHERS. LEMAN, CORAX, VULKAN, JAGHATAI, AND ROGAL ARE SCATTERED THROUGHOUT THE WARP AND THE GALAXY. I TASK YOU, MY DAUGHTER, TO SEEK THEM OUT AND BRING THEM INTO THE FOLD." Barbie's tense body relaxed, feeling less riled up than she did a few moments ago. Barbie reached out for her Father's arm, which was still just out of reach. "Father, I accept this task. But I cannot do it alone." The Emperor confidently puffed his chest before waving his hand, revealing an entire shield host of Custodes. "THAT IS WHY I HAVE DISPATCHED MY COMPANIONS TO ASSIST YOU. ADDITIONALLY, I HAVE MADE SLIGHT 'ADJUSTMENTS' TO YOUR FRIENDS."

4 humanoid figures, accompanied by a canine, appeared next to Barbie. She shrieked in joy as she saw Ken, Raquelle, Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin, all of them clad in ornate armor. Ken was armored in Mark X power armor, bearing the symbols and heraldry of an Ultramarine veteran. Raquelle was clad in a smaller yet still robust version of a Custodian's armor, its golden armor shining brightly in the Emperor's light. Carrie and Taylor were both clad in Aeldari wraithbone, their wings transformed into deadly crystalline appendages. Lastly, Sequin was turned into a towering thunderwolf, a mighty creature hailing from Leman Russ' homeworld of Fenris. The group hugged Barbie, who was now nearly ten feet tall (as befitting any Primarch). "Guys! I'm so glad you made it!" Ken disengaged from the hug and stepped backwards to look Barbie in the eye. "Of course we did. Your Father over there gave us weapons, armor, and lots of knowledge." The Emperor nodded curtly, expressing his approval. "NOW GO, MY DAUGHTER. FIND YOUR BROTHERS SO THAT HUMANITY MAY YET PREVAIL." A golden mist surrounded all of them, clinging to their skin like pixie dust. The entire fellowship was lifted into the air before teleporting to an unknown destination. The next thing Barbie saw was an infinite darkness, followed by a green swamp filled with putrid creatures….

???.???: Garden of Nurgle

The great grandfather stirred from his slumber, awoken by the presence of the Anathema's light in his garden. Nurgle let out a hearty laugh before bellowing to himself, "So the Anathema sends his daughter to free my prisoners? They will know true rot and decay. Let us see how they fare against my daemons and the Emperor's own son, Mortarion." 

Chapter Text

???.???: Garden of Nurgle

Barbie’s eyes adjusted to her comparatively bright surroundings, the whiplash between shining gold, infinite darkness, and glowing green proving to annoy her to no end. Her fashion side yearned to make a witty remark or two, but she noticed a low groan emanating from beside her.

“Argh. Barbie, is that you? My eyes. Dizzy.” It was Ken, who was faring far worse than Barbie was. His blue armor splattered with greenish moss and soil.

“Oh Ken! Here, let me help you up,” Barbie grabbed Ken’s hands before yanking him up “Let’s regroup with the rest.”

Barbie and Ken marched for a few meters before coming upon Sequin, Raquelle, Carrie, Taylor, and a lone Custodian. Barbie returned a sharp nod from Raquelle before addressing the golden warrior.

“Speak your name and rank, Custodian.” The Custodian stood to his full height, though he still had to look upwards to meet Barbie’s gaze. “I am brother Ulysses, at your service, milady.”

“Then tell me. Where are your brethren?” “A dozen of them scouted ahead. Two dozen more are gathering up my scattered brothers, estimates number around 20-30. As for the rest, my helmet’s sensors indicate that they are out of range.” “Out of range?” “Indeed. It appears that they are not within this realm.”

Barbie grimaced. With little more than 5-6 dozen Custodes, it would be difficult to assault Nurgle's realm. Though Barbie knew of their prowess, she acknowledged that they were not without limitations, nor would they survive against all of Nurgle's daemons.

All of a sudden, Ulysses' voice cut through the silence. "Lady Barbara! Daemons are approaching from the rear!"

A great host of daemons lumbered toward them, a sight so ghastly it caused Ken to shudder. 7 armies of 700 plaguebearers marched toward the group, accompanied by a myriad of other daemons. 

7 dozen plague drones swarmed overhead, the disgusting rot flies and plague flies creating a maddening buzzing sound. 7 groups of 7 pox riders rode around the lines, eager to catch any prey within their maws. At the head of the horde were mountains of decomposing flesh and rotting bone. Beasts of Nurgle, spurred forth by a Herald of Nurgle.

Ken drew his power sword, which glowed like the blue in his eyes. He stood next to Ulysses, finding him to be the best option for a dual defense. 

Ken nervously glanced at Ulysses' guardian spear, and back to the encroaching daemonic horde. Seeking to cut the tension, Ken asked, "So, Ulysses, what's our plan?" "Lady Barbara is the plan." "Barbie? What is she gonna do? Blow the daemons up with pink lightning?"

Barbie smirked as she threw a CD to Ulysses. "Ulysses, play this on your vox please." "It shall be done, milady."

Ulysses copied the CD's data using his armor's machine spirit, and allowed his vox to permeate freely. With the press of a button, the song played…

" Im-pe-ri-um girls were unforgettable, "

The very ground shook as a storm formed overhead. Crackles of rosé lightning appeared in the sky as Barbie glowed with energy. 

" Faith and fire, ceramite on top, " 

Barbie held out a hand, and out came a surge of pink fire. Ken, Ulysses, Raquelle, and Sequin all charged forth, prepared to meet the enemies of Man head on.

" Holy flame so hot, we'll melt your Heresy! " 

The flames broke through the daemonic lines, reducing hundreds of daemons to a pile of non-existent ash. Ken, Sequin, Raquelle, and Ulysses advanced in a tight formation, cutting or shooting down any daemons who got too close.

" Woah-oh woah-oh oh, oh, woah-oh woah-oh woah-oh!"

Barbie took out her twin power swords, each more akin to fencing sword than a longsword, and walked toward the daemons. 

" Im-pe-ri-um girls were undefiable,"

Barbie glanced back at Carrie and Taylor, who nodded in return. Using their somewhat innate knowledge of bonesinging, the duo crafted marvelous, nay fabulous , wraith knights. However, these were no ordinary wraith knights. In place of ancient Aeldari souls, these ones used the souls of the Emperor's servants who fell to Nurgle's warp spawn.

" Fine, fresh, fierce, we've got you on lock,"

The wraith knights aimed their twin suncannons to the daemonic horde, and in a magnificent display of Aeldari might (and a hint of Imperial zealousness), they unleashed a barrage of plasma, incinerating a couple hundred daemons. Meanwhile, Barbie zoomed across the battefield, slicing any daemons who crossed her path. Eventually, she managed to reach the Herald of Nurgle, who was surrounded by 7 Beasts of Nurgle.

 "Daemon Xeno scum, prepare to put your hands up!"

Barbie summoned a hail of lightning which struck the towering daemons, along with a hundred or so pox riders and plague drones, granting them a permanent death. The Herald of Nurgle received 7 cuts from Barbie, an ironic end for one so coveted by the Plaguefather.

"Woah-oh woah-oh oh, oh, woah-oh woah-oh woah-oh!"

The daemons were disoriented by the loss of their leader and the destruction of a large portion of their forces. In a panic, they fled toward the marshes, where a trap lay for them. 60 Custodes leaped from the shadows, cutting down the few hundred daemons that escaped. 

The vox crackled, "The song has ended, Lady Barbara."

"It is a rather short song, I'm afraid. You know, the Emperor personally gave it to me as a parting gift, before I, I…"

Ken, noticing the uncertainty in Barbie's voice, decided to ease the tension.

"So, Barbie. It turns out you did blow the daemons up with pink lightning."

"Of course she did! She's the 11th primarch, afterall." "Barbie's such a dearie, isn't she? Destroying the Emperor's enemies while having the grace of an eagle. Such a bold fashion statement."

Somehow, Carrie and Taylor had gained access to the vox channel, which should've been impossible considering the fact that they had no vox equipment. 

"Thank you for the support guys, but I really think we should get moving."

The strikeforce regrouped to Barbie position, with a dozen or so Custodians branching off to scout ahead. Raquelle nearly ran as she tried to keep up with Barbie, who looked somewhat morose.

"Hey Barbie! Why the long face?"

Raquelle put a hand on Barbie's shoulder, which was possible only due to her newly enhanced body, which was now around 9 feet tall. Barbie's tense face relaxed, and a slight smile replaced the frown on her face. 

"It's nothing… It's just that my Father, He… Well He's not the best parent ever, which means that He makes mistakes."

"What type of mistakes?"

"The 'My child has made a large mistake so I must censor them heavily' type of mistakes."

"Oh… did that happen to you?"

"It did. I was struck from Imperial records for being…"

"For being what, a girl?"

"For being corrupted by Slaanesh."

Chapter Text

Earlier, during the battle

"For the Emperor!"

"And for Barbie!"

"Awooo!"

Ken was fighting daemons. Actual, live (or unalive, or both, or whatever these daemons were) daemons. And the best part was that he liked it.

A swing from his power sword cut through a plaguebearer, slicing it in two. 

Behind him, a trio of daemons approached him. Ken let out a roar as he kicked the nearest one into the other two before shooting three bolter rounds; each aimed to kill.

A well placed bolter round shot through a pox rider's head, leaving the lumbering toad without a rider.

Nevertheless, Ken was still inexperienced, and he did not expect the toad to run barrelling towards him. The toad pushed Ken to the ground, though a spear found its way through the toad's head.

"Down on the ground already? Let's see how you fare against that plague drone."

Hanging on to the writhing toad, Ulysses' voice rang out amidst the chaos of Chaos. His deep, vox-enhanced words pulled Ken out of his trance.

"Above you, my lord."

Ken hurriedly looked upwards, and true to Ulysses' warning, a plague drone was swooping down. Ken aimed his bolter, which had just run out of ammo. Just as the battle fly prepared to strike, Raquelle leaped into the air, cutting the warp beasts into little more than rotting flesh.

"Thanks Raquelle."

"Don't mention it. Wouldn't want Barbie to know that her dear boyfriend nearly died to a plague drone."

Ken sighed as he reloaded the bolter, thanking the Emperor that Raquelle was somewhat friendly now.

Suddenly, flashes of light zoomed across the battlefield. Hundreds upon hundreds of daemons became enveloped in the bright explosions, which left craters everywhere.

"Ulysses, what was that?"

"Sun Cannons, Lady Raquelle. Aeldari plasma weapons, though they seem to be in the hands of Lady Carrie and Taylor."

"Whatever those were, they got Sequin spooked."

Sequin, even in the form of a mighty thunderwolf, quivered as the bright lights startled her from a killing frenzy.

"There there girl, those lights can't hurt you. Isn't that right, Ulysses?"

Ulysses was just about to answer when Raquelle shot him a steely look, one which he correctly interpreted. 

"Lord Ken is correct."

As Barbie and Raquelle talked to each other, Ken found himself in the company of Ulysses and a few other Custodes. They towered over Ken, having a good foot and a half of height over him. Among these golden, perfect warriors, Ken did feel out of place. Here he was, the runt of the group, unable to do anything more than use a sword and a big gun. 

Sure, he was an Ultramarine, a member of one of the most renowned chapters in the galaxy. But he hadn't met any other Ultramarines, and what training he received from the Emperor was basically a crash course on the entire universe. By the Throne, he hadn't even met Guilliman yet! His own "father". 

'Wait… does that mean that Barbie is my aunt?' Ken shuddered at the implications of his and Barbie's relationship, though he tried not to show it.

"Having thoughts, Lord Ken?"

"N-no. And, Lord? Me?"

His confused face earned a few laughs from the Custodes.

"Of course, Lord Ken. After all, you are Lady Barbara's consort."

"Ah, but would that not make him Lord Consort?"

"Perhaps we should create a new title for him, one befitting someone of such unique rank. Something like 'High General Lord-Consort' would suffice"

As more and more of the Custodes joined in on the conversation, Ken found himself a little more at home. 

Ulysses marched closer to Ken, walking at a leisurely pace, at least compared to a galloping horse.

"Lord… consort, did you receive any damage during the skirmish?"

"Not even a scratch. And please, just call me Ken. What about you?"

"Given my auramite armor, it would take nothing short of a greater daemon to kill me. And just so you know, a single cut from a plague sword is a death sentence to most."

"And if I did get a cut, would I die?"

"Given your Astartes enhancements, no. But you would be in horrible pain from the dozens of plagues and diseases transmitted by the blade."

"That's not much better, Ulysses."

"I'm afraid so."

Chapter Text

“Slaanesh? Isn’t she one of the Chaos Gods?” 

“She, him, they, it, or hir, even. That’s what everyone calls Slaanesh, not to mention its many, many, titles. The Dark Prince. The Prince of Pleasure. The Lord of Excess. And of course, She Who Thirsts.”

“Barbie, if you were corrupted… if you are corrupted, doesn’t that make you part daemon?”

“You’re right. I was, and still am, part daemon. However, the daemon who tried to possess me lost all of its power and sentience through a ritual conducted by my legion’s librarians.”

“So that’s why the Emperor banished you. D-did you…”

“No, Raquelle, I didn’t. Even while I was under the daemon’s influence, I never rebelled against Him. Nor did I commit any heinous acts of depravity or callousness. For several years, the daemon’s influence grew. Some of my legionnaires started feeling the daemon’s effects, and though they tried to resist it, their minds were no match for a Keeper of Secrets.”

“Then what happened?”

Barbie paused for a moment to skip over a large, green puddle of ooze. She was sure that the ooze was poisonous, or at least stinky. 

“As the daemon’s influence grew, my legionnaires exhibited the same symptoms as I did. At first, they experienced increased creativity, artistic vision, and even a desire to discover new art forms. However, those feelings became twisted and broken. Creativity turned into a drive to push the boundaries too far, their artistic vision became an excuse to create abominations, and the need to better oneself became a fruitless search for perfection. One might even mistake my Astartes for some of Fulgrim’s more desperate children.”

“Did the others find out? Did your brothers… hate you?”

“The first and only of my brothers that noticed my corruption, or at least, changes, was Magnus. It was around 5 years after my corruption when our legions performed a joint compliance. 1,000 Astartes from each of our legions descended on a world called Tant-IV…”

Tant-IV was a harsh world, one born due to unfortunate circumstances. The world’s millions-strong population was made up entirely of pirates, mercenaries, and criminal gangs, all under the rule of the ‘Planetary Crimelord’. Just as the first dozen or so Stormbirds pierced the atmosphere, the planet’s orbital cannons opened fire. Entire companies were scattered and crippled, but the main force arrived in force. A few hundred Astartes were deployed to the world’s ashen mountains to form an ambush, while a thousand or so were dropped directly into the main hive, Hive Maximus. The rest were deployed to siege Tant-IV’s population centers and ports. 

Magnus and Barbie’s Stormbird was forced to take evasive maneuvers during the initial volley before Magnus erected a psychic shield around the Stormbirds. Barbie noted Magnus’ use of the warp, something that her other brothers (save for the Lion and the Hero) knew little about. In fact, she was sure that around half of her brothers detested or even hated psykers, something which must’ve hurt Magnus’ standing with them. 

As reports came in about their casualties, Barbie felt pangs of grief from Magnus. On the other hand, Magnus felt little to nothing from Barbie. However, the Cyclops assumed that his sister either hadn’t received the reports yet or was attempting to cover her feelings. True enough, Magnus felt pangs of guilt, grief, and… disappointment? Not in herself, not in the war strategists, but in her own children. How they had allowed themselves, warriors of perfection, to fall to such lowly mortals. ‘Barbie… disappointed in her children?’. This was new to the Sorcerer King. Thus, he took a glance at his sister. 

“Barbie, you seem… different?”

“Different how, Magnus?”

“Entirely disregarding how different your warp signature feels, your behavior and actions are quite irregular.”

“I can assure you that I’m completely normal, Magnus.”

“I felt disappointment oozing out of you, Barbie. Disappointment in your sons, of all people. And your Astartes' desire for perfection? It rivals, or even exceeds, Fulgrim’s sons.”

“What exactly are you accusing me and my children of, brother?”

“I am not accusing you or your legion of anything, sister. I am merely noting irregularities in your behavior, at least compared to when we last met.”

“Ah yes, the feast on Sanguinius’ ship. It was lovely, wasn’t it?”

“It wa-”

“krrrk-My lord and lady, we have arrived-krrrk”

“Are you prepared, brother?”

“Whenever you are.”

The compliance didn’t take much time, as the combined might of the Thousand Sons and Martial Lords and their primarchs managed to overwhelm the defenses of Hive Maximus in a few hours. Magnus’ psychic skills came in handy when a contingent of ancient Men of Iron awoke, slaughtering several squads of Astartes before being turned to ash by Magnus’ psychic fire.  Meanwhile, the spaceports were all conquered, allowing for two dozen regiments of the Imperial Army to descend. Yet, Magnus noticed more irregularities about the 11th legion and their primarch. 

Pride. Desire. Excess. These emotions, while usually harmless, were worrying; they were something that Magnus expected Fulgrim and his sons to exude, not the 11th and her sons. Barbie’s sons had laughed at and enjoyed the carnage they'd wrought, but not in the way Angron’s sons would. No, they thought of war as a contest of perfection, and the more people one killed, the better they were. They were not killing for the sake of killing, but for the sake of competition. 'These thoughts must wait'. Negotiations would start soon enough, and Magnus couldn’t have his thoughts be clouded by childish suspicions. But in his heart, he still prayed for guidance, for knowledge. ‘Father, help me… May my worries be just that, worries.’

It was a week after the joint compliance's end, yet the 11th and 15th legions still sailed the stars together, as their battle doctrines seemed to be an effective match. While Magnus did enjoy the company of his sister and her sons, he would not deny that this also gave him an opportunity to conduct further “research.”

For the first few days, Magnus did not press any further into what was obviously a contentious subject. Thus, he relegated his research to passive observations and the occasional inter-legion gossip. But as the 6th day elapsed, Magnus felt as if his methods were not bringing tangible results, so he decided to bring matters into his own hands.

Surfing the tides of the warp, Magnus pried into the minds of the 11th legion’s warriors. Unsurprisingly, Magnus was able to enter their minds like a skilled thief would a house. Thoughts of desire and perfection permeated from every member of the 11th Legion. At least, every member that had traveled with his sister. Out of the collective 90,000-strong force of 11th legionnaires, only a mere 10,000 had displayed a similar warp signature to Barbie, and those happened to be the ones traveling with her.  

With extra precaution, Magnus slowly peered into the minds of the 11th legion’s librarians. Careful to not trigger their psychic defenses, Magnus discovered a terrible truth. Within them, and the other legionnaires, were shards of a powerful entity. One that resembled those whom Magnus bargained with many years ago. Concerned for his sister’s safety, Magnus located his sister through the warp and teleported into her ship.

“SISTER!”

The semi-psychic force of Magnus’ voice shattered the stained glass windows of Barbie’s chambers and nearly flung the 11th off of her feet.

“Sister! Your legionnaires, they are infected, corrupted! They-”

As Magnus struggled to maintain his composure, Barbie managed to find hers easily. Just as Magnus took another step toward Barbie, a hand grabbed his throat and another pinned him to the floor.

“They are my SONS! You DARE enter my ship, my chambers, and accuse my legion of corruption?

They are loyal servants of our Father, you have seen that yourself. Continue your accusations and perhaps it will be you who shall face judgment.”

“Forgive… me… sister…”

Magnus struggled to speak as Barbie’s hand grasped his trachea, and he didn’t dare use his psychic powers to break free. Realizing her brother’s condition, Barbie let go of Magnus’ throat.  

“However, Magnus. I know that you are not as secretive nor suspecting as the 1st, and I know that you are the most intelligent among our ranks. So, I will give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“I was… surveying the minds of your Astartes when I noticed the presence of a being.”

“You pried into the minds of my sons?”

“Yes, and before you choke me again, please. Let me explain.”

“Go on.”

“This… being, it was similar to a conclave of warp-beings that I had encountered a few years ago. It’s affecting your legionnaires, it’s affecting you. Turning your emotions into overdrive, turning the pursuit of happiness into a pursuit of perfection. If you do not get rid of this being, your legion may fall to its manipulations.”

“And this being, where does it reside?”

“Your soul. At first, I had not detected its presence, but after seeing how it wrapped invisible strings around your sons, I managed to recognize its essence hidden deep inside yourself.”

“M-me? Am I possessed?”

“It seems as such, but I’m certain that it can be killed or neutralized. I will consult my librarians, and yours, to find a ritual that may cleanse your soul.”

“What of Father? He must be told of this.”

“I think it is unwise for us to notify Father about your, erm, condition. Psykers are not exactly the most beloved of humans, and news of not only Astartes, but a primarch being corrupted by a warp-being would be borderline heresy.”

“Very well. We shall see if this ‘being’ can be expunged.”

“Not long after, Magnus and a group of 11th and 15th librarians conducted a ritual that cleansed not only my soul but the souls of my legionnaires. While we forced each and every Astartes, serf, and servitor that knew of the ritual’s existence to oaths of secrecy, the Emperor’s eyes and ears were everywhere.”

"So your Father found out?”

“He did, either through the warp signature such a ritual must’ve created or through a network of spies. A decade after the event, I was erased from Imperial records, and my sons were incorporated into the 13th Legion. I myself was banished to your-no, our-world, where I spent a few years before being summoned back here.”

“Knowing how anti-chaos your Father is, why didn’t he kill you?”

“I was His daughter. The perfect foil for all of my brothers. I could empathize as Vulkan did, yet I recognized that compassion can have limitations. I saw the necessity of justice as much as Konrad did, but I didn’t see violence as the key. I knew the power of secrets just as much as the 1st or 20th did, but I did not let them create divisions within my brothers or legion. In perhaps the only way He knew how, the Emperor allowed me to live due to his love for me.”

“So that’s why… I’m so sorry, Barbie.”

“It’s okay, Raquelle. I’ve got you, Ken, Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin! Nothing can take you guys from me.”

“Krrrk-Lady Barbara, daemons are spawning several clicks away. The scouts have spotted a cadre of greater daemons led by Ku’gath.-Krrrk”

“Ku’gath? Regroup and march in a defensive position. We will meet the daemons head-on.”

“Krrrk-Understood, milady-Krrrk”

The host of Custodes marched to the sounds of thudding auramite boots and the roars of the encroaching daemonic horde. Their golden armor shimmered as green energy emanated from the very ground, a sign of the fight to come. Suddenly, a swooping mass of rotten armor and flesh dropped from the sky. 

Landing right in front of the daemonic horde, its withered wings spread out, easily big enough to match a spaceship’s wingspan. It cocked its head upward slowly, eyes glowing green. The emerald orbs met Barbie’s eyes, shaking her to the core. Nonetheless, she drew her swords and prepared for battle.

“Come face me, Mortarion.”

Chapter Text

Rusty, dilapidated bells tolled all around him. The clanging and creaking of metal roused the Pale King from his stupor.

Mortarion’s spirit was broken and battered. Shattered and scorned from his recent defeat at the hands of Roboute Guilliman, the “Avenging Son”. His son, Typhus, had rallied more and more of the Death Guard away from the Plague Planet, eventually having tens of thousands of Astartes under his control. 

Thus, Mortarion was left in charge of a skeleton legion; one made up of only several thousand Plague Marines. If his fate was his own, the Lord of Decay would’ve chosen to stay on his throne, squandering his time to brood.

Yet, he was compelled to answer Nurgle’s summons. Whether it be for judgment, redemption, punishment, or banal servitude, he did not care.

“The grandfather awaits.”

It was terrifying.

He, was terrifying.

Barbie had not seen any of her brothers following her return, and she did not expect them to fall so low. 

His fearsome panoply of war was equal parts abominable and deadly; the several meter-long daemon scythe, Silence , served as the proverbial cherry on top.

From head to disjointed toe, Mortarion was covered in a sickly green armor, though patches of what Barbie assumed to be the original white armor were still visible.

His weathered wings were a far cry from Sanguinius' pearl white appendages. While one brother could create an atmosphere of awe and admiration with a single beat of his wings, the other spread decay and rot. The wings made the Pale King into a mockery of an angel; perhaps an intentional insult by Nurgle himself.

The grim reaper. Whatever Barbie had thought it was, she was wrong. Now she knew its true form, for it was standing right before her.

Mortarion had brought the entirety of his Plague Marines and daemons, each numbering in the thousands. Heralds of Nurgle spurred their brethren into a frenzied state, while the Astartes captains mustered their men to war.

At the front of the Death Guard, and marching right behind the Pale King himself, were 49 of the elite Deathshroud terminators.

Blisters, boils, and bloated flesh covered the Death Shrouds, Mortarion's personal bodyguards. Towering over their fellow Astartes and even terminators, their bodies have swelled due to the many blessings of Nurgle. In conjunction with their terminator armor, the blessings of Nurgle have provided them with unnatural durability, resilience, and tenacity. 

To fully strike one down would require enough firepower to level a small town, or alternatively, a mighty hero of the Imperium.

Fortunately, Barbie's host was made up of just that: Heroes.

As minutes passed, the anxiety that always preceded battle started to cloud Barbie's thoughts. Never had she fought one of her own brothers, at least with the intention to kill. 

She knew that Mortarion would not be stopped by what most beings would think of as a mortal wound. No, it would require the total annihilation of his body to rid the galaxy of his existence. 

'And therein lies the problem.' 

Mortarion's enhanced durability would be a challenge for Barbie, who's fighting style was based on swift yet fatal strikes. In order to strike Mortarion down, Barbie risked being hit by one of his own. So instead, she decided to use a little assistance.

The sky turned a shade of grey as rose lightning crackled overhead. The winds of the warp made their way through the daemonic ranks before coalescing in the storm.

With a similar thunderous crack, a bolt of lightning struck the ground which Mortarion stood on. A dozen of his terminators were reduced to ash, though he himself was still alive and well. 

"Barbara, you coward... Come face me, sister!"

The voice was nothing more than a hiss, but it was audible by all.

With that, Mortarion took to the skies. His massive wings created shockwaves as they moved. In response, Barbie ran at superhuman speeds to meet her brother head on.

Raising his scythe, Mortarion screamed a scream felt across the battlefield, one of sorrow, grief, resentment, and anger. 

The scythe's blade was stopped in its tracks by Barbie's twin power swords, which struggled to stand firm against Mortarion's overwhelming strength.

"Look at how far you've fallen, brother"

"At least my name is still remembered in the annals of history, sister"

"So be it, daemon"

The two primarchs battled each other as their respective troops collided. As always, the Custodes stood strong against the daemons, managing to slow their advance. The hundreds of plague flies and other lesser daemons proved incapable of even scratching their armor. However, the Astartes and greater daemons proved to be a challenge for them.

Ken Rnd Raquelle were in the midst of the fighting, slaying daemons back to back. Meanwhile, Sequin was creating a perimeter around Carrie and Taylor, who were crafting new wraithbone constructs to halt or kill the warp spawn.

Ken glanced at Barbie, who was still engaging in a vicious duel with the Lord of Death. Each strike by either foe would've killed an Astartes ten times over, yet they stood tall and proud. Barbie managed to stab or cut through Mortarion's armor, but they proved to be nothing more than surface wounds. 

"Father, give me the strength to best my wayward brother…"

In the skies above the Garden of Nurgle, a golden ship arrived. Clad in Imperial heraldry and the signets of the Custodes, it was the Dauntless Spear. Within were over 200 custodes, led by a certain warp-infused primarch.

Chapter Text

The sounds of clashing steel filled the air as Barbie dueled the Pale King.

Strike after strike, neither Primarch had become even slightly fatigued.

Mortarion retracted his scythe before readjusting his grip and swinging it at Barbie.

Barbie slammed her power swords upwards to block and redirect the scythe’s blade.

Having lost momentum, Mortarion redrew his scythe and swung it overhead. However, this provided Barbie with just enough time to strike.

Lunging at her brother, Barbie extended her swords. Mortarion was too slow to block or dodge Barbie’s swords, which were aimed at his chest.

The twin swords pierced Mortarion’s chest, finding themselves deep within his chest cavity.

For any other being, be it daemon, primarch, or both, this would’ve crippled-if not killed-them.

But for Mortarion, it was merely an inconvenience.

Nurgle’s blessings had granted the Pale King unnatural durability, far surpassing that of any other Primarch, save for perhaps that of the Red Angel’s.

Laughing heartily, Mortarion swung his armored fist at Barbie, sending her flying dozens of feet.

He then pulled the twin power swords out, throwing them to the ground.

Barbie landed amongst a pair of plague bearers, who were surprised to see such an opponent lying on the ground.

Before they could even move, however, Barbie blasted them with a crushing telekinetic blast.

Barbie took her surroundings in, seeing the carnage and madness that covered the battlefield.

Custodes fought back to back as an innumerable tide of daemons broke upon their glistening armor.

Carrie and Taylor’s wraithbone constructs would rise and fall within a matter of seconds, unable to fully halt Nurgle’s daemons.

Meanwhile, Ken, Raquelle, and Sequin fought tooth and nail to even survive against the plague drones and Beasts of Nurgle.

Barbie yearned to help them; she knew that against Mortarion and Ku'gath's legions, her forces were outmatched.

However, she was far too preoccupied with her daemonic brother.

Seeing Mortarion advance slowly to her, Barbie called upon her psychic powers.

Like an echo of the previous battle, Barbie's eyes and hands glowed pink as the skies grew darker.

Mortarion gripped his scythe harder, knowing what would happen soon.

The winds howled as the sky turned a dark gray.

The ground cracked as psychic hums reverberated through the air.

Barbie raised a single hand and clenched it.

In a display of power unseen since the Heresy, the skies tore open as a massive bolt of energy poured forth.

For the briefest of moments, Nurgle's realm grew bright.

Daemons burned from the mere light given off by the blast.

It burned through the airborne pox flies and plague drones, banishing them to a realm of unexistence.

Its path never veered nor changed, eventually hitting its target.

However, the bolt did not strike any daemon.

It struck Barbie.

The ground beneath her was scorched black, any daemonic taint burnt out.

But her body remained untouched, save for the pulsing aura surrounding her.

The aura coalesced around the still-clenched hand before solidifying into a sword.

It was as long as an Astartes was tall, and its golden hilt was adorned with rubies and diamonds.

The blade itself was sharp enough to cut through the most durable of foes; including Mortarion.

Its design was a near copy of the Emperor's own sword, though shorter and slimmer.

An unbreakable sword wrought into existence with warp-craft.

Deadly to any and all neverborn and the like.

Though none had named it yet, all knew of its purpose; the Daemonbane.

Barbie moved at lightning speed towards Mortarion and his horde as the former took flight.

Mortarion flew high before descending towards the ground like an unholy angel; a dark mirror of the IXth.

With each passing second, the two siblings closed in on each other.

Mortarion’s wings beat furiously as Barbie’s legs ran as fast as they

Silence was raised high, its sharp blade yearning to infect another being with Nurgle's blessings, before slamming into Barbie.

With a mighty swing, Barbie's sword clashed with Silence, sending a shockwave throughout the battle field.

The unending daemonic legions crashed against the Custodes, who, with deft ease, cut them to pieces.

But for every few hundred daemons and Astartes felled, a Custodes did too.

Whether by sheer numbers or brute force, the Custodian ranks would thin and thin.

Concentrated fire from three heavy weapons Astartes squads reduced a Custodes to a hole-riddled corpse.

Pox grenades and cruel diseases burned like acid, leaving one's face evenly split between bone and flesh. The Custodian's once brown hair had disintegrated into a mushy ooze.

A Great Unclean One crushed another beneath its feet before tearing it in two.

With only a couple dozen Custodes left, Barbie’s forces were overwhelmed.

Raquelle, Ken, and Sequin were forced to retreat time and time again as the Nurglites beat them back.

Carrie and Taylor nearly died to a Deathshroud, who was killed by Ulysses’ hand.

The five of them managed to reach the other Custodes who were fighting in a tight-knit formation.

The group easily integrated themselves into the formation by taking up supportive roles.

Carrie and Taylor provided cover while Raquelle, Ken, and Sequin protected the duo.

Seeing a plague drone careening toward Carrie and Taylor, Ken leaped into the air before slicing it in two

The power sword easily cleaved the chaos spawn, and it soon found itself within another's chest.

The Emperor's gift to Raquelle, the Pariah gene, was instrumental in her survival.

Daemons shrieked as she approached them, her very being rending theirs into nothing.

Those who did not immediately dissipate attempted to retreat, but a slash from Raquelle's sword would leave them in twain.

However, a sufficiently powerful daemon could survive in a blank's presence.

Something a Great Unclean One could accomplish.

Sitting atop a horrid palanquin carried by a small army of Nurglings, Ku'gath laughed heartily.

From his body grew disease-carrying Nurglings, ones that the Plaguefather would use to inflict chaos upon his foes.

Surrounding him were a group of seven Great Unclean Ones, each with their small host of daemons.

The neverborn and Astartes were renewed with a mad glee at the sight of their god's once-favorite servant and his entourage.

The Custodes were pushed back even further, having already lost another of their number to the Deathshroud terminators.

The Nurglings ran up the Custodes before unleashing poisonous fumes or acidic toxins, smearing their golden armor in filth and rust.

"Lord Ken! We must find a way to breach the daemonic lines. We cannot survive this confrontation, least of all with the Great Unclean Ones."

Ken heard Ulysses' voice through the chaos of battle, and he spared a second to look at him.

This proved to be a mistake, which was taken advantage of by a cunning plaguebearer.

Jumping onto Ken's back, it desperately tried to stab through his armor.

Fortunately, the ceramite armor proved solid enough to withstand the strikes.

This allowed Ken to grab and throw it to the ground, allowing Sequin to shred it to pieces.

Ken made his way to Ulysses, who was occupied with a duo of Deathshroud terminators.

Ken shot at the two traitors, though it did little more than annoy them. This distraction, however, gave Ulysses enough time to thrust his spear into the nearest terminator.

Noticing his brother's death, the remaining Deathshroud looked on with apathy. Suddenly, a sword cleaved his body into two, rotten halves.

"My lady and lord, we must depart."

"What about Barbie?"

"We will regroup with her, my lord."

"Ulysses, Ken and I will cut a hole in their defenses. Your Custodes will guard our rear."

"Very well. The Emperor protects."

Raquelle and Ken jumped over the Custodes towards the nearest daemons, slaying them with sword and bolter.

Having created an opening, the duo ordered the Custodes to tactically retreat. Slowly disengaging from their formations, the Custodes, along with Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin, followed Raquelle and Ken.

They carved a path through the daemonic hordes, cutting through daemons and Astartes alike. Even the Beasts of Nurgle proved to be of little hindrance, being easily dispatched by the bolter fire of a dozen guardian spears.

But as the Custodian host came nearer to Barbie's location, the skies poured with Nurglite magic.

Ku'gath had unleashed his warp-crafted spores and poisons upon the battlefield, bestowing the daemons with unnatural blessings and weakening anything else.

Ken, Carrie, Taylor, Sequin, and Raquelle all stopped within their tracks, the nauseating aura of the spores and poisons slowing their mortal minds.

The Custodes, while faring far better, still felt trickles of poison affecting them.

The daemons once again broke against the Custodian lines like rain on a rock, grinding their escape to a halt as Ken and his forces were forced to defend themselves.

Ku'gath laughed as he saw the effect his poisons had wrought upon the mortals.

Though less effective than he'd hoped for, this particular batch of toxins could be used to turn the Khornate berserkers into a force of unsteady weaklings.

More importantly, killing these mortals would afford him Nurgle's favor once more, especially if the Anathema's spawn could strike down the blasted primarch.

Just as the Great Unclean One prepared to unleash another toxin, flashes of light appeared among his entourage.

No matter how hard she tried, Mortarion was far too formidable for even her.

Each swing, each cut, each strike was supposed to be crippling or fatal. But to her brother, they would not take long to heal.

Fortunately, Daemonbane did provide Barbie with respite, for any wounds inflicted by it could not heal, much to the fervent ire of Mortarion.

The Pale King's stomach had been pierced by Daemonbane, causing scraps of his gut to leak out with each movement.

Barbie swung blow after blow at her brother, who either blocked it with Silence or shrugged it off.

She tried to summon the energies of the warp, but was interrupted by a backhand from Mortarion. The armored fist crashed against her chest plate, deforming it in the shape of a crude hand.

Barbie flew through trees and rocks, leaving a trail of broken trees in her path.

Eventually stopping at her seventh tree, Barbie braced herself as Mortarion swooped in, swinging Silence with both hands.

The scythe nearly pierced Barbie's armor, only being stopped by Daemonbane. Barbie struggled to stand against her brother's strength, which was, thanks to Nurgle's blessings, beyond that of many of her brothers.

The gears and pistons within Barbie's armor whined at her exertion, the sounds of machinery being put to its limits. Even its usually stoic machine spirit expressed worry at its wearer.

"There is no reason to struggle, sister…"

Mortarion's raspy voice bled from his rebreather, the sounds which his throat made was enough to turn most men mad.

"Nngh, never. There is always reason, there is always-"

Mortarion pushed more and more into Silence, driving Barbie to her knees.

"-there is always hope, daemon."

"Daemon? You speak of the word as if you were not one many years ago."

"Possession is different from becoming one, brother. Have you finally accepted your "gifts"?"

"You DARE."

Mortarion readjusted his grip before swinging Silence into Daemonbane, finally pushing Barbie to the ground.

"I do not so readily rely on my curse as some of our brothers do. I have bested Guilliman before, and I shall best you too!"

Mortarion's armored boot found itself atop Barbie's body, exerting enough pressure to crack adamantium. Barbie was helpless to resist, with Daemonbane lying meters away from her hand.

Mortarion slowly raised Silence over his head, intent on finishing what he started to do.

Out of the lights stepped out 20 Allarus terminators, wielding Castellan axes and Balistus Grenade Launchers.

In a matter of moments, the bodies of Ku'gath's followers adorned the soil as the Custodes released salvo after salvo of armor-piercing and explosive rounds.

