//------------------------------// // 2.13- Four into One // Story: The Empress Returns // by iowaforever //------------------------------// Four into One With a resounding roar the berserkers of the World Eaters charged across the field, axes and swords raised as they eagerly searched for the foe. Scattered among them were a score of daemons, Bloodletters and Bloodcrushers howling with glee in preparation for slaughter. Their targets were hunkered down within the ruins of an old chapel, plasma cannons and heavy bolters blazing as the horde of Chaos charged forward heedless of loss. Neither side cared for losses. Battle was to be had. Towering over the World Eaters was a massive daemon, clad in brass armor and carried forth on black wings. He carried with him the great, blood splattered chainaxe Gorefather, the roar of the blade rivaling the bellowing of the horde beneath him. The daemon hovered over his army, searching the lines of the enemy for the one who had continued to elude him for time immemorial. Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters, was on the hunt. Eventually, he found suitable prey. His target was a Dreadnought holding fast among the line of defenders. It was a magnificent machine, scratched grey armor complimented by golden iconography of a long and glorious history. A great wolf’s pelt was draped around the Dreadnought’s torso, the fur rippling as the machine hammered the advancing wall of World Eaters with its assault cannon. It gave no apparent attention to Angron, focusing its might on rallying its brothers and smiting the daemons and traitors before it. Angron roared before diving down, bringing Gorefather up in preparation to strike. The defenders turned their weapons against the Primarch, but only a few shots found their mark before the daemon struck. The first of Angron’s victims died swiftly, Gorefather reducing a score of them to nothing more than shredded meat as its master advanced on the Dreadnought. The machine stepped back, assault cannon blazing as it faced down Angron, but the armor of the Daemon Primarch was too great for the weapon. “Daemon,” Bjorn the Fell-Handed rumbled. “You think to best me here? As we have in times before, the Wolves of Fenris will not yield.” Angron said nothing coherent, his bellow shaking the very fabric of reality before he charged forward, sweeping Gorefather down in an effort to cleave the Dreadnought in half. Bjorn was ready, though, catching the daemonic weapon with his power claw and shifting to avoid the whirring blade. Angron roared again, rushing forward to bowl over Bjorn, but the Space Wolf Dreadnought sidestepped the Primarch, unleashing one last blast of fire from his assault cannon into Angron’s side. This only served to anger the daemon more. Gorefather swept out, the flat of the axe smashing into the side of Bjorn’s chassis. The assault cannon crumpled to uselessness under the sheer force of the strike, the ammo belt detaching and spilling shells on the ground. Angron shifted the blade and struck again, sparks flying as Gorefather ripped through ceramite and steel with contemptuous ease. Bjorn drew back, his assault cannon arm ripping from the Dreadnought and falling to the ground as he braced for another attack from Angron. Angron charged, and Bjorn stepped into the strike for his own attack. He raked Trueclaw across Angron’s chest, black blood splashing across his gauntlet as he tore three scars into the daemon’s hide. Angron bellowed in rage, staggering back as Bjorn followed up with a blast from Trueclaw’s heavy flamer, burning prometheum ignited against the Primarch’s armor. Angron howled, bringing Gorefather around to strike Bjorn, the Dreadnought stepping back to dodge the sweep of the chainaxe. “As we defied you on Armageddon, so we defy you here,” Bjorn said, catching another strike from Angron with Trueclaw. “I am Bjorn, and I shall not be broken here.” Angron growled, slamming his shoulder into the Dreadnought as he broke from their latest grapple. He brought the chainaxe up, glaring down at Bjorn as he planned his next move. “Die.” with a single flap of his wings Angron took flight, his wings buffeting the rest of the battlefield as Wolves and Berserkers clashed. He dove down again, sweeping Gorefather low to catch Bjorn off guard, the Dreadnought stepping back in an effort to bring Trueclaw around to intercept the strike. But it was to no avail, Gorefather biting deep into the steel as the strike lifted Bjorn off his feet. A flash of sparks, and the Dreadnought’s legs and remaining arm tumbled away, the battered chassis crashing to the ground as Angron leered down at his opponent. “You will not strike me down, daemon,” Bjorn said, even as the rest of the chassis began to fade. “I have done my duty, and you have failed.” “You will die,” Angron snarled as he raised Gorefather up for a final strike. “All of you mewling pups will die!” “Angron!” the Daemon Primarch had little time to react before a frost axe sank into his neck, black blood flying away. Angron roared, thrashing his head to free himself of the weapon, drawing Gorefather back to defend himself from his new opponent, his real target. He stood over the fallen Dreadnought, axe and sword at the ready. Like Bjorn his armor was a light grey, though centuries of combat and other wear and tear had worn his heraldry down to an unfinished steel. His cape and shaggy mane of blond hair rippled in the wind, giving the man an aura of calm as he stared down the Daemon Primarch. Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves, grinned as he stood his ground. “Fifteen thousand years I’ve hunted you,” Russ said, his grin growing wider. “You certainly got uglier. I think it’s an improvement.” Angron merely snarled, revving Gorefather in challenge. Russ whipped the Axe of Helwinter around as he brought his sword, Mjalnar, up into a guard position. “I also see you’ve become a coward. Scared, are we?” Angron roared and charged, bringing his axe up for a downward strike. Russ snorted and charged, scissoring his weapons to intercept Angron’s attack. As soon as the chainaxe connected Russ was on the move, twisting his axe away while slashing across Angron’s side with Mjalnar. The Daemon Primarch bellowed, catching Russ in the gut with the flat end of the chainaxe as he whipped around, but the Wolf King easily rolled away and sank the Axe of Helwinter into Angron’s shoulder. Angron shook free, sweeping Gorefather at his opponent but only finding air. Russ chuckled, twirling Mjalnar around before he lunged forward towards Angron. The Daemon Primarch swept his axe downward, deflecting Russ’ sword before smashing his shoulder into the Wolf King. Russ rolled with the strike, but could not bring the Axe of Helwinter up to block Gorefather as the chainaxe scraped across his armor. Angron roared and attacked again, Russ blocking with Mjalnar as he struck out with his own axe. He dug his heels in, keeping both of his weapons down in preparation for Angron’s next attack. “You’re weak, Angron!” Russ laughed. “Is this all your pathetic Blood God has to offer?! I’ve seen Fenrisian pups stronger than you! I’d ask you for a challenge, but I feel I’d have more of a challenge against a senile old man in a drinking contest than fighting you!” Angron charged, using his wings to cover the distance between him and Russ with ease. Gorefather crashed against Mjalnar and the Axe of Helwinter, Russ pressing back to redirect Angron to the right. He slipped his weapons out from under the chainaxe and attacked, but Angron blocked with the hilt of Gorefather and jabbed his elbow towards Russ’ face. The Wolf King ducked back, just in time to dodge another strike from Gorefather as he struck at one of Angron’s wings. Angron twisted around, smacking Russ with a wing before bringing Gorefather down. Russ’s armor held as the chainaxe scraped along his back, long enough for him to squeeze out and roll to bring his weapons around. Angron advanced, raising his axe for a final strike, but Russ stabbed out and sank Mjalnar into Angron’s thigh. The Daemon Primarch howled as Russ used his new handhold to pull himself back to his feet, smacking the Axe of Helwinter across Angron’s face to knock the daemon away. Russ chuckled again, spitting away a few drops of his own blood as he faced down the daemon once more. “If you think to finally best me, you’re going to have to try harder.” Angron snorted, flaring his wings as he took Gorefather in a two handed grip. Russ drew the Axe of Helwinter back and charged, aiming for a downward strike to cleave Angron’s skull. Before the two Primarchs could connect, a column of red light blasted from the ground beneath Angron’s feet. Russ pulled back, raising his weapons to shield his eyes as the light consumed Angron and his army, the daemon roaring in outrage as he struggled against the light. Red flashed to light, even Russ flinching away as the sky was consumed by brightness. The light dissipated, and the World Eaters and their allies were gone. Russ slowly lowered his weapons, searching around for any sign that the daemons were merely tricking him. No... Angron does not learn... “Report, my sons!” he called, turning back to his lines as the survivors of the 13th Great Company and Bjorn’s newcomers pulled themselves from the rubble. “We’ve lost contact on all fronts, my king,” one of the Wolf Lords of the 13th said, dropping a dead World Eater champion at Russ’ feet. “None of our Rune Priests can detect anything beyond the standard tides of the Empyrean. The hordes of Angron have left.” Russ cursed, turning back to the carnage before him. The Wolves had spent days taunting and skirmishing in an effort to draw the Daemon Primarch out, and now this? More fallen sons and Angron spirited away by dark magics? Calm, Russ... he thought. The hunt continues... it would do not good to act rashly. “Gather the wounded and dead,” he said, clamping Mjalnar to his hip before continuing. “We’ll return to our ships and plan our next move; perhaps a new assault might gain Angron’s attention once more.” he paused, turning his head back towards his sons. “Will Bjorn walk?” “The chassis is a loss,” one Space Wolf said. “But the sarcophagus appears undamaged and responsive. The Old Wolf will walk again, my king.” “Good,” Russ chuckled. “I would hate to lose another friend in this gods forsaken place. Now my sons, the hunt is on.” ... Cadia hovered just as the edge of reality, a bastion of order before the realm of Chaos. Star forts