Four of the seven Great Unclean Ones had perished in only a few seconds, and the rest were laid low by the precise strokes of the Custodes.

Their Castellan axes sheared rotten bone and gelatinous flesh, leaving a clean and fatal cut.

Ku'gath, seeing his entourage fall so quickly to the golden warriors, bid his Nurglings to retreat; to fall back and live for another day.

Yet fate had another destiny in store for the Plaguefather.

A massive, dark, and shadowy avian form descended from the skies, flying like a comet toward Ku'gath. Unaffected by the toxins and poisons, its beak was opened wide in a murderous cry.

Ku'gath could only wait for the inevitable before his body was torn to pieces by the creature, whose cries filled the nightmares of every daemon.

Ku'gath's heart was torn from his chest and eaten by the avian creature, resulting in the daemon's true death.

The avian creature's form shifted and cracked, the cacophony of cracking bones and popping joints creating a rhythmic sound.

Its form solidified as that of a man's. As that of Corvus Corax.

"Sister… nevermore shall you fight alone."

Chapter Text

As each second passed, more and more of the Custodes teleported to the battlefield.

Guardians Spears, Castellan Axes, and Power Swords cut down the daemonic soldiers, easily cleaving through even the armored Astartes and blubbery Nurglites. 

The reinforcements gathered around the battered Custodes, who now numbered no more than two dozen, having lost three thirds of their original number.

Tybalus was among these Custodes. Using deft skill, he cleaved a daemon in half with his spear before driving it through an Astartes' chest. 

Seeing the corrupted Astartes struggle disgusted Tybalus. "Traitor filth" he remarked, right before he drove the spear upwards, splitting the Astartes' head in two.

Amidst the slaughter, a voice called out to Tybalus.

"Tybalus! You have come, and with plenty of reinforcements.""Tybalus! You have come, and with plenty of reinforcements."

"Brother Ulysses. I see that you still stand."

"Indeed I do. Let us drive these daemons to death!"

Tybalus turned on his vox channel, connecting to each and every Custodes on the battlefield.

" Krrrk… Brothers, form a phalanx around Lord Ken and his allies. Emperor protects …Krrrk "

As if they had practiced a thousand times before, the auric warriors weaved through the daemons and each other to form a shield wall. 

Having formed a tight formation with the survivors, the Custodes advanced upon the broken daemonic legions.

 Nearly two shield companies strong, the renewed Custodian host was near unstoppable. It mattered not if they were daemon, Astartes, or something far greater.

They would all fall. 

The Emperor decrees it so.

Just as he was about to bring Silence down upon Barbie, a voice interrupted him.

“My lord, the Custodes have received reinforcements. Our forces are outmatched, and Ku’gath has been killed.”

His bodyguards, the Deathshroud, had finally caught up to him.

Their bloated bodies swayed with each undaunting step, their manreapers covered in rust and toxins. 

“Interrupt me again and I will ensure Silence tastes your blood. However, tell our forces to withdraw. I will follow suit. Now, where was I…” 

Mortarion raised Silence up high, the despotic scythe's blade glimmering in the sickly green sunlight of Nurgle's realm. 

Mortarion looked down at Barbie, whose eyes met his own. The two siblings stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Unnerved by Barbie’s gaze, Mortarion averted his gaze before gripping his scythe harder.

“Goodbye, sister.”

Mortarion heaved Silence before swinging down at Barbie’s body.

She would have died that day were it not for an intervention.

Just as Mortarion’s scythe was an inch away from piercing Barbie’s armor, a black tendril stopped its momentum.

Mortarion’s eyes widened as he stared in disbelief at the being who stood in front of him.

The shifting mass of inky flesh and oily substance ignited a deep fear in the Death Lord’s heart, as it did in any daemon who saw this being.

What seemed close enough to a mouth cracked open, the sounds of disjointed bone and tendons filled the air.

Air escaped through its cavity, and what came out sounded more like a cry of horror than a whispered word.

“M̴͖̓͒͗̔͆ȏ̶̩̣͇͙̩̾͂̅̓͠r̵̳͎̫̬̀̇͗t̸̨̳̮̮̕̕a̶̞̐͝͝͠r̷͚̙̦͕̺̫͒̔̎ȋ̵̭̞̣͜͝o̷͔̳͙̤̊̍̈́̓n̸̨̠̺͊̉̍̈́”

Mortarion lifted his leg from Barbie’s chest, stumbling back a few paces. His Deathshrouds were equally, if not more shaken. Their transhuman minds were unable to cope with the eldritch horror.

The Pale King was frozen in place out of fear, which allowed Corax to lunge at the daemon primarch. 

“Ḑ̵̧̯͔̬̑̍ė̷̢̯̙͉͈̓̍͌̈ą̵̲̻̤̞̎͋̈͂̄ṫ̸̰̤̇͛̅̄͛h̸̘̮̋”

Changing form into a massive raven, Corax grabbed Mortarion in his sword-like talons before sending him crashing through the forest and into the sky.

Meanwhile, Barbie recuperated from her brother’s attacks. The Deathshroud surrounded her, thirty of Mortarion’s most trusted warriors. 

The XIth slowly came to her feet, though it was apparent that she was in no condition to fight.

Taking no time to act, a Deathshroud swung at Barbie, who narrowly dodged the blow. 

Barbie swung her fist at the Astartes’ head, breaking his helmet and cracking his jaw.

The dazed Astartes roared in anguish, which spurred the others to attack Barbie. 

She dodged dozens of strikes and blows from manreapers, phosphex bombs, and poisonous bolters.

Barbie tried to summon her powers, but she couldn’t concentrate. 

With her sword lying far behind the Astartes, there was little hope for Barbie.

Yet still, she fought on bravely. 

Barbie dodged a manreaper, before grabbing its wielder and smashing him into his brethren. Taking the Deathshroud’s manreaper, Barbie parried and disarmed another before driving the scythe into his armored body.

Unfortunately, Barbie was struck in the back by a manreaper. Though it did not pierce deeply into her flesh, the toxins and poisons provided Barbie with a level of pain that she did not enjoy. 

Taking her moment of weakness to their advantage, the Deathshrouds increased their brutality, battering Barbie’s defenses with blow after blow. 

Barbie could not dodge any longer, her body too strained by the poisons that infected her.

Suddenly, flashes of light appeared in her periphery. Just as soon as the lights arrived, they faded away, revealing 16 Custodians. All clad in Allarus Terminator armor.

The Allarus terminators surrounded the Deathshroud, the Custodians’ balistus grenade launchers aimed directly at them.

At the head of the strikeforce was the Blade Champion and second-in-command of the entire Custodian detachment, Kambyses Gandash.

In one hand, the Blade Champion held a 7-foot-long Klaimor, Imperator Lux, and in the other was his Nemis, Imperator Ira.

The two blades crackled with blue energy as Kambyses leaped at the nearest Deathshroud, slicing him in two.

The other Custodians opened fire, their balistus grenade launchers burrowing deep in the Astartes’ flesh before exploding in a hail of gore and armor.

One by one, the fearsome Deathshroud were reduced to bits of mangled flesh by blade and bullet.

Kambyses enjoyed a particularly clean record, managing to have killed 7 of them with nary a scratch.

He advanced towards Barbie, who was surrounded by three Deathshrouds, one of them being particularly tall.

Kambyses roared as he thrust his Klaimor into a Deathshroud’s back while throwing his Nemis into another’s head.

The Blade Champion pulled his Klaimor from the Deathshroud’s wriggling corpse and swung it at the taller Deathshroud, who managed to block the sword with his manreaper.

“You will die, servant of the Corpse Emperor.”

“Says the monster who resembles a corpse more than any I’ve seen before.”

The Deathshroud flew into a rage, his strikes becoming heavier yet sloppier.

His manreaper flailed through the air, eventually striking the ground. 

In the millisecond it took for him to retract his scythe, Kambyses cut the Astartes’ head. 

The bulbous head rolled off the rotting body, ending the Deathshroud’s miserable existence.

Kambyses took a breath of relief before muttering to himself, “I hope I have made you proud, Rimush.”.

Taking a moment, he surveyed his surroundings, seeing the last of the Astartes being cut down by the Custodians.

He sheathed his blades before walking towards Barbie. His golden armor chinked against Barbie’s, who was in a state of near unconsciousness. 

The Blade Champion called out to his brothers, ordering an evacuation.

“Brothers! Lady Barbara is safe. I will teleport to the Dauntless Spear, and the rest of you will assist Lord Ken. Gloria excelcis Imperator.”

The other Custodians banged on their chest plates before teleporting to the ongoing battlefield. 

Laughing contently, Kambyses activated his teleporter and homed in on the Dauntless Spear. In an instant, he arrived within the ship’s golden-plated halls.

Chapter Text

Mortarion struggled against the iron-grip of Corax's claws.

His blows had little effect on his brother's avian form, doing little more than annoy him.

Having lost grip and sight of Silence shortly after Corax took to the skies, Mortarion was nearly unarmed. Fortunately for the Nurglite Primarch, he always kept a sidearm or two.

Taking out The Lantern, an archaic energy pistol dating back over ten millennia, Mortarion unleashed shot after shot at Corax's body.

The weapon's energy bolts singed Corax's feathers and caused them to light up, which Mortarion took advantage of by grabbing a fistful of Phosphex Grenades and sticking them into his brother's side.

The grenades exploded in brutal fashion, and soon Corax's body was enveloped in red-white flames. He shrieked in pain as the flames ate away at his body, leaving charred feathers in their wake.

Having retracted his hand at the last second, Mortarion was unharmed by the grenades' blast. The Pale King continued to fire his pistol at Corax, only stopping once it ran out of ammo.

By that point, Corax's body was charred and covered in flames. The agony was nearly unbearable, but Corax still fought through the pain.

Corax rose higher and higher into the sky until he finally dropped Mortarion.

The Death Lord plunged down to the ground, unable to use his wings as a result of the earlier skirmish. He tried summoning a plague drone, but they were all too busy fighting the Custodes.

Just as Mortarion was thinking of a way out, sword-like claws penetrated his body, causing him to wince in pain.

Corax retracted his claws before tearing into his brother's body. Bits of armor and even flesh flew as the Raven Lord tore into Mortarion's body, with the latter being unable to effectively stop him.

The two continued to fight as they plummeted to the ground as neither was willing to relent just yet.

Even if they did not do much, Mortarion continued to strike and punch Corax's body, even managing to crack his beak.

Spurred by the pain, Corax doubled down on his assault, instantly piercing Mortarion's lungs and tearing them to shreds.

The Pale King tried to scream in agony, but his now non-existent lungs could not provide any air. In his moment of unbearable agony, Mortarion's eyes and hands glowed green..

Suddenly, Corax was blasted away by a volatile blast of Warp energy. The blast pushed Corax away from Mortarion while covering him in corrosive substances.

Mortarion had tapped into the Warp once more, though he enjoyed not one second of it. But for all of his disdain for psykers, Mortarion did admit the usefulness of being one.

Having shaken off his avian brother, Mortarion prepared himself for the incoming impact. Like a pox-ridden meteor, Mortarion crashed into the ground, creating an audible shockwave that stretched for kilometers.

The Pale King stood once more before falling to his knees. His injuries too many and his will too shattered, he simply could not fight anymore.

Taking a few deep breaths, Mortarion collapsed on his back.

Chapter Text

The tide of daemons slowly and surely receded, their number being thinned down as each second passed by.

The combined might of nearly two hundred Custodes proved insurmountable. At the head of the Custodian force were Ken, Raquelle, and Ulysses, who were flanked by squads of Allarus Custodians.

The Allarus Custodians mowed down rows upon rows of enemies, their balistus grenade launchers making short work of even the largest daemons and Astartes. 

Those that survived were quickly cut down by Castellan Axes and Klaimors, beaten by Stormshields, and crushed underneath auramite boots.

Ken was getting particularly adept at killing daemons, mirroring the efficiency of other notable Ultramarines: Malum Caedo, Titus, and Uriel Ventris.

His Power Sword was now covered in guts and ichor, though that didn't make the blade's edge any less dull. 

"Lord Ken, have you named your blade? I assume you have." Ulysses asked.

Ken, while dodging a swing from a plague bearer, answered back, "Erm, not yet. I'm kinda-"

Out of nowhere, a plague drone swooped in from above. It nearly caught Ken off guard, though he managed to bring it down with a few bolts.

"-busy right now."

Having overheard the conversation, Raquelle chimed in as well.

"Ya know, Ken. I really think you should name it!"

"Now?"

"Sure, why not!"

"Well, how about-"

Ken paused for a moment as he aimed at a trio of pox riders, this time killing both the rider and the beast.

"How about Daemonslayer?"

"Too cliché."

"Lightning Edge?"

"You've got no lightning, Ken."

"Fine, do you have any ideas?"

"Hmm… Ulysses, what's Lat-, um, High Gothic for silver sword?"

"Argentum gladio, Lady Raquelle."

"How about that, Ken?"

"I'll think about it."

Barbie awoke in a white room filled with bright white lights and an overall sterile look to it.

She sat upright, taking a moment to stretch her body. As Barbie surveyed her surroundings, she recognized where she was.

'A med bay'

Just as Barbie attempted to stand up, a medical officer came up to her.

"Lady Barbara, you must rest."

"Thank you, erm, what's your name?"

"Jeff. Jeff the senior medical officer"

"Thank you, Jeff, but I did not come all the way here just to spend my days in a med bay."

"And thank you, Lady Barbara, but I did not spend three decades at my Schola to study the anatomy of transhumans and another 7 under rigorous surveillance in the Imperial Palace just to have my advice dismissed."

"Well, I guess I could stay. Could you at least ask the Custodians for a battle report?"

"If it does not hamper your healing, then yes. I might."

"Thanks Jeff. And um, you might?" 

"I might. Now please, rest."

With that, Jeff the medical officer exited the room.

A few seconds later, a Custodian entered.

"Oh, did Jeff call you?"

"No. I could hear you from the door, milady."

Down on the surface, Carrie and Taylor were having fun. Even among the slaughter and warfare. 

Oh, and not to mention the hordes of stinky and repulsive daemons. 

"Oh dearie! Carrie, I never thought we'd do, um, this!"

“Me neither! To think that one minute we’re celebrating Sequin’s birthday, and the next we’re shooting small suns at demons.”

“Don’t forget the a.”

“Ah right, daemons.”

Carrie and Taylor were well-protected, being sandwiched between hundreds of Custodes. Thus, they could spare a few moments of small talk.

“Carrie, darling. How do you think Barbie is doing?”

“I hope she’s still alive. That brother of hers is quite horrendous.”

“If only we could’ve helped her.”

“Say, what if we ask one of these golden fellas?”

“I’m not sure they can answer our question-”

Carrie had already started talking to a Custodian, who was busy shooting out plague drones and battle flies. 

“Hi, um, Custodian. Have you any news on Barbie?”

The golden-covered warrior shot down another airborne daemon before putting down his Lastrum-Pattern bolter. Taking a second to gather and analyze the battle reports inside his HUD, the Custodian reported his findings.

“The Allarus terminators have rescued Lady Barbara. She is aboard the Dauntless Spear.”

With that, the Custodian returned to firing upon the chaos spawn.

Within a few minutes, the daemonic legions were broken. Most of their leaders had been put down by sharpened blades and explosive rounds, leaving them vulnerable to a focused assault.

Those daemons who stayed firm died a quick death, while the more cowardly ones found themselves pursued by the Emperor’s talons.

As the battle died down, the Custodes branched off into kill-teams to eliminate any surviving daemons.

Heracal, Ganyth, and Norvius were a trio of Sentinel Guards. Since their induction into the Adeptus Custodes, the three of them had fought side by side.

Their closeness lended itself to their role as Sentinel Guards. 

This branch of the Custodes were famous for their ability to halt an enemies advance and cut them down, as well as their extreme levels of coordination and team work.

Wielding Praesidium Shields and Sentinel Blades, the three Custodes moved as a tight group. 

They marched through the swampy terrain, slicing through crooked trees and crawling bugs to clear their path. 

Any and all daemons they encountered met a swift end. 

A blow from the Praesidium shield crushed a plaguebearer, a swing from the Sentinel Blade sliced a pox rider and its steed, while a stomp was all it took to end a nurgling’s life.

“ Krrrrk - Custodes, new objective. Locate and apprehend the target. Reports indicate Mortarion has crashed a few clicks away. Target is highly dangerous. - Krrrrk ”

“Heracal, do you have a visual on the target?”

“1 ½ a clicks away, brother.”

“Prepare yourselves. He might put up a fight.”

The trio walked for a few minutes before arrivin at Mortarion’s location. By that point, a few squads of Custodes had surrounded the wounded Primarch, who was currently unconscious. 

Norvius slowly approached Mortarion’s body, his Sentinel Blade ready for battle. The Custodian walked down the large impact crater caused by the Primarch’s large fall. 

Norvious inspected the Primarch’s body. The misshapen armor and rotting flesh were obvious signs of Nurgle’s corruption, yet there was a distinct feeling of… humanity.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Norvius raised his Sentinel Blade.

“By decree of the Emperor, I judge you guilty, Lord of Death.” 

Just as Norvius prepared to shove his sword into Mortarion’s body, an ink-black mist emerged out of nowhere.

The mist enveloped the Primarch’s body and rose to obscure Norvius’ vision. Try as he might, the Custodian could not peer into the mist.

Just as soon as it appeared, the mist disappeared in short order. And as it did, so did Mortarion’s body.

Chapter Text

Mortarion awoke in a vast realm of darkness. What little light pierced through the darkness flickered and died down as the skies themselves shifted.

His body, still broken and torn to shreds, lay beside a pool of water.

An unnatural thirst formed in Mortarion's mind as his throat grew dry.

Crawling his way to the pool, Mortarion gasped for a release. To quench his thirst. 

Mortarion had not felt any thirst, hunger, nor fatigue for thousands of years, even before his ascension to daemonhood. It was clear that this thirst was of unnatural and perhaps psychic design.

Yet Mortarion could not fight it.

Mortarion crawled slowly towards the water source, the thirst becoming almost maddening with each passing second. In a few moments, he reached the pool's edge before scooping up a handful of water with his right hand. 

Handful after handful of water poured into Mortarion's mouth and down his throat, but his thirst was not quenched. The Primarch continued gulping down gallons of water, never stopping unless to take a breath.

A voice called out to Mortarion.

"The water is cold, is it not?"

The voice was barely a whisper, yet Mortarion could hear and sense a feeling of conviction from its speaker.

"Corax."

"Mortarion."

Mortarion sat upright, wiping the water from his lips.

"Has the Emperor's justice come to clean up the trash?" 

The Pale King turned towards his brother, who, ironically, was even paler than himself.

Corax looked at him with a scornful look. Mortarion was certain that his brother could easily end his life, but… would he?

"You are beneath trash, brother."

'That possibility seems quite likely' thought Mortarion.

"Yet I am still your brother."

"Regrettably."

"How and when will you strike me down?"

"I… have not come to kill you, Mortarion. Our Father may need you."

Mortarion was speechless, not at Corax's "mercy", nor the Emperor's need for him, but at the acknowledgment of the Emperor being his Father.

Mortarion was enraged and tried to show it, but his weakened body prevented him from engaging his brother. Instead, he spat at Corax.

Corax looked indignantly at the blotch of spit on his black armor, more disgusted by the act of defiance than the physical inconvenience.

"Do you not wish to serve Father once more?"

"I have spent millennia serving a God, I will not serve another."

"A God? It seems Lorgar's fanaticism has affected you as well."

"Do you deny it? Do you deny Him , brother?"

"I do not deny his power, nor His actions. But Father is-"

"A God."

"Then tell me, Mortarion, how have you come to this conclusion?"

"No 'man' could ever accomplish what He has. The creation of 20 sons, all demigods in their own right. Thousands of perfect warriors, resembling the angels from ancient myths more than science experiments."

"So our Father accomplished technological marvels? And for that, you call him a God? You sound like a primitive witnessing a voidship for the first time."

"Hmph, you don't see it, do you?"

"If you're referring to our intrinsic nature, then I can assure you. I do."

"Yes, we are all minor warp entities. Warp gods, if you will. But how did He collect these gods?"

"He likely made a deal with them."

"No, brother. He split Himself into shards. Inside all of us exists a shard of the Emperor's soul and psyche. That, brother, is my revelation for you."

"Ah, I see. And where did you attain this… 'revelation', hm?"

"The Emperor. As He inhabited Guilliman's form, I could see the truth. The truths ."

"Truths?"

"No one ever really dies. Not even… Horus."

Corax's form bulged with empiric energies and began growing into a larger form.

"Am I not allowed to mention the ex-favored son of the Emperor?" 

"Insinuate that our brother still lives and I might finally kill you.

"Before that, where do you think his Warp deity, or rather, His shard, went following his death?"

"...Father…"

On the ground, the Custodes were on high alert.

The sudden disappearance of Mortarion caused the Custodes to form search parties to search a kilometers wide area.

Shield-captain Jornus had tasked Kambyses with finding Mortarion's body. 

The Blade Champion was even about to personally aid the search parties, before he was stopped by a voice.

"Recall your men, Custodian. Mortarion is in my realm."

"Your realm?"

"I deemed him to be too dangerous to be kept on a ship."

"Is that all you've done with him?"

"I have not, and will not, betray you."

"I will take your word for it, Raven Lord."

Kambyses turned his vox-channel on and broadcast it to every Custodian.

" Krrk - Custodes, report and teleport back to the Dauntless Spear. Target has been captured by Lord Corax. - Krrk "

In a matter of seconds, pings of recognition were sent to Kambyses through the Custodes' machine spirits.

 "Now, Custodian, where is my sister?"

"The medbay, my lord."

With that, Corax's body dissipated into a formless mist, leaving ashy residue on wherever it touched.

The medbay was silent, as requested by senior medical officer Jeff.

The only audible sound was the sound of Barbie's fingers tapping her datapad.

She grimaced at every casualty, every victim or war. But a part of her recognized the price of a life as a Custodian. 

They were to lay down their lives for the Emperor, no matter the cost.

Slowly but surely, an uneasy feeling formed within Barbie's thoughts.

She glanced at the corners of the room, spotting nor sensing any intruders.

That was until an ink-black mist started to appear. 

Barbie's adrenaline spiked as her heart beat faster and faster. However, she was nowhere near fighting condition.

But as the mist started to rise and coalesce, Barbie felt a familiar presence emanating from the dark abyss.

"C-Corvus?"

As the mist took its form, there was no reply. But once the Raven Lord's body solidified within the medbay, he uttered a single word in response.

"Yes."

Barbie unconsciously jerked upwards, wanting to properly greet and hug her non-traitorous brother.

However, she winced in pain before abruptly falling onto her back. 

Corax was swift enough to cushion the blow with his hands, which were unarmoured. 

He gently laid Barbie on her back, making sure to set the pillows in what he thought was a comfortable position. 

“Corvus! You’re here! I-I… I missed you, Raven .”

“Ah, that nickname. You were quite fond of it.”

“I was… how did you survive? A-and Mortarion, is he-”

“Worry not, sister. As for our brother, he is injured, but alive within my realm.”

“Your realm?”

“Once you’re better, you can visit it. Be warned, however. The only colors in it are black and an opaque white.”

“Very funny, Corvus.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, ships started to trickle in behind the Dauntless Spear.

Cloaked by the impossibilities of the Warp, the Terminus Est and its entourage pursued the Custodian vessel.

At the bridge of the Terminus Est sat a hulking mass of flesh, armor, and rot.

Calas Typhon. Or, as he was known as currently…

Typhus.

Chapter Text

Corvus spent half an hour so with Barbie, talking about both of their past experiences.

Barbie's life in Los Angeles and how different humanity seemed was Corvus' favorite subject point, while the efforts Corvus went through to avenge her brothers was Barbie's.

"Speaking of my life in Los Angeles, I think my friends are arriving."

"Does this mean I'll be the second family member to meet your partner?"

"Erm, y-yeah? I mean, technically it was Mortarion but Ken didn't really meet him."

"Ah… bug boy."

Barbie snorted at the nickname, which sounded like something out of a cartoon.

"So, how's Ken when it comes to battle?"

And right on cue, Ken and the others opened the medbay doors.

"Barbie! We were so worrie-OH wow."

Ken looked upwards at Corvus' eyes, each as black as the deepest abyss. Though Ken fought the urge to stare, he could not help it.

Ken's instincts told him to run, to fight, to survive. But he couldn't, not when he was frozen in place by the dark being's aura. 

Plop .

Corvus hugged Ken with his giant and mutated Primarch arms, which could've nearly encircled Ken's body twice over.

"Yes, you are a suitable partner for A-"

Corvus looked at Barbie for a split second before continuing his sentence.

"Erm, for Barbara."

With that, Corvus returned Ken to the ground, though this time, he was right beside Barbie's bed.

"Barbie!"

"Ken!"

The two lovers hugged each other, though Ken was still mindful enough to not press too hard in fear of hurting her.

The two spent several moments together, just glad that they were alive. When the two separated, Barbie was swarmed by Carrie, Taylor, and Raquelle, who were just as delighted with Barbie's survival. 

Eventually, Sequin joined the group hug too, though she was content with just licking Barbie's face. 

Amid the joy and happiness of meeting her friends, Barbie noticed that Corvus had disappeared.

Before she could point his absence out, a soothing voice rang out inside her head.

[Worry not, sister. Enjoy the companionship. Meanwhile, I have a brother to attend to.]

[Say hi for me, and tell him that it’s not too late for redemption.]

[I will. But in the end, justice will be served.]

“So, Barbie, how’d ya fight Mortarion off? His scythe was so sharp and deadly, it made me squirm!”

“Yeah, and not to mention the flies buzzing all around him.”

“Carrie, Taylor, Barbie probably wants one-on-one time with her boyfriend.”

“Of course I do! I mean, it’s okay for you guys to stay, but, erm, Ken?”

“Well I think the others can stay if they want to.”

“It’s quite alright, darling. Carrie and I can explore the ship, while Raquelle can speak with that golden hunk of hers.”

“Wha-I don’t! He’s not a! Urgh. Fine, we’ll give the two of you some time alone. Let’s go Sequin!”

“Bye Barbie!”

With that, the room was empty, save for Barbie and Ken.

“So, Barbie, how are you feeling? You look kinda beaten up.”

“Yeah, turns out being a Daemon Primarch made Mortarion stronger.”

“Huh, who would’ve guessed.”

“But I’m feelin’ better, especially after Jeff gave me a few pills.”

“Jeff? Is that the old medic who nearly hit Carrie for bumping into a IV pole?”

“That sounds like him. What about you? Are you hurt?”

“I wasn’t, mostly because of Ulysses and Raquelle. But, I am getting good at using a bolter and sword.”

“When I get better, will you duel with me?”

“Which type of duel? ‘Cause, you know-”

“The one with fists and swords, Ken.”

“Ah, right. Yeah. ”

The two stopped talking, instead choosing to look at each other in total silence. 

“Ken…”

“Yeah?”

“What if we never come back to Los Angeles?”

“I’m sure your dad can send us back, and He seemed pretty nice.”

“No… I meant, what if one of us dies?”

“But your dad, He’s the Emperor! He could, I don’t know, save our souls and put it in a new body.”

“It’s different. Carrie and Taylor are Aeldari, and unless they have a spirit stone, their souls go to the Dark Prince. Raquelle is a blank, a person without a soul. Sequin is a Thunderwolf, and they don’t have souls.”

“What about me? Or you?”

“You’re an Astartes. A Space Marine. Your souls, they’re different. They reflect your fathers, in this case, your soul reflects Roboute’s. Your soul is like his, but magnitudes less powerful and grand. The Emperor could theoretically save your soul and create a new body for you, but me? I wouldn’t be able to come back.”

“Why?”

“I’m bound to Him. My soul, when I die, will be His soul.”

“How? Are the rest of the Primarchs’ souls like that?”

“I’m not sure. But in my case, it’s set in stone. Years ago, just before my Father banished me, he revealed my true name. Not Barbara. Not Barbie. My birth name, anointed by the very universe itself. The name that would grant anyone, or in this case, Him, absolute control over me.”

“What was it?”

“If I told you, things between us would change.”

“I promise not to tell anyone! And I won’t use it against you!”

“I trust you, I love you, but I can’t tell you what my true name is.”

“I…”

Barbie looked at Ken, afraid that she’d hurt his feelings. 

“I understand, Barbie. And I’ll keep calling you that, whether or not it’s your real name.”

“I’m sorry, Ken.”

“You don’t have to be. This universe, your universe, is weird. And so are names, apparently.”

“I guess so.”

“What do ya think of another hug?”

“That would be great.”

And so did the two lovers hug each other, any feelings of hurt or anxiety swept away like dust.

Meanwhile, Raquelle was walking down the halls of the Dauntless Spear.

She reflected on what Carrie and Taylor had said about her and “the golden hunk”. 

It was an obvious nod to Ulysses, the Custodian who had accompanied Barbie and her gang throughout the previous battles and had thankfully survived the whole affair. 

‘Of course he survived, he’s a Custodian, and a pretty hunky-I mean good one, at that.’

“Emperor damned shippers."

“Now now Lady Raquelle, who are you so frivolously damning?”

“Whuh-OHh, Ulysses.”

“At your service, milady.”

Ulysses had stealthily appeared beside Raquelle, which obviously scared her.

“Apologies for the stealthiness, I was quite good at the Blood Games.”

“Blood Games?”

“The Custodes have a tradition where a select few of us attempt to infiltrate the Imperial Palace. Those who manage to breach the defenses are congratulated and are obligated to report any weak points in our defenses.”

“Oh, so there’s no actual blood? I don’t imagine you’d kill one of your own.”

“For the most part. There was a time when we caught a Dark Eldar in the Sanctum Imperialis, but that was only a few decades ago and a rare occurrence.”

“You say decades as if they’re like weeks or months.”

“To me, they are. The Custodes are functionally immortal, only unnatural causes can end our lives. Among our ranks, there are hundreds from the Age of the Emperor who still breathe. Some are in active duty while others have taken a… backseat, so to speak.”

“Well, how old are you?”

“I am at the ripe old age of seven hundred years.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty!”

“And you don’t look a day below thirty.”

“Y-you little hunky-I mean I-I’m not even thirty I’m still 23…”

“Hunky?”

“Nothing.”

Mortarion slowly sat upwards from his starfish position, having been stirred awake by a sound.

Having spent what felt like years in the pitch-black realm, Mortarion had reflected on his actions, his misdeeds, and his crimes. And he found that he’d been something worse than a tyrant. 

He had been a destroyer.

Also, he’d gained a sense of humor.

“Corvus, can your eldritch monstrosity powers be any quieter?”

“Can your horrendously bad Nurglite odor be any less pungent?”

“I am working on it. Besides, his blessings are receding. Nurgle wouldn’t, and will not, accept me back. Not after such a humiliating defeat.”

“Which is why I’ve come here. I believe I can take you to Father’s realm.”

“And then what? Will he give me the best anti-Nurgle bath in the entire Galaxy?”

“More or less.”

“I do not wish to serve another tyrant, but I will fight to free my sons from corruption. I will lead them to their former glory, and I will kill the wayward ones if I have to.”

“A noble quest with a streak of vengeance. How original.”

“Close your mouth, Raven fan.”

And in an instant, the two teleported away to an unseen realm.

Chapter Text

Corvus and Mortarion arrived in a golden realm, though it wasn't particularly bright. Certainly not as bright as the-

"Corpse Emperor."

"What did you just say you pungent-smelling piece of green filth?"

"I told you I'm working on it. But this realm, it feels nothing like the Corpse Emperor."

"This is Father's realm. It has His aura all over it!"

"This realm feels different from the Emperor who burned Nurgle's garden. This means… Whatever made this realm isn't Father, it was a shard of Him!"

"Ah. Good point, Mortarion."

"If this shard is especially like Him, then there's a very good chance that He'll snuff my soul!"

"Yes yes, but this one is quite nice."

"How is any version of Father nice!?"

" Well, I am pretty nice. "

The voice reverberated throughout the realm, shaking it and its occupants ever so slightly.

It was both audible yet inaudible.

Soft yet loud. 

Caring yet authoritative.

It was the Star Child.

His Warp form was no taller than a tall baseline human, yet it radiated a power that dwarfed every star in the night sky.

His night-black hair was long and flowed in the non-existent wind, which reminded Corvus of an old Terran movie called Pocket Hunters. Not sure if he remembered the title correctly though.

Overall, with his black hair, bronze skin, and radiating presence, the Star Child was the Emperor. Except for a few features, of course.

For one, He was smiling.

And it scared Mortarion, who was already on the ground from the force of the Star Child's aura. 

"Who are YOU!"

" I'm your Father, the Emperor. "

"My Father would never SMILE!"

"Oh please, brother. You said it yourself."

" He's right Morty, you said it yourself. I'm His shard. "

By now, the Star Child's aura had receded, and Mortarion was slowly standing on his feet.

"Oh right. Which shard are you then? His happiness?"

" Bingo. Well, that and his compassionate and merciful sides. "

"So you're telling me that the Corpse… Throne Emperor doesn't have any mercy in his soul?"

"That sounds a bit like Konrad, Mortarion."

" Oh, little Konnor… And yes, my throne-bound self lacks genuine mercy or compassion. "

"Oh great, the Throne Emperor's merciless. Since your nature is of mercy and compassion, does that mean you're a pacifist?"

" Indeed, Mortarion. "

"How did you even meet Corvus? And Corvus, how did you not realize that He's not Him?"

"I saw a golden star-like human, so I thought He was Father. So I just locked on to his Warp signature"

"Fair enough."

" As for my answer, I was flying through the Warp when I happened to cross paths with Corvus. Since all he ever saw the Emperor as was a tall non-golden armored man, my form was suitable for our interactions. "

"Then what?"

" I sent him on a mission to save Leman, but he got bogged down in a pile of daemons. "

"A very big pile."

"Bigger than the Throne Emperor's ego?"

"Name one thing that's bigger than His ego."

"Right."

" Anyway."

The Star Child moved closer to Mortarion, who was starting to slowly back away.

"Since you're here, Mortarion "

"What are you going to do?"

The Star Child held out a hand and put it on Mortarion's, which was the only exposed body part that He could reach.

" Just a little… refurbishing. "

The Star Child's aura grew once more, enveloping every corner of the realm

Normally, the Emperor's energies would obliterate all but the strongest of daemons on first contact, but whether through the Star Child's nature or mere circumstance, it didn't harm Mortarion.

Instead, it was soothing. Warm. Familiar. Familial. All those yucky feelings were circulating in his heart, and he felt like the Greentch from that old Terran Sanguinala movie.

" Mortarion, would you like to keep the wings? "

"Yes. Wait, what for-"

The Star Child's aura suddenly imploded and gathered around Mortarion and the Star Child.

Mortarion could not move, could not speak, could not breath, as such was the crushing force of the aura.

Corvus, on the other hand, was blinded by the brightness of the Star Child's aura, which pulsed like a heartbeat.

The aura became more and more concentrated until it gathered around the Star Child's hand.

Mortarion felt suffocated by the Star Child's power, and he could only imagine what the Throne Emperor was like.

As smooth as the rolling breeze but as loud as a thunder storm across a thousand worlds, the Star Child's voice poured into existence.

" Rise. "

All of Mortarion's nerves lit up as a surge of empyric energy flowed into Mortarion from the Star Child's hand. The golden energies swirled around inside of Mortarion before bursting forth.

Like a great cocoon, the Star Child's energy surrounded Mortarion. 

"Father! What's happening to him!"

The Star Child spoke three words as his gaze shifted to Corvus.

" Be not afraid. "

He then returned his gaze to Mortarion and his cocoon before uttering another sentence.

"Rise, my son."

The cocoon started to crack, and golden light poured from them.

" Rise, Dominus Mortis. "

An arm punched through the cocoon, but it was not rotten nor blemished.

" Arise… Mortarion. "

The cracks grew larger and more numerous, spewing more golden light as each second passed.

Eventually, the cracks merged together and in a righteous display of untarnished power, it shattered.

The shards of solidified energy lurched at Corax and the Star Child, though the latter simply redirected their trajectories as the former was forced to dodge and weave the shards.

What emerged from the cocoon was not the once favored servant of Nurgle. 

Nor was he the spiteful lord of a legion whose glory was robbed by a stranger. 

What emerged was Mortarion; son of the Emperor, Primarch of the 14th legion.

His face was no longer gaunt nor full of decay. It was supple, full of life and warmth.

He no longer radiated a sense of spite or enmity, but rather empathy and joy.

But of course, the Star Child had to make sure.

" Morty, how are you feeling? You seem very happy. "

"Happy? No, I am not happy. I… am at peace."

" Splendid! "

The Star Child happily clapped while Corvus walked towards Mortarion. The Raven Lord inspected his brother's body, nearly shocked by the sudden change.

"Brother! Nurgle's corruption, It's gone!"

"It is. It is, Corvus. And, Father…"

Mortarion looked to the right at the Star Child.

" As much as I enjoy the respect, I'd much rather be called Astrum. "

"That's subtle." 

" As subtle as your name, Corvus ."

"Hah, even the nicest version can still insult you."

"Go on with what you were about to say."

"Alright alright… Astrum, how did you remove Nurgle's rot?"

" Do you need to be reminded of my nature? "

"No, but the extent of his corruption ran far deeper in me, in my soul, than in any other daemon prince. To remove it would have required the total negation of all of his blessings. Anathema or not, how did you, an incomplete shard, do it?"

" As a shard, as the only sentient shard of the Emperor, in fact, I possess a substantial amount of His knowledge and memories. As it happens, I have knowledge on some of the Primarchs' true names ."

"The true names!? Who are the others?"

" I possess knowledge of no less than 12 of the Primarchs' true names, some of which I have gained from other shards. And among all of the shards, I found one name inside each of them."

" Who was it, Astrum? "

" Barbara's. "

"Barbara?"

"What's so special about her?"

" I do not know. But her banishment was when I was first split from the Throne Emperor's psyche. "

"The act that stripped away his love for his children."

" I was completed only shortly before Horus was killed. "

"His favored son."

"Ex-favorite."

" Thank you, Corvus ."

"Anyway, Astrum. Do you know where the ship is headed?"

"Nurgle's mansion."

"Are they-wait, no…"

"Is Barbara trying to free Leman?"

" I believe so ."

"That's where Nurgle lives! We'd need you to even stand a chance!"

"I will be there. But for now, I have wolves to tend to."

"Wolves?"

"For now, it is goodbye, my sons."

With that, Corvus and Mortarion fell smack dab in the middle of the medbay, much to Barbie and Ken's horror.

Chapter Text

Barbie and Ken were in the middle of some small talk when what sounded like a couple tons worth of armor fell on the floor.

Ken instinctively reached for his bolt pistol and aimed it at the armored-mass while Barbie quickly sat fully upright.

Corvus hastily grabbed Mortarion and teleported away to his realm, leaving Barbie and Ken feeling equal parts shocked, confused, and amused.

"So… weird family, huh?"

"Weird family."

"Anyway, Ulysses is gonna train with me in the training hall, and he told me to be on time."

"Oh, right now?

"Yeah…"

"Then you better get going!"

Ken and Barbie embraced each other once more before they exchanged a kiss on the other's cheek.

"Good luck!"

"Thanks, Barbie!"

"You'll need it!

Corvus and Mortarion instantly arrived at the pitch-black realm, which was as dark as ever.

"Corvus…"

"Yes, Mortarion?"

"What do you reckon our true names are?"

"W hy would you want to know that?"

"I'm just saying that if we knew our true names, then maybe we could figure out some of the other's true names. Particularly the daemon ones".

"Well how would you go about doing that, hm?"

"We could list words until we find them."

"Oh so we'll just state like what, every word in every language that has ever existed?"

"We'll start with things that are related to us. I'll start."

"You're really doing this-"

"Death. Lord of Death. Dead. Deceased. End. Rot. Sickness. Perseverance. Mortis."

"Stinky."

"Shut it."

Ken exited the medbay and bumped into Jeff, who was as grouchy as ever. He smiled at the senior medical officer, but all he got was a “What was that loud bump?” and a “You better not have done anything with her.”. Truly, what an inspiring medical officer.

Jeff continued to interrogate him, but Ken had more pressing matters to attend to. 

He initially walked at a leisurely pace, before speeding up to a brisk walk once he realized that the training hall was literally on the opposite side of the ship. 

Dozens of corridors later, Ken finally reached the training hall's doors. It was rather plain, at least compared to the gold-plated halls, and it was very heavy.

Ken grunted as he pushed the doors, which must've weighed a dozen tons each.

"Lord Ken. Having trouble, are you?"

"Ah, Ulysses-"

Ken let out a final huff as the doors finally opened.

"-you're here."

Ken turned around, but he didn't expect Raquelle, Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin to be there as well.

"Shall we begin, Lord Ken?"

"We shall."

The group entered the training hall, which was empty at the moment. Spears, axes, swords, and more lined the walls, which stretched on for several dozen meters.

There were weights, though they were unlike anything Ken

In the middle of the room was a sparring cage, which Ulysses noted was filled with hidden and ever changing traps that were known only by a few trusted tech priests and serfs.

"Lady Raquelle has requested that she joins us. However, I have devised a challenge. You will duel each other, and the winner shall fight me."

"Do we get to choose our weapons?"

"Indeed, you get to choose a weapon. No bolters, only swords, axes, or spears. Any ammunition will be removed."

"Well, who picks their weapon first?"

Ulysses immediately pointed at Raquelle.

"Lady Raquelle. Your pick, milady."

"Wha-"

Ken was about to protest, but Carrie shushed him and whispered into his ear.

"Hush, darling. Ulysses seems to fancy her."

"Oh…"

"Come on, Ken! I've chosen my weapon."

Ken saw Raquelle, who was wielding a Vaultsword.

"Alright."

He walked towards the armory before selecting a Klaimor, similar in size to a tall human.

"Very well. Now that the two of you have chosen your weapons, let the duel begin."

Raquelle and Ken moved into the sparring cage before Ulysses activated its security systems.

"On the count of three, the duel shall start."

Ken grasped his Klaimor tightly with both hands while Raquelle did the same with her Vaultsword.

"1…"

Raquelle raised her sword, aligning it with her eyes. Ken, on the other hand, raised his sword to align with his body.

"2…"

Both combatants drew deep breaths, not wanting to get winded too soon.

"3!"

Raquelle dashed at Ken with her sword raised up high, which swung down in a massive arch.

Fortunately, Ken managed to block her strike with a simple upwards swing. The two blades clashed and screeched against each other before their wielders retracted them.

Raquelle chose to swing low, aiming for Ken's hips. Once again, Ken managed to block her strike before pushing it back to her. This time, he would be the one to strike first.

Having been pushed slightly off balance, Raquelle found it hard to block Ken's downward swing.

Raquelle's armor groaned at the exertion, as Ken was stronger than her and had a better mechanical leverage. However, she was faster.

Raquelle quickly disengaged from the blade lock and dove beneath Ken's reach.

The Ultramarine stumbled a few steps forward and recuperated just in time to dodge a swing from Raquelle.

Ken was immediately put on the back foot, especially when Raquelle implemented fragments of the Hurricanis fighting style. 

In combination with her enhanced reaction speed courtesy of the Vratine armor, Raquelle's flurry of blows slowly wore Ken down. 

Though Ken was physically stronger than Raquelle was, she was too fast and furious for him to hit.

Eventually, Raquelle swung her sword in a massive arc, which Ken promptly blocked with a strong sideways swing. The two blades locked once more, but Raquelle suddenly disengaged and took a sidestep.

As Ken shifted forward, Raquelle swung her sword at Ken, stopping only an inch from his breastplate.

"Cease! Raquelle has won the duel."

Raquelle removed her sword from Ken's chest as Ken returned to a relaxed stance. The two shared a few smiles as Carrie and Taylor cheered on and Sequin howled from the sidelines.

Kariyan was still alive.

Hopefully.

"[Kariyan]=alive?"

"YES, TECH PRIEST GOMBU. I AM ALIVE. BARELY."

"/Please/<wait>repairs=difficult. Technologies=|ancient|=hard->to->repair"

"BROTHERS. ARE ANY OF YOU STILL THERE?"

"Indeed I am, brother Kariyan."

"AH. TYBALUS. TELL ME, WAS THE OPERATION A SUCCESS?"

"Lady Barbara and her companions have been extracted, and the daemonic forces obliterated."

"GOOD. VERY GOOD. WHAT OF OUR LADY'S WELLBEING?"

"She is healing."

"AND THE 14TH?"

"Rumors say that Lord Corax has taken him to a hidden realm."

"LET THE RAVEN LORD DEAL WITH HIM. LASTLY, HOW MANY OF US PERISHED?"

"Around 43, brother."

"THE PRICE OF WAR…"

"It is always steep-" 

"GOMBU, COULD YOU TELL THE TECH PRIESTS WHO ARE WORKING ON MY ARM TO FOCUS ON ME AND NOT THE TOASTERS THEY BROUGHT?"

"[Request]=granted."

Gombu looked up from Kariyan's chassis before addressing his fellow admechs.

"01010101010101011111100100010101100110101010100"

"000100011110101011010"

"111001010101000111011010"

"[Kariyan](request)=accepted + implemented"

"THANK YOU."

Days had passed, and everyone had settled into their rhythm. Ken and Raquelle would train with the Custodes, while Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin accompanied Barbie. Corvus and Mortarion were nowhere to be found, however, but no one really missed them anyway.

Tired of the boring duels, Kambyses Gandash decided to annoy one of his closest friends, Forren: Shipmaster of the Dauntless Spear , and Kambyses' great-grand nephew.

"Forren."

"Kambyses. What brings you to the bridge?"

"I merely wish to know of our progress."

"Ah, of course. Well, given our current speed, we will arrive at the mansion in a few hours."

"Noted."

Forren was about to continue with his duties, but Kambyses interrupted his line of thinking.

"Forren, will you still be able up for that chess match?"

"Once my duties are done."

"Of course, O' mighty shipmaster."

"Save it for later."

The two shared a chuckle, but the sounds of blaring alarms drowned their laughter.

Alarms blared all across the ship as explosions rocked it. All personnel scrambled to their stations, and every capable voidsmen grabbed a weapon. The Custodes reloaded their guns and drew their blades, for war had come.

The Terminus Est and dozens of smaller craft had started firing at the Dauntless Spear .

Though the shields still held strong, it was only a matter of minutes before they gave out.

On the comms, a single order rang out.

"Evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate."

Chapter Text

"Lady Barbara, we must evacuate!"

Over the past few days, Barbie had healed extensively, almost to the point of full recovery. This meant that Jeff allowed her to walk around the halls, on the condition that she was accompanied by at least one Custodian at all times. On this occasion, Barbie was being escorted by Ulysses.

"What's happening!?"

"An attack from a Death Guard fleet."

"How many ships are there?"

"Too many to defeat. Come, this way!"

Barbie and Ulysses ran through the halls, passing through scurrying serfs bearing important scrolls or orders. Realizing that there would be a fight, Barbie

"Ulysses, I'm heading to the armory!"

"Don't take too-"

" BOOM "

The entire ship shook as a lance battery finally made its way through the shields and impacted the rear hull. The impact shook the entire ship as the sound of the explosion reverberated throughout the halls.

Barbie and Ulysses struggled to keep their balance as more and more lance batteries impacted the ship. Grabbing a hold of Barbie, Ulysses took her to the armory. 

"We must hurry!"

On the bridge, things were no less chaotic.

Dozens of officers and voidsmen rushed to each of their stations as hundreds of warning signs flashed on their screens. With each passing second, a battery lance or torpedo hit the ship's hull, further reducing its likelihood of survival.

Kambyses coordinated with Shield-captain Argus to relay orders to the Custodians, who were in the process of rounding up the crew in preparation of an evacuation. An entire squad was dispatched to awaken and escort Kariyon and his admech retinue, while others were tasked with clearing sectors of the ship of any remaining crew. 

Tensions were momentarily lowered when Ulysses had reported that Lady Barbara was with him and heading to safety, leaving the Custodes to focus on other priority targets. This left Kambyses, who was particularly concerned with a single person's safety, some spare room to think.

"Forren, we must begin to evacuate!"

"And leave my ship alone to die in the depths of the Warp?"

"There are others who can take control of the ship!"

"A captain dies with his ship! I will stay on the Dauntless Spear."

"No-"

Kambyses put a hand on Forren's shoulder, causing the Shipmaster to turn around.

"I made a promise to your grandmother that I would shield you from any harm."

"And you have. For decades, if I may add."

"I will not have some traitorous filth be the end of you, Forren. Please, evacuate." 

"Kambyses, do you forget the epithet? The three words quadrillions utter everyday when harm or danger approaches them?"

"The Emperor protects…"

"The Emperor protects."

"However, Forren, I am your superior. Thus, I order you to evacuate."

"None outrank a captain in his own ship. Now go and round up the non-essential officers. They are better off fighting on the ground than dying in this hunk of metal."

"Very well, Shipmaster. May you find peace in death."

"Only in death does duty end."

Raquelle and Ken were busy at work, trying to lead the crew to the translocation bays. Carrie and Taylor were in charge of temporarily fixing any damage dealt to the hulls or walls using their wraithbone constructs while Sequin used her snout to find any remaining crew members.

Among the teeming masses was a limping old man. An old man who Ken recognized dearly.

"Jeff!"

"Quiet down! It's hard to hear the commotion."

Ken walked past the crowds, which parted like how water would with a burgeoning ship. Jeff continued to limply walk towards the translocation bays, though it was apparent that he wouldn't make it on time.

Ken finally reached Jeff, who was out of breath. Reminding himself to not exert too much pressure, Ken grabbed Jeff before putting him on his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

"Saving you!"

"Ah, thank you then. Also, that wall looks like it's about to crack."

"Oh brother, it does!"

The wall to the right was marred with ever-growing cracks, which threatened to shatter the wall. Ken whistled to Sequin, who barked at Carrie and Taylor.

Amazingly, the duo had learned Thunderwolf during their spare time, so they immediately knew of their task. Carrie and Taylor filled in the cracks with wraithbone. Thanks to its properties, wraithbone was naturally self-regenerative, which meant that it would hold long enough for everyone to evacuate.

Dozens of crew evacuated each second, descending to the plains below. Several dozen Custodes had been sent beforehand to establish a perimeter and to clear a path towards the target.

After placing Jeff in the care of a few able-bodied crew members, Ken ran back to check on those who were still on the ship. There were still at least hundreds of people in the hall, all of whom were trying to get off board.

Suddenly, the alarms blared even harder, broadcasting a message that sent chills down every spine.

" Daemons detected. All personnel are to arm themselves. Daemons detected. All personnel are to arm themselves."

The presence of Daemons would exponentially increase the number of casualties, so Ken made sure that everyone was accounted for.

"Raquelle, is that everyone?"

"No, there are still thousands in the lower deck and battery emplacements!"

"IT IS A NECESSARY SACRIFICE, MY LADY."

Raquelle and Ken turned backwards to face Kariyan, who was still being repaired with each passing moment.

"GO, THE CUSTODIANS AND I WILL STAY BACK TO ENSURE NO DAEMONS WILL INTERRUPT THE TRANSLOCATION PROCEDURES."

"But-"

"THAT IS AN ORDER."

Raquelle could only give him a curt nod before calling Ken, Carrie, Taylor, and Sequin to go to the translocation bays.

Meanwhile, Kariyan and 10 other Custodes formed a line stretching the width of the hall. There were still the occasional voidsmen, admech, or even Custodian who made their way towards the bays, but their frequency was lessening.

At the far edge of the hall, Kariyan could see a golden figure running with blade in hand. 

"KAMBYSES! IS THAT YOU?"

" Daemons !"

True to his word, the smell of putrid toxins started to creep into the orifices of many of the crew. The Custodes were unbothered by it, of course, but they knew what it foretold.

Meanwhile, Kambyses eventually reached the Custodian wall. Having reached his fellow Custodians, he immediately took control of the battle.

"Custodes! Ka'tah, Dacatarai!"

The Custodes immediately took their positions, prepared to cut any and all daemons to shreds. A wave of plaguebearers, pox riders, and even a bloodletter or two made their way towards the Custodes, oblivious to what effectively served as their death sentence.

Kambyses smirked before leaping into the horde and instantly slicing a pox rider in two before rendering a trio of plaguebearers into minced meat.

All the while, Kariyon and the rest of the Custodes fired upon the Daemons, reducing dozens of them into bits of flesh. Hundreds of daemons had entered the hall, though none would come out alive. 

Barbie hurried to the armory, where a trio of admechs were debating on whether to save Barbie's armor or the Mark XLVI Toaster, one of only 1,598 in existence. At least, for now.

"[Lady Barbara]=here///[armor]=wear"

With that, the tech priests took the toaster and walked out of the armory. Just as they left, Ulysses entered the armory. 

"Were those tech priests-"

"Yes! Now help me put on this armor."

"Would the tech priests be of assistance?"

"I can do it by myself. I just need you to gather the pieces for me."

"Understood."

Ulysses rushed through the now-empty racks of weapons and towards the hanger containing Barbie's armor. Rather than carefully placing each piece in his hands, Ulysses decided to rip the hanger out of the wall and carry it to her.

"Here it is, my lady."

"Thanks, Ulysses."

In a pink flash, Barbie's armor miraculously found itself on her body. 

"Let's go!"

Barbie and Ulysses were just about to open the armory's doors when the same tech priests as before hurriedly scuttled inside.

"[Daemons]=in ship:[Lady Barbara]=protect us?"

"Get behind me. You too, Ulysses."

Ulysses ushered the tech priests, who were nodding in gratitude, to hide behind Barbie. Ulysses gripped his spear tightly while one tech priest took out what seemed like a Necron gauss weapon. Ulysses would definitely need to ask that tech priest a few questions.

Barbie could hear the clawing of daemons from behind the door, and she prepared to blow them to hell. Her hands were crackling with energy, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

And that moment came soon enough as the doors finally gave way and a tide of Daemons rushed forth. A tide of Daemons that, fortunately, were instantly vaporized by Barbie's lightning.

"Come on!"

 The group ran out of the armory and into a band of plaguebearers. The Gauss-wielding tech priest fired a shot from it, which passed through a Daemon and into a nearby wall.

"[You]=idiot:[Gauss Flayer]=good for organic and inorganics≠Daemons"

"[You]=armless:[I]=armed with melta grenades!"

"Then[you]=use it on them!"

Ulysses and Barbie could only roll their eyes at the bickering as they cut down Daemons left and right.

Kambyses looked backwards, admiring the number of Daemons he had killed. By this point, there were no more fleeing crew members, and all of the ones who were waiting in line had gone to the surface. 

Kambyses was about to order the Custodes to translocate, but the sounds of bolter fire and lightning piqued his interest.

Kambyses prepared his fighting stance, though he immediately relaxed as he saw Barbie and Ulysses, who was carrying the three tech priests on his shoulders.

"[Custodian]=bumpy ride."

"Would you rather be torn to pieces by the Daemons?"

 "[Your point]=sufficient"

Now that Barbie was deemed in safe condition, all of the Custodes retreated to the translocation bays. In a flash, they were all transported to the surface below, leaving the Daemons without a battle.

The weapons batteries continued to fire on the enemy ships, but it was of no use. 

Daemons continued to pour in from all sides, overrunning any of the gunners or other crew. All that was left were the officers in the bridge, secured from the Daemon incursions by a 6 foot thick door of steel.

Forren inhaled deeply before exhaling, seeking to calm his nerves. 

The Shipmaster then stood up straight before announcing to his crew the last set of orders he would give them.

"Men! Increase the engines to full thrust and change course to the Terminus Est. We will bring that blasted ship down with us. The Emperor Protects!"

" The Emperor Protects! "

The Dauntless Spear turned 180 degrees towards the Terminus Est, even in the face of overwhelming firepower.

All power was diverted to the engines, which burned with an intensity that it had never and would never burn with again. It propelled the ship at thousands of kilometers per second, straight into the Terminus Est.

The resulting collision caused an explosion the size of a small town, and it vaporized the Dauntless Spear's contents. The explosion heavily damaged the Terminus Est, but it didn't destroy it. 

The fleet pressed on.

Forren appeared in a golden realm of unending sunlight. At the beginning, it blinded him, but a massive figure blocked the light.

Adjusting his eyes to the sudden shade, Forren looked upwards to the figure. 

" Welcome, Shipmaster. Rest, and take your place among your kin. "

Emperor Protects.

Chapter Text

Far below the encroaching Death Guard fleet were the survivors of the naval engagement. Hundreds of Custodes and many thousands more mortals had secured a foothold right in front of the Blighted Mansion of Misery and Mirth, Nurgle’s personal living quarters.

The initial wave of Custodes had cut down any unassuming Daemons as well as the Gnarlmaws, which possessed bells that could attract unwanted attention from Nurgle’s followers.

Not long after, the mortal crew members appeared in the thousands, accompanied by the remaining Custodes. Just from the horrifying flora and pestilent toxins in the air, thousands of crew members had died off. Fortunately, many more persisted.

The last wave of arrivals were Barbie, Kambyses, Kariyon, and 10 other Custodes. Once they had arrived, battle plans began to form.

The force’s central command was made up of Barbie, Shield-captain Argus, Kambyses, and Kariyon, each of whom provided their own insights and experience to the decision-making. 

“How many men did we lose, Shield-captain?”

“Around 45,000 of the crew were lost. And reports indicate that at least 3,000 more have died to the Garden’s deadly flora. 

“That leaves us with at most 17,000 men along with a couple hundred of your Custodes.”

“Some of the crew members are armed, though we estimate only a third of them possess weapons.”

“Who is the ranking officer among them?”

“I am.”

A voice chirped up from among the crowds. 

“I am First Lieutenant Assegaf, my lords. I have received reports that the crew will stand and fight.”

“And those who cannot, Lieutenant?”

“They too shall fight, my lady.”

“Hmph. I don’t condone such a waste of lives. They will break against the tides of Daemons.”

“We won’t last very long anyway, the Garden’s toxins will kill us baselines in a few hours. But, we may need a leader.”

“THEN I WILL LEAD YOU.”

“Brother Kariyon, are you certain of this?”

“I AM, ARGUS. THEY WILL HEAR MY VOICE, AND I SHALL CARVE A PATH OF SLAUGHTER FOR THEM.”

“Very well.”

“I will lead a small strike force into the mansion to find Leman Russ.”

“But my lady, what if he is not there?”

“AND WORSE, WHAT IF WE ARE STRANDED HERE?”

“Then we’ll die fighting.”

“Aye. Kambyses and I shall lead the Custodes. We will coordinate with the mortal crew members to create a perimeter surrounding the mansion’s main gate, and we will hopefully survive long enough for you to extract Lord Russ.”

“Council dismissed”

After dismissing the council, Barbie immediately looked for her friends. She found Raquelle and Ken fighting off a few plague drones, while Carrie and Taylor were building a makeshift shelter for some of the wounded. Along her way, Barbie had also found Sequin and Ulysses, who were distributing supplies to the needy.

Barbie ordered them all to stay behind and assist the defense of the mansion’s gateway, while she led a force of ten Allarus Custodians into the mansion. 

The Mansion was a massive structure made of rotten timber sourced from the very Daemonic trees that surrounded it. Each piece of wood could be dated back to before the majority of species even evolved into being, and the sins that led to their creation were innumerable.

The walls were dilapidated and broken, yet the foundations of the mansion itself were strong enough to stand for eternity. 

Within the mansion lay Nurgle and his cauldron, filled with enough of his potent and virulent concoctions to flood the oceans of every world in them. Speed would have to be the utmost priority for Barbie, as Nurgle’s presence would spell doom for her entire army. 

Thankfully, however, Corvus had spoken of rumors that the Plague Father was preoccupied with the Khornate legions that threatened to encroach on the Garden. Hopefully, this would avert Nurgle’s gaze away from his mansion.

The gateway to the mansion was mostly unguarded, save for a few unlucky Plaguebearers and a rusty Daemon Engine, all of whom were swiftly cut down.

The rest of the forces proceeded to move into place, covering several kilometers with their robust lines of fire, which pointed in every direction. The Custodes would fight on the front lines while the baselines would engage the enemy from afar, secluded in fortified positions. 

Delivering her last orders to the Custodes, Barbie and the Allarus Custodians went on to enter the mansion.

After entering the mansion, Barbie’s armor immediately flashed warning signs, all of which were brought on by the putrid stench of the virulent miasma. Barbie could tell that the air itself was corrosive, and breathing it in would cause the abrupt deaths of all but the hardiest of beings.

As she walked deeper into the mansion, the growing psychic presence of Nurgle began to feel even more unbearable. In words, she could best describe it as the most nauseating feeling one could ever hope to experience; as if her entire body was willed to tear itself apart just to escape the torment. However, she would complete her task first.

The occasional Molluscoid, Pox Rider, Plaguebearer, or even Greater Daemon would hinder the fellowship’s progress, but they would all be dispatched by bolter, blade, or psychic might.

With each Daemon that she killed, she felt like a set of eyes were lingering at her. Watching her every move. Of course, it was likely that it was the mansion’s very nature that was putting Barbie off of her natural composure, but there was just a gut feeling that she couldn’t shake off.

“Lady Barbara, there seems to be a large contingent of Daemons. Shall we fight or shall we avoid them?”

“Stealth and swiftness are our friends, Custodian. Chart another course, we cannot have the Plague Father be alerted of our presence.”

Thus Barbie and the Custodes marched into one of the many hallways, narrowly avoiding the detection of the incoming Daemons. 

But unbeknownst to any of them, one of them had noticed the sound of scurrying mortals. 

“The Grandfather will be informed of this. Go, my children, inform our lord of the invaders.”

The Nurglings gleefully hopped towards Nurgle, intent on delivering the news to him as fast as they could.

Horticulous would not have his master’s mansion be invaded by these Corpse worshippers, so he set off to prune a few plants.

Chapter Text

Corvus and Mortarion had spent the equivalent of nearly a decade in the timeless black realm, just to go through their possible true names. They hadn’t even finished with the possible High Gothic names, of which there were millions of possibilities.

However, Corvus had had enough.

“Mortis Imperator. Imp-”

“Mortarion, can we seriously just stop?”

“Fine. You should probably check up on Barbara, since time works differently in this realm you call home.”

“I’ll be back. In the mean time, you can continue with your little project.”

Corvus was not prepared for the sight before his eyes. An entire traitor Astartes fleet, numbering in the thousands, if not more, was directly where the Dauntless Spear had been. Speaking of the Dauntless Spear, he saw a fragment of it floating away, the rest of the ship nowhere in sight.

And what was worse? He sensed thousands of souls far below in Nurgle’s Garden , and Barbie was among them.

In the distance, he could see flashes of light and explosions, but he could not spare any time to care.

Even with the time dilation within the realm, Mortarion hadn’t expected Corvus to be back soon.

“Back so soo-”

“CAN’T TALK COME NOW!”

“What the Warp, Corvus! I-”

Mortarion was about to shower Corvus with an endless tirade of insults over the sudden teleportation, but what he saw immediately shut his mouth up.

“The Death Guard. In its entirety!? And the Terminus Est is blown up!? What the WARP happened!”

“I’m just as clueless as you are, but I’m guessing that the people around Nurgle’s Mansion do know.”

“Mansion? Nurgle’s fracking mansion? They’ve lost their minds…”

Corvus took the form of the giant raven once more, taking Mortarion along the ride by gripping on to him by the shoulders.

They whizzed through kilometers-thick clouds of putrid toxins and poisons before finally arriving at the Garden. Surveying the landscape from above, both of the Primarchs could see the desperation of the situation. 

Thousands of mortals and a few hundred Custodes were holding back legions of Daemons, far larger than the ones that Mortarion himself had fielded. To make matters worse, several companies worth of Astartes had also been deployed. 

Corvus swooped into the thick of the battle, releasing Mortarion like a depressed meteorite at the Daemonic hordes. Meanwhile, Corvus set himself to find the nearest Custodian.

Corvus landed next to Kambyses, who was unaffected by his sudden arrival and transformation into a humanoid body.

“Lord Corax! You came.”

“Where is my sister?”

“In the mansion, in search of Leman Russ. I suggest you follow her to ensure her safety.”

“Hold the lines, Custodian. Emperor protects.”

Corvus took to the skies once more, and this time, he searched for Mortarion.

The ex-Daemon Primarch was busy fending off hordes of Daemons with his now uncorrupted Silence , with which he could easily fell a dozen Plaguebearers in a single motion. 

The Imperial defenders were initially horrified by his presence, but when Mortarion sliced a Greater Daemon in half, all worries were significantly reduced. For now, the important thing to the Imperials was that Mortarion was cutting the Daemons down, not them.

In the middle of his fight, Corvus picked Mortarion up like a magpie would a shiny fork. Though Mortarion was disappointed by the interruption, he realized that there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Brother-CAW, CAW-Barbie is within the mansion.”

“Oh dear grox hide.”

“And she-CAW, CAW-seems to be headed towards Leman Russ, wherever-CAW, CAW-he may be.”

“Drop us off at that tower, and I’ll lead you to the dungeons. However, I suspect that they’ll find more than our brother there.”

“Is it a-CAW, CAW-trap?”

“A most beneficial trap if there ever was one. An Aeldari Goddess.”

“But they-CAW, CAW-were all shattered or consumed.”

“All of them were. Except for Lady Isha.”

“Oh…”

Mortarion signalled Corvus to land on a tower on the far side of the mansion, one that stretched into the sky itself.

Corvus landed on top of the tower before swiftly shapeshifting into his humanoid form. Mortarion punched a hole in the roof top, but not before warning Corvus of the contents hidden within.

“Corvus, I want you to know that things can get very disgusting. There are millions of diseases in every inch of the tower, so you better not touch anything.”

“I can deal with that.”

The duo jumped into the tower, and to their surprise, they fell straight through the rotten floorboards until they impacted a great stone floor, which cracked under their weight.

“Why didn’t you change forms and slowly fly down the tower!?”

“It was too tight!”

“Heheh, that’s what she said.”

“Great. Now, where to the dungeons?”

“Right, right, left, up, up, left, down, right, down, down, down, down, left, middle road, then another left.”

“How do you remember that?”

“I don’t like getting lost.”

“Fair enough.”

To aid them in their effort to hide from any of the wandering Daemons, Corvus shrouded his and Mortarion’s body, mind, and soul in an impenetrable darkness, which allowed them to stay hidden from all but the most perceptive of Daemons.

The two walked for several minutes before slowing down to escape the gaze of a very happy looking Beast of Nurgle, who Mortarion identified as Largisus Sphericus.

Corvus and Mortarion had felt the immense pressure of Nurgle’s aura upon them, with the latter having to adapt to it particularly hard, since his blessings were but a memory at this point.

Corvus, on the other hand, had found it rather easy to disregard Nurgle’s presence using unknown, eldritch means.

But as they continued to walk, Corvus felt a faint aura. Barbie’s aura.

“Mortarion, I sense Barbara’s soul over there.”

“That way? They’re so fracking lost.”

The two stealthily walked towards Barbie and her companions, making sure to not startle them with their sudden presence.

Discarding the shroud of darkness surrounding them, Corvus and Mortarion made themselves known to Barbie.

“Barbara, we-”

Bolter fire caused Corvus to duck, while Mortarion just walked a foot to hide behind a wall.

“IT’S me. ”

“Custodes, hold.”

The Allarus Custodians reluctantly withheld their fire, though they were ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

“As I was saying. Mortarion and I have come to lead you to the dungeons.”

“Mortarion? Is he loyal to Father again?”

“I hope so. It’s a long tale, but we must make haste.”

“This time, I agree with our Raven enthusiast, sister.”

All eyes went to Mortarion, who emerged from the now hole-riddled wall.

“If we are to rescue Leman, then we need speed. Speed that I can grant us by leading the way.”

“I’m putting my faith in you, Mortarion. Please don't prove me wrong.”

“I pinky swear that I won't. Now let’s get walking.”

Chapter Text

Within a quarter of an hour, the fighting against the Daemons had rapidly increased in intensity and carnage. The defenders were entrenched within their positions, their numbers providing a degree of protection against the hordes.

The Custodes managed to hold off the tides of Daemons, all thanks to their supreme coordination, strength, and skills. One Custodian was enough to massacre an entire army of Daemons. But two hundred? 

The Emperor's Talons would strike any foe down. 

And as the Plaguebearers' swords merely bounced off of the Custodes' auric armor, their might proved near-infallible once more. 

The towering Beasts of Nurgle were systematically taken down with precise and deadly cuts, with decapitation being a preferred tactic to use against them. However, not all of the Custodes were precise.

Kariyon had decided to advance towards the Daemonic host, leading a few hundred of the voidsmen to push back the hordes.

With deft ease, he slaughtered tens of Daemons with each strike, even managing to completely flatten a Daemon Engine by flailing a Beast of Nurgle around. His plasma weapons proved very effective against even the Greater Daemons, whose rotten flesh provided little protection. 

But as with all of Nurgle's followers, they too were blessed with extraordinary amounts of durability. However, Kariyon found out that a few seconds of concentrated lascannon fire would always burn a hole right through their bodies. 

And if they didn’t drop dead? A volley of 

Meanwhile, the voidsmen under his command would pick off any surviving Daemons, along with those who got too close to the ancient dreadnought.

Further back in the hastily made trenches, hundreds of Daemons were brought low by the sheer amount of fire that the voidsmen poured out. Plague Drones and Battle Flies would drop like, well, flies, as they were peppered with dozens of lasgun rounds. 

Nevertheless, the baselines would still suffer many casualties. Spontaneous toothy maws would appear from the ground, swallowing a squad of men each time they did. A Plaguebearer or two would manage to breach the lines and infect a couple of soldiers before being gunned down. Even the very air killed tens of men every second. Thankfully, the Custodes proved to be perfectly suited to fighting than their more vulnerable allies.

Ken and Raquelle were stuck on the right side of the battlefield, helping a group of soldiers to push back a trio of Beasts of Nurgle. Sequin was busy transporting the wounded to safety, while Carrie and Taylor were hard at work to create new barriers for the soldiers. Kambyses led a push toward the southern marshes, which was done in the hopes of encircling the Daemons.

Meanwhile, a certain trio of tech priests along with a grumpy old medical officer were busy trying to fortify a position along the Gnarl Bogs, which could provide the defenders with an advantageous position. To help with their task, they brought Ulysses along to defend them.

The battle was in the Imperium's favor. Or so they thought.

 Far above the mansion and the ensuing battle were the beleaguered ships of the Death Guard. 

Reports had indicated that nearly 40% of their fleet was destroyed, and more would be too thanks to the arrival of the Corpse Emperor's devotees.

Their flagship, the Terminus Est, had been destroyed in a secret operation by the wretched Wolves of Fenris.

But, the Death Guard were not broken yet.

Typhus, having narrowly escaped the destruction of his flagship, landed on a Gnarlmaw-infested section of the Garden. There, he coordinated the surviving Death Guard to regroup near his position.

"Deathshroud… How many survived?"

Typhus was a far cry from the marine who entered the Warp all those millennia ago. His body had ballooned to monstrous proportions, growing to the size of a Terminator–even without any armor on.

From the millions of blessings that Nurgle provided, Typhus' power had grown to eclipse that of many Nurglite Daemons, including the likes of Rottigus, Tu'gubush, and perhaps Mortarion himself. However, Typhus highly doubted that he could defeat his father.

His helmet was adorned with a single horn, sharp enough to tear through steel and iron. His armor was a cacophony of disparate pieces of ceramite and adamantium, rotten and wilting from the toxins that his body produced.

"Around 30,000 Astartes, Lord Typhus."

"Hm… that will suffice for our attack."

The Death Guard marched towards the Imperial defense, intent on breaking it entirely.

Tybalus was having a hard time.

A hard time believing that the Plaguebearers could die so easily at his hands.

He dodged and weaved through their cumbersome movements to strike a fatal blow, often killing multiple of them in a single attack.

He had joined Kambyses on the push towards the marshes, which had found great success. 

The Daemons were battered by the sheer skill of the Custodes, causing them to retreat right into the fire of the voidsmen.

However, Tybalus could hear the faint sounds of marching boots growing louder by the second. 

Taking a second to operate his helmet's built-in visor enhancers, Tybalus was dismayed by what he saw.

He took no time to run to Kambyses, who was in the middle of a vicious Hurricanis streak.

"Kambyses!"

"What is it, Tybalus?"

"Tens of thousands of Death Guard are approaching from the North!"

"That many? Quickly, recall our forces. We must prepare for their assault."

Kambyses could only hope that salvation was coming.

What he didn't expect was that it would take the form of a wolf. Or rather, thousands of them.

Chapter Text

Mortarion was very glad with how Barbie reacted to his change of allegiance. Even with the fact that he tried to kill her a few days… weeks… or just quite a while ago, Mortarion figured that Barbie would be accepting of him.

Truthfully, out of all of his brothers and one sister, the only ones who would gladly welcome him back to the fold would be Vulkan and Barbie. Roboute and the Khan would likely do so as well, especially if Corvus would give him a few words of recommendation.

"Mortarion…"

"Yes, Barbara?"

"How are you feeling?"

"See Corvus, this is how you treat someone who just went through a traumatic event."

"Says the Primarch who spent decades trying to cull the entire population of a battered sub-sector."

"Corvus! Mortarion! If we're all on the same side, then let's act like it."

"Yes Barbara…" said the two Primarchs, who were just beginning to remember what their sister was like at war councils.

"As I was saying, how are you, Mortarion?"

"Un-Nurglite."

"That's great! And how do you feel about Father?"

"He's old, is probably going to die soon-"

In that instant, he heard the sound of cocking bolters, which he assumed were the Sagittarum's weapons. Deciding not to risk his safety, Mortarion chose to reword his sentence.

"-is probably going to die if we don't save Him soon, and is an okay Emperor. A solid six out of ten."

"That's also kinda great! And it's okay if you feel angry at Him, I haven't really gotten over being banished, even if He told me He loved me."

"He what!?"

"Barbara, please tell Corvus and I that you're lying."

"Did… Father not say "I love you" to any of you?"

Corvus and Mortarion stopped in their tracks before slowly turning to face their sister.

The two answered at the same time, down to the very second.

"No." 

"Really?"

"Barbara. Our darling sister-"

As if Corvus and Mortarion shared a psychic link, the latter continued the former's sentence.

"-we know you were banished pretty early on. But why and how did you not know…"

"I was… busy?"

"For Father's sake, Barbara. How did you not–you know what, we'll get back to this later, because I'm pretty sure the dungeons are like half a kilometer away.

"And should we expect heavy resistance?"

"Since Nurgle isn't here, there should only be the occasional Greater Daemon and their entourage."

"Nothing we can't handle, right guys?"

Barbie looked back as the Custodes all nodded their heads.

"But once we get 100 meters within its vicinity, the screams might get very loud."

Mortarion could only hope that the miserable state of the dungeons had improved since his last visit. Especially her state of suffering.

He would not like to see that again.

Although Kambyses had successfully punched a hole in the Daemonic defenses, there was no sense in holding a position against a far more numerous and dangerous foe–rather, they could simply regroup.

"Shield-captain, there is a large Death Guard formation approaching the battlefield."

" Krrrk -Can your Custodes hold the lines?- Krrrrk "

"Negative. They outnumber my forces by at least a hundred fold."

" Krrrk -Regroup, Kambyses. And do remember to set a few traps for them.- Krrrrk "

"Understood, Shield-captain."

Kambyses sent out a command to the other Custodes through his machine spirit, which relayed it to the others.

'Forren would've been eager to fight against the Daemons' muttered Kambyses under his breath, 'and so would his great-grandfather' 

In that moment, Kambyses felt a slight twinge in his heart; something he'd felt only a few times.

He was reminded of the dozens of mortal friends and family who had passed away, many of whom did not die knowing that they would.

But Forren was different. He died with a purpose. He died with vengeance and hope. He died… too soon.

" No. "

Waking up from his moment of vulnerability, Kambyses swung his sword at a Gnarlmaw, slicing it completely in half. He breathed in, calming his nerves before redirecting his focus towards the battle.