and battlefleets hovered before it, waiting to blast any sign of an incursion back into the void where it belonged. On the surface, billions of soldiers and tanks awaited those that slipped through the blockade, eager to throw back the tides of Chaos as they had innumerable times before. Just out of sight rested Cadia’s doom. It was a great craft, greater than any star fort in the Imperium save perhaps the Rock. Its hull was smooth and precise, crafted from a dark obsidian-like metal that hummed as it drifted on the edge of the Eye of Terror. Only a small fleet of warships guarded it, most bearing iconography of the Word Bearers or Iron Warriors, but only a small fleet was needed when considering the destructive power of the ship. The last Blackstone Fortress waited for its masters to arrive. It would not have to wait long. Magnus stepped through the warp portal, his eye adjusting quickly to the low light of the Fortress’ command bridge. Lorgar was there, unsurprisingly, seated on a command throne with his chin resting on his knuckle. Before him stood a second figure, a giant clad in steel grey terminator armor standing with his back to the Primarch of the Word Bearers staring out into the void at the fortress world beyond. Magnus knew the two had seen him enter, but their own squabbles meant they paid him no mind. “I’m growing impatient with your theatrics, Lorgar,” said Peturarbo, Lord of the Iron Warriors. “We have a perfect firing solution, and plenty of Imperials to use as an example.” “The Fortress obeys my command, Peturarbo, and I will not destroy Cadia until we are all present,” Lorgar countered. “Have faith, though, that this demonstration of the Dark God’s power will be more than enough to shatter the Imperium’s strength.” “Bah! Those that have faith are merely shirking their ability to act with their own strength. I have told you before I have no interest in your Dark God, only in the death of our enemies.” “Perhaps after this day, you might be willing to see things my way.” Peturarbo snorted but said nothing more. Lorgar looked to Magnus, giving the Primarch of the Thousand Sons a smile that was anything by friendly. “Magnus, how pleasant of you to join us.” “Have I snubbed you in some way, Lorgar?” Magnus asked. “What is troubling you now?” Lorgar frowned, turning his head to look back at Cadia. “I am doing my best to avoid admitting Alpharius was right,” he muttered. “The Emperor has a parasite clinging to his shadow, one that might prove to be a... stumbling block to our plans.” Magnus raised an eyebrow at this as Lorgar conjured an image. It was the woman from the fleet, the one the Emperor seemed to favor for whatever reason, staring into the void with a look of defiance about her. “One woman has you on edge?” Magnus asked, keeping his voice calm so his own reservations would not be betrayed. “Her naive optimism has made her adept at deluding the fools of the Imperium,” Lorgar replied, dismissing the image. “It is a trouble that will make the coming war more difficult unless it is dealt with.” “So deal with it.” Peturarbo said, not bothering to turn to face the other two Primarchs. “This is one mortal. Step through the Warp and strike her down.” “She has the protection of the Emperor, for now.” Lorgar countered, finally rising from his throne to cross to Peturarbo. “Unless you think engaging the Emperor so early into our campaign is prudent, I do not see any reason to fight a battle I know we will lose.” “There are other means of striking,” Peturarbo said. “And the Emperor’s vigilance cannot stand forever. Again, you rely too much on the strength of your Dark God rather than taking action for yourself. I cannot say my confidence in your planning has improved.” Lorgar bristled, but said nothing. Magnus focused his attention on the world before them, mulling over what he had gathered from Lorgar’s frustrations. That child can fluster Lorgar? Not a particularly impressive feat, but for a mortal... he massaged his chin. What is it that makes her so special? His thoughts were interrupted by a horrid stench wafting through the bridge, Magnus shifting his energy so he did not have to take in the reek of rotting flesh and rusted metal that preceded the arrival of Mortarion. “Lorgar,” Mortarion said, his voice phlegmy from whatever plagues resided within him. “I trust that this visitation will be brief?” “Why the rush, Mortarion?” Lorgar asked, turning to face the Primarch of the Death Guard as he drifted in on inset-like wings. “We stand at the precipice of victory, of finally breaking through to ravage the Emperor’s precious Imperium, and you already wish to leave? I am wounded, my brother.” “Though your display with the Hive Fleets was... impressive,” Mortarion said. “I have been unimpressed by previous ‘outlets’ for my vengeance. But perhaps you might be able to change mind.” “No doubt.” Lorgar stepped towards his command throne. “Though once Fulgrim arrives, I will need your help. And Magnus, of course.” “How so?” Magnus asked. “For the next stage of my plan, I need the four servants of the late Chaos Gods.” Lorgar continued. “You and Mortarion have arrived, and Fulgrim is on his way. Angron, though, will require a bit more force to pull away from his... adventures