"Tybalus!"

"Aye!"

Tybalus moved closer to Kambyses, taking the time to cut a few Daemons down as he walked.

"Orders?"

"Lead a squad to the left, and I will lead two squads to the right. We'll take the Daemons by surprise."

"Understood. Last one to the defenses has to keep Kariyan company in the armory."

"Digging your own grave? That's bold."

"Says the one who's leading a larger–and slower, force."

Kambyses directed Indignato and Celebrum squads to a bog, where several voidsmen squads were forced to hunker down as a Beast of Nurgle cornered them.

The Beast of Nurgle was held back by a Navis Gunner's Plasma Gun, but his relatively small weapon could only hold the massive Daemon back for so long.

Even as the Navis Gunner continued to shoot the Daemon and as tens of lasguns fired at it, it still advanced, only being slowed down by the thick foliage and its cumbersome girth.

As the Beast of Nurgle finally approached the voidsmen, it swung at them, crushing three and shearing the head off another.

But before the Daemon could lob another voidsman's head off, its own head was cut off by Kambyses. Now without a head, its body rolled off into the bog, disappearing into the murky depths.

Kambyses looked at the survivors, and noticed that there was only a single sergeant among them. 

"Sergeant."

"My lord! I am Sergeant Alexei"

"At ease. How many men do you lead?"

"Ever since Sergeant Gimbon and Hanz died from a Daemon ambush, these 23–now 19–men are under my command."

"Then come with me. We detected a large enemy force, one that would crush us without further reinforcements. Are there any among you who are unable to run?"

Sergeant Alexei turned around to face his men, and he before shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Men! Are any of you unable to run?"

" No sir! "

"I believe I have my answer, Sergeant." 

"Voidsmen, at arms!"

The Custodes and their newly-acquaintanced group of Voidsmen made their way out of the bog, heading for the nearest forest clearing. Kambyses could hear the heavy footsteps of Tybalus' Custodes, though it sounded as if they were taking a more leisurely pace.

Kambyses and his group faced little opposition, as most of the Daemons were engaging the main Imperial force.

"Custodes, Voidsmen. We have found our exit."

In front of the group lay a forest clearing, where it gave way to a Daemon-infested field–along with Kariyan and his forces.

"Prepare to charge!"

The Custodes leveled their Guardian Spears at hip-level before charging out of the forest. Having not sensed an ambush, the Custodes easily slaughtered a great many Daemons.

As the Custodes cut a path through the Daemonic horde, Sergeant Alexei's men closely followed their advance, picking out targets among the Daemons.

The Navis Gunner, Trejo, had formed a tight-knit firing formation with the survivors of his squad, allowing them to kill the Daemons and avenge their comrades more easily. And at the head of the Voidsmen force was Alexei himself.

Alexei was adept at using a Bolt Pistol, a common weapon for Voidsmen Sergeants such as himself. He aimed the weapon at a Plaguebearer, whose chest was blown apart. Alexei rapidly shot a second time, destroying its head.

Meanwhile, Kambyses managed to lead a spearhead towards Kariyan's forces, who successfully held a ridge from the incoming horde.

The dreadnought was situated on the ground, using his massive limbs and weaponry to obliterate the enemy. Meanwhile, hundreds of Voidsmen positioned themselves on top of the rock formations to create a wide field of fire,

Although Kambyses was initially hesitant of allowing Kariyan to fight again so soon, any objections were instantly negated by his performance on the battlefield.

A swing of his Caestus broke the backs of dozens of Daemons, while a hail of lascannon fire laid low many more Neverborn.

To field one of the Telemons was to ensure victory–at least in a skirmish.

But in a battle? Even the mightiest of beings can fall prey to numbers, strategy, and chance.

Amidst Kariyan's slaughter, he'd noticed Kambyses' group approaching him.

"KAMBYSES–"

Kariyan swung at a Pox Rider, sending it flying across the air.

"–WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE?"

"We must retreat, Kariyan."

"WHAT FOR?"

Kambyses' left hand reached out and crushed a fleeing Plaguebearer's head, spilling gore all over the place.

"A Death Guard force, numbering in the tens of thousands."

"HOW LONG UNTIL THEY ARRIVE?"

"I assume their scouts will arrive at this position in half an hour, and at the Mansion's gates in double the time."

"THEN WE MUST DEPART."

Kariyan turned around and said aloud to every voidsman under his command a simple order.

"VOIDSMEN, RETREAT TO THE MANSION."

Though many were reluctant to abandon what was an optimal defensive position, news of an Astartes force that outnumbered the defenders by tens of times spurred them to fall back.

"This is Kambyses Gandash of the Adeptus Custodes. To all Imperial forces, fall back to the Mansion."

Chapter Text

The Death Guard force lumbered slowly like a half-dead corpse, marching at a snail's pace. 

Their rusted armor, rotten joints, and the heavy terrain did nothing to assist their long march, as the only person–and thing–that kept them walking was Typhus.

Beholden to the Traveller's will through loyalty or more sorcerous means, they were bidden to march on the Mansion. Some were still of cunning mind, while others were delirious from years of service under Nurgle.

To shroud his forces, Typhus let loose a swarm of daemonic flies from the very crevices of his armor.

Easily numbering in the thousands, if not more, the flies obfuscated the Imperials' view of the enemy, denying them key intel. With the flies came a toxic miasma, one that would lay low even the hardiest of mortals with a single breath.

Meanwhile, the foreboding buzz of the flying horde nearly drove some men to madness, even from kilometers away. The dazed men were only brought to sanity by the barks of their officers or the resolute voice of a Custodian.

"Typhus… our scouts report a small voidsmen band a few hundred meters away."

"Continue the march. I will 'visit' them myself."

As the main force marched along, Typhus walked with a squad of Death Shrouds ahead of them to meet the straggling mortal squad.

He could hear the groans of pain and frustration from the mortals, the muffled prayers for release.

"Pity. If only they had embraced his blessings."

He walked closer to them, until he could hear their very breaths.

Using Manreaper to clear a large leaf from his view, he finally laid his eyes upon the broken men.

"Hello, corpse worshippers."

Made up of half-dead men, injured beyond any hopes of healing, Gorro Squad was left for dead by their fellow voidsmen as they retreated. 

Nevertheless, their faith in the Emperor had not faded nor disappeared. Their guns were still trained in a firing line, which just so happened to face Typhus and his Death Shrouds.

“Astartes! Fire!”

Tens of Lasgun rounds ripped through the air, each enough to blast a mortal man apart.

But when they met Typhus’ armor, they merely dispersed into the thick ceramite plates.

“Typical.”

Holding out a hand, Typhus let out a swarm of black flies, which covered all of the voidsmens’ bodies, stinging them with daemonic toxins. 

By the end, their bodies were bloated with plagues and toxins, courtesy of the fly swarm.

Seeing the dead bodies of the voidsmen, Typhus only let out a pitied sigh. Just before he moved onwards, a Death Shroud approached him.

“Lord Typhus, the daemons have stated a sighting of our father.”

“He is alive?”

“He is… but not as you might expect.”

“I would have you explain this, but I would like to know directly from our father.”

“Shall we march onward, my lord?”

“Always. The Plague Father can never have too many followers.”

“TO THE LINES. FORTIFY YOUR EMPLACEMENTS.”

Kariyan and the rest of the Custodes had regrouped with the main Imperial force, having made the short trip back on foot.

The sergeants among their ranks continuously belched out order after order, much to the annoyance of the others. 

"Lads, train the heavy guns on the horizon!"

"Get 'em plasma gunners up here!"

"Squad 78! Go to the right! Straight ahe-wait no! The other right! Damn it, Jones, how many rights are there!?"

All around, the lines were in disarray as soldiers were made to share their positions with the newly-arrived reinforcements, cramping up the lines beyond comfort. But what truly made the lines and trenches cramped weren’t the influx of new occupants, but the lingering ones.

Of the 17,000 men and women that descended on the Mansion, less than half remained. Many died from being ripped apart by Battle Flies and Pox Riders and Plaguebearers too, but many more died from infections and toxins.

Their bodies were mutated and bloated to unnatural proportions, filled with poxes and pustules and more unearthly growths. The slightest touch would send a blister bursting with white pus.

Those that were unoccupied with fighting off the Daemons worked around the clock to dispose of the bodies; though for every body they took care of, three more would take its place. 

The Voidsmen who were or were thought to be infected by Nurgle's rot were moved to the frontlines, next to the Custodes. They would rather die for the Emperor rather than live in pain.

Many of those who became infected by the many diseases found themselves under enormous pain, as if their organs were becoming rearranged and their body torn apart, all depending on what particular strain they received.

The only ones who were able to fight through the illness and misery unharmed were the Custodes, which lent them the undeniably vital role of being the ultimate commanders of the battle.

Each Custodes commanded hundreds of voidsmen in addition to a sizable stretch of land to defend. 

More than just the bastion of a line’s defense, they were the tentpoles of the common soldiery, the lighthouse of order among the sea of daemons and Chaos. 

Each squad sergeant would directly report to their assigned Custodian, who would in turn relay events and updates to one of three head commanders within the Imperial defense; Raquelle, Ken, and Kariyan.

In turn, they would all report back to Shield-captain Argus and Kambyses, who some noted were missing from the battle.

Unbeknownst to anyone, the two Custodes were far away from the Imperial defense, planning a surprise.

A deadly surprise.

"Argus, are you certain of this?"

"I am."

“And if we’re both killed?”

“We won’t die.”

“You say that as if it’s certain.”

“You, a blade champion, are accompanying me, a veteran Custodian. There’s hardly anything that can stop us.”

“Nurgle’s greatest mortal follower might be enough to end both of our lives, Argus.”

“Not without any planning he won’t.”

“Then, if you don’t mind me asking, what have you planned?”

“Something involving that sword and title that you have.”

“You’re asking me to charge right into a thousands-strong Astartes horde to kill one of the strongest Chaos lords that has ever existed?”

“With a few tweaks to your plan, yes.”

“Count me in.”

“Good. See that clearing over there?”

“As clear as day.”

“We’ll go over there and shout at the incoming horde.”

“Then what?”

“We strike.”

“Lord Typhus, there are a duo of Custodians across the river.”

“I do hope that they are dead.”

“Er, they are not, my lord.”

“Then kill them.”

“They have requested an audience with you.”

“And you… have decided to honor their request? Just. End. Them.”

“They have killed dozens of Astartes, sir. Might as well spare our men and give them what they desire.”

“A glorious death for the “Emperor”? I agree.”

Typhus and his Death Shrouds increased their paces, walking past the lumbering members of their army like a hoverbike would a tank. After a few minutes of walking, they reach the end of the lines, the edges of a riverbank, and the sight of dozens of dead Astartes.

The river bank stretched on for tens of meters, with the only bridge connecting the two sides being filled with the dead bodies of fallen Space Marines. 

Much to Typhus’ annoyance, he would have to shout–something that he didn’t enjoy–at the Custodes for them to hear him.

And much to Kambyses’ surprise, Typhus shouted at the top of his now-rotten lungs.

“Custodes! I have came! State your names, so that we may know eachother better!”

“Typhus of the Death Guard, I am Shield-captain Argus! To my right, holding the decapitated head of that Astartes, is Kambyses Gandash; Blade Champion.”

“Such mighty titles for servants of the Corpse Emperor! What parlay do you desire?”

“We desire only one thing, Typhus!”

“And what is that?”

“Your death!”

Chapter Text

"[We]=lost?"

"No///just[walking]=more"

"[You]=stupid///"

“What are you blabbering on about?”

"Tech priests, Officer Jeff, if you don't mind, the path is that way."

Ulysses had spent nearly all of his time on the surface accompanying these three tech priests and Officer Jeff.

Half of the time, they were squabbling amongst themselves, oblivious to any and all threats–threats which Ulysses had to deal with.

The other half was spent by the trio inspecting any pieces of unique flora and fauna that they encountered while Jeff complained about his back. It was this half that Ulysses enjoyed more, since the tech priests were quieter that way.

"[We]=lost///please[Custodian]=lead"

"Good to know, my friends."

Just as Ulysses was about to lead the way to the tech priests' next destination, his vox-receiver crackled online.

"Krrrk–This is Kambyses Gandash of the Adeptus Custodes. To all Imperial forces, fall back to the Mansion–Krrrk"

"Kambyses?"

"What was(that)//[Custodian]"

"I am afraid that we must retreat."

"[Retreat]=later///[We]=collect

"

"With all due respect, a Death Guard force is heading our way."

“I agree with the Custodian.”

"

[Death Guard]=here///Then[we]=retreat"

"Thank you. Now, let-"

"[Custodian]"

"Yes?"

"[We]=want[piggyback]"

"Oh… will you accept other modes of transportation?"

"

"

“I’ll get myself a piggyback ride too, if you don’t mind.”

The mental image of Ulysses squatting down as a trio of rather heavy tech priests and an elderly man climbed atop of him was one not many would ever imagine. But for this once, that mental image became reality.

Jeff and the senior tech priest, bearing the marks of a Magos Biologis, positioned themselves upon Ulysses' shoulders, while the two others merely grabbed onto whatever pieces of armor they could.

"Are all of you secure?"

"

"

"Good, we can finally move."

Taking a deep breath, Ulysses stood up and started walking in the Mansion's direction.

"[Custodian]"

"Yes?"

"What

[your name]"

"Ulysses."

"Is[that]//all?"

“Sounds benign.”

"Do you wish to hear my full, 163-word name?"

“

”

“As you may know, Custodians receive their names from notable deeds. Can you guess what action afforded me “Ulysses”?”

“[I]=cannot”

“It was a couple centuries ago, and there was a new addition to the Dark Cells of Terra.”

“Was[it]=[creature]?”

“Or was [it]=item?”

“[I]propose[it]=both”

“Was it a gun?”

“It was not a gun, Officer Jeff.”

“[You]=incorrect”

“Yeah yeah. So what was it?”

“It was a painting from before the Old Night, a painting of one of Terra’s oldest war heroes.”

“?Then

did[you]do?”

“It was being inhabited by a Daemon, and it had corrupted quite a few men. While it was being transported, the Daemon materialized by taking over a nearby serf. Just before the possessed serf could escape, I knocked him out. Later, we managed to expel the Daemon without killing the serf.”

“[Your action]=commendable”

“Thank you, Magos.”

The group continued their walk in silence, each party having had their curiosity satisfied and thirst for knowledge quenched. The only intermissions were the binary speech of the tech priests, which Ulysses happily ignored.

With the relative silence, Ulysses took the opportunity to listen in on his surroundings.

In the Imperial Palace, the only things he’d hear on a walk were the sounds of far off footsteps, the sounds of his Auramite boots, the chattering of tech priests, and the ever present yet faint hum of the Golden Throne.

For the past few decades, however, he was part of the Companions; the loyal 300 Custodian bodyguards of the Emperor, nearly all of whom went away on this mission with Lady Barbara.

The mission had claimed the lives of dozens of his compatriots, yet the burden of guarding his Emperor was far greater than the battles he’d face so far.

To stand within the same room as the Emperor was to withstand the full force of an endless wellspring of power. It was to withstand the heat of a living star for years upon years without rest, all in the name of loyalty.

The amount of time a Custodian would stand guard over the Emperor was as much a test of will as much as it was a matter of sheer practicality; eventually, even a Custodian would get tired and require respite.

‘I wonder how the Emperor is faring’ thought Ulysses ‘I do hope Shield-captain Karstodes is still doing his duties’

Of all his fellow Custodes, Karstodes ranked among the lowest as far as amicability was concerned, which was spurred by the fact that he was… reluctant, to say the least, when it came to some of his duties.

Trajann himself had reprimanded Karstodes on more than one occasion, though he had defended his attitude as being a result of “PTSD”.

But any Custodes worth his weight in salt could guess the true reason behind Karstodes’ lagging performance.

Kittonius’ departure.

{Hello}

{Ah, hello there, Storum.}

{Is Ulysses experiencing distress?}

{No. I was just reminiscing on an old friend of mine.}

{Is it… Kittonius?}

{Correct, Storum.}

{You miss him dearly, don’t you?}

{I do. We all do.}

{I do not recall him. What was he like?}

{He was very kind. And loyal. Before Trajann Valoris became our Captain-general, Kittonius was our leader.}

{Then what happened?}

{He… disappeared on a mission. He was the fourth Captain-general to go missing.}

{Oh.. will he come back?}

{Only time will tell.}

{In the meantime, there are a group of lifeforms ahead.}

{Daemons?}

{Most likely, since the Imperial defense’s outskirts are still a few minutes away.}

{Thank you, Storum.}

“Tech priests, Jeff, do you mind getting off for a few moments? There seems to be a few Daemons up ahead.”

“

”

“

”

“

”

“Alright.”

One by one, the tech priests and Jeff hopped off Ulysses and scuttled behind a tree.

Using his helmet displays, Ulysses peered through the vegetation to spot the Daemons.

“Got you.”

Springing into action, Ulysses leaped forward at blinding speeds towards the trees in his right. Bursting through the foliage, his Guardian Spear found itself embedded within a Plaguebearer, much to the surprise of its fellow Daemons.

“Hello.”

A swing dislodged the speartip from the Plaguebearer’s body and through the bodies of three more, each cut in half with masterful skill.

As the rest moved to fight Ulysses, a series of rapid shots brought them low.

Inspecting his surroundings, Ulysses found himself alone.

“My friends! It’s safe now!”

He shouted at the direction of the tech priests and Jeff, who slowly came out of hiding and lined up in front of Ulysses.

“More piggybacks?”

“

”

Wanting to lessen the chances of meeting anymore Daemons, Ulysses decided to hasten his pace. He reckoned that the tech priests would likely have a few words of complaint after all was said and done, but he’d much rather get some complaints than dead comrades.

And speaking of comrades, he would need to check up on Lady Barbara’s companions.

Chapter Text

"![We]=finally here!"

"Yes, take cover near that ridge. I will try to locate Lady Barbara's companions."

"thank=[you]"

Ulysses nodded before walking in the direction of the nearest sergeant he could find. He was a man of stocky build and grizzled experience, someone Ulysses hoped he could trust.

"Sergeant, identify yourself."

Startled, the sergeant took a few seconds to compose himself.

"Huh, wha-oh! Sergeant Alexei, my lord!"

"Who holds command over you and your men?"

"Lord Kambyses, yet he and Shield-captain Argus have disappeared. Our last orders were to defend this position."

"What? They're not-"

Ulysses sighed, realizing what they were likely trying to do.

"-sergeant, you and your men will henceforth accompany me."

"Aye!"

"Try to keep up, sergeant."

To Alexei's surprise, Ulysses burst into a full sprint, somehow managing to weave through the chaotic lines and men to run unperturbed.

And now he had to do the same.

Ulysses himself was busy scanning the battlefield for either one of Barbie's companions, who he thought would stand out with their unusual armors.

But in a group of thousands of men, even a Custodes' honed senses might be drowned out.

Which is why Carrie and Taylor, now weird semi-Aeldari hybrids, were able to spot Ulysses first.

"Ulysses! It's ussss!"

Hundreds of meters away, Ulysses could clearly hear the shrill yet posh voice of Taylor, who he could see was waving her hands and jumping around.

“Lady Taylor! Wait there!”

Ulysses pushed through the crowd of nearby Voidsmen, who parted once they noticed the rushing Custodian.

They all bowed their heads to Ulysses, who barely noticed their gestures since he was already gone in a blink of an eye, headed for Taylor.

Not long after, the Voidsmen had to part ways again as Alexei and his men tried to keep up with Ulysses–though with little success.

After making his way past a few more Voidsmen and trenches, Ulysses finally reached Carrie and Taylor, who were busy constructing barriers all across the Mansion.

“Carrie, Taylor, where are the rest of your group?”

“Ken and Raquelle are on the right side of the battle. Sequin’s somewhere near them, I guess.”

“Noted. You two keep erecting the wraithbone constructs and I’ll coordinate with them.”

“Stay safe, Ulysses!”

“Byee!”

“Goodbye, my ladies.”

Just as Alexei and his men caught up to Ulysses, they were signalled to follow him again.

“Sergeant, we will reinforce the Southern bogs.”

“C-copied.”

Once Ulysses was out of earshot–or at least, what he assumed was out of earshot for a Custodian–Trejo sighed and complained. While desperately trying to keep up with Ulysses, of course.

“By the Emperor, why do we have to follow him… and why is he so karkin’ fast?”

“Trejo, both of your questions can be answered with a single C-word.”

“Custodian.”

“Yup.”

“Come on lads! I’m losing sight of him!”

“Shit, hurry up then!”

“What do you think I’m doing, Trejo!?”

“Losing sight of him!”

“Just wait, I’ll try finding him.”

“Have you found him?”

“No-”

“Sergeant, he’s over there!”

“Thank you, Jorge. Everyone, that way!”

Ulysses had lost track of where his voidsmen companions had went, but all that mattered was that he found Ken and Raquelle, and find out where Kambyses and Argus had gone off to.

He surveyed the landscape, seeing hundreds of Voidsmen hurriedly run from one point to another, as well as his fellow Custodes, who were busy coordinating the defenses.

It took Ulysses a few moments, but he finally spotted a blue-armored Astartes in the distance among the hustle and bustle. Spotting Ken among a group of Voidsmen, he set off to meet him.

Since time was of the essence, Ulysses decided it was appropriate to shove one or two voidsmen here and there. After all, they wouldn't be too hurt and he'd save time.

So he pushed a voidsman out of the way and into a trio of mortar gunners, who nearly dropped their shells. Minor mistake for them, slightly larger boon for himself.

He walked past hundreds of more voidsmen before he was in comfortable speaking range with Ken, who Ulysses admitted seemed very busy.

"Ken! Do you know where Kambyses and Argus are?"

"Ulysses!"

Ken said his goodbyes to a pair of voidsmen before making his way to Ulysses.

"Yeah, about that… I don't know where they went."

"Then who does?"

"Kariyan might."

Ulysses turned around to see Raquelle, whose armor was drenched in a sticky, brown substance. Likely a consequence of fighting near a bog.

"Raquelle, you look.. dashing."

"Save it for later. Now go find that old dreadnought."

"Stay safe, my friends."

"We will!"

Ulysses prepared to find Kariyan, but before he could run off, he spotted Alexei and his men, who were all panting heavily.

"L-lord Ulysses! Reporting for d-duty."

"Sergeant, your men may stay here and reinforce Lord Ken's defenses. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good, I will be off searching for Shield-captain Argus."

"Did you hear that? We're staying here!"

"Woooo!!!"

Thankfully, unlike the last few times, Ulysses' destination was far easier to find. All he had to do was look for a golden giant, a golden giant who was conveniently standing not too far from where he was.

Ulysses ran again towards Kariyan, dodging and weaving through the many voidsmen that were also running around the place.

In particular, he had to be careful with his Guardian Spear, lest a voidsman be skewered or bisected by his weapon.

'I reckon that would be bad for morale' thought Ulysses.

After running for a few moments, Ulysses finally reached Kariyan.

"Kariyan! Where is Kambyses and Argus?"

"HELLO THERE, ULYSSES-"

Kariyan turned around and bend forwards to meet Ulysses line of sight. The mechanical gears within the dreadnought hissed as he positioned his chassis in an unnatural angle.

"-THEY ARE CURRENTLY AWAY."

"What for?"

"ARGUS HAS DECIDED TO ASSASSINATE THE CHAOS LORD, AND HE HAS LEFT ME IN CHARGE."

"Then my suspicions were right. They're going to kill Typhus. Which way did they go?"

"GO TO THE MARSHES AND FOLLOW THE RIVER, FOR THAT IS WHERE THE ENEMY IS COMING FROM."

"Thank you, Kariyan."

"EMPEROR PROTECTS."

"Emperor Protects."

Now Ulysses had one more task; to find Kambyses and Argus in the marshes

Chapter Text

The walk leading up to the dungeon was excruciatingly horrid.

The surrounding walls were caked in grime, blood, and the bodily fluids of a thousand decrepit Daemonic creatures. Blood, bile, and more covered each inch of the walls, all of which slowly dripped down onto the floor. 

Puddles of indistinguishable green liquid pooled together on the stone floor, creating an uninviting sheen all across the floors. 

From the puddles of liquid came a noxious odor, a single whiff of which would’ve killed a mortal man a hundred times over. 

It was fortunate that Barbie's companions were of hardier stock than mere mortals, if not they would all immediately perish before any fighting could be done.

For it was only through their armor and enhanced physiology that the Custodes were able to move unhindered, and it was only through the Primarchs' near-godly bodies and psychic auras that they could stave off the corruption.

In particular, Mortarion felt wholly unaffected by the diseases and corruption that was emanating from the walls, floor, and air. 

Even Barbie, whose raw psychic might had now rivaled that of even the mightiest of psykers, and Corvus, who was now made of the Warp itself, struggled to hold off Nurgle's influence.

Mortarion suspected his newly-found incorruptibility was a result of the Emperor's direct intervention in his path to redemption, which must've left an imprint of His aura on his. Or perhaps, there was more to it. 

Maybe his Father was setting one of his abstract plans in motion, a mysterious tapestry of lies, actions, events, battles, and more. A plan that could end in one of either conclusions–the victory, or the fall, of Mankind. 

But Mortarion couldn't be less bothered by it, as he had his mind on other things.

Ever since his first visit to Nurgle’s Garden, Mortarion had always wondered where the lights in the dungeons and every other corner of the Mansion had come from, as he never took the time to really pay attention to the Mansion itself.

Since there weren’t anymore annoying Nurglings, obnoxious Great Unclean Ones, accursed dreams of times now best left forgotten, or the overbearing attentions of Nurgle himself, he could finally walk in peace.

And look at the walls.

Inside the walls were small holes cut in, filled with unevenly shaped glass jars. Hidden away behind the layers of glass were small, translucent creatures. Their entire body, from their eight legs to their eyes, glowed with a soft green light. 

To his surprise, Mortarion recognized what these were.

‘ Glowspiders ’ Mortarion mentally noted. ‘ Now that I think about it, I’ve always seen them in the barracks of my… sons ’

He winced at the thought of his sons, who he would need to deal with later. Perhaps fatally, if the path of redemption was not the road they chose. The many thousands of men that he had led and fought alongside for decades, centuries, if not millennia, all likely destined to die at the hands of the Imperium, other Chaos forces, or themselves.

‘ It will be a matter of where their intentions lie ’ ruminated Mortarion. ‘ With me, Typhus, or Nurgle. I imagine that those under Typhus’ command would blindly follow him to their deaths, as they have for many years .’

++ Mortarion, are you okay? ++

Mortarion jumped a little bit at his sister’s voice, as her lips stayed silent and no one else seemed to acknowledge her words.

++ Barbara, what are you doing in my mind? ++

Mortarion directed his gaze to Barbie, who was right beside him. He looked at Barbie with a steely glare, which was returned with a sheepish look.

++ Sorry for the intrusion. I sensed a bit of… sadness from you. ++

Mortarion merely scoffed. But not too loud though, wouldn’t want anyone to think he was coughing.

++ Your powers told you that? ++

Barbie looked up and down Mortarion’s mildly expressive face before smiling.

++ Your face might be as flat as a pancake, but your emotions are showing. Sadness, frustration, and more. ++

A grunt was all that Mortarion could muster as his sister presented an astute observation of hers.

++ If you’re asking if I’m fine, then I am. It’s just… ++

Mortarion craned his neck to face forward, which Barbie responded to by walking a few steps in front of him.

++ Just what, Mortarion? ++

Now that Barbie was in his peripheral vision, Mortarion strutted faster to overtake her.

++ Just that my sons, without my guidance, will continue to be a threat to Mankind, and that many more of them shall die for the Plague God’s sake. ++

++ Oh… I’m sorry, Morty. ++

++ Don’t be, sister. I’ve spent the last ten millennia spreading plague and sorrow throughout the galaxy, and billions of beings have paid the price for my service. If the death of the Death Guard is required to rid them as a threat to Humanity, then so be it. ++

Barbie reached out a hand to Mortarion’s shoulder and gave him an understanding look, to which Mortarion responded by walking more slowly and relaxing his muscles.

++ But you don’t, won’t, have to deal with it yourself. And who knows, Mortarion– ++

Mortarion gave Barbie an apprehensive look, though his expression warmed as he saw the hope on her face.

++– maybe you, the 14th child of the Emperor, might lead the Death Guard to their redemption. ++ 

After what seemed like forever, Barbie saw a semblance of the Primarch her brother could have been. A smile, though slight indeed, had formed on Mortarion’s face.

++ Thank you, sister. However, if I were to lead my sons as a Legion again, it would be under a different name. It would be something new. It shall be the rebirth of my legacy. It shall be a promise. ++

Barbie slightly tilted her head at Mortarion’s words.

++ A promise for what? ++

Mortarion stood up straighter, showing his confidence in his next words.

++ A promise for what is to come for the foes of Mankind. A promise for what shall never become of any more innocent lives. A promise for redemption. My sons shall be redeemed, renamed, renewed, and reborn. Not as the Death Guard, nor the Dusk Raiders.++

He took a deep breath, calming down his rising emotions. Then, he spoke with the conviction of a man reborn.

++The Scions of Death. That is what they will be known as.+ +

++ A fitting choice, Mortarion. ++

++ I agree with Barbara, brother. It is as poetic as it is obvious. ++

As with before, Mortarion gasped in disbelief as he looked around to find Corvus, only to find his avian brother next to him.

++ Corvus!? You’re here too? ++

Corvus gave a low chuckle at Mortarion’s surprise.

++ I am infused with the very Warp itself, so I can hear a psychic conversation. Especially if someone invites me to it. ++

++ Well, that’s–++

Mortarion stopped for a moment, cocking his eyebrows in curiosity.

++–wait, invite? Barbara, did you actually invite Corvus to our little chat? ++

Barbie gave a nervous laugh, which was cut short by her words.

++ Yeah… I didn’t tell you, did I? ++

Mortarion grunted at his sister’s lack of vision, while he moved on to the next order of conversation.

++ No, Barbara, you did not. As for you, Corvus, how much did you hear? ++

Corvus shrugged his shoulders, sending a clear message of nonchalance. 

++ Something something sad, nothing more. ++

A sigh of relief overcame Mortarion, who was glad that at best, Corvus hadn’t been paying attention. And at worst, he just didn’t care enough.

++ Good. Just.. don’t ever bring this up again, will you? ++

A sly smile appeared on Corvus’ face, much to Mortarion’s annoyance and Barbie’s enjoyment.

++ I can’t make promises that I won’t keep. But for this? I promise, wholeheartedly. ++

Mortarion would have made a verbal jab or two at his brother’s expense were it not for what lay in front of him.

“Barbara, Corvus, and dearest Custodes. Welcome to the Dread Dungeons. Enjoy your visit.”

Chapter Text

The sudden behavioral shift from curtness to a threat of death mildly shocked Typhus, who was having quite a bit of fun with it.

"My death?"

Argus let out a mirth chuckle before lifting his Castellan Axe and pointing it at Typhus.

"What, does a traitor like you fear the price of betrayal?"

Typhus' anger swelled as he dissected each and every word uttered by that imputent Shield-captain.

"I have seen the Imperium's glory and fall to despair both as a "loyal servant" and an "abhorred traitor"! Wretched Custodian, I have spent more time sharpening my Manreaper than you have spent fighting!"

Typhus let out a roar as he unleashed a swarm of flies large enough to cast a shadow over several hundred meters.

"You wish death.. upon me? You are faced with a thousands-strong horde of near unstoppable warriors, led by a veteran of 10,000 long years of war. Foolish Custodian, it is you who shall taste death's embra-"

A loud bang interrupted what Kambyses thought would've been an hour-long rant, and he found the interruption's source right next to him.

Argus had fired a single round at Typhus, which found itself squarely hitting the latter's ceramite armor.

The impact of the bolter round nearly threw Typhus off balance, who was roused from his rant by the force of the round. Taking a few steps back, Typhus raised his eyes to meet Argus'.

For seconds, the duo's eyes did not falter, staring at each other with contempt. The faint sound of grinding metal from tightening gauntlets was audible to Kambyses’ ears, who saw Argus tighten his body. Mirroring his actions, Kambyses gripped his sword tightly to prepare for any sudden movements.

Finally, Argus broke the silence.

"Kambyses-"

And so did Typhus.

"Deathshroud-"

"- he is my quarry. "

A gauntleted hand reached for Manreaper's shaft and another a Castellan axe, after which both combatants strode forth.

Typhus' heavier and slower footsteps made deep impressions within the soil, which clung to the bottom of his legs like mold. He took Manreaper in both hands, ready to cut Argus in half.

Argus' steps were lighter and swifter, as befit his more agile build compared to Typhus. His Castellan axe's blade was glistening with the ichor of hundreds of Daemons, from towering Beasts, lowly Chaos Spawn, to the Great Unclean Ones. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would glisten with Typhus’ ichor too. 

Each of them were meters away from the bridge, where the fight would inevitably start. Littered with the bloated bodies of Astartes, it would be cumbersome to fight or even walk on it, but that was something secondary compared to Argus’ main concern.

Argus reached the center of the bridge first, planting his axe head in the very bridge itself. He stood with utmost confidence, hands at his hips before Typhus and his horde. Seeing that his quarry was more than a few seconds away from even reaching the bridge, Argus continued to play his mind games.

He always reveled in the chance to insult his foes, and enjoyed seeing them come undone by their own fury or frustration. And as proven by the previous bout of words, it seems like Typhus would suffer the same fate.

“Hear me, O’ Typhus the Traveller!”

Argus spread his hands out wide, as if talking to the entire Immaterium.

“By decree of the Emperor of Mankind, lord of a million worlds,”

He banged the golden Aquilla on his chest, a symbol of his Lord’s might.

“You are to face judgment by my hand, and by my blade.”

Argus grasped the handle of his axe and lifted it within his hands. He lightly stroked the blade, putting emphasis on his words.

“You may surrender, or you may not. But in the end, it does not matter. You will fall regardless.”

By this point, Typhus, who had suffered through each and every of Argus’ words, had arrived at the bridge. He stood there unflinching, Manreaper in both hands. Though he wore a helmet, Typhus’ eyes were partially visible through the small visor holes. In them, Argus could see the yellow husks of once mortal eyes, corrupted beyond recognition by millennia of servitude.

Suddenly, a horde of flies swooped in from above, bringing with them a toxic haze. They flew straight into Argus' direction and fell upon his armor like trickles of rain on a mountain. He futilely tried to dispel the flies with precise strikes, but it was useless as hundreds more would replace those he killed. Argus’ HUD display tried to peer through the black cloud, though it was almost too late. Amidst the shifting black horde of flies, Argus noticed a slight glint in his periphery.

He stepped to the right just as the glint manifested into Manreaper’s deadly edge, which struck the bridge with enough force to slice a Chimera in half. Cracks formed throughout the bridge, each further step having the chance to be the final straw on the camel’s back.

It took no effort to dislodge Manreaper from the bridge’s rotten planks, several of which were completely shattered by the strike. Typhus swung from above to form a vicious uppercut, which was blocked by Argus’ axe. 

The blow flung Manreaper out of Typhus’ hand, causing it to embed itself in the bridge.

Now unarmed, Typhus was backed into a corner. Typhus dodged a flurry of blows, each mighty enough to cleave half a dozen Astartes in half, when he felt a sharp object in his abdomen.

Argus' Misericordia had struck Typhus' armor, causing his guts to spill out. Angered by his own oversight, Typhus' senses sharpened as time seemed to slow down for a millisecond.

That was enough time for Typhus to grab Argus' axe by the handle and rip it out of his hands. Anger, not rationality, fueled his thoughts now, causing Typhus to break the axe over his knees, sending shards of metal everywhere.

Argus was so struck by the sheer strength of his opponent that he barely registered the Misericordia flying straight towards his chest. 

Argus kneeled down, axe still in hand and facing the sky, while grasping the Misericordia.

The pain was sudden, sharp, and very ironic.

But not fatal. 

Having struck what were essentially the non-essential parts of his chest, the Misericordia did not inflict much damage. Thus, Argus was able to yank it out of his armor, blood glistening on the blade.

"How does it feel, Custodian? To feel death's embrace so near, and to have it caused by such a holy weapon."

"I do not know, filth. If you had really known that much about us Custodes, then you would know where our hearts are."

Argus lurched at Typhus, breaking the bridge beneath him by the force of his movements. Distracted by the flying Misericordia headed towards him, Typhus couldn’t evade Argus’ axe, which embedded itself deep within his chest.

Argus moved with such force that he crashed into Typhus, causing him to fall onto the bridge.

Typhus fell along with Argus onto the bridge, cracking it beneath their combined weight. The axe was dangerously close to Typhus’ heart, and as Argus stood up to deliver the final blow, that possibility was becoming more of a reality by the second. 

“Typhus The Traveller, I sentence you to death.”

Argus grasped his axe and drew it from within Typhus’ chest, eliciting the sounds of cracking bone and sludging flesh. He raised the axe up high, viscous ichor covering the once-shining blade. 

"Not… yet!"

A pale-green light creeped up from Typhus' heart to his skin, and up to the very tip of his hands. Eldritch magic flowed into existence, circling around Typhus and Argus like wolves around a limping deer.

Chapter Text

Typhus opened the palms of his hands, releasing all of his stored arcane energy directly at Argus. The sickly green energy shot up from Typhus’ hands to Argus’ breastplate, which caused a large explosion that decimated the bridge from edge to edge.

Both combatants fell into the river below, their respective companions being unable to see past the murky depths. Seconds passed as the Death Guard grew agitated by their lord’s seeming demise and as Kambyses’ mind thought of all of the different outcomes.

Below the river, Argus was sinking. Typhus’ psychic blast was strong enough to completely shatter and corrode his breastplate, leaving a large hole in his armor. It was also strong enough to knock Argus out for a few seconds, long enough for him to sink to the bottom of the river. 

And for Typhus to retrieve his Manreaper.

Once his body reached the bottom of the river and hit its hard rocky surface, Argus awoke with a sudden jolt. His armor’s grav-seal stopped any of the water from entering his helmet, though it didn’t stop the water from entering other parts of his armor.

Argus instinctively reached for his chest, which he found was unarmoured and exposed to the elements. He looked around in the surprisingly clear water for his axe or Misericordia, but both of them were nowhere to be found. 

Instead, the only thing the beleaguered Shield-captain saw was Typhus walking along the river bottom, the dreaded Manreaper in his hands. Typhus walked with little haste, something that Argus noted.

‘If he’s already slow on land, I wonder what happens underwater’

Even with the water that had seeped into his armor, Argus’ muscles and servos were strong enough to allow his movement to be nearly unhindered by the denser surroundings. He would use speed to overwhelm Typhus since brute strength would surely fail.

Argus ran towards Typhus, the surrounding water doing little to stop him. Typhus’ steps grew more frequent, though not to the level of Argus’. Once he was close enough to Typhus, Argus pushed against the river bottom with all of his might, creating a sonic boom as his body accelerated towards Typhus.  

Typhus sluggishly moved out of the way, but Argus’ fist already landed on his face. The blow stunned Typhus and allowed Argus to attack again, this time a kick to the arm. The point where Argus’ kick connected with Typhus’ gauntlet cracked, causing small pieces of ceramite to pierce the flesh underneath it.

The kick sent Typhus off balance, which Argus took full advantage of. He tackled Typhus to the ground while repeatedly slamming into his helmet, leaving him with no time to retaliate. Blow after blow, Typhus’ helmet became more deformed. 

Until one final blow, the helmet cracked in half, revealing Typhus’ rotten face. Bronze eyes met with green ones, each having seen many lifetimes of battle. Argus was disgusted by what he saw, so he swung another blow at him. 

But before Argus could land another strike, Typhus restrained him with his powers.

Argus struggled to even move, and he could feel his lungs being slowly crushed by the overwhelming pressure. He started to choke and gasp when suddenly, a voice appeared in his head. It was hoarse and low, but a single emotion pulsed with every word.

Vindication. And with it, came Argus' death.

++You will pay, corpse worshiper++

A green glow emanated from Typhus’ body, blinding Argus from what would come next.

Back on the surface, Kambyses tensely awaited any signs of life from the river, every muscle fiber in his body ready to leap into action and battle. He was steadying his gaze when he felt a rumble vibrate in the very ground itself. Then there was another. And another. Until one, final rumble, before a lone figure emerged from the depths.

Chapter Text

Argus’ head broke through the water’s surface, much to Kambyses’ relief. 

“Argus!”

Before Kambyses could approach him, however, he spotted a blade embedded through Argus's chest. As his body rose further, it was apparent that it was not through his own means.  

Argus' lifeless body hung on the blade of Manreaper, which was slowly being painted red by his blood. Just as his entire upper body was above water level, another figure strode forth. 

Typhus' crooked horn emerged from beneath the river, and his armor was shattered in multiple places. His helmet was cracked, and half of his face was gone.  

A flurry of emotions came to Kambyses' mind, causing him to run towards his brother, but a psychic push by Typhus forced him back.

“Stand back, Custodian!”

Typhus slammed Argus' lifeless body to the ground, dislodging him completely from Manreaper, before jumping forward. Slamming his fist into Kambyses, Typhus' speed nearly caught Kambyses off guard, who managed to block it with both hands.

Kambyses kicked Typhus in the sides, sending him barrelling to the ground. He took the time to retrieve his sword, which was lying on the ground mere feet away.

Typhus managed to recover from the kick and was about to gather his psychic powers when a blade came down upon him. He quickly moved out of the way, though that didn’t save all of him from being cut off.

Kambyses twisted his Klaimor’s trajectory and edge to direct it at Typhus’ right arm, which came clean off as the powered edge of his Imperator Lux easily carved through the Ceramite. 

But even with half of his face missing and his right arm cut off, Typhus still posed an insurmountable danger.

Typhus slammed a backhand into Kambyses’ left shoulder, creating a noticeable impact on it. A second strike immediately followed it up, a vicious uppercut enhanced by the energies of the Empyrean. 

The force of the blow sent Kambyses and his now-detached helmet flying for dozens of feet into the air. The descent back to the ground left a large gorge within the ground, marked by the blood of Kambyses. 

His sword still lay beside him, though it was now buried under the soil. 

Before he could reach for his blade, Kambyses was struck again by a powerful psychic blast. Its corrosive energies hit him squarely on the chest, sending him further into the ground. Its concussive force was enough to liquefy most beings, and its corrosive properties meant Kambyses’ armor was slowly being eaten away.

He keeled over in pain, hands on the ground as he screamed in agony. He could feel his skin peeling off, leaving red patches of flesh throughout his face and body. 

Typhus lumbered towards Kambyses before kneeling down beside him. He retracted his arm before slamming it into Kambyses' face repeatedly, breaking dozens of bones within his head. 

Kambyses could only try to stay conscious as strike after strike threatened to kill him his

Typhus seemed pleased by Kambyses’ condition, as he started to walk towards the river. And Argus’ dead body.  

Kambyses held his left arm by the shoulder, where the indentation caused by Typhus' strike was visible. Kambyses panted heavily as the killer of his brother-in-arms set his leg over the corpse.

The sound of creaking metal was barely audible as Typhus applied more and more force on Argus' body, but a slight dent was slowly deepening on the latter's armor.

The injured Blade Champion tried to stand up, but the sight of his brother's corpse made his body feel a thousand times heavier, causing him to sink down to one knee.

Kambyses could only lift his head high enough to above parallel, meeting Typhus' eyes. A scowl appeared on Kambyses' face, which was now without a helmet to conceal itself.

Typhus let out a laugh at the sight of Kambyses' anger, directed at both the death of his friend and his own failure to prevent it.

Eventually, Typhus calmed down as his gaze turned cold and murderous.

"Run, Blade Champion. Run ."

Ashamed, beaten, and bloodied, Kambyses painfully stood on his feet with his sword still in hand. Blood trickled down every open wound, including above Kambyses’ forehead. Taking one last literal bloody gaze at Argus and his killer, Kambyses walked off into the woods to the sounds of laughter and the splashing of water.

Typhus smirked as he saw the Custodian limp away, evidently injured from the previous fight. He could muster his men to track and kill him, but he would still need to take care of the dead one first.

Typhus could tie him to a banner, make an example out of him for those who dare oppose him, but that would be a waste of time. So he decided to simply roll his body into the river, like a worthless log that was in his way.

Shame. Guilt. Anger. Grief.

Those were the feelings that permeated each and every thought Kambyses had. The urge to run back, to charge the horde single handedly, to avenge Argus! Even the mere thought of doing so was enough to release adrenaline and a dozen other masterfully-crafted hormones into his bloodstream. But his centuries of training and discipline held the murderous dam back.

As much damage as he could inflict upon the horde, or even Typhus himself, it wouldn’t be worth leaving his men without a leader. Kambyses reached for his vox sensors, intending to warn his comrades about the situation. 

“ Krrrk -All troops, Shield-captain Argus is, he’s dead . P-prepare for th-thousands..- krrrk ”

Kambyses slowed his steps, having to lean against a tree for support. His vision was hazy and increasingly blurry while the world seemed to be spinning around him. Taking a few last breaths, Kambyses dropped to the ground after his body finally gave way.

That would’ve been the end of Kambyses’ story, had it not been for his mysterious saviors.

“The Laughing God’s grace extends to all members of the troupe, does it not?”

“Indeed. And this one…this one plays an important part in the final act.”

 Argus' body sank to the bottom of the deep river, bouncing off the rocky riverbed once he reached it. The river’s undercurrents took him far, far away to the edges of the Garden. There, the plants were less virile and the land more barren. 

Not many Daemons presided there, for it was always subject to raids by Khorne’s brass legions. In fact, no one was there to greet Argus’ dead body, that fateful day. No one, except for a God-being. 

He gently waded into the river, which had become shallower as it flowed through the land, and placed His hands beneath Argus. The being lifted the body up before setting him down on the riverbank, where He gave out a small prayer.

"Rest, O’ blessed son of the Throne. Join your kin in the Plains of Elysio, where the maladies of the Universe hold no sway. Death has brought your duty to an end, yet mine still remains unfulfilled."

Chapter Text

“So, Veilwalker, what’s it gonna be? Take him back to the Library, give him some medicine, take him to the Mansion, or leave him here to die? ”

“Hmm… Can’t have that last one, or the first, and the 2nd one just isn’t fun enough.”

“So you’re thinking of what I’m thinking?”

“I hope so.”

“Well, are you going to help me to lift him up?”

“I might, O’ Sky King. The Custodian seems pretty heavy, after all.”

Suddenly, the stern voice of a particular Custodian sent them to a stop.

“Halt, Harlequins.”

“Oh, why if it isn’t the Golden Guardian.”

Sylandri Veilwalker and the Sky King turned backwards to face Ulysses, who had came to seek out Argus and Kambyses. The Harlequins stared at him, but Ulysses couldn’t care less. Not after seeing the man on the ground.

Ulysses glared at Kambyses’ broken body, which was marred with scars and blood. His once spirited face was now stiff and hashed while his armor was burned and cracked. Worse of all? Argus was nowhere to be found.

“I will ask you once. Will you threaten his life?” said Ulysses, who was pointing at Kambyses.

“The Leaping Swordsman? He will survive.”

“In fact, he must survive. We will aid you in keeping him alive. So swears Cegorach’s chosen.”

“I assume that I have your words.”

“As long as you do your part.”

“Which requires me to do what?”

“Carry your comrade, please. He weighs nearly as much as twenty of us.”

“That much I can do.”

Veilwalker and the Sky King parted as Ulysses walked past the two of them, careful to not get in the way of his spear. Astonishingly, they held their heads low in reverence to the Custodes, whose brotherly love and grief was as apparent as it was tragic and riveting. Both aspects being crucial to any compelling play.

From up close, Ulysses could the the faintest signs of life upon Kambyses’ being. His chest still rose up and down every so slightly, while his face was still warm with pulsing blood. He would survive, come what may. 

Ulysses kneeled down before setting aside his spear. He placed his hands underneath Kambyses’ body, carefully gripping his armor, before standing up once more. 

Ulysses turned around towards the Harlequins, one of whom had apparently taken his spear, as it was currently being held within the masked Aeldari’s hand. Even with thoughts of possible betrayal or trickery, Ulysses decided to put his faith within them.  

"Come, Harlequins. I will lead the way."

"Actually, we might have a shortcut for you."

Ulysses was less than willing to follow the Harlequins through what he assumed was a secret Webway gate, especially considering the chances of an asssault from a greater force of Aeldari. But time was of the essence, so he reluctantly agreed.

“Fine, but promise that the Webway gate holds no traps.”

“Webway gate?”

“Oh silly you, we’re not taking the Webway, not here in Nurgle’s Garden!”

The two Harlequins’ faces beamed with joy and mischief, something that Ulysses thought was a bit disconcerting.

“We’re taking the Bullshit Phallus for a ride!” 

“Do you two mean the Bucephalu-oh.”

As if out of a cartoon from the Holy Woods District, one of the most perplexing sights Ulysses had ever seen played out in front of him.

Veilwalker clapped his hands together as the Sky King made his way to a nearby bush. He put his hands on said knee-high bush before ripping it from the ground, which revealed an entire Starweaver anti-gravity vehicle. It was of typical design, except for the larger thrusters and its gold plated exterior. 

“Don’t worry, Golden Guardian, we’ve put extra thrusters in this bad boy for-”

“Extra pomp!”

“Exactly!”

“I.. very well. Now, shall we get going?”

“Alright alright, just sit quietly in the back.”

Ulysses huffed as he got on the Starweaver, which felt suspiciously comfortable given his larger-than-Aeldari body. He made sure to lay Kambyses on his lap, leaving his hands to dangle side to side. Argus looked down at Kambyses’ unmoving face, which was slowly losing its warmth and color.

“Hold steady, brother. I will make sure of it.”

“We, actually!”

“C’mon Sky King, take us to the skyyy!”

The ethereal thrusters of the… Bullshit Phallus hummed to life as the Sky King pushed and activated all of the impposibly complex buttons and systems that the Starweaver possessed.

“Veilwalkers and Golden Guardians, this is your pilot speaking. ETA is 10 seconds, headed for Nurgle’s Mansion!”

With that, the…. 

“Urgh, must I really say this?”

“Astrum, if you want them to get the full context, then you must say it!”

“I’m doing this just so we can get on to His part.”

“Loud and clear.”

“Now, where was I…”

 With that, the Bullshit Phallus zoomed into the sky.

Chapter Text

It was faster than Ulysses had expected, especially for something that was only twice his size (and had more than twice his weight on it). The distance between their starting position and the Mansion would’ve taken him nearly 10 minutes to cross at full speed, but the Starweaver could cover 1/100th of that distance in a blink of an eye. 

Ulysses held on tight to Kambyses and the anti-grav vehicle, both of which felt like they were slipping out of his grip. He thought it was akin to riding a voidcraft that was rapidly accelerating while being on the outside of the hull, something only a handful of his brothers had claimed to have done.

Ulysses only had enough time to adjust his grip on Kambyses' body before the Starweaver came to an abrupt stop, causing him to bump his head into the headrest. Kambyses nearly flew off into the teeming masses of Daemons below the Starweaver, and would’ve been chopped into pieces had it not been for Ulysses’ quick reactions.

“This is the Sky King speaking. We have arrived!”

“THank tHe GoDs!”

“HhEheHHahaHAeH!”

‘No wonder the others were afraid of clowns’ thought Ulysses as the two Harlequins laughed for several seconds. Eventually, though, the Harlequins stopped laughing and turned their attention towards Ulysses.

“Where to, my friend?”

“Harlequins, take me to that dreadnought.”

“You mean the Brass Sentinel? Of course!”

The Sky King pushed a button on the Starweaver’s control panel which caused it to suddenly fall without any thrusters or momentum-breakers. Ulysses was separated from his seat by the sudden change in direction, and he nearly lost grip of Kambyses, only managing to hold him by the ankle.

After a few seconds of free fall, the vehicle restabilized itself just mere feet above the ground, crushing a few Daemons underneath its Wraithbone hull. At first, the Nurglite Daemons backed away from the meteor-craft, but eventually, one of them dared approach it. 

Which caused its head to have a hole in it from a shuriken cannon.

“Veilwalker, fire away!”

Veilwalker immediately commandeered both of the craft’s shuriken cannons and started unloading them onto the Daemons, who were wholly unprepared for the lightning-fast projectiles. The Sky King then pushed another button, causing the Starweaver to accelerate forward.

However, the many Daemons in front of it caused it to be slower than anticipated. The Starweaver crashed through dozens of Daemons a second, leaving behind a trail of mangled Daemons in its wake.

Ulysses grabbed onto Kambyses for dear life as the Starweaver swerved erratically through the Daemons. Thankfully, the Sky King decided to push another button, this one being marked with a cloud rune, which caused the Starweaver to increase its elevation by a few dozen feet to escape the Daemons' clutches. The grav-vehicle accelerated through the horde, which all dissolved into an unrecognizable glob of green shapes for the briefest of moments.

Just as suddenly as it had accelerated, the Starweaver skidded to a halt mere meters before Kariyan, whose towering frame–and Arachnus Storm Cannon–was facing towards it.  

The Harlequins snickered at the austerely gold coloration of Kariyan’s chassis when most others would’ve been frozen in fear. Their taunts, which included “Oversized big fig” and “Mr. Pauldrons”, didn’t help their standing–neither did their reputations as Cegorach’s chosen.

The dreadnought would have reduced the Starweaver to a smoldering wreck had it not been for the timely intervention of Ulysses, whose golden armor caused Kariyan to still his hand. Ulysses hurriedly jumped from the Starweaver, landing deep on the soft soil below.

“Kariyan, stand down! The Harlequins are with me.”

His hands gestured to the Harlequins to quiet down, which they promptly ignored in favor of shooting Daemons left and right. Their potential encirclement meant time was of the essence, so no words could be exchanged between Custodes.

Instead, Ulysses pointed at the Starweaver, which Kariyan’s built-in auspex arrays analyzed to find the fleeting–but still present–warmth of Kambyses’ body. A ping of understanding from Kariyan’s machine spirit to Ulysses’ was enough spoken.

A swing from his power fist punched a hole within the Daemonic lines, one that was large enough to comfortably fit him and the Starweaver. 

Ulysses tapped the side of the Starweaver with the back of his gauntlet as he made his way to its rear, to which the Sky King nodded in understanding. The Starweaver's grav-engines purred once more, though its propulsors stayed at a softer hum. 

Using his massive firepower and deadly arsenal, Kariyan burned a path through the Daemons, who were caught between his searing lascannon beams and sun-hot plasma blasts. The blades of a hundred Daemons found their edges on Kariyan’s armor, though all that they did find was their dooms. 

Behind him was the Starweaver which dealt lightning-fast shards of death in nearly every direction. Veilwalker stood proudly atop the Starweaver, shooting down Daemons left, right, and even up–the battle flies were her favorite target.  In turn, the Starweaver and its occupants were guarded by Ulysses from the rear. 

Any Daemons in pursuit of the grav-vehicle would find themselves cut down by a blade or a bolter round. No Daemons, whether if they walked, crawled, flew, or burrowed, would ever come to harm Kambyses. Ulysses would make sure of it. 

But as the band of heroes steadily marched onwards, the main Imperial force was finding themselves dwindling more and more. Though thousands had fallen to the Daemons, it was slowly becoming more apparent that something else posed a greater threat to the baselines.

Chapter Text

Ken and his men were slowly retreating as per Kambyses' orders, but the constant stream of new Daemons hindered their movement. Alexei and his 27 men–now reduced to only 14–had stayed close for strength in numbers, but that couldn't stop what was really killing them.

The Daemons had chased them through a dense forest, which itself had taken the lives of a few dozen men. Carnivorous Gnarlmaws, hidden lairs full of ravenous insects, and the destructive floating bloatlords had picked off Ken’s men. Fortunately, however, there was a path that led to the Mansion, which Ken knew was their way out.

"Alexei, make way for the crossing! I will fend the Daemons off while you and your men escape."

"Copy that!"

Alexei turned around before yelling at the top of his lungs

"Men, make way for the crossing!"

The soldiers, who had been fighting and running for over an hour at this point, were exhausted and could only run so fast before their breath was up. Even with their gas masks and oxygen rebreathers, the putrid stench of the Garden permeated through the small gaps within their masks; condemning them to a slow and agonizing death.

That was not the mention the many plagues that were in the ground, trees, water, and air, many of which could kill a mortal in mere minutes, if not seconds.

Alexei had seen a couple of his men fall to the plagues, and how even a tiny cut in their gloves could see a virile plague infect their entire body in a few seconds. Once they had become infected, Alexei had little choice but to shoot them, as it was a mercy compared to the pain they would go through–or the service that would follow soon after. Though being gnawed to death by a Daemon wasn’t enjoyable either.

He aimed the bolt pistol at a pair of Glitchlings that were climbing over a squadmate of his before shooting them square in the belly, causing their tiny guts to spill out of their stomachs. A pair of voidsmen slung their lasguns on their backs before carrying their wounded comrade to safety. Alexei pointed in the crossing’s direction, to which the voidsmen nodded in unison. After seeing that his men were all out of the forest, Alexei reloaded his bolt pistol before walking towards Ken.

The actor-turned-Ultramarine was busy shooting down Plaguebearers with his much larger bolt pistol, sending them to their deaths. Ken knew those last few Plaguebearers that he killed wouldn’t be the last, but their deaths provided him a brief respite.

“Lord Ken, it’s safe for us to go. The men have all crossed the path.”

Ken, who was analyzing the forest for any more foes, nodded in acknowledgment at Alexei’s words.

“Alright. Go ahead, I’ll make sure nothing ambushes us from the rear.”

With his sights still pointed at the forest,  Ken heard Alexei’s light footsteps trail further and further away. When he guessed that the likelihood of the ambush was low, he turned around towards the crossing.

But before he could start moving, the sounds of weapons firing off echoed throughout the forest. Ken rushed to the clearing while hurriedly unsheathing his blade, which crackled blue as its energy fields were brought to life.

It took less than a second for Ken to escape the woods, only for him to find a bloatlord firing upon his men. A dozen bodies lay mangled on the ground, with less than half of that number seeking shelter behind rocks and fallen logs.

The bloatlord turned its attention to Ken, but its body was bisected completely in half with a single leaping strike.

Ken landed on his feet with a noticeable thud simultaneously as the bloatlord's body fell to the ground, twitching in its last moments.

Ken immediately looked for Alexei and his men, who were slowly peeking out of their hiding spots. He noted that the rest had escaped without much damage, but the same could not be said for Alexei.

"Alexei!"

Ken ran towards the sergeant, who was coughing up blood and whose skin was beginning to become covered by rashes.

"My Lord, it appears that I've been compromised."

Ken looked at Alexei's slumped body, to which he identified the cause of Alexei's sudden ailment. There was a large crack on his gas mask, which would've explained how he contracted a plague so suddenly.

"There's yet hope, Alexei. Men, stay close, and try to link up with the others! I will get the sergeant to safety."

Ken stooped down to the ground before gently lifting Alexei with a single arm, as he would use the other to claim his sword from the ground. After sheathing it, Ken ran with all of his might.

Chapter Text

As he ran past the battlefield, tens of voidsmen fell to the ground around him, clutching their chests, throats, or whichever body part was filled to the brim with unimaginable pain. Those who had died were left to rot by their squadmates, but some still fought for their comrades.

Ken was carrying the body of Sergeant Alexei, whose eyes and veins were bulging beyond what a normal human should ever endure. Pus-filled boils were starting to emerge throughout his body, which Ken made sure not to touch.

"M-my lord, I am alright. You may let me down, a-and focus on the others."

"No! Not if I can save you!"

"My… lord, if I die today, then I will do so willingly. My Emperor calls me."

The sergeant, between his moments of unconsciousness, comforted Ken with words of wisdom, yet the Ultramarine would not let him die so easily.

He quickened his pace before happening upon Raquelle, who was busy defending a duo of medics as they tended to the wounded.

"Raquelle, we've got to find shelter for the voidsmen! At this rate, the plagues will kill them before the Daemons do!"

"Ken! I-"

Raquelle stopped for a moment, looking at the voidsman in Ken's arms.

"-Ken, he's…"

Ken looked downwards at Alexei's face, which was now swollen and colored with red streaks of blood that erupted from his nose and eyes.

"No, Alexei!"

The sergeant painfully brought his functioning hand towards Ken's pauldron, almost absent-mindedly patting it in a futile attempt to comfort him.

"My lord, it is okay. Here I am: dying among the Custodes, after dealing death to many foes of the Emperor, all while fighting for His children. Few could claim such a glorious end. But.."

Between his tears, Ken could see the sergeant pointing at his hip-stashed bolter.

"I do not wish to serve the enemy. So please, my lord-"

"You wish for me to kill you, don't you?"

"I'm sorry for this burden, but it is a must to prevent my ruinous service."

"I cannot. I… will not"

"Then let me go, and let me charge into the horde."

"I.."

"Ken, I'm sorry, but he's right. The Rot will consume him, and if left to its own devices, it will corrupt him."

"Then, Alexei, you will die for the Emperor, and only for Him."

Even though every fiber of his being told him to stay with Alexei during his last moments, Ken knew that war begets hard choices.

Choices that fell upon those select few.

So it was that Ken gently put Alexei on his two feet, fighting back tears as the pain of merely standing showed itself on the voidsman's face. However, Ken noticed that he was unarmed.

"Where's your weapon?"

Alexei smirked as he rummaged through his own pockets before lifting his right hand, which was holding a not yet primed melta-grenade.

"Don't need one. I'm going out with a blast . Now if you don't mind, I'd like to meet my squad."

Step by aching step, Alexei walked further from Ken and Raquelle and nearer to the horde. After a few steps, Alexei seemed to halt in his tracks. Ken tried to move closer, but Alexei merely looked back and uttered the two words held dear by quadrillions of beings:

“Emperor protects.”

Somehow, Alexei mustered enough strength from within and without his body to run; to run faster than he ever had into the snarling horde. The grass and soil beneath his feet were plucked up and flung behind him as his boots dug into the ground while he ran.

The familiar ticks of a primed grenade were barely audible to even Alexei himself, but to the enemies of Man, each passing tick was a moment closer to their deaths. Eventually, Alexei happened upon a group of Plaguebearers and Glitchlings who were in the middle of administering plagues to a squad of voidsmen.

It was a Plaguebearer that first noticed Alexei’s presence, but the Daemon noticed him too late.

Ken and Raquelle steeled their hearts and looked away, realizing that the living still needed them. Ken unsheathed his Power Sword from its blood-stained scabbard while Raquelle spoke to the medics, intending to help them carry the wounded. 

Even the sounds of a melta-grenade going off did not distract them from their sacred duty.

Or at least, that's what the history books would say.

Alexei awoke in a room filled with yellow overtones and warm hues, his eyes slowly taking in more details by the second. During the first five seconds, he could only make out the general shapes inside the room, and by each following second, he noted a familiar object.

The carpet which his grandmother sewed for his 18th birthday was beneath him, sitting on the floor–untouched by time. The vase which he broke on his 15th–which earned him a harsh scolding from his aunt–was on the table that his father made before his 11th, which was decorated with tiny metal flowers along its twisting legs.

Above the vase and table was a portrait, a family portrait, of Alexei’s relatives. Some of whom were dead when he last departed Terra, and some of whom had been there to say wish him luck. 

Taking a step forward, and another, and another after that, he reached over to lightly touch the painting. Alexei’s hand hesitantly glided over the painting, almost as if touching it would make everything in front of him to disappear. Suddenly, he felt a slight tug–one that was growing stronger–at the back of his mind to turn around.

Like a hapless sailor does when they are seduced by the irresistible siren call, Alexei moved his body to face where his back once did. What he saw–or rather, who he saw–beckoned tears to pour from his eyes. 

Right in front of him were his family members, standing in a half circle near the room’s partition wall. His aunt, grandmother, cousins, and at the very front, his loving parents. His mother opened her arms wide, to which Alexei ran into. 

The entire family hugged together for seconds, happy that they were all united. But even through the bliss that was meeting his family again, Alexei noticed a smiling figure of austere style on the other end of the room.

His eyes were as dark as his equally black hair, yet his smile was as warm as a hearth on a winter’s night. The man’s bronze skin glowed slightly, even among the shadows which covered his entire body. 

There was little doubt as to who this man was, so Alexei merely nodded at him. The man returned the gesture before appearing to dissipate into the air, leaving behind only happiness and a sense of peace within the room.    

Chapter Text

Still concerned with the wounded, Ken and Raquelle winced as the sound of a melta-grenade erupted in the far distance; both knowing full well what that sound meant. For a moment, their hearts turned melancholy as they silently grieved for a noble warrior’s demise.

However, the call of battle roused their fighting spirits to the fore once more.

In front of him lay a path that should lead to the Mansion, which Ken could see towering above everything around it. The only problem was that the dozens, if not more Daemons were shambling towards Ken’s group, forming a wall of flesh between them and the main Imperial force. The green, lumbering Daemons raised their rusty blades up high at the chance of spreading Nurgle’s gifts, chanting foul expressions and promises with glee. Thus, Ken felt obligated to return the gesture.

Blade raised up high, Ken leaped forward towards a group of shambling plaguebearers, breaking any sense of coordination they had into oblivion. The combined weight of Ken's ceramite armor and speed from his dash broke the bodies of nearly half a dozen Daemons upon impact, causing those behind them to fall onto their backs from the sheer force of the impact.

As the dazed Daemons regained their footing, Ken swung his sword at them, cleaving half a dozen more in a single strike. Those that weren’t cut down were reduced to teeming masses of gore as bolter rounds ripped through their bodies, masterfully placed by Ken’s superhuman aim to ensure success.

Taking a second to check on his allies, Ken could see Raquelle elegantly cutting down Plague Bearers and Plague Toads in his periphery. Her altered nature as a blank afforded her an edge against the Daemons, rendering herself both invisible and deadly to the Neverborn. The victims of her killing spree could only glance nervously at their surroundings before a blade sliced them in two, ending their pitiful existence. 

The medics, who had left behind most of their equipment as they broke and rusted in the Garden’s environment, stuck closer to Raquelle after having noted that Daemons appeared to be weaker around her. 

In turn, a small band of a dozen Voidsmen followed the medics, walking with sprained ankles and jammed weapons. They huddled together in a roughly circular formation, weapons aimed at their surroundings to pick off any Daemons that attacked from behind. Though the lack of heavy weapons meant they couldn’t drop most of the Daemons in a single shot, the presence of two enhanced individuals more than made up for it.

Far ahead, Ken had cut a path made of mangled Daemons for his allies. The Ultramarine had cut down dozens upon dozens of Daemons at this point, mirroring the carnage that his Sternguard Veteran brother caused upon Graia. And he wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

A single well-placed shot felled a Battle Fly, causing the carcass to fall and crush the Daemons caught under its barreling body. Ken dodged the falling pieces of flesh and skillfully weaved his body in a swinging motion, bisecting a duo of Neverborn before taking a step back to dodge a blow from a rusty plaguesword.

Ken took a second to see the lanky yet towering Daemon before him: it was most likely a Plaguebearer given how almost everything else in Nurgle’s Garden was too, but this specific one was over thrice his height and a pot belly the size of a child.

Too much like the size of a child, in fact, that Ken feared it was the work of the Warp’s senseless cruelty.

The tall plaguebearer swung its plaguesword again, this time being parried and thrown aside by Ken’s powersword. Seeing its sword thrown to the side and impaled upon its fellow chaos spawn, the Daemon dashed forth, only to have its head shot off and its feet brought to a halt.

Ken quickly sheathed his sword and rolled between the falling corpse’s legs, standing up just in time before the body hit the ground. With a noticeable thud, the Daemon fell on the ground, breaking the rotten roots that ran amok through it. 

“Timber.”

Ken grabbed the Daemon by the legs before swinging it in a downward arc at the Daemons in front of him, flattening at least half a dozen of them. The rest moved aside to avoid being crushed, but the path’s width didn’t afford them much room to move. Ken took advantage of that by swinging the corpse within his hands side to side while slowly advancing, crushing the Daemons between the corpse and the surrounding trees.

Between swings, Ken noticed the sounds of guns coming from ahead, signaling that he was getting closer to the rest of the Imperials. Wanting to end it all sooner, he picked up the battered–yet intact–Daemon’s body and ran full speed towards the Mansion.

Acting as a battering ram, shield, and portable cover all in one, parts of the Daemon broke off as it slammed into the bodies and rusted swords of its brethren. Ken grunted to keep the body stable and up high, forced to trudge through the hordes as the Daemons began to push back.

Eventually, the Daemon’s body became too littered with holes for use, so Ken dropped it in favor of his powersword and boltpistol. Rallying the voidsmen behind him, Ken raised his sword towards the Mansion. 

“Come forth, men! Our destination lies beyond that grove!”

The voidsmen became encouraged by the chance of reuniting with their allies and proceeded to run over the many bodies that littered the path. Raquelle also quickened her pace to a light jog, sword at the side and ready for battle. 

Ken was somewhat enthusiastic too, wanting to check up on his old and new friends alike. All he would need to do was climb over that fallen tree and…

Ken stood still as he saw piles of the dead; both Daemons and mortals alike. At least two dozen men were dead, given that it was how many intact skulls there were. The corpses had entire limbs chopped, crushed, burned, or shot off, leaving them little more than mangled body parts. Who or what had taken the time to pile the bodies was unknown to Ken–and he'd rather not find out.

Unfortunately, he did. 

Painfully.

On some far-off planet, in some far-off time, a shaman was dying. 

He was gathered with his Bloodkin: those whom he had spent his entire life learning, fighting, and surviving with. Countless skirmishes, hunts, winters, droughts, and more had been spent with these men and women who were like family. And now, they were all dying on some barren plain in the equatorial area.

He–along with the others–had his throat slit with an obsidian blade, though they weren’t forced, coerced, or even given any illusions of reward. Of the thousands of shamans, holy men, and witches that had gathered, none questioned the urgency of their deaths.

It was either the few thousand or Humanity’s past, present, and future. When faced with such a monumental task, all of them chose the former. From the islands of great beasts and mountains of snowy death to the vast coasts and humid forests, and the arid deserts and lush jungles, all those who possessed the gift marched to the Great Field. 

As his last dying breaths painfully sputtered out of his lungs, the shaman wished that Mankind–whether or not it knew of his, of their sacrifices–would thrive and conquer the stars.

Chapter Text

Raquelle gasped as a loud hiss and crackle erupted in the air, followed by the sounds of a small explosion and Ken’s falling body. 

The nearly four hundred-pound ceramite armor fell with a blunt crack as it hit the ground, accompanied by a painted grunt. Time slowed down for Raquelle as she ran for Ken only for the tree in front of her to burst into a great many splinters, revealing the bloated body of a Death Guard legionnaire.

She skidded to a halt and instantly drew her blade to block an incoming bolter round, which split in half as it hit her powersword's edge. The two halves of the round continued to fly behind her for several meters before exploding, providing a smokescreen for Raquelle's next move.

Raquelle leaped with a forward spin and blade outstretched to create a swift circle of death. The Death Guard shot a flurry of rounds at her, all of which merely zipped past her fast-approaching form. 

After less than a millisecond passed, Raquelle’s blade and the Death Guard’s armor finally made contact. Too sluggish to dodge, the Astartes was forced to take the blow head-on. 

The blade cut deep into his chest, embedding itself within the armor and chest cavity of the marine. The Death Guard fell to a knee, something that Raquelle realized wasn't entirely due to her sword.

"I'm hurting you, aren't I? Just by being me, your existence is fading away."

The Astartes growled at Raquelle with contempt, though he admitted there was truth in this callous female's words. He felt his very body fall apart the longer and closer she was to him. He had to escape.

The depth of the sword’s cut made it difficult for Raquelle to dislodge it, which gave enough time for the Astartes to break free. He gripped the sword by the handle before batting Raquelle away to a tree, cracking it vertically. Raquelle raised her head just in time for The Death Guard to stand up and run towards her, only for his head to come right off.

Raquelle regained her balance while watching the corpse fall, spilling toxic green blood as it let out its last heartbeats. The head had rolled off several meters to the side, leeching out blood to the ground.

Raquelle then moved her attention to Ken, whose armor now sported a visible patch of dented and blackened armor on his right chest. In his right hand was his sword and in the other was his dirtied helmet. She could see that he wasn’t injured, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“Ken, are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just a single round. It’d take something… heavier to punch through my armor.”

“That’s good. And we should get going, what if more of them come?”

“You’re right. But, where are the rest?”

"What, oh! Right. Voidsmen, it's safe now!"

As the previous altercation had proven itself finished, the Voidsmen and medics emerged from their cover. '13 Voidsmen, 2 medics. Not much, and certainly less than how many followed me here.' thought Ken 'Although, that's much better than no one.'

Ken donned his helmet once more, its bone-white color contrasting with the deep blues of his armor. Equipped with his sword and hip-locked bolter, Ken marched onwards, followed by Raquelle and the rest.

This time, however, Ken made sure to fully immerse himself within the helmet's visual arrays. From detecting heat signatures to running diagnostics, the helmet displayed enough information to turn any capable Astartes into an efficient soldier. As for Ken, it was useful enough for him to spot any lifeforms.

Including… three Tech-priests?

Using the helmet’s focusing systems on top of his already enhanced hearing, Ken listened in on the Tech-priests’ conversation. The far-off sounds appeared as if they were coming from his own ear, as such was the helmet’s sophistication.

“0101010101011111001010101”

“01101101010110010101111100”

“111011100001101010101110”

Unfortunately, he didn’t understand much, so he decided it was better to just check up on them. Careful to not arouse any alarm, Ken introduced himself a distance away from the Tech-priests.

“Tech-priests, it is I, Ken of the Ultramarines. I am one of Lady Barbara’s companions, and I bring medics and men.”

Ken continued walking to them, though he delayed his steps in response to their sudden silence. His strides became little more than cautious steps until they stopped entirely as he arrived in front of the massive tree stump that shielded the Tech-priests.

Suddenly, a mechanical voice rang out.

“[You]=ally///[One of us]...=wounded.”

Sounding like an electronic and raspy parody of a human’s, the Tech-priest’s voice displayed the usual pomp and superiority–and the very unusual tinge of sorrow or hesitation, as Ken realized what the slight pause in the sentence entailed.

Just as he opened his mouth, the two other Tech-priests carried out a limp body, who Ken recognized as–

“Jeff!”

The shaman awoke in an impossibly bright place; far brighter than any place on the Earth. It was like standing right in front of a sun, yet one that did not burn his skin with its heat. It was like staring at the collective souls of his fellows, which radiated a feeling of warmth, hope, and power.

“ Silim, šeš ( Hello, brother ). ”

An old man’s voice called out to him, which beckoned him to turn around. He saw an aged man with long, flowing robes colored with streaks of brown and green. His eyes conveyed a wisdom that was beyond the shaman’s comprehension. In his wrinkled hands was a great oak staff adorned with carved bone and stone, and sitting atop it was a shard of obsidian.

The old man pointed at the shining light, extending a hand at the shaman. Without any hesitation, he took the old man’s hand and walked towards the light.

Chapter Text

Ken walked past the first Tech-priest and the second, only stopping by the third, who stopped walking in tandem with the second one. The medical officer’s eyes were fluttering and his breathing was erratic, while his body writhed in pain. 

“Medics!”

Ken’s vox-grill enhanced his voice to such a degree that the medics immediately sprang into action, taking out whatever basic tools they still had. And as the medics ran over to Jeff, Ken’s panic began to show itself. 

“Jeff, it’s me, Ken! Are you alright?”

Jeff turned his head towards Ken before speaking meekly; a contrast to his usual bossy and loud tone. 

“I– cough cough –am not feeling well. And please– urgh –tell the Tech-priests to put me down.”

Jeff’s voice was raspy and low, requiring Ken to actively use his helmet’s systems to even hear him. Ken gestured at the Tech-priests to put Jeff down, which happened just when the medics arrived. Now down on the ground, Jeff began spouting a dying man’s woes.

“I’ve never been the best medic, but I never regretted anything either. Besides, doing simultaneous surgery on seven different patients was the best time of the last decade…”

Ken was too busy assisting the medics in making Jeff sit upright to pay attention to his words, which glossed over his thoughts like rain on a roof. As the medics opened Jeff’s surgical vest, Ken could see the unsightly green and black veins that now appeared across Jeff’s chest.

Raquelle and the assembled Voidsmen watched from afar, eyes focused on the unfolding situation in front of them.

The medics brought out micro-examiners, oxy-pulsers, and thermo-counters, rapidly checking the senior medic’s vitals. However, as each examination ended with a red warning appearing on each piece of equipment’s screen, what would happen next was written on the wall.

“My lord, forgive us, but… there is nothing we can do.”

“So he’s going to die?”

Ken expected someone else’s–anyone else’s–voice to pipe up in response, not Jeff’s. Much less, not in agreement. 

“There’s nothing that they can do, boy. This hellhole of a place has me in its grip. It means I’m dead. I suggest you leave and, argh , forget me…”

“But you’ll…”

Jeff painfully forced a smile to appear on his gaunt face, stretching the skin on his face with utmost effort. Even then, it barely formed a slight curve of his lips, and it did not ease Ken's mind as intended. 

Ken grimaced as the familiar turn of events unfolded, knowing that leaving Jeff here would lead to his painful demise. But he’d seen what the Garden had done to Jeff and so many others. Without his realization, something inside of him changed–and he made the hard choice. 

“Medics, lay him up against that boulder. Make sure he is comfortable. Everyone else, prepare to move. The Mansion is but a few minutes away.”

Ken immediately began walking while the medics lifted and gently dragged Jeff towards the nearby boulder, causing Raquelle to be shocked at Ken’s somewhat callous actions. As a friend and an ally, Raquelle was worried about Ken's feelings.

She increased the pace of her steps to a light jog until she was walking beside him, continuing to do so to keep up with Ken’s longer strides. Ken's head turned to face her, any ounce of emotion being hidden by his helmet. 

“Ken, you’re just going to leave him there?” 

Raquelle was expecting to find a voice wracked with doubt, grief, and regret. However, only the stern, analytical reply of a warrior came; being a declaration, answer, and defense all in one.

“There is only war.”

Raquelle looked at Ken’s face, which was wholly obscured by his helmet. Almost as if she could see through it, Raquelle imagined his steely gaze behind the helmet’s lenses, contrasting her own melancholy eyes which were reflected on them. Not knowing what caused this change in behavior, she took a step closer, but Ken stopped her.

“I’m sorry, but war necessitates sacrifices. The deaths of a few must not distract us from the survival of the many, even if-”

Ken stopped mid-sentence, feeling as if he’d just awoken from a dream. Sensing something was awry, he began running diagnostics on his vitals. Almost immediately, half a dozen reports appeared on his visual display. Elevated heartbeats, overactive brain waves, along with a hefty dose of adrenaline did point to an unusual occurrence.

"-even if… we want to help everyone." 

"Well, just make sure that you don't lose sight of yourself in this mess. Remember, we're doing this for everyone, not just the many. Pinky promise?"

"Pinky promise, Raquelle."

Satisfied by their brief exchange, Raquelle slowed down, choosing to walk beside the medics and Voidsmen instead. Ken continued at his usual pace, on the other hand. However, Ken's mind was running faster than a grav-bike with a myriad of thoughts, in particular with a single question:

'What the hell was that?'

The light.

The light was many things. 

Bright.

Warm.

Hopeful.

Familiar.

And above all else, powerful.

The gathered souls of a thousand shamans coalesced within the now corrupted and chaotic Sea of Souls, forming a bright–yet small and barely noticeable–spot of order within it. Within the bright sphere was a cacophony of colors: hues of sapphire blue, emerald green, amber yellow, and ruby red swirled inside the small spot of order, mixing and mingling like a master-crafted painting from Old Terra. 

The beauty of life had been passed on to the hereafter, kept alive by the memories of the dead.  

The Neverborn of the Dark Gods shrieked in anger and pain as the light burned their unholy hides. Yet, the bravest among their number attempted to claw away and peer into it, attracted like moths to the flame. Though it burnt them, the light signaled the abundance of prey. Yet, it was not the only thing that called to them.

A massive choir of chants, hymns, and mantras from every corner of the world reverberated within and without the sphere of light, shaking and enticing the souls of every Neverborn who heard it. Led by the most powerful of The Gathered, whose voices were thunder and rain, they sang of a united dream. 

In the middle of the choir, in the midst of the chanting coven of power, was an infant. Tiny. Vulnerable. And certainly harmless. The infant's bronze skin was bathed within the shower of light that completely encompassed him, glowing with a power that would come to be feared in the millennia to come. In this state, the infant wouldn't even be fully conscious, nor would it have significance. And that was why everyone was gathered here.

Wise men from the Himalazias, boisterous priests from Babylonia, medicine men from Nord Merica, druids from far off Jermani, and hundreds more sang from their literal souls for the salvation of Mankind, and for one thing. For one plan. For one goal. For one man.

The One True Man.

Chapter Text

The group stopped in their tracks mere meters away from the Dungeons’ gates, taking a moment to look at them. The 30-foot tall gates were clad in great steel, and would’ve been a magnificent sight to behold had it not been for the several inch-thick layers of moss, fungi, and rust that obscured their surfaces. 

“By Kiahvar, these gates are ancient .”

Corvus couldn’t help but comment on the gates as he felt almost captivated yet absolutely disgusted by them. A feeling shared by his sister, though it was for different reasons.

“What an astute observation, brother. Maybe it’s because they were carved out of the first planetoids in the universe and have been here long enough for a hundred different moss species to evolve.”

Corvus merely rolled his eyes and let out a sigh at Mortarion’s sarcasm, instead choosing to direct his focus on the taint that emanated up the gates.

“No, there is more to them than that.”

Corvus walked closer to the gates for a closer view, only stopping a step’s distance from them. He observed every non-filth-covered spot of the gates, seeing the indelible mark of time on them. However, when he reached out with more than his eyes and ears, Corvus felt an unnerving presence doing the same.

“Mortarion-”

Corvus called out to his brother, who responded by walking closer to him and the gates.

“-how were these gates created? Something feels wrong about them.” 

Mortarion nonchalantly shrugged and rolled his eyes, eliciting another sigh from Corvus. 

“If you think these gates feel wrong, just wait until you actually go inside of the dungeons.”

As Mortarion sized up the gates, Barbie stepped closer to the gates as well, standing in between him and Corvus. She looked up at Mortarion, who didn’t make the effort to even look at her.

"Then what’s inside the dungeons, Mortarion? And how are we going to enter them?"

“Ahead of this gate lies another. Those ones are many times taller than the gates before us, and are inlaid with special magicks such that only Nurgle’s chosen can enter. Beyond that, thousands of horror-filled cells await us.”

“I’m guessing that you don’t have any of those magicks left in you, though.”

“Correct, sister. But we don’t need them anyway because I have a plan. It would take an unfathomable amount of power to blast our way through these doors, and that is why we won’t. Even the most impregnable of defenses cannot keep out the darkness and the shadows, so that’s what we’ll use to get in.”

“And by the darkness and the shadows, brother, I assume you’re talking about me.”

“Yes.”

“Using Corvus’ shadow realm to transport all of us into the dungeons is a clever–albeit risky–move. Has anyone else besides Mortarion entered your realm, Corvus?”

“No one important. Or alive. Mostly the latter. But not to worry, Barbara, they didn’t die because of the realm itself.”

“That’s great to hear. So I guess we could try?”

“Alright, then. I need all of you to be near me, and when I transport you to my realm, you must not split up. It’s easy to lose track of your surroundings there, and in turn, for you to get lost.”

Barbie and Mortarion took their places next to Corvus, while the Custodes unbiddenly marched forward and formed two lines in front of him. They stood unflinching and with their sole attention on him, which Mortarion found endlessly irritating. 

Corvus closed his eyes, focusing on centering his aura and expanding it to surround himself and the others. He felt as his soul touched against Barbie and Mortarion’s–feeling their respective souls burn down upon his own–and made contact with the Custodes’ fortified ones. Once he felt the aura of his soul firmly wrapped around the others, he spoke an incantation.

“ Animas istas ab umbris speluncæ protege, et da eis salutem . Talis Corvus quaerit. ”

As soon as those last few words were uttered, the walls and floors and ceiling that surrounded the group rapidly darkened into an inky darkness before completely giving way to a realm of shadows of nearly complete darkness. Once they were inside, the Custodes turned on their night vision while Barbie and Mortarion’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. Corvus, however, was nowhere to be seen.

The change in energies between Corvus’ realm and Nurgle’s dungeons was disorienting, even more so than when Barbie first arrived there. The darkness, though pitch-black, merely opened her other senses. Her sense of hearing, smell, touch, and psychic attunement were all dialed up to 11, reflecting her brother’s taut adherence to stealth in his legion’s combat doctrine. The domain, she realized, was simultaneously formed within and outside of his body; an extension of his psyche that existed in a different plain of reality altogether. She silently wondered if she too could create or access such a realm, and worryingly, she wondered if any of her wayward brothers could do so as well. Her gaze unconsciously wandered to Mortarion, who was glaring daggers at the Custodes.

Although he found the change in scenery to be tolerable, Mortarion admitted that the Custodes’ non-stop judging and surveillance of his every move was starting to get on his nerves. A Custodian in particular even had the gall to point his Guardian Spear ever so slightly in Mortarion’s direction, something which the 14th did not take lightly.

“Custodian, have your centuries of service been for naught? I thought you ought to know pointing at someone is rude.”

“I am here to carry out my Master's plan. See to it that your death does not become part of it, wayward son.”

The Custodian in question tightened his grip, which Mortarion responded by walking closer to him. As tall as a Custodian in Terminator armor was, a primarch would be taller still. 

“You think your fickle spear or grenade launcher can defeat me?”

The Custodian snickered, tilting his head in the direction of his companions.

“No, but ten of them can. For even a mighty Hierophant may fall prey to a few well-placed shots.”

“Although I don’t know what that is, I would like to test that out later. Or maybe, I could do it now–”

Mortarion opened the palm of his right hand, not fully aware of it or why he did so, only knowing that it felt familiar. He could almost feel the cold steel of a weapon’s handle in his grip, but that sensation vanished as Barbie’s voice cut through the darkness. Literally.

“Enough.”

A wave of ruby light spread from Barbie’s body, briefly illuminating her surroundings and crashing against and calming the minds of those around her. 

“Let’s just quiet down and save our strength for the real battle.”

“As you say, my Lady.”

The aggressive Custodian, who previously stood out of line, returned to his original position among his brothers. Mortarion had no such company with him, so he resigned to staring off into the distance, playing with his hands just to experience that fleeting feeling again. 

Chapter Text

“ Talis Corvus quaerit. ”

Corvus opened his eyes to the sight of rising pillars of inky smoke. Once the smoke dispersed, Corvus was delighted that he saw none of his companions. Now that he had put them inside the Umbral Caverns, all that was left for him was to walk through this gate and the one after that before retrieving his brother, sister, and the Custodes. 

“Now. Let me see if you are as good at keeping me out as you are at being existentially dreadful.”

Corvus reached out with his armored hand and wiped off a few inches of moss from the gate to reveal the rusty layer of steel beneath it, intent on feeling its abnormality up close. The Shadowed Lord’s gauntlet peeled itself away in shadowy trails to allow its master’s hand direct contact with the gate, which began to emit an eerie sound. It started off as a faint buzz, nothing more than barely audible white noise. Then, Corvus could make out the quiet whispers, the hushed words. The whispers continued on and on while becoming increasingly loud until they devolved into violent thrashing and screaming.

“The Unclean scorns us!”

“ The Great One blesses us!”

“There is no salvation! Kill us!”

“ We are saved! ”

“Stranger! Heed our pain!”

“ Accept your pain !”

“We are damned!”

“ Find peace in suffering! ”

Corvus’ mind recoiled at the anguished voices, yet even more so at the one which tried to quell the others. A broken soul, or a Daemonic being, perhaps? He couldn’t tell. Corvus lamented to himself, realizing that what should be done–liberating these tortured souls–was not what must be done in regards to his mission. With a heart as heavy as stone, Corvus spoke a solemn prayer before vanishing into smoke and mist, leaving behind a charcoal-like residue on the floor.

As shadows and smoke, Corvus could bypass all but the most impermeable of defenses–as long as they didn’t employ the use of high-level runes or enchantments, as he found out several times. Sneaking through the smallest crevices, the smallest imperfections, and the miniscule holes within the gates, Corvus felt thousands of immaterial hands brush against his soul, begging him to stay and free them, but he couldn’t spare the time nor effort to do so. The Liberator– damn that name, he thought– ignored their pleas and cries for just a few more seconds, just enough time to completely pass through the gate. 

And to behold another.   

Standing over five hundred feet tall and being just as wide, the gates that lay before him were large enough to fit an Imperator-class Titan comfortably, with perhaps enough room to fit a Warhound-class Titan on both sides. Even the towering forms of Great Unclean Ones, Beasts of Nurlge, Plague Hulks and a legion’s worth of horrid Daemon engines paled in comparison to the gates, akin to ants beneath them. 

‘ It is a wonder that we even managed to find the gates or eachother, considering the sheer size and danger of the mansion. Given the size of just this hall, the entire mansion could likely be the size of a hive city. Perhaps it was luck or fate that brought Barbara and I together, and I pray that it was not otherwise. ’

Corvus–still taking the form of smoke and shadows–surveyed the amount and types of Daemons inside the hall, which he estimated was large enough to hold an entire Space Marine chapter along with its mortal contingents. He would need to be careful not to draw attention to himself, otherwise the advantage of stealth would be lost. The Raven Lord decided it best to fly high rather than low, which had the obscenely dangerous possibility of alerting the Daemons. For even though his body was invisible and intangible, any vigilant lookouts could likely notice the faint outline of his soul. 

Soaring high above the Daemons, Corvus blended in with the dark and lichen-covered ceiling. As a product of spending ten millennia within the Warp’s most treacherous corners, Corvus’ soul had begun to overtake his body, leading to him unlocking a myriad of new capabilities. While in the past he could only reduce himself invisible, now the Shadowed Lord could truly earn his title. Transmuting his body into a dark or invisible substance, taking the form of a gigantic raptor, or even creating constructs with his soul’s essence were now achievable with but a thought. And that was without mentioning his trump card.

Having managed to reach the other side of the door without much trouble or time taken, Corvus quietly landed on an empty spot in the increasingly-crowded hall. It seemed like more and more Nurglite Daemons were spawning from nowhere, which Corvus thought could prove troublesome later on. He rushed closer to the gate and began to slip through when he felt a sudden oomph sensation in his mind. Corvus felt like he was trapped in place, unable to even shift an inch. As if that was not enough, he felt the shifting eyes of a Plaguebearer linger at him, too long for it to have been accidental. Just a few seconds later, the Daemon was indeed approaching him. 

‘ Damn it… I can’t move, for whatever obscene reason. But, that does not mean I am stuck. ’ 

Corvus reflected back on his time on Sicarus and when he was trapped within the Templum Inficio . The entire temple was covered in malefic symbols of power, specially made by Lorgar and the Dark Apostles, that bound him to its obsidian walls. Time and time again, as Corvus attempted to breach the thick obsidian doors preventing him from escaping, he was cast backwards in a surge of caliginous energy. Each time that he rushed at the doors, Corvus could feel a minutia of his soul being damaged, but he did not care. Unable to force his way out using brute force or psychic means, Corvus desperately raged for months on end to slake his vengeance with Lorgar’s accursed blood. That is, until one day, when he sat down and focused on his soul. 

Corvus focused on the inner core of his soul and the near-boundless realm that lay within it, trying to see if he could somehow manifest that realm on the outside. In retrospect, bringing his realm into reality would have done himself no favors. So it truly was fortunate that he discovered something else.

Wraith-Slipping.

Not just the discipline or martial art that Corvus had developed so long ago to enhance his legionnaires’ stealth capabilities, but true Wraith-Slipping. Corvus knew no other way to describe it than feeling as if your body, which had been dangling perilously over a cliff face, had been knocked over the edge and was now in a free fall–it felt like being dislodged from reality itself. But unlike a free fall, Corvus could somewhat control the direction and distance of his “slipping”. The only drawback to such a technique was its ludicrous drain on Corvus’ mind and soul. The last–and first–time that Corvus used it, he was forced into a nearly catatonic state for days, only managing to slightly recover his strength just as the Black Legion arrived to capture him.

However, since the monumental drain on his soul was likely due to him having Wraith-Slipped dozens of star systems away from his original location, the benefit of using it outweighed the risks. Corvus delved deep into his soul to tap into that forgotten core of his very being, the thing that made Wraith-Slipping possible in the first place. He rummaged through the figurative pile of soul-layer upon soul-layer before happening upon his prize. Not a moment later, Corvus’ body was transported from the hall into the dungeons, with the towering gates being far out of sight. 

“Ab umbra speluncæ socios meos quaero. Talis corvus quaerit.”

I awoke in a low-rise straw hut, as I did for most of my early life. I hazily stood up–careful to not break any of the newly-made pottery that my mother had molded–and walked to the door. The sun was already up and scalding even during the early morning, necessitating me to put on a simple yet comfortable animal skin garment. I heard a shout calling for my name coming from the river. ‘ My mother. ’ I thought. ‘ I hope she knows that I didn’t break any pottery this time. ’

How I wished that broken pottery was the most of my concerns. 

Chapter Text

The men grow tired. Their lungs tire from breathing the toxic smog, their skin burns from the acidic air, and their minds slow from exhaustion. The formations begin to fall and break apart. Morale drops amongst the troops as they face death head on. The Death Guard and their Daemonic legions have made use of their time, gathering together to batter and bash the Imperial forces into nothing more but desecrated bodies. The wistful dream of a chance that any man had of surviving this battle has vanished. This is their final stand, and there can only be one outcome. They will all die in the Emperor’s name, and that it is certain. But they will not die so easily…

Just as the high-pitched whirr of Kariyan’s Arachnus Storm Cannon brought the focus of the dazed Voidsmen to the front of the battle lines, the following seconds of unbridled rapid laser fire kept it. Visible from hundreds of meters away, hundreds of armor-searing laser beams burst forth from the cannon’s barrel every second, completely tearing, shredding, and burning down all of the trees and Daemons unfortunate enough to be in Kariyan’s precise line of fire. Even Plague Hulks fell to single shots from the cannon, their massive yet unarmored bodies wholly unmatched for a weapon capable of burning through meters of steel. After only six seconds, the Arachnus Storm Cannon’s rotary mechanisms slowed down, allowing its barrel to cool off after firing thousands of beams. 

In front of Kariyan, dozens of fallen trees and hundreds of fallen Daemons littered the forest floor. Even then, they did not stop marching. All across the meager two thousand-man lines that surrounded the Mansion’s gates, Daemons of all sorts poured out of the tree line, bringing with them the sound of toiling bells and gargling flesh. The Voidsmen were wary, Kariyan knew that. That was why he volunteered to lead them.

“SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE EMPEROR, STAND FIRM. ONCE ENOUGH GROUND HAS BEEN TAKEN BY THE ENEMY, FALL BACK. THERE IS NO GLORY IN TACTICAL INCOMPETENCE. NOW, RAIN DEATH UPON THEM.”

Kariyan’s voice boomed across the battlefield as it was followed by the thunderous cracks of bolter rounds and a thousand simultaneous rounds of lasfire. The initial round of lasfire was followed by scattered and sporadic volleys, though many of them hit their intended targets through sheer numbers and probability alone. Meanwhile, the Custodes unleashed rhythmic and carefully planned volleys of bolter rounds and adrathic beams upon the enemy’s more heavily-armored forces, reducing many a Daemon Engine into hole-riddled and charred remains.

The Harlequins atop of their Starweaver flew gracefully over the battlefield, completely untouchable to the combatants below. As ‘crude’ bolters and sporadic Lasweapons continued to grind the Daemons to a halt, the Starweaver’s shuriken cannons finished any survivors from afar, their molecule-thick discs slicing through both armor and flesh. 

“The sounds of firing guns, disgusting belching, tolling bells, and desperate screams make for quite the orchestra, don’t you think, Veilwalker?”  

“It’s all music to my ears!”

“ HaHAhahAhaHahAHaha !!”

In the midst of their laughter, however, they were interrupted by heavy fire from a pack of Bloat Drones. The flying Daemon engines were accompanied by scores of Battle Flies and Plague Drones, which sought to claw and tear away at the Aeldari vehicle. Fortunately for the Laughing God and even more so for his mortal follower, the Starweaver was built for such situations. Firing out holo-grenades and activating its advanced holo-fields, the Starweaver became nothing more than bright flashes of kaleidoscopic light, breaking the focus of the Daemons and robbing them of a solid target. It was only when the Starweaver closed in for the kill that the Daemons realized their situation, though it was far too late by then. The corpses of a dozen Daemons plummeted downwards in smoky spirals, down to where the real fighting was.

Back on the ground, Kariyan unleashed another devastating barrage of lasfire from his cannon, tearing apart a great deal of Neverborn. The precise strikes afforded to Kariyan by his Dreadnought’s unparalleled inner circuitry and the overwhelming destructive capacity of his Storm Cannon proved vital to stem the marching legions. After another brief six seconds, Kariyan allowed his weapon to cool down. As Kariyan was surveying the landscape–or at least, the parts that weren’t flattened by him yet–his sensors detected a small yet fast coming from over the horizon. Seconds passed before it came close enough for the old Dreadnought’s systems to identify the object: it was an artillery shell, and one that was poised to hit the Voidsmen. 

“Say, Veilwalker, do those little dots seem to be getting closer and closer?”

“I don’t know. What say you if we checked where they’re coming from?”

The artillery shell reached its peak right above Kariyan’s position before falling downwards in an arc upon the unsuspecting Voidsmen far behind him. A horrific scene proceeded to unravel: the shell had impacted where half a hundred Voidsmen were positioned, turning half of their number into guts and mangled flesh just from its initial impact before the true nature of its danger was even revealed. Following the initial explosion, a toxic cloud rapidly spread across the air, killing half a dozen near instantly. The spores chewed through flesh, bone, and armor as if they were made of paper, killing another half a dozen in a matter of seconds. 

The first shell was followed by six equally destructive shells that devastated the Voidsmen’s formations, killing nearly two hundred of them in a shower of explosions. The ranks broke as rocks, dirt, and body parts flew all over the place, sowing chaos into the men. Even worse, a suspiciously strong gust of wind pushed the floating mass of spores towards the other Voidsmen, who were barely able to notice it due to its sluggish pace and quiet advance. It was only when several squads had already been consumed by the spores that the rest of them reacted accordingly. The men desperately tried to take cover behind some logs, though it would have been for naught. But, before the spores managed to engulf their position, a crystalline dome of wraithbone rose up from the ground and encircled the toxic spores, sealing them within. 

At first, I walked at a leisurely pace, taking the time to breath in the warm morning air and the beautiful blue sky. However, as the shouts for my name grew more and more frequent and desperate, I knew something was wrong.

I ran as swift as a hawk through the village without a single drop of care towards my surroundings; the yells of surprise and indignation from the other villagers as they or their belongings were pushed to the ground were of no importance to me, only my mother’s voice was. My bare feet pounded against the ground like bone clubs against a sheep-skin drum, kicking up dust and sand with every forceful stride as the soles of my feet began to redden. I felt the pain of my skin peeling away, but I did not care. 

Chapter Text

Carrie and Taylor had found a suitable enough spot–a natural rock formation right in front of the gate–from which they could safely provide support to the soldiers. With the grace of true Aeldari Bonesingers, they spun their hands in circular patterns and sang to their heart’s content to bring their ideas into reality. Captivating and sturdy Wraithbone sprouted from the ground wherever they willed it, a bright contrast to the sickly green of The Garden. Although some of the Voidsmen were apprehensive regarding the presence of the ‘Xenos’, they could hardly complain when death was literally raining down upon them.  

Having taken care of the spores, Carrie and Taylor concentrated and combined their psychic prowess to enhance their senses. Their combined Aeldari minds–thanks in large part to the Emperor’s role in their creation–led to a surge of power that reverberated throughuout the battlefield, even slightly pushing back the Daemons that were advancing. Together they stood in silence, working on a secret weapon that could turn the tide.

At the front of the Imperial lines, Ulysses and Kariyan had bore witness to Carrie and Taylor’s timely intervention. Ulysses had decided to come down and join the fight while also leaving Kambyses in the care of the Harlequins. Even if he had a few sour interactions with others of their kind, Ulysses was always willing to expand his allies. After all, they were not suspicious–by Harlequin standards, at least–and they were fast enough to keep Kambyses out of harm’s way.  

“Kariyan, it seems that Lady Carrie and Taylor have managed to contain the toxins.” 

“ALL IS WELL THEN, ULYSSES. NOW TELL ME, WHAT MANNER OF FOE ARE WE FIGHTING?”

“The Death Guard are likely employing the use of Plagueburst Crawlers and Plagueburst Mortars. They fire shells that are as destructive as a Demolisher Cannon in addition to containing a payload of deadly spores. If we are subject to another round of shelling, I fear that we shall fall. Even our armor could only protect us for so long against them. Kariyan, are they present on your sensors?”

“MY AUGER ARRAY SEEMS TO HAVE DETECTED THESE SO-CALLED CRAWLERS. THEY ARE FAR AWAY, NEARLY 50 MILES FROM THIS POSITION.”

“Then it will be difficult to assault them without losing time or men. Our teleportation capabilities have been reduced to near-effectiveness after the Dauntless Spear’s destruction. Brother Percivon’s Vexilla has been missing as well.”

“I RECKON THAT WE DO NOT NEED TO ASSAULT THE CRAWLERS. LOOK ABOVE, ULYSSES.” 

Ulysses craned his head towards the sky, where he could see that the dizzying fractal lights accompanying the Starweaver’s movements were trailing away from the Mansion.  

“AS FOR NOW, WE SHALL ASSIST THE BONESINGERS WITH THEIR EFFORTS IN WHATEVER WAY.”

“Understood, brother.”

As he prayed for Kambyses’ safety, Ulysses swore that he could hear the Sky King’s laughter ringing faintly in his ear.

 My mother’s voice had become little more than a hoarse cry by the time I had reached her near the village’s outskirts. Several people were around her, helping her stand and giving her water from flasks. The look on her face was one of terror and grief, her eyes already swollen from the tears that ran down her face. As I made my presence known, my mother leaped into my arms, hugging me with a strength that I never knew was in her.

I pulled myself away from her embrace–steadying her body by holding her shoulders–before asking her about what had happened. Through several sobs and multiple failed attempts to string together a coherent sentence, she finally said a single word.

Chapter Text

The Harlequins’ Starweaver sped through the skies, obscured from the lingering gaze of any Daemons by the fractured images of its holo-field’s design. The craft only took a scant few seconds to cross the nearly 50 mile distance from the Mansion to the entrenched Death Guard force, whose slow advance was outright halted by the complement of Plagueburst Crawlers that they were escorting. This particular Vectorium–led by a mighty Lord of Virulence, Thraxoplasmox–employed the services of Plagueburst Crawlers and other such Daemon Engines of Nurgle to spread the Grandfather’s gifts. The tactical advantage of Lord Thraxoplasmox’s hundreds of heavy Daemon Engines was why Typhus had made certain that the Virulent Lord’s cruiser was able to escape from the Damned Fleet unscathed. 

With him were nearly five dozen Plague Marines, and more importantly, a large complement of armored vehicles. Seven Plagueburst Crawlers sat in the middle of thirty-six battle tanks in a hollowed out portion of the Garden, all 3 dozen of them taken and corrupted during the Charadon Campaign. As a sign of loyalty, Thraxoplasmox had allowed Typhus to distribute the rest of his warmachines among the other Chaos Lords. Though it was of his own accord, Thraxoplasmox was disgruntled by the decrease in numbers of his usual fighting force.

“Where is Typhus? I thought he managed to kill that Custodian.”

“Reports from the other Vectoriums show that he is steadily advancing, my lord.”

“Yet, he is nowhere to be seen on the comm-channels. If he does not respond to me in time, I will be forced to continue the bombardment and potentially risk friendly fire. Send a transmission to him, now. ”

“Yes, my lord.”

Up above, the Harlequins were preparing for battle. The Troupe Master decided to bring a pair of shuriken pistols into the fray, complemented by an array of throwing knives that he procured from a Drukhari pirate. Meanwhile, Veilwalker opted to bring a Miststave, the preferred weapon for Shadowseers. But just as the Sky King was about to leap from the Starweaver, Veilwalker reminded the troupe leader of their promise.

“Oh Sky King, do you not recall our pledge?”

“Pledge? Pledge… Pledge! Of course, to the banana man! Shall we wrap his companion in the sacred bindings?”

“As required by our pledge, yes!”

“Veilwalker… prepare the Dākh-teyp!”

“Yes! HaHAhahAhaHahAHaha!! ”

Veilwalker reached into some hidden compartment in the Starweaver, rummaging through it for several seconds before pulling out his hand and the item that he was searching for. It was of a mostly metallic gray color, with a roughly circular shape that had a hole at its center. Veilwalker jumped to where Kambyses’ unconscious body was and began fervorously pulling and ripping off pieces from the Dākh-teyp, not stopping until the Custodian was fully wrapped in it. Kambyses was now strapped to the Starweaver, with only his helmet not being covered by the gray of the Dākh-teyp. 

“ HaHAhahAhaHahAHaha!! Done!”

“A quadruple seal should suffice!”

“It should! Now, shall we commence the dance?”

“We shall!”

The Sky King was the first to leap into battle, his lithe and slender body providing little friction against the air as he fell to the ground. Veilwalker was less brash in her actions, instead preferring to charge her Miststave with psychic energies before facing the enemy. The two Harlequins gracefully fell down onto the ground, both of them landing on top of a Plagueburst Crawler. Their arrival went unnoticed thanks to their eerily quiet movements, exactly as planned. While they still had the element of surprise, the two Harlequins worked fast to make use of it.

“Typhus, I have been trying to reach you for ages! Do you know what would’ve happened had you decided to disregard my comms!?”

“ Krrrrk–I am aware, Thraxoplasmox. Oh, and do forgive me for my absence, my forces were occupied with a pair of Aeldari Wraithknights.–Krrrrk ” 

“Aeldari constructs? Here? Have those Xenos finally cooperated with the Imperium? Bah, that doesn’t matter! What matters is that you tell me if my Crawlers can continue firing or not!”

“ Krrrk–Yes, you may continue–Krrrrk ”

“Good.”

As the comm-channel between him and Typhus closed, Thraxoplasmox let out a loud grunt out of frustration. Although he had pledged his loyalty to Typhus and the Way of Nurgle, the Lord of Virulence sometimes found it difficult to keep his cool when his masters were of such slow disposition. However, he figured that it was a blessing in of itself that Typhus even allowed him to continue his bombardment, so he wouldn’t scowl too much.  

“Unbroken, continue your bombardment! Do not stop until the enemy is all but rubble, dust, and rotten flesh!”

But as he waited for grunts of approval or the sounds of whirring machinery that signaled the start of another bombardment, Thraxoplasmox received neither response. Instead, he felt a crushing grip envelope his entire body, threatening to crack his armor and bones with every second that passed. Still, he persisted, forcing his muscles to move and his body to turn around. The exertion on his muscles nearly snapped them from the bone, only being kept together by Nurgle’s blessings. After five agonizing seconds of struggling, Thraxoplasmox finally set his eyes on eight Harlequins adorned in their obnoxiously colorful garbs; each of them holding a cluster of stasis bombs in their hands. 

Father, she said, in a language that was now all but forgotten, recorded for Humanity only through my distant memories. She grabbed my clothes and pulled me in close, to hug me, to bury her head in my chest as she wailed on and on until she no longer could. She looked up at me, her eyes now dry, for there were no more tears left to shed. 

Where , I remembered asking. Where is father, I questioned. My mother’s throat could not bear the strain of speaking again, so she merely pointed to the horizon, near the river where my father would hunt bulls and catch fish. I nodded in return before handing her off to the other villagers. She struggled against them, wanting to hold on to me, but I couldn’t bear to bring her with me. Ignoring her frantic grunts, I took a spear in hand–just in case I needed one–and ran off into the distance, my mind burdened with a single thought.

What happened to my father?

Chapter Text

Thraxoplasmox gritted his teeth in anger, desperately wanting to reach out and crush the Aeldar warriors with his bare hands. He pushed and struggled to break free from the invisible iron grip on his body as the Harlequins threw more and more stasis bombs at his tanks, freezing them and their crews in time. Unfortunately for him, Veilwalker’s psychic powers proved to be all the more formidable, especially when channeled through her Miststave. The wily shadowseer finally made herself seen, appearing just within Thraxoplasmox’s peripheral vision. He instantly lashed out the sight of her, nearly breaking Veilwalker’s hold on his body in doing so. Thraxoplasmox’s throat and lungs attempted to form foul curses and launch them at the shadowseer, yet nothing more than disgruntled grunts exited his mouth. 

“Well well well… It hurts, doesn’t it? Not being able to move, forced to watch as your forces are taken over, and held captive by an indifferent captor.”

Thraxoplasmox eyes keenly followed Veilwalker as she walked closer to the rest of the Harlequins, who were finished with setting off the stasis bombs. As he stared at the shadowseer’s blank mask, Thraxoplasmox scowled. He knew of what–or rather, who–she spoke of: that damned Aeldari goddess, hidden away in secrecy beneath the Mansion. Could that be why there were Aeldari here? Yes, he thought. The Aeldari most likely received word that the Imperium was staging an attack, thus it was natural for them to take advantage of such an asinine attack, as was their nature. 

“Allow me to loosen my grip, diseased one, so that you may speak!”

A wave of relief overcame his senses as he felt the pressure on his lungs and mouth decrease, although the rest of his body felt no change. 

“You damned opportunistic Aeldari witch! I will hunt you and your miserable band of clowns to the edges of the galaxy, and beyond if I have to! You will face true pain by my hands, just as your pitiful mothe–”

“ Enough! ”

The voice was not the soft, feminine one of Veilwalker. No, this voice was deeper–though still Harlequin-like to Thraxoplasmox’s ears–and filled with more anger. His eyes flickered around, trying to ascertain which of the masked Aeldari spoke. His voice was being restrained again, mouth clamped shut by intangible hands.

“We must continue the show! Our brethren are waiting!”

“Dearest Redtide Prince, can your deathlust not wait a moment longer? There is art in patience, after all!”

“Your words are true, Sylandri, yet there is also beauty in haste. And in death.”

“From one shadowseer to another, Sylandri, I advise that you hurry up as well. Unless, this is part of your trick? I can never tell!”

“Duly noted, O’ Golden Hunter. And yes, I suppose the crowd is getting bored with that bloated bag of bombardments. Anyway…”

Veilwalker faced one of the Harlequins–the one who Thraxoplasmox assumed to be the one called the Redtide Prince–and gave a curtsy bow to him. Thraxoplasmox initially thought nothing of it, but the gravity of the situation soon hit him in the head. Literally. 

The Redtide Prince, with permission from both of the present shadowseers, gladly unleashed the might of his Shrieker Cannon, rapidly lodging a dozen rounds into Thraxoplasmox’s head, cleaving through the thin armor of his helmet and the bone hidden beneath it. The precisely-aimed discs did not kill or incapacitate him, as what happened next was simply far too precious to the Redtide Prince. For each disc fired from a Shrieker Cannon contains a deadly concoction of virulent toxins, which are subsequently imparted onto any foe unlucky enough to even be grazed by a single round. 

As the toxin flowed into Thraxoplasmox’s bloodstream, it merged and became one with his genetic material, causing a myriad of effects. His organs began to fail and rupture, his blood started to boil, and his corrupted flesh twisted into unnatural positions and began cooking from his blood’s heat. The grueling process took nearly 50 seconds before the toxin reached his brain and its effects reached their climax, resulting in the Lord of Virulence to haplessly explode into a shower of flesh and bone.

The Redtide Prince was especially keen on using his Shrieker Cannon on the now-deceased Astartes to test out how his weapon would affect the Nurglite Astartes, if at all. As it turned out, even the blessings of Nurgle were not enough to save the Astartes, though they were enough to prolong his life–and his pain.

“ Hmhmhmmhm , I suppose that we finally got into his head.”

The Harlequins all shared a laugh as they admired their handiwork, their focus split between the messy remains of Thraxoplasmox and the rest of the Astartes and warmachines that they froze in stasis. Eventually, however, the laughter died down, and with its absence came a hiddle mischievous glee within their grins. 

“Ahh, it is a fine sight, the lot of you. The Cast of the Crimson Sun, gathered in one place! Well, most of you, anyway.”

“Speaking of our absent brothers and sisters, have you received any news of them, Sylandri?”

“ Hmhmhmhm, have I? I have, I suppose! If my mind rings true as your bells do, my lovely death jester, then they are with the Ynnari, alongside my own Masque, the Shadow Weavers, and the Midnight Sorrow.”

“The Shadow Weavers? But that merry Masque must mean that he will be here too?”

“The power of one so damned is all too needed for this task! After all, the Laughing One demands such for his sister’s rescue.”

“All for the show, then! Now, where is our ride?”

“About that… You know what, perhaps our dear Sky King can tell you all about that!”

“Well, does anyone have any issues with heights?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Only when it interrupts my aim. Also no.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“No.”

“Great! Because the Starweaver is up there!”

The Sky King pointed upwards, where the faint shimmer of the Starweaver was visible only to the keenest of eyes. 

“Couldn’t you two have chosen a better parking spot? I can’t lug my Shrieker all the way up there!”

“Foresight is a gift not many acquire, even for the Laughing God’s followers. Now, less complaining and more thinking! How are we going to reach the Starweaver?”

“I have an Ork’s rokkit in my pockets.”

“Unexpected, especially coming from you, Moon Seer. But not unwelcome! All right then, everyone grab on!”

Armed with a spear and with a burning question in mind, my resolve hardened, even as the morning sun’s gaze became even more unbearable. I wondered what had happened to my father, what had happened so as to drain my mother’s face of any color that it had. I considered all of the various likelihoods, though none seemed likely: The river currents were barely stronger than a gentle roll at this time of year; the ravenous packs of wolves that infested the grass plains were all but driven away by our spears; the lesser-bodied leopards would never dare attack a grown man; and the brown bears never ventured far from their mountainous dens.  

What happened, I wondered. 

Chapter Text

An Aeldari lives on a timescale that is incomprehensible to most life forms, let alone mere humans. Living for tens of thousands of years on end, the greatest and oldest among their number predated many of the other empires or even races. These Aeldari, many of them having become the famed Phoenix Lords of Asurmen or other such legendary warriors, have become nothing less than living myths, with tens of thousands of beings having been felled by their ancient weaponry. From Fuegan’s burning Searsong to Maugan Ra’s deathly Maugetar , none have escaped the vengeance of the Asurya. 

Yet, even those born on the wandering Craftworlds are of no lowly stock. Though they live in fear of the Prince of Pleasure and the Galaxy’s animosity at every turn, they still live on. Many of them have lived many times longer than even the oldest humans, growing ever more adept and skilled at using their psychic gifts. Such is how the Aeldari bonesingers are trained. Gifted beyond measure at the art of bonesinging, these individuals warp and weave marvelous–and often deadly–creations for their fellow Aeldar.

Famed among the bonesingers are Invaril, Kaeleth-Tul, and Keáirde, all of whom wrought beautiful and deadly crafts–sometimes at the expense of their lives. Taking the winding road that is the Path of Shaping, they learn over the course of years, decades, centuries, and even millennia to hone their craft, for the survival of their very species depends on it. At the very pinnacle of a bonesinger’s abilities exists the capability to shape entire craftworlds by their lonesome or the laborious creation of a Phantom Titan. Even the creation of a single Wraithknight is a daunting proposition, and many a bonesinger fails during their first try.

So taxing are the processes to accomplish such mighty tasks that it would normally take a group of talented bonesingers years upon years of non-stop labor to finish their work. However, here Carrie and Taylor were–with less than a day of experience to their names–crafting marvels like Wraithknights and Wraithlords on a whim. Other Aeldar would scowl, sneer, or even rage at the thought of some lowly abhuman hybrids perverting their sacred craft, imbued with the power of some ill-wrought vengeful god. The concept of twins, of familial bonds that transcend even death and Hir umbral grip, being watered down to the level of mere friends would undoubtedly rouse some of the more hot headed Aeldar to war and ruin. Who dares to insult our supremacy , one such Aeldar might ask. Though the answer may come in a thousand different languages, constructed into a million sentences, across the billions of planets in the galaxy, all of them would echo a single fact: we do not fear the fading echoes of a fallen race. It is beyond their wisdom, however, that echoes always mirror a greater truth… 

“Bless Ynnead that the Harlequins did not mislead us, Yvraine,” said the Visarch. “It is not often that their mischief subsides long enough to accomplish the task at hand.”

A voice came from between the shadows and crooks, one that brought a slight frown to the Visarch’s mouth. “I promised, my Lord, and I delivered.” 

“My greatest gratitude is upon your soul,” Yvraine hastily replied. “And upon those of Veilwalker and his compatriots. Without the Roses of Isha which your masques have gathered, our assault would be nigh-impossible.”

“ AahahAHhaha! The Laughing God demands as such, lady emissary.” said the Harlequin as he did a semi-nod at Yvraine. “Only the greatest of plays for Lord Cegor-”

“Yvraine,” interrupted the Visarch. “Now that we are here, how shall we proceed? If all has gone to plan–that is to say, the Mon’keigh forces are on the brink of death–then we must swiftly approach the Mansion. We cannot let them become overrun, not before our objective has been fulfilled.”

The emissary had a tentative look on her face as she contemplated their next course of action. “Yet, we cannot blindly charge into the fray. We number no more than a thousand, while the Plague Lord’s followers are endless. The speed and accuracy of our attack craft is crucial.”

“Attack craft which the Harlequins have not provided,” accused one of the Ynnari Guardians. “They lend aid only when it is suitable for their hidden goals.”

Before the Harlequins nearby could verbally rip and tear into the Guardian, a voice stayed their tongues. “Calm now, Vathil. One with enough insight–or enough contempt–may recognize the irony in your statement. Beyond that, the Harlequins have their own reasons for not revealing their cards too soon.”

The authoritative voice of Eldrad quenched the embers of frustration, causing the young Guardian to meekly nod in return. Eldrad’s authoritative presence, along with the rest of the Ynnari leaders who had just gathered together, quelled any chance of infighting. He could sense the pangs of shame that Vathil felt, but it was of no consequence at the moment. 

“We can either attack as smaller, more spread out forces,” the farseer continued. “Or as a unified force to drive back the Daemons. Our forces only number around a thousand, that is true, but even a handful of individuals may turn the tide of battle.”

Many times in history, in the history of histories of the Galaxy, have a select few proved instrumental in the theater of war. Entire wars have been fought for years on end only to be ended by strikes led by the bravest of souls. The Aeldari have tales of such souls: the Phoenix Lords. Oftentimes, it is during these times that the elite truly shine against their foes. Worth entire armies of lesser beings, these peerless warriors assail the enemy with unbridled fury met with tempered skill, leaving behind only the viscera and bodies in their wake. Whether as revered legends or as flesh and bone, these warriors live on within the annals of time, marked by the blood of their fallen prey.

“Indeed, Lord Eldrad. For that reason, I have brought the Asurya with us,” spoke Jain Zar, Phoenix Lord of the Howling Banshees. Her flowing hair rustled in the wind as she spoke, her voice a deathly chill. Behind her were five other Phoenix Lords, chief among them being Asurmen, the founder of the Asurya and Zar’s own mentor. “My fellow Phoenix Lords will overcome any foe, even those beyond the blade’s of the Carrion Lord’s guardians.”

“Likewise, Lady Zar, the Masque of the Shadow Weaver has brought its own main event,” the Harlequin chuckled. “We’re sure not to disappoint, not with our star performer! Our Great Harlequin knows how to put on a dazzling show!” 

The present Ynnari all felt a slight chill run down their spine at the insinuation of Lthrangil’s involvement. Even all of the gathered Phoenix Lords–save Maugan Ra–grimaced at the mention of the former Great Harlequin, as such was the stigma against damned warriors like himself. The Visarch grew even more disinclined with the prospect of working alongside the Harlequins, whose sneering faces seemed to morph into even more grotesque forms at the unease of the warhost. The former Dire Avenger Exarch muttered under his breath, curses and prayers to the gods. The Solitaires brought death and doom wherever they ventured, and it was not uncommon for their allies to suffer as well.

“Laarian,” called out Yvraine’s soft voice, managing to catch the Visarch’s attention. “Do not worry, the Whispering God is with us. Death will not come so easily for his followers.” 

The Visarch forced a slight smile underneath his mask, attempting to rid his mind of worry and doubt. “I know, Yvraine. However,” the Visarch dipped his head and lowered his voice, such that only Yvraine could hear it. “I would be better assured with the Avatar by our side. Where is he, after all?”

“He is on a mission, Laarian. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Though my legs carried me with the swiftness of a hawk, I still had not reached the riverbank. As I ran and ran, I realized that I knew not how far the river was from the village. For in those days, in those distant days, there were no measurements of length, and my father would teach me the length of time by the sun’s movements. Besides that, all I knew was that the river was far enough for my eyesight–as prodigious as it was among my peers–to falter and blur. As long as my eyes could not clearly see the flow of the water atop the river’s surface, then I knew I was still far away.

However, I did not need to see the river’s reflective surface, nor was it the first thing that caught my eye. From a distance, I saw a figure. Hunched over and wearing animal-skin cloth reddened by a dried substance, I could’ve thought that the figure was a wounded animal. I nearly did, and I nearly threw my spear from the distance to strike the figure down. It was only the timely movement of its head in my direction that stayed my hand, both out of recognition, shock, and confusion.

It was my father. 

Chapter Text

Rolling clouds of smog polluted the skies, suffocating the Voidsmen as their lungs began to burn and blacken and blister. Flak armor, plastic, and carbon fiber broke down as they were constantly exposed to the acidic air, leaving the Voidsmen with little protection against the elements once their pressurized void-helmets wasted away. Through the cracks within the Voidsmens’ helmets, a hundred different airborne plagues crept their way into their bloodstreams. Their flesh began to seize, rot, boil, burn, crystallize, shrink, and grow uncontrollably, ending with a flat poof as their bodies exploded in all directions. From the bombardment, Daemons, and virulent plagues, the Voidsmen had already lost a quarter of their forces in the span of 5 minutes, reducing their strength to little more than 1,500 soldiers. In the dead center of the battle were Carrie and Taylor, helpless to stop it all. 

Standing amidst a growing pile of dead Voidsmen, they desperately summoned the abundant energies of the Warp and channeled them into the creation of wraithbone armor. Their headdresses glowed with ethereal energies as they spun magic into reality, almost acting like a beacon for the dazed mortals. Those lucky enough to be near Carrie and Taylor found themselves saved by their bonesinging as wraithbone filled up the gaps and microscopic holes within their gear. However, only a fraction of the Voidsmen received their much-needed aid. The two Aeldari hybrids could only focus on so many things at once and stretch their influence so far before their concentration broke down. Between creating new wraith constructs, reinforcing the Voidsmens’ gear, and maintaining the numerous patches of cover around the Mansion, their powers were strained to their limits. 

“Carrie, I don’t think we can– argh –do this for much longer!” said Taylor, the Bonesinger mask that she wore hiding her panicked face as she struggled to regain her focus. “We need to focus on the Wraithlords and Wraithknight!” 

“But we need to save as many men first! We need to gather the Voidsmen to us so we can repair their helmets! I’ll tell Sequin to gather them here!” just as Carrie finished her sentence, the realization hit her. “ Sequin! We’ve lost sight of her!”

Taylor’s blood ran cold at the realization that Sequin had gone missing. “Where could she be? I swore that she was with us! When was the last time we saw her?”

Carrie’s speech sputtered as worse and worse situations played out inside of her head, each one making her wince behind the mask. “I-I don’t know! W-what if she’s-”

Stopping mid sentence, Carrie’s vision unconsciously glided over to the left. There she saw, in her and Taylor’s brief moment of distraction, that the Daemons had penetrated many of the Wraithbone barriers to the left of the Mansion. In writhing swarms they assaulted the Voidsmen, only being held back by the scant few Wraithlords and Custodes that were positioned there. The Voidsmen were forced to retreat as the Wraithbone warriors fought alongside the transhuman Custodes, slaying many Daemons, though at the cost of some of their number. Without the guidance and direct control of the Bonesingers, the Wraithlords’ regenerative properties slowed down, allowing the Daemons to deal enough damage over time to render them immobile, unfit for battle, or even shattered into pieces. 

A single Custodian, Gamyneth, stood alongside a trio of Wraithlords as they attempted to stem the Daemons’ advance. The Custodian’s brothers were all too busy to lend their strength, leaving him and the dwindling number of both Voidsmen and Wraithlords to fight against the incoming Daemons, which came from the ground and the sky. Bloat-drones and Rot Flies flew overhead in the thousands, casting shadows upon the defenders below. Even though only a fraction of their number dared to approach the battlefield below, it was still enough to ensure that a Voidsmen or two would end up being impaled, ripped apart, or crushed by the flying Daemons. One, two, three , Gamyneth counted as he shot down a squadron of Plague Drones in quick succession. Four, five, six, seven, he continued, until the words that left his lips became thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine . As he aimed for another Bloat-drone, the bolter magazine on his Guardian Spear clacked and churned as it was empty. Sighing at the lack of ammo, Gamyneth resorted to fighting in close quarters instead.

The first strike felled a duo of advancing Plaguebearers, completely bisecting their bodies right at the abdomen. The second strike, paired with a spin kick, dismounted a Plaguebearer from its Plague Toad, which was soon impaled upon Gamyneth’s Guardian Spear. The creature writhed as its foul bulk managed to keep it alive, but that mattered little when he twisted his spear away and cut it in half. Masterfully wielding the spear’s heft, Gamyneth turned its sharp point onto a group of shambling Plaguebearers. One by one, a dozen Daemons fell to his blade–all in less than a second. Before the last Daemon’s body fell to the ground, the Custodian had set his sights on his next kill.

A minute later and dozens more Daemons killed, Gamyneth’s endurance was no less than it was a few moments ago. The Custodian’s near-godly level of gene crafting left his muscles with little cause for fatigue, something which he was thankful for as a new wave of Daemons ran at him. He positioned his feet in the Rendax stance, though it was for naught. A volley of plasma and lasers came out of nowhere and decimated the incoming Neverborn, allowing Gamyneth a brief respite. At his sides, lines of Wraithlords stepped forward, towering over even himself. A ping appeared on his HUD, before another, then another, and another, until a dozen unique frequencies were connected to his machine spirit. The disembodied thought-machine whined as it decoded the strange frequencies into ones and zeroes and into discernible words, which came out to only a simple sentence.

+ We are here +

Gamyneth charged at the Daemons, driving them back with his blade as the Wraithlords charged forth as well. Searing blue plasma and red lasbeams tore through the unsuspecting Daemons, nearly driving them back to the trees. Over the course of a few minutes, Gamyneth and the Wraithlords managed to drive the Daemons back, allowing the Voidsmen to regain and reoccupy their lost ground. Gamyneth raised his Guardian Spear up high–the Wraithlords mirroring his movements instantly–and shouted at the Voidsmen, many of whom followed suit.

“For the Emperor!”

But, an evil stirred nonetheless. Among the incessant sound of buzzing insects and croaking creatures, masked by the choir of war, a hoarse voice crept into the Death Guard’s main vox-channel. “Unleash the blessings of the Plague God upon the False Emperor’s dogs. Let them know of our master’s mercy and warmth, and how it shines brighter than theirs.” 

My father’s eyes, those obsidian-black orbs that I had seen every day for the past decade, were looking at me with a feeling I had never seen before. It called to me. With desperation and sadness, it beckoned me to run.

And so I did. 

The last stretch In my journey, blitzed through like a bolt of lightning. The kicked-up dust, the silent river, the absent birds, the ants that did not scurry away beneath my feet. I paid no mind to them. In my adrenaline-induced fervor, I did not even see a shadowy figure, another man, crouching behind the fallen oak tree.

Chapter Text

Typhus, most favored mortal of Nurgle, lived. His wounds had begun to heal after mere seconds after his fight with Argus and Kambyses, and his injuries were all but forgotten by now. His right hand and face had regrown without much effort, with his cut-open guts merely needing a modicum of medical attention to fully heal. However, Typhus was not yet battle-ready. His fight with the Custodians had taken a toll on his armor, with his helmet, right gauntlet, and abdomen armor remaining unrepaired. His infamous horned helm was now broken, shattered up to the base from a flurry of blows. The retinue of Nurglings that followed him around gave him tens upon tens of looted helmets, but all of them were either too small, too broken, or too weak to be used for armor. 

“Infitus, where might one find a functioning and fitting helmet in this Garden? I am not fond of dying to a lucky shot to the head.”

“The Hereteks are still occupied with repairing the Plague Crawlers, and I am afraid the equipment left behind by our brethren is subpar. Perhaps it would simply be better if you activated your armor’s energy shields. After all, that would have saved you the effort from…” Infitus paused for a moment, remembering the last time when someone had accidentally irked Typhus. “From needing to find a new set of armor.” 

The First Captain glared at Infitus, wordless in his annoyance. He spoke, but slowly still. “Ready the Knights. That would be of better use to us than criticizing me.”

“Yes, Lord Typhus.”

“And remember, signal The March.” Typhus’ yellow, sunken eyes glowed a sickly green as he spoke, illuminating the writhing shapes just behind his cornea. “It is time they walk once more.” 

Amidst the triumphant cheers of the Voidsmen, Gamyneth heard a sound cut through the air. An ear-splitting crack. A thunderous roar. A bolter round. An Astartes. Before he could discern the bolter’s trajectory and place of origin, another sound came.

‘ KRAKKK ’

Another round. This time, Gamyneth saw its trajectory. The round came from perhaps a few hundred yards away, hidden among the unburnt trees that still stood. He saw a fiery light flash briefly before dying down, leaving only the slight shine of a boltgun’s muzzle in its wake. The round flew unassailed, tearing through the air like a hawk before finally finding its mark. 

Guts, bones, and flesh flew all around as a Voidsmen a hundred yards from Gamyneth was hit dead center by the bolter round. In an instant, his comrades had gone from carrying him by the arms to staring at the lower half of his body, his arms still within theirs. Even after flying a considerable distance, the round was powerful enough to eviscerate his upper half. His stunned comrades staggered in place, horrified at their comrade’s upper half becoming reduced to red mist, two arms, and a pair of limp legs.

Gamyneth did not stagger or cower. Instead, he stood vigilant among the chaos, gazing into the woods to find something, anything of note. Set to a range of 200 to 300 meters over a sector of 180 degrees, his auspex arrays scanned the treeline, searching for any life signs that hid within. Any Daemons would not appear on the auspex’s scans, so any pings could only indicate two things: several Voidsmen had been left behind, or the presence of an Astartes force. Just then, a flash appeared on Gamyneth’s HUD.

[63 lifeforms detected, 214.7 meters away.]

“Narrow to Astartes life-signatures.”

[35 lifeforms detected, 214.7 meters away.]

[14 lifeforms detected, 231.9 meters away.] 

[28 lifeforms detected, 220.4 meters away.]

[56 lifeforms detected, 257.3 meters away.]

“Include all moving Chaos-corrupted lifeforms in set range.”

[Total Chaos-corrupted lifeforms: exceeds 1,000.]

“Psyker presence.”

[Multiple Beta-class psykers detected in proximity, 280 meters.]

“Alpha-class and above?”

[Likelihood of Alpha-class or higher psyker being in proximity: very high]

“Brothers,” Gamyneth spoke hurriedly, forsaking the proper salutes and dignitaries that honor would demand. “The Death Guard are here. They bring their corrupted slaves as well.”

“I HEED YOUR WARNING, GAMYNETH. I SEE THEM THROUGH THE MACHINE SPIRIT.” Kariyan’s booming voice lit up the vox-channel’s audio-receptors. During the slight pause between the dreadnought’s words, interspersed volleys of lasfire and bolter rounds could be faintly heard around him, like the little flutters of a fly’s wings they were, barely noticeable if one were not paying close attention.  “IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE I HAVE SEEN THE 14TH IN STRENGTH. FORM A BULWARK TO STEM THEIR FLOW. OUR NUMBERS MAY YET FAIL US, BUT OUR TACTICS SHALL NOT. COORDINATE AND CLEANSE THE FOE.”

Two hundred voices returned their brother’s commands, and in turn, two hundred voices linked together. Each Custodian vox-linked with the brother on their right, forming a vox-chain surrounding the defense’s perimeter. Each carefully spoken command elicited a change in stance, form, and position, molding the Custodes into a fluent yet stalwart battle formation. Those with enough ammunition were held in the second ranks, behind the Sentinel Guards whose mighty shields stood tall to bear the brunt of incoming enemy fire. 

“Brother-warriors, hail my voice, the voice of the Emperor,” said the voice of Archimallus Tychor, millennia-old Herald of the Throne. “Expend your ammunition wisely, for there will be no aid in this wretched place.” The Custodian stood beside Kariyan, steadfast against the slowly marching Astartes. 

Flashes of fire burned through the air as the Custodes unleashed controlled volleys of bolter shells onto the surrounding canopy, hitting their targets with near total accuracy. The shambling Daemons lumbered mindlessly into the firing range of their Guardian Spears, while the Death Guard were forced to hide behind rotten trees and their own hulking brethren for cover. Moments later, a second–and final–volley was unleashed. The Custodes could only kill so many Astartes with so few rounds of ammunition, and the Death Guard, unyielding by Space Marine standards and even more so thanks to Nurgle’s gifts, did not fall easily. Several of the Plague Marines, having entire limbs shot off or chunks of diseased flesh eviscerated, returned to their original formations, only needing a scant few moments to recuperate.

“Brother-warriors, acknowledge my wrath, the warrior spirit within us all.” The disembodied voice of Tychor focused the Custodes into a single fighting force, anchored around their centuries of discipline. “Fall back upon better cover, it is of no glory to die a needless death.”

“VOIDSMEN, RETREAT TO THE INNER DEFENSES.” commanded Kariyan as he motioned towards the Mansion. “CUSTODES, FALL BACK AND PREPARE FOR ASSAULT.”

The Sentinel Guards raised their shields before moving in tandem towards the Mansion, but never facing it, to provide mobile cover for their brothers. Amidst the retreat, the few Custodes who still possessed a handful of bolter rounds returned fire to the enemy, whose plan had just begun. Not so far away, Typhus and his men prepared for the assault as well.

“We have lost more than a dozen brothers just in that distraction, but it is as you planned, Lord Typhus. The Custodes are retreating.”

“Of course, they are not fools. Without proper ammunition reserves, they would be outclassed by our forces, not to mention outnumbered nearly 100 to 1. Fortunately, this means they shall all be gathered neatly for our… surprise .” 

My heart raced as I finally reached my father, bloodied and dying. The blood on his clothes had dried up, and so too had the blood on the ground. His eyes were glazed over and his voice raspy as he deliriously tried to speak. However, nothing more than incomllete gurgles came out of his mouth; his lungs had been punctured and filled with blood and fluids. He coughed, letting out a final spurt of blood and breath before his body went cold and limp. 

He died.

“Father!” I remember shouting while I cradled him in my arms. I could not accept his passing, he who I was closest to. The man who had raised me as a warrior, hunter, and protector. I clung to his limp corpse, crying and washing away his blood using my tears. Unbeknownst to me, someone was watching me not so far away.

“Forgive me, hāssas .”

Chapter Text

Sergeant Calax was dying–but not dead–as he crawled away from the horrors behind him. Oh how he wished upon every moment of his life that he was. He saw what happened to the rest, and now, what would happen to him.

“Oh Emperor, oh God. Kill me. Please . I, I don’t want to, not this! ”

“Hush, little mortal. So defiant, so stubborn, and yet, so full of despair. For this, the Grandfather has a gift for you.” said the hulking Astartes behind him, playfully slowing down his steps to let the Voidsmen crawl just a bit further. Unfortunately, the Astartes decided his time had run out. The Plague Marine gripped Calax’s shoulder, nearly crushing his armor and the bone beneath it by doing so, and raised him to eye level. The pain rippled through Calax’s body as flesh and bone and skin mingled into a sordid mess.

“Do not fear the pain, for it is but a part of life. Now, you will be a part of it . A gift from the Grandfather, concocted by Lord Typhus, given to you.” proclaimed the Astartes, who reached out with his left hand to yank Calax’s helmet open, exposing his face to the toxic air and more importantly…

“The Walking Pox. A fickle disease, yet deadly in its horror.” 

“No! No! Noo-aaahh ! ” screamed Calax as the Plague Marine disgorged a foul mist from his mouth, which he had no choice but to inhale. In an instant, the microscopic particles entered his lungs then into the bloodstream, spreading to every blood vessel and organ in a matter of seconds. By this point, the Plague Marine had dropped Calax’s writhing body to the ground, which began to fester with boils, pus-filled lesions, and bony protrusions all over his increasingly pale skin. The Plague Marine nearly found a sense of catharsis watching the process, guffawing at the sight and showing his maggot-filled mouth as he did.

“Do you hear it, brothers?” he gestured to the other Astartes, who watched in silence as Calax continued to writhe in pain.

“ Aaaahhh!! ” he could only think of the pain, the skin-tearing pain as his flesh rotted away and his skin and armor were breached by his bony growths.

“The sound of pain.”

“ Aaaahhh!! ” his eyes had gone glassy, nearly turning over into his skull. His jaw slackened as its muscles disintegrated into a reddish sludge, his larynx desperately trying to force out a scream. Calax felt as if his entire body was on fire, as if it would tear itself apart. He certainly tried, using his hands to try to tear away his skin.

“The sound of resistance.”

“....” but then, the screaming ceased. Calax did not want to scream any longer. Calax could not feel the pain anymore. Calax did not feel the strangeness of his new body, how it was unbalanced and waddled with each lumbering step. Calax, in the end, was no more. There was now only a nameless Pox Walker, a lowly–but devoted–servant of Nurgle.

“And now, the sound of acceptance of oneself. Silence.”

The former Calax struggled to stand upright, its lopsided right shoulder burdened by a massive growth of bone and putrid flesh. Once it was upright, it shambled forward in broken, irregular steps. It stopped walking, feeling uncertain of its direction. The Plague Marine walked towards the Pox Walker, putting his hand on the small of its back, gently pushing as if he were a parent encouraging their child in taking their first steps.

“Do not fret, Pox-ling. You are alone, for now. But near the fecund lakes, thousands of your brethren, the children of Pestilence, march towards the unblessed. Now join them, march with your kin and spread the Grandfather’s gifts. Go. ”

The Pox Walker stirred, its legs suddenly moving at a pace that betrayed what one would expect its rotten and degraded muscles to be capable of. The Plague Marine watched with satisfaction and let out a mirth chuckle before turning towards his brothers, each as bloated and putrid as he was. 

“Has Lord Typhus initiated the next stage of the plan?”

“The sorcerers are planning something, though they did not tell me exactly what.”

“We shall wait and see, then.”

Among the ramshackle fortifications the Voidsmen had constructed, the Custodes had been discussing their next course of action when a low rumble spread across the ground. Tychor and Ulysses, being the two most experienced Custodes besides Kariyan, were the closest to the Telemon when it happened.

“What was that?” asked Ulysses, mentally dreading what would come next.

“The beginning of the end.” Tychor grimly stated. “Whether we live or die, this fight will decide that.”

Kariyan made a short, low-pitched sound that gave off a feeling of disgust. “I SEE SOMETHING NEAR THE TREES, AND I DO NOT LIKE IT. POX WALKERS. PREPARE FOR LAQUEUM MANEUVER.” 

“Aye.” said both Custodes in unison, their helmets sending signals to the others.

“TYCHOR, ARE THE BONE SINGERS CONNECTED TO OUR VOX-CHANNEL?”

“I do not think so, our com-links lost several connections during the retreat. However, Lord Ken should still be online. I surmise he is near the bone singers.”

“SPLENDID. I WILL TRY TO REACH HIM… THIS IS VENERABLE DREADNOUGHT KARIYAN, IS THIS THE VOX-CHANNEL OF LORD KEN?”

“ Krrrk –Greetings, Venerable Kariyan. You’ve found the right vox-channel, but you can skip the lord part.– Krrrk ”

“ARE YOU NEAR THE BONE SINGERS?”

“ Krrrk –I’m not. My forces were caught up in a firefight with the Plague Marines, though we’ve reached the Mansion already. Is there anything you’d like me to say?– Krrrk ”

“FIND THEM, AND TELL THEM TO FOCUS THE WRAITH CONSTRUCTS ON DEFENDING THE MANSION’S GATES. THE CUSTODES SHALL SURGE FORTH AND MEET THE FOE. TELL THEM TO RECONNECT THEIR VOX-LINKS.”

“ Krrrk –What type of enemy are we fighting now?– Krrrk ”

“POXWALKERS, UNDEAD ABOMINATIONS OF NURGLE. I WOULD NOT FIGHT THEM WITHOUT A HELMET.”

“ Krrrk –Understood, Kariyan. Notify me when the assault begins.– Krrrk ”

“I SHALL.”

A few hundred meters away, Ken and Raquelle, along with what remained of their Voidsmen entourage, finally reached the Mansion after fighting through dozens upon dozens of Daemons along the way. Raquelle entrusted her Voidsmen to their comrades while Ken gazed off into the distance, trying to peer over them. 

“Ken, what are you doing?” said Raquelle as she walked over to him. Even though her new body was taller, it wasn’t quite Astartes tall.

“Kariyan told me to find Carrie and Taylor and tell them to focus the Wraith Constructs on defending the gates. Can’t do that if I can’t find them. Thankfully, I see them right now.” Ken said while pointing to where Raquelle assumed her friends were. “Right there, about 300 feet ahead. Let’s get going!”

The duo passed through lines of Voidsmen and a couple of Custodes, receiving salutes and long stares as they passed by. Ken saw the strange, almost crystalline pieces of armor that some Voidsmen had, looking oddly out of place in such a bleak battle.

“Raquelle, do you think Carrie and Taylor gave those guys that crystal armor?”

“I think so. Good to see they’ve been protecting the little guys, right?”

“Y- no -yes. Totally!”

Ken’s body seemed to briefly seize as he answered Raquelle, and as the weird sensation overtook him for but a moment. A second later, his mind and body had recovered, though Raquelle looked at him curiously.

“Woah, what happened?”

“I don't know, but we can deal with it later. Right now, we have matters to discuss.” Ken shrugged off the weird feeling. For now, at least. “Carrie! Taylor! It’s me, Ken!”

Ken’s vox-enhanced voice thundered across the air, reaching Carrie and Taylor’s fine-tuned Aeldari ears in no time. The two bone singers, in the midst of creating and bonding more Wraithlords, paused their work. 

“Carrie, look, it’s Ken and Raquelle!”

“Where!?”

“There!”

“Here we are!” exclaimed Ken, who gladly ran into Carrie and Taylor’s warm embraces. Raquelle followed suit, joining the group hug by squirming between Ken’s large armored gauntlets. The group stayed for a few moments in a state of peace before the call of lasfire brought them back to war. 

“Ken, Raquelle, we’re glad you’re okay, but we've got bad news… Sequin’s missing!”

“What! Barbie’s going to kill us, have you-”

“We have little time to talk about some thunderwolf . Carrie, Taylor, I need you two to anchor the Wraithlords around the gates, make sure nothing breaches or even comes near them.”

“Yes, but wh-what about Sequin? She’s missing and–”

“And that is your fault. I cannot believe you two let her–Yes, we’ll search for Sequin after this. I’m sorry, I, I don’t know what came over me.” 

“Ken, are you alright? You’ve been acting a bit strange.”

“It’s alright, dearie. If there’s something wrong, we’ll fix you up, but don’t let me hear this kind of tone from you again! For now, we’ll do as you say.”

“Y-yeah, thanks Taylor. Kariyan told me to reconnect your vox-links, since the Custodes are planning an attack soon.”

“How’d you do that?”

“Take that ear piece you have and tap into the circuitry. Give it a little energy and that should do it. Now, try it.”

“Alright… Hello, this is Carrie speaking. Anyone there?”

“ Krrrrk– HELLO LADY CARRIE, I AM KARIYAN. I SEE YOU HAVE BEEN BUSY CREATING WRAITH CONSTRUCTS– Krrrrk ”

“I, oh that was, we have been! Ken said something about an attack?”

“ Krrrk– AH, HE HAS MET YOU. GOOD. WE CUSTODES SHALL CHARGE FORTH AND TAKE THE FIGHT TO THE ENEMY. DOING THIS, HOWEVER, RISKS THE VOIDSMEN TO GETTING OVERRUN BY ANY FORCES THAT COULD ESCAPE THE CUSTODES. THIS IS WHY I ASK YOU TO TAKE CONTROL OF YOUR CONSTRUCTS AND GUARD THE GATES. CAN YOU DO THIS?– Krrrk ”

“We can!”

“ Krrrrk– THAT IS WELL. THE ENEMY IS ON THE MOVE, THUS THE ATTACK STARTS NOW. MAY THE EMPEROR PROTECT.– Krrrrk ”

“Emperor protects oh he’s off. Ken, what are they fighting against now?”

“Pox Walkers. Zombies, I think.”

“And I thought our day couldn’t get any worse. Am I right, Taylor?”

“You can say that again. By the way, who’d be the one to take care of the Wraithlords?”

“Ken could!”

“Could you, Ken?”

“I guess I’ll never know if I don’t try. Carrie, Taylor, give them to me.”

“Alright, this’ll be a bit overwhelming. Nearly a hundred Wraithlords will connect to your HUD in three, two, one.”

A surge of pings and foreign, incomprehensible speech flooded Ken’s helmet, nearly overwhelming him and his machine spirit through the sheer volume of distinct mind-constructs that were interacting with him. Eventually, the garbled binary speech of the Wraithlords was translated into Low Gothic by Ken’s machine spirit, a message that said,

+ We shall obey +

“Thanks, guys. I’ll take over from here. Wraithlords, position yourself among the Voidsmens’ front lines. Ready long range weapons and maintain a distance between incoming hostiles. I will make my way there.”

+ We obey your will +

“Where to, Ken?”

“The frontlines. Are you coming?”

“Sure am! Carrie, Taylor, what about you two?”

“Oh, we’ll just stay back here. We've got a bit of a project going on. Good luck, and stay safe!”

With that, Raquelle and Ken made their way to the front, where the Wraithlords had filled in the empty space left behind by the Custodes, who were marching to meet the enemy. Carrie and Taylor looked at each other before turning against the battlefield, pooling their energies and concentration into something that could turn the tide. A shining, vengeful knight to slay the most harrowing of beasts.

I flinched at the familiar voice, the hairs on my back immediately rising as a chill spread across my spine. I instinctively crouched down low, spear raised high and its tip trained on the voice’s source. My uncle, nearly as tall as I was and just as broad, stood before me. His black disheveled hair was mucked with and reeked of dirt and… blood. 

What happened here , I recalled asking with equal parts confusion and accusation. Why was he asking for my forgiveness, and why was he bloodied, but not injured? 

“I am sorry, child. I do not know what overcame me.” said my uncle. His eyes darted around like a wild animal’s, unable to focus on anything for too long. Guilty.

“Answer me.” 

Chapter Text

“ Krrrk –LORD KEN, HAVE THE WRAITH CONSTRUCTS MOVED INTO POSITION? I SEE A COUPLE HAVE TAKEN POSITION NEAR ME– Krrrk ”

“You can drop the titl–yes, they have. They’re spread across the battlelines.”

“ Krrrk –EXCELLENT. AWAIT MY COMMAND– Krrrk ”

“Acknowledged.”

Kariyan surveyed the trees, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. The Poxwalkers had been advancing, yes, but far too slowly–even for their sluggish pace. To launch the first shots now would be a waste of resources, especially knowing the sheer numbers of Astartes that lay hidden behind the treeline, as the growing cloud of carnivorous flies implied. While the tension was apparent, it barely bothered the Custodes.

“Kariyan, I applaud you for standing up for the Voidsmen and their continued survival, but I do not see how they would survive either way.”

“TO LET THEM DIE IS TO LET OUR REAR TO FALL, TYCHOR. SUCH A BLUNDER WOULD COST US GRAVELY.”

“Yet sending them–especially the wounded–for a last charge against the enemy would give them a quick and honorable death, in addition to thinning out the enemy’s ranks. I would find that much preferable to living with a weakened body, or worse, to die of a malicious plague.”

“WE CANNOT.”

“Why so? You have no qualms with sending even half-mangled Custodes to fight. You have not even checked on our wounded, of which there are dozens.”

“DOZENS WOUNDED, DOZENS DEAD FROM PREVIOUS BATTLES AS WELL. THOSE DEATHS ARE MOURNED BY ME. AND YET, WHAT OF THE TENS OF THOUSANDS OF MORTALS WHO HAVE DIED IN THE LAST HOUR? THE DISPARITY OF DEATHS IS BECAUSE WE ARE STRONGER. BETTER. MORE RESOLUTE. MADE TO BE WARRIORS. DO YOU REMEMBER HOW POOR OF A CONDITION I WAS IN PRIOR TO MY INTERNMENT?”

“You were but half a body. Mouth slackened, eyes gouged out of your skull, arms broken and hanging to your sides. But you still managed to kill more than twenty Orks before we carried you to safety.”

“INDEED. WE CUSTODES ARE THE BEST OF HUMANITY’S WARRIORS. THE SAME CANNOT BE SAID FOR THESE MORTALS WHO LOYALLY FOLLOW HIS LIGHT. I CANNOT FORCE THEM UNTO DEATH’S JAWS, NOT WHEN SO MANY HAVE BEEN LOST. MORAL WOULD BREAK AS WELL. I MOURN THE THOUSANDS WHO COULD NOT ESCAPE THE SHIP AND THE MANY MORE WHO WERE LOST IN THIS PESTIFEROUS LAND. DO YOU NOT MOURN THEM?”

“Mourn their loss? No. Acknowledge their absence? As much as is needed. You have always been melancholy, Kariyan. I do hope you have no qualms with killing the bastardized corpses shambling towards us.”

“I WILL GIVE THEM THE EMPEROR’S PEACE, WORRY NOT. AH, AND IT SEEMS OUR DISCUSSION HAS GIVEN THEM AMPLE TIME TO COME WITHIN RANGE. LORD KEN, YOU MAY FIRE… NOW”

“ Krrrk– Loud and clear!– Krrrk ”

The Wraithlords disgorged a devastating opening volley upon the Poxwalkers, initiating the battle once more. Colorful throes of plasma and lasers seared through the air and found themselves burning through scores of flesh as they hit the Poxwalkers. The Wraithlords fired plasma shots into the horde, hitting their targets with fatal accuracy. The Custodes watched on as the Wraithlords kept firing relentlessly, their weapons seemingly ignoring the usual effects of rapid plasma fire. This was notable enough to be investigated, noted Tychor, though at a more convenient time and place. 

The unrelenting volleys ripped through the front ranks of the thousands-strong horde, breaking apart the front lines slowing down the Poxwalkers’ advance to a near halt. However, as the plasma and lasers continued to shred through their brethren, the Poxwalkers only seemed to become more motivated by the death of their brethren, spurred on by the ‘last’ cycle of life. Seconds later, the Poxwalkers broke out into an awkward sprint, somewhere between a fully-fledged run and a limp, towards the Mansion. Boils popped and bones cracked as the Poxwalkers ran into one another, some trampled by the stampede as well, though they showed no signs of stopping. The sheer volume of Poxwalkers meant a small portion of their horde–numbering in the tens of thousands–escaped the Wraithlords’ attention and managed to make a desperate run towards the Imperials.

Up above, the swarm of Battle Flies and Bloat Drones created a deathly chorus of buzzing that drove the men to further despair. They flew low to bombard the ranks with munitions and infested bullets, killing or at least mangling many. Though the Wraithlords managed to shoot some of them down, hundreds more continued to plague the skies. Even Carrie and Taylor found their defenses whittled away little by little, and as they were too busy to repair them, the fate of the Voidsmen rested upon the Custodes.

By this point, Ken and Raquelle had reached the front lines, standing next to Kariyan and Tychor. All four of them were covered in green fluids which Ken hoped were blood, and not something more nauseating. He looked back at the Voidsmen, now numbering little more than a thousand. Constant attacks from the flying Warpspawn and surprise ambushes had thinned out the ranks even further, and he was doubtful that any of the Voidsmen would survive the battle. Most had abandoned their battle posts, with only those near the Custodes or Carrie and Taylor still finding their feet on the ground. Ken could see the fear within their eyes, the acceptance that death could come raining down upon them in any moment–literally.

The Poxwalkers who survived the onslaught of lasers and plasma were now less than a hundred meters away, running towards the Imperials. The few Voidsmen with enough strength in them to fight started to mumble prayers towards the Emperor, likely knowing this battle would be their last.

“When do we charge?” asked Ken.

“When the enemy reveals themselves.”

“TYCHOR IS CORRECT. TO RUSH IN NOW WOULD BE TO WALK INTO THE ENEMY’S JAWS.”

“We will have to lure the Astartes out and meet them head on. For now, we shall stall these abominations first.”

The Custodes raised their spears in unison before bringing them down upon the incoming Daemons, and what ensued was a massacre. Like rain upon a mighty fortress, the Poxwalkers bull rushed the Custodian lines, only to have their assault broken and cut to pieces. Wide sweeps of Guardian Spears and Sentinel Blades kept the Poxwalkers at a distance as their numbers increased even more, with thousands of them now running towards the Custodes. 

At the head of the carnage, Kariyan stood like a wrathful engine of death, bludgeoning dozens of Poxwalkers with each mighty blow. The wet ground beneath him crumbled beneath his weight as he moved around, leaving meter-wide tracks in place of his legs. The Daemons which escaped his wrath soon found themselves burned away by Raquelle’s null aura or bisected with a clean stroke of Ken’s blade. As it was, The Custodes’ lines would not break anytime soon, and the enemy knew it. Not too far away, Typhus–in repaired armor–stood with his entourage.

“They are waiting for us, Lord Typhus.” bluntly stated Infitus.

“But we will not. As far as I am concerned, a million Poxwalkers and a million more will die before we will rush into the open. I can see only two routes upon the forked path. The first is in our favor, the second is in theirs. How do you think this stalemate will end for the first path to take shape?”

“Something else interferes. Something big .”

“Indeed, Infitus! Indeed…”

Not far away as well, the tolling of bells rang throughout the air, spine-chilling chimes falling on the Custodes’ resolute ears. Seven chimes of seven bells rang out, then came the sound of seven deafening horns, lasting for seven seconds.

“ BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM .”

Typhus laughed and muttered beneath his breath, “The Knights have come for the unblessed.” He put on a new helmet, one-horned as well and of an intense green shade, before raising his scythe, motioning for his warriors to move at last. 

——————————————————————

“I…”

I made a mistake , is what he would have said if he possessed the expansive vocabulary of modern humanity. I was overcome with jealousy and envy, yet we only gave names to joy, anger, and sadness in those days, not to the trepid and uncertain feelings in between them. But I always knew more. I knew better. I knew guilt before any others did. I taught my village about it. I recognized guilt, remorse, disgust, jealousy, and so many more emotions that would uplift and plague humanity for millennia to come. I knew he was wrong.

Chapter Text

Amongst those who still fought, many of the Voidsmen stilled at the sound of distant horns echoing through the air. Shivers ran down their spine as the trees began to shake and great plumes of blackened substances rose into the air. Ken himself paused for a moment, wondering if he could survive whatever was coming. 

“Kariyan! Can you see what’s causing those dust plumes–?” shouted Ken between each swing of his sword. His last word was cut off when a Poxwalker launched itself at him, breaking apart as he let out a savage backhand. Ken wiped its remains off of his gauntlet, leaving a thick yellowish sludge on his hand.

The dreadnought craned its body in the direction of the pillars of rising dust. Kilometers away, he could make out ragged metal hides shuffling among the treeline and dozens of dust clouds which were not so–but a great horde of Nurgle’s flies. 

On the left side of the battlefield, Gamyneth rallied the men, carving a path with his spear for the Voidsmen behind him to shoot from. The Custodian admired how even against such hellish foes, the Voidsmen still fought alongside him. He knew that in normal circumstances, they wouldn’t survive a minute, even in full hazard gear. The air of the Garden should be potent enough to turn metal to rust and dust, much less a mortal and their meager armor. Only through the Emperor’s direct blessings could they have survived for this long against the Garden’s maddening effects, and now, only through the actions of the Custodes do they live.

It was his duty to protect them, and it would only become more difficult in the near future.

A hail of bolt rounds suddenly roared through the air, accompanied by the appearance of Plague Marines from the trees. Gamyneth tightened the grip on his spear and muttered curses at his low ammunition reserves. With less than a dozen rounds left, he wouldn’t dare use them now. 

Unfortunately, the enemy had no such reservations as more bolter fire came forth from the approaching Astartes. Gamyneth saw no need to dodge as his armor deflected every round that hit, causing them to detonate harmlessly in the air. The array of explosions obscured the Custodian and the Voidsmen behind him from the Astartes, who advanced further towards the Mansion in every direction.

As Gamyneth ran forward and prepared to claim his first kill, the Voidsmen retreated under the cover of the Wraithlords’ firepower, escaping with minimal casualties. The lumbering Death Guard fire their bolters towards the Wraithlords, sending round after round to explode against their Wraithbone armor. The distraction by the Wraithlords proved to be useful, as a three-step jump propelled Gamyneth into the air and onto a distracted Astartes. Metal cleaved through ceramite, flesh, and bone as Gamyneth’s spear burrowed itself deep into the Plague Marine’s chest and jutted out through his back. With a deft pull, the spear unlodged itself and bisected the marine. 

Gamyneth moved forward, slaying up to three more Astartes before he noticed the familiar hissing sound of a charging melta. Gamyneth looked to his left, where a Plague Marine was on one knee, his rusty meltagun aimed directly at him. A pull of a trigger later, a searing red-orange beam exited the meltagun’s barrel, boiling away the air as it came nearer to Gamyneth. His hyper-senses reacted to the beam in less than a nanosecond, unconsciously moving his body a meter to the right while simultaneously raising his spear. Without needing a moment to brace or aim, Gamyneth threw his spear at the Plague Marine.

The 12 foot spear found its mark within the Astartes’ chest, launching him backwards with the sheer force of its throw. The marine’s meltagun fell to the ground, presenting an opportunity for Gamyneth to use it. He rushed forward to retrieve both weapons, dodging another melta beam from his right. He crossed nearly a decameter in a single stride to first reach the melta before yanking his spear out of the marine’s body. As another melta beam seared past him, Gamyneth raised his stolen melta up high in the shooter’s direction before pulling the trigger.

Further back from the frontlines, a dazzling cacophony of song and dance was taking place. Pure empyric energies flowed from the deep Warp, harnessed by the focus of Carrie and Taylor. As the two bonesingers channeled energy from the Warp’s well, gusts of wind swirled around them, flowing through the hollow Wraithbone to create a chilling melody. The tune emanating from the hollow Wraitbone sounded ethereal for the surrounding mortals, as its notes and crescendos danced around their ears, telling a tale of sorrow and defiance. It soothed their hearts, shielding them from the violence that raged across the Garden. Many of the Voidsmen, who were previously huddling down and hiding from the bloat-drones, stood up and walked closer towards the song. They clamored and waited as if they were children watching a Sanguinala holo-vid, curiosity abundant within their minds. 

Little by little, the energies summoned by the bonesingers coalesced and were shaped into the form of arms, legs, weapons, and ornate shapes that seemed completely alien to the Voidsmen. To them, the thing was only a larger version of the faceless constructs that the Xenos had previously made. For more knowledgeable individuals, however, they would recognize it as a Wraithknight. A terrifying engine of war, once completed, it would tower over most Imperial Knights and have the firepower to turn the tide of battle.

The two appeared as a prismatic blur as they leapt gracefully through the air, their arms waving with precision to cast the correct runes and funnel the Warp into the correct shapes. More and more energy was siphoned from the wells of the Warp, bringing with them winds that howled and roared. The song became wrathful, its notes bold and fierce, and its melody repugnant for the Neverbon as they shrieked in anger. The winds became a hurricane, and slowly, the Wraithknight moved.

With legs as sturdy as a fortress, it slowly rose, carried by the same winds that swirled around it. The Voidsmen marveled at the sight, taking in the beauty of the Wraithknight as it began to tower over the battlefield. Its mighty arms carried the destructive power of a suncannon and a ghostglaive, the latter being adorned with translucent wings along its hilt. As the Wraithknight finally reached its full height, the song reached its crescendo. With a final, forceful note, the winds scattered into an omnidirectional blast. The surge of wind swept the bloat-drones and battleflies away, causing them to crash and explode into each other in a series of haphazard collisions.

Below their creation, Carrie and Taylor’s wraithbone gloves touched as the two high-fived each other. Even if it was mostly due to the Emperor pulling some major strings, the pair was still proud of their work. 

“Carrie, how do you think we could pilot it?”

“We? Pilot it? I thought it came with one of those spirit stones already.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we made a compartment for a pilot . Why else would there be one?”

“True.. Maybe if we could find–”

Suddenly, the ground beneath Carrie and Taylor burst open to reveal the monstrous maw of a Terrax Pattern Termite. Its massive front reared itself horizontally before its rear awkwardly fell back to the ground, spitting dirt, rock, and sludge everywhere. 

Soon after, nearly two dozen Termite Drills erupted from beneath the ground, maiming and crushing any unfortunate soul in their way. However, what came after was far worse. 

Like giant, rust-ridden stomachs, each of the Termites disgorged a squad of Astartes from their transport bays onto the shocked mortals. Too distracted by the sudden assault, they were helpless as bolter rounds and chainswords turned their bodies to mist and mangled body parts. The slaughter was vicious and unyielding, reducing any sense of morale into mere memory.

By this point, the Imperial effort had devolved into what was essentially a glorified retreat. With the Death Guard’s infiltration and the reduced mortal presence, the Custodes had no reason to hold the lines for the half thousand or so mortals left. The Custodes immediately sprang into action, hurriedly closing the distance between the infiltrators and the front lines. Making their way through the terrified Voidsmen, they engaged the Astartes head on. 

‘ Uh…’

Taylor shakily rose up to her feet, wincing at the ringing in her head. All she remembered was that damned thing erupting from the ground while she was celebrating with…

‘Oh dear, where’s Carrie? ’ 

Fighting the sharp pulses of pain coursing through her brain, Taylor hurriedly looked around her. She saw dead men and women, bodies mangled on the ground. She also saw the Astartes slaughtering those who were still alive with horrible weapons. 

Unfortunately for Taylor, one of them saw her too.

Taylor’s breath hitched as she felt a sharp pain carve through her body. It hurt, but the shock of it all dulled her senses. Time seemed to slow down as her vision became blurry and her breathing became hitched. Time slowed down to a halt, leaving her in a moment of uncertainty. 

Falling to her knees, Taylor took a deep breath before closing her eyes, tears running down her face.

As my uncle started slowly backing away, I approached with a scornful look upon my face. He noticed my mood, it seemed, as he turned away and ran. In turn, I ran as well. I wouldn’t let my father’s death be in vain.

Chapter Text

“Ab umbra speluncæ socios meos quaero. Talis corvus quaerit.”

Pillars of smoke rose and dispersed around Corvus to reveal the forms of his siblings and the Custodes, who immediately walked into formation around the three Primarchs. 

“I do hope I did not take too long.” said Corvus as he approached his siblings. 

“Certainly not, brother,” Mortarion snorted before he shoved his shoulder against Corvus’. “I would've enjoyed more time with them in your void.”

Mortarion turned to a brisk pace, leading the way into the dungeons. Barbie and the rest followed suit, with the Custodes leaving two of their own to serve as lookouts. 

The walls of the dungeon were lined with thousands upon thousands of cells, some barred with iron gates while others were shut by simple doors. Screams and foul laughter permeated throughout the air, accompanied by a deadly stench. It reeked of dead flesh and dying dreams, Barbie thought. 

“Morty, how much further is it?” asked Barbie. 

“Meters, seconds, heartbeats..” sighed Mortarion “Useless to measure anything in these horrid halls. We're deep in his domain, and reality doesn't like it here.”

Barbie could see all manners of beings, from mutilated Orks, half-dead Aeldari, engorged Rangdan, to creatures she didn't even know the names of. She noticed an Ork in the cell beside her groaning and crying , something she'd never known an Ork could do. The things they did here.. It sickened her. 

Barbie huffed, becoming tired of all the anguish surrounding her. “Could you walk or search faster, Morty?” 

“Well, sister–” spat Mortarion before he crouched down to examine a hail of runes. “–I believe we have found it. Or rather, I have.”

Barbie's interest peaked, moving her way next to Mortarion’s crouched form. Corvus followed suit, having nothing better to do. 

 “So, which way is it? I grow weary of your former master's play dungeons.”

Mortarion traced his fingers across the floor, feeling the deep grooves of each rune. “The cell is here, yet not as well. The runes will take us to Russ.”

“A warpgate? An ingenious way of keeping things in,” said Corvus. 

“Or a good way to keep things out, if they can't figure out the runes,” Barbie pointed out. 

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious, dear siblings. And please move, I'll need space for what I'm about to do.”

Mortarion rose to his full height before facing one of the Custodes, the one who had been verbally jabbing with him. 

“Custodian, would you be interested in a light spar?.” 

“Delighted to, if the Lady doth allow it.”

As the Custodian looked at her, Barbie was confused and subsequently hesitant in giving the proverbial thumbs up, even at the silent insistence of Mortarion. 

“Why would you even want to spar him!? If there's a ritual, just do it quickly!”

“Fine, sister,” growled Mortarion as he unarmoured and outstretched his hand. “Custodian, do the honors.”

“Praise the Emperor.” said the Custodian before he reached for his Misericordia. 

“Just a few drops. Do not go overboard.”

“I shall try.”

The Custodian performed a swift slicing motion across Mortarion's palm without any hesitation or pause. Blood poured from his palm and dripped to the floor, seeping into its cracks. Mortarion hurriedly placed his barely still-bleeding palm to the floor, letting all of his blood seep into the floor before his regeneration closed the wound. 

“It is satisfied,” said Mortarion, relieved that the runes accepted his offering. 

The blood of a demigod–and a former daemon prince, no less. 

The hall became filled with a sickly green light emanating from the floor. Runes flashed and withered with blinding speed all around, anchoring the Primarchs and Custodes to their feet. Immaterial hands crept up their bodies as a rift began to tear open, slowly pulling them into its maw. 

Once the rift grew large enough, Mortarion stood beside Barbie and Corvus. He outstretched a hand to catch a fleeting rune, gripping it tightly. 

“The rune of purpose. It will guide us and guard our way. Let us continue, dear siblings.”

Barbie followed Mortarion as he marched into the warp rift with conviction, carrying his footsteps with spite and hatred towards his former master. Barbie silently wondered how 10,000 long years in Nurgle's service would break a person’s resolve, or how it would affect their soul. On both counts, however, Mortarion seemed reasonably fine. 

As Barbie crossed through to the other side, she saw not an expansive complex nor an endless void, but a modest–by warp standards–room. With a ceiling just twice as tall as Mortarion and a width that could just fit all of the Custodes, this was the smallest room she’d been in so far. And at the edge of it was a single cell. 

Their brother was finally at hand. 

Or so they thought. 

“Sister,” Mortarion said timidly. “I fear we are at the wrong…”

“Wrong what!? ”

“Wrong cell, it seems.. Because this one belongs to–” Mortarion worriedly said, which in turn worried Barbie and Corvus as well. “The Everqueen.”

“Who exactly is that..?” asked Barbie, one eyebrow raised in confusion. 

“The Everqueen, Barbara. The Aeldari Goddess of Life,” Corvus spat out. The Raven Lord winced at Mortarion, fully intending to chew him out for this mistake. 

“How could you even, I mean, it’s the Everqueen! Nurgle's most PRIZED prisoner! We are here to liberate our brother, not a damned Goddess!”

“How could I know or dictate where we went! I followed the rune, and the rune took us here! I only noticed we were at the wrong cell when I saw her damned rose on the door!”

“Well, brother, perhaps you ought to–”

“Wait,” said Barbie. “We don't have to come empty handed.”

“Sister,” pleaded Mortarion. 

“You cannot be serious, you mustn't be!” chimed in Corvus. 

“We may not have found Leman, but this is our shot at making things right!”

“I understand, sister, I do, ” Mortarion was practically begging at this point, panic slowly creeping into his mind. “But. That. Is. A Goddess. Nurgle will not take it lightly, he will notice . We cannot fight him. Not without Father, and He's nowhere to be found. Isn't that right, Corvus?”

“Just what are you insinuating, brother? That I should know where he is at all times!? Or that I, through some miracle, can just summon him?”

“Why of course brothe–”

“Please stop argui–”

“Oh is that so Morta–”

“Guys, I hear som–

“Please.”

The voice. 

The voice was unnerving. 

Everyone there agreed. It was barely a whisper, yet it managed to silence the three demigods like candles to the wind. Too shrill for a man yet too baritone for a woman, the voice carried with it an ethereal tune. Melodic yet earth-shattering, it was akin to hearing the chirping of birds, the sway of leaves, and the roaring of waves all at once. Shivers erupted amongst those who stood in the room, dreading what would come next. At the same time, everyone could feel the room slowly expand, though only Corvus noticed a new cell door appearing out of the walls. 

“Beware.”

The Custodes’ armor pumped battle stims and chemical enhancements into their wearers’ bloodstream as natural adrenaline further heightened their senses. Blue energies crackled to life at their spear tips at the hidden voice. 

“The Wolf.”

The sound of metal upon metal screeched through the air as a monstrous roar stilled the hearts of all who heard it. 

Corvus turned around before calmly pointing at the newly-formed cell. 

“There he lies. There we shall find Russ.”

Clang! 

“King.”

Clang!! 

“The Warp be damned,” exclaimed Mortarion. “Do you think Russ has become like..”

Clang!!! 

“Me? Highly likely. Either way, it looks like we shall–”

Skreeeeng!!!

“Find out,” sighed the 14th.

All 14 Custodes formed a defensive pattern, spears at the front and firearms at the rear. They pointed their weapons at the darkness, from which heavy clawed footsteps were heard. Snarls, animalistic growls escaped from the shadows with each passing moment. Whatever it was, the Custodes were ready. 

It leapt like a thunderbolt towards them, meter-long claws–sharp enough to shred even Adamantium–soared to shed first blood. The first Custodian who saw the claws parried them with his spear, launching the beast's right hand into the air. At the same time, the beast brought its left claws down at the Custodes, one of whom barely dodged the meteoric strike. Stone smashed into a fine dust as the beast's blow connected to the ground, causing the entire room to shake. Before it could advance, a hail of fire erupted from the rear lines, showering its hide in a myriad of explosions. 

It howled and reared on its hind legs, revealing the rusted and misshapen armor which covered its torso. Through the rust and recently-shed blood, distinct runes and markings could be seen on its carapace. One which any who fought in the olden days would recognize. 

“Lord Russ!” exclaimed one of the Custodes. 

Before the Wulfen Russ could regain its composure, Corvus lunged at him with enough force to topple a Titan, eliciting a deafening boom. The blow forced Russ back, giving Corvus enough time to warn the others. 

“Barbara! Focus on releasing the Everqueen! I will deal with–” paused Corvus as he dodged a lethal swipe from Russ’ claws. “–our brother!”

Barbie and Mortarion immediately turned to the cell containing Lady Isha, whose voice still chilled them to their souls. 

“Lady Isha, forgive our intrusion and haste, but we must free you. All of our lives depend on it.” awkwardly said Mortarion, remembering the last time he was here. 

“Spawns of Order.”

The voice was now less chilling and grand, sounding more vengeful. Mortarion felt lifeless eyes staring at him, like a mother's dissatisfied scowl. Mortarion knelt down, whether or not she could see it. 

“Lady Isha, forgive my transgressions! I seek to right my wrongs, as my sister is my witness!”

“Please, Lady Isha, how can we release you?” asked Barbie, ignoring the slight bitterness within the Aeldari goddess’ voice. 

“Oath.”

Further away, Corvus was left face to face with Russ’ corrupted form. It was like the ancient Were-men of legend, except far more terrifying and deadly. Standing as tall as a dreadnought and being just as strong, this was a foe like none other. Corvus wondered if he might survive this battle, let alone win, even with over a dozen Allarus terminators at his side. 

“Russ! Brother! Listen to me!”

Unfortunately, the mutated Primarch cared not for words, only for the taste of blood upon his fangs. He let out a swipe of his claws, which carved through the air and found nothing but stone to stop its momentum. 

Corvus had dashed out of the way, leaving enough space between him and Russ to unleash his own claws. Inky shadows flowed onto his arms before they hardened in the shape of twin lightning claws, crackling with obsidian-colored lightning. With another push of his legs, Corvus lunged at his brother. 

Hardened keratin met blackened steel as the two Primarchs’ claws clashed, producing sparks all around them. Corvus masterfully dodged and parried all of Russ’ blows, little more than frenzied slashes, he noted. Without command, half a dozen Custodes leapt into the fray as well, brandishing their mighty Guardian Spears. 

Fighting in perfect sync, the Primarch and the Custodes ferociously battled against Russ, who only grew more savage with each passing second. Corvus let out slash after slash against his brother until an opening presented itself, allowing him to stab Russ in the back. 

Russ howled in pain as Corvus retracted his blades, leaving room for the Custodes to spear the monstrous Primarch from all sides. Icy blood poured out of the many puncture wounds on Russ’ body, pained roars erupting from his great maw. Corvus let out his own roar as he transformed to a form similar to the one he used against Mortarion. 

Great metallic claws burst forth and skewered Russ in the chest, stealing the breath from his three lungs. Russ stood still, only his loud panting providing any hint of life. Corvus’ avian form blinked coldly at his brother, looking deeply into his eyes. Corvus saw savagery, bloodlust, and rage within them, but perhaps there was a trace of the VIth within him still. 

An icy chill silently permeated through the air, just barely alerting Corvus’ senses or the Custodes’. They caught notice just in time as Russ suddenly let out a roar before all hell broke loose. 

Back at Isha's cell, Barbie and Mortarion scrambled for ideas. The two Primarchs wondered what oath, if any, they could give to free her. 

“Lady Isha, I beg you, tell us what oath binds you to his Mansion!”

“Sacrifice.”

“Barbara, what manner of oath does a God make!? What could they have to sacrifice?”

“I… I don't–” before Barbie finished her sentence, she thought back 10,000 years ago, when her Father banished her. Tears were shed, bonds were broken, and most importantly, oaths were forged in blood. 

“Family.”

“What?”

“When Father exiled me, we made an oath to each other, the Imperium, and.. o ther things. All of them required the sacrifice of one thing. Family.”

As she spoke, flowers grew and bloomed all around the cell’s door. Life, it seemed, was fighting back. 

“Make… your oaths.”

“I still do not understand, sister. What family do we have to sacrifice?”

“Each other. Now, hold my hand.”

Mortarion hesitantly took Barbie's hand into his, slightly worrying over the consequences of this endeavor for both of them. 

“I trust you, sister. And believe me, that is a privilege, Barbara.” 

“I trust you too, Morty. Now.. upon our blood we make an oath.”

“Upon our souls we hold a promise.”

“For the safety of Isha.”

“We do uphold. Upon each other we make a vow.”

The two paused before uttering the last words, finally binding them to Isha–and guaranteeing her freedom. 

“To safeguard Isha upon our souls.”

Barbie and Mortarion stood still, not knowing if Isha's previous oath had been broken or not. Just then, her voice echoed once more. 

“Bloom.”

While Barbie had been reciting her oath, Corvus was faced with fiercer opposition than before. 

Russ had unleashed a devastating explosion of ice, managing to push all of his attackers back. In turn, the Custodes’ balistus grenade launchers unleashed volley after volley at him, tearing pieces of flesh and armor off at a brutal pace. Pained roars filled the room, intermixed with grunts and groans. 

The Custodes changed their strategy to merely distracting Russ, choosing to harass him with bolter fire before rushing away as Corvus jumped in for a strike. For minutes they engaged in the fatal dance, where one mistake could easily cost them their lives, if not their victory. 

Corvus and Russ fought tooth and nail against one another, biting, clawing, and kicking off scraps of meat from the other's body. Corvus’ armor stood dented and gouged with deep claw marks while Russ’ grey fur was tinted red with blood and mangled flesh, yet both combatants fought on. Corvus landed a master strike against Russ, driving his talons into the beast's neck. Blood gushed forth, though Corvus soon found himself in an equally dire situation. 

Russ used Corvus’ proximity to grab both of his wings and tear them off, eliciting a hoarse cry from Corvus’ beak. Just as Corvus prepared to distance himself with Russ, the Wulfen's head reached forward and grabbed Corvus by the nape. Teeth sunk into Corvus’ flesh, nearly paralysing him from the shock. The Custodes leapt into action once more, this time managing to cripple Russ by stabbing him at the joints. 

Suddenly, a massive wave of energy crashed through the battle, throwing everyone onto the ground from its sheer force. Both Russ and Corvus fell to the ground, passing out from their respective wounds. However, Corvus managed to catch a glimpse of a tall woman just before unconsciousness took him. 

Isha stood over the two unconscious Primarchs, tilting her head in curiosity. She beheld the two godlings, one of an icy world and another of endless darkness, and smirked. This was the work of that upstart God. 

The godlings oozed of sorcerous meddling and of treacherous bargains, made in the confines of a long-forgotten lab. She saw the resting god-spirits within their souls, and she saw them staring back at her. The Wolf, more restless and savage than the Raven, growled at her immaterial form. She rolled her eyes, knowing it could do little more. Meanwhile, the Raven bided its time, carefully observing her. ‘That one will be more dangerous,’ she thought

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was weak. Diminished. Reduced to a state below the lowest valleys of her ancient power, only barely surpassing her might when the Aeldari began to worship her. The fire within her heart, passed down by her bloody-handed father, burned at the sensation of being weak. But she was here now, she was free. At the end of the day, against any foe, only one thing mattered.

Isha was still a goddess. 

She postured her body, standing not as a prisoner of a delusional cancer, but as the Goddess of Life. Her power shone against the dimly-lit walls of the room and spurred all manners of vegetation to grow. She was Isha, Mother of the Aeldari, Bringer of Healing, Guardian of Nature. She mustered her might, and spoke.

“No beast is as savage as man, and no man is as savage as Leman Russ. The mutation merely brought his animalistic tendencies to the surface,” said Isha as she walked towards the fallen Primarchs. She crouched down–her current form just as tall as Barbie's–gently stroking Russ’ blood-soaked fur. 

“However… I will help.”

Barbie and Mortarion walked up to Lady Isha, flanked by all 14 Custodes. They watched as Isha weaved hidden runes into existence, controlling and guiding them as if it were child's play. A portion of the runes gently glided towards Corvus’ body, bathing him in a soft emerald light. Meanwhile, Isha's primary focus was on Russ. 

She laid both hands on Russ' head, closing her eyes as she whispered miracles into reality. Flowers bloomed and grass sprouted out of nowhere around Russ as his wounds reknit themselves faster than before. Beyond the physical, Isha's immaterial hands were hard at work, untangling the Russ’ soul from that of the canine god which dwelled alongside it. Fenrir, it was named, could do little but growl at Isha, given its status as a lesser god. She smirked, satisfied to have retained a modicum of power across the millennia. 

After several tense moments, Isha rose to her feet. Below, Russ’ Wulfen body seemed pristine and at peace. Isha held out her hand before clenching it with holy vigor. 

“Rise.”

I took my spear and hefted it across the distance that span between my uncle and I. Its wooden shaft flew through the air with ferocious speed, yet its sharpened edge found no blood. It landed harmlessly in the sand, missing my uncle’s shoulder by the length of a finger and only tearing his sheepskin cloth. It was enough to make him pause, however, giving me enough time to reach my spear.

As I pulled the spear from the ground, my uncle threw sand at my face as a distraction. The coarse particles burned my eyes and lungs with every blink and breath I took, until I fell onto the ground in a coughing fit. All I could remember next was a sharp pain on my head before everything went blank.

Chapter Text

The first Knights were made to protect humanity’s nascent colonies upon distant worlds. Mighty chainswords levelled entire forests to provide shelter. Gargantuan fists pummeled mountains to access their ores. The Knights stood over humanity’s first journeys into the stars as a proverbial iron dome. But what Kariyan saw upon the tree line was no savior of his.

A 40-foot tall Chaos Knight stomped onto the battlefield, emerging from the trees like an undead nightmare. Its carapace was lined with rust and diseased lichen, and its left chainsword had been overgrown by a pox-ridden stump. It lumbered forth, joints whining at the burden that its lopsided form imposed.

Kariyan’s servos roared as he prepared for battle, knowing that even his brothers’ might would be futile against such deadly foes.

“COME AT ME, COME AT KARIYAN, FOUL MACHINE. COME TO YOUR DOOM,” bellowed Kariyan as both he and the Chaos Knight ran at full speed at one another. 

The Chaos Knight's chainsword rumbled to life as it raised it high above before slamming it down upon Kariyan, the dreadnought catching the weapon with his armored gauntlet, stopping the Knight's momentum to a grinding halt. 

“FOOL, YOU HAVE COME TO YOUR DEATH.”

Kariyan viciously pulled the Knight closer by the chainsword until its face was mere meters before his own. By then, Kariyan's accelerator cannon came to life before unleashing a barrage of searing lasfire straight through the knight's torso. Each round burned deeper and deeper until the damage reached a crescendo, exploding the knight in its entirety. 

The explosion could be seen across the battlefield, though only the loyalists cheered as they saw Kariyan, his chassis blackened yet unharmed, scanning for his next mechanized victim. 

As the Wraithlords dueled and held the Chaos Knights off, Typhus led the charge against what he expected to be and what truly was a dwindling Imperial Force, though two hundred Custodes proved to be a far deadlier foe than he anticipated. His advance was met by a rush of the golden warriors, destroying any momentum they had. The Custodes fought in silent sync, slaughtering dozens of Astartes in mere moments after the bullrush. Typhus knew he needed another victory for his men, especially seeing his knights being picked off one by one. 

That was why he decided to hunt for the only Ultramarine present, a curious sight on this battlefield. 

Typhus roused his sorcerers to focus fire onto the Ultramarine’s position, unleashing bolts of green energy at him. The Sentinel Guards immediately noticed the incoming fire, raising their Praesidium shields to block it. The bolts dispersed harmlessly upon the shields’ power fields, but the distraction had worked. 

As they leveled their shields, the Sentinel Guards were hit by a barrage of falling bloat drones, acting as sacrificial bombs for their master. Ken and Raquelle were knocked off their feet by the blasts as the Custodes’ lines separated to avoid the dive bombing Daemons. Seeing this, Typhus took his chance. 

Bringing his sorcerers and his terminators, Typhus spearheaded an assault on Ken's position, where only he, Raquelle, and Ulysses stood. The Custodes resisted Typhus’ advance with unmatched fury, stifling and stalemating the Traveller’s terminator retinue. However, a fierce onslaught by a pair of newly-arrived helbrutes allowed Typhus to break through. There, he finally laid eyes on the blue-hued Astartes. 

“We meet at last, Ultramarine. I wonder if you were at Iax, or perhaps Ultramar itself when I assaulted it? Regardless, I would savor some vengeance against your pitiful chapter.”

“You stand alone among enemies, sorcerer,” interjected Ulysses. “You will die a traitor's death. Alone. Afraid. Ashamed.”

“Mighty boasts from someone whose Shield-captain I have just slaughtered just hours ago.”

Ulysses gripped his spear tightly. Argus will be avenged, he thought. 

Ulysses nodded before taunting Typhus in return, “Perhaps you will die a better death than Mortarion .”

“I have lived better than Mortarion, ” remarked Typhus, eyeing Ken as he said so.

The sorcerer lunged at Ken with his scythe in full force, swinging it precisely at his chest. A deft parry from Ken's sword barely deflected the scythe, needing Ulysses’ assistance to fully divert its course. Meanwhile, Raquelle struck from behind, thrusting her executioner's sword into Typhus’ back. Typhus stepped aside to dodge the blow before sweeping his scythe in a circle, creating distance between him and all three of his opponents. 

This gave him room to summon a swarm of warp flies to obfuscate his movements, surrounding him like a living shadow. Ken, Raquelle, and Ulysses struggled as sudden blows and strikes emerged from behind the swarm. A strike would force Ulysses to parry before another nearly sliced Ken’s head off, followed by a sudden upward swing that Raquelle barely dodged. Even outnumbered, Typhus had the trio on the backfoot. 

Just as Ken dodged another harrowing blow, he pulled out his plasma pistol and shot at the swarm, burning through and dissipating the warp insects. The element of surprise was now lost, and the trio continued their assault. A flurry of spear and sword strikes harassed Typhus’ defenses, slowly being worn down and dismantled. Typhus worried within his mind,  would this be his end? 

“ Aaargh! ” the sorcerer screamed as he unleashed a devastating psychic blast, knocking the trio onto the ground. Raquelle could barely hold onto consciousness, while Ken was struggling to stand up. Only Ulysses managed to immediately lunge forward for an attack, though his efforts were stopped by a crushing telekinetic hold from Typhus. Within Nurgle’s realm, Typhus’ powers were elevated beyond normal. Allowing him to outmatch opponents he would otherwise never dream of besting.

The pressure from the hold slowly overpowered Ulysses’ strength, with only his psychically-inert Auramite armor stopping Typhus from crushing him completely. Ulysses stared daggers as Typhus began to laugh, basking in the thought of killing yet another Custodian. 

However, a flash of light briefly shone behind Typhus, who only turned in time for a Klaimor to lob his right hand off. He reeled back in disbelief and shock, enraged that this Custodian was still alive. 

“Have I not vowed to kill you, vile thing?” taunted Kambyses, now fully healed and armored at the courtesy of his mirthful benefactors. 

Ulysses fell to the ground, clenching his breastplate for air as he looked on at his returned brother. 

Kambyses took no time in engaging Typhus, who was forced to fight defensively with only an arm. Typhus spewed foul acid from his mouth in an attempt to distance himself from Kambyses, though the Custodian leapt into the air and knocked the Traveller’s helmet off with a kick. The blow dazed Typhus, knocking him to the ground with a loud crash. 

A moment later, Kambyses’ sword plunged itself deep within Typhus’ chest before slicing it in two, separating the Astartes’ upper torso from his lower section. Maggots and ichor spilled out of his guts, while foul insults escaped his final breaths. They were ignored by the Blade Champion, finding little joy in conversing with his bested foe.

Instead, Kambyses removed his helmet to spit on Typhus as a last insult. The Custodian reattached his helmet before assisting Ulysseses to his feet.

“Kambyses,” spat out Ulysses as blood trickled down his nose. “You made it in time.”

“Thanks to our… allies, I did. Gather the men, I suppose we are due for an evacuation soon.”

With that, they left the dying body of Typhus the Traveller; disgraced follower of Nurgle.

Mere moments after his humiliation, Typhus seethed with anger. The anger kept him just barely conscious, yet the diseased traitor could not help but force out one last laugh as he heard the tolling of bells echo through the air. As Typhus’ eyes grew dim, the last sight he saw was a monstrous shadow hanging over the battlefield. He laughed, for there is no victor in war.

By this point, dozens of Chaos Knights–ranging from the Armiger to Crusader patterns–charged into the battlefield, where they were met with Wraithlords and the wrath of Kariyan.

A chainsword-wielding Gallatus pattern charged into Kariyan's direction, its weapon letting out ugly whirs as it flailed uncontrollably. The first strike was a slash which Kariyan dodged, followed by an easily spotted thrust, before being ended by a desperate downwards swing. By its third strike, Kariyan had found an opening in its defenses, allowing his 20-foot frame to leap onto the machine, toppling it over. It groaned in protest as it fell, creating a large dust cloud in its wake.

Its protests were silenced as Kariyan grabbed the Knight’s face and ripped its rotting pilot from its torso. Sparks flew as the knight's head was ripped off, its energy core slowly dying down. Before Kariyan could disembark from the Knight’s hull, a punishing volley erupted from a wave of Chaos Knights, violently pinning Kariyan to the ground. 

Fifteen Knights armed with battle cannons fired explosive shells flying into the Imperials with deadly frequency. Balls of fire emerged wherever the shells found their mark, engulfing Voidsmen, Daemons, Custodes, and Wraithlords alike. At the rear of the formation stood an ancient Castellan-pattern Knight, its fearsome Volcano Lance aimed squarely at Kariyan.

But before the Knight could unload its firepower, a searing bolt of lightning fell from the sky, completely vaporizing the foul machine and leaving nothing but smoldering soil beneath it. More bolts came forth, destroying two more Chaos Knights in quick succession. The Imperials looked on in disbelief before spotting a figure atop an Aeldari craft, holding a mighty staff in his hands. 

In this dire hour, Eldrad Ulthran, greatest Farseer of the Aeldari, had arrived.

Darkness crept up all around me. I could not see or touch anything, as if I myself were nothing. Oh, but I could hear . I could hear the pounding of footsteps and heartbeats, laboured breaths and hateful screams. Then, I felt a predatory gaze upon me. My ears heard the flapping of wings and the ruffle of feathers coming from one direction, every direction, and none at all. A cackle, like the great booms of an avalanche, rang in my ear. It would haves driven me mad had a great roar interrupted it, followed by screeching and then silence. The last thing I heard was a great, deep voice of a hunter.

“Seek your vengeance, child. Blood for… blood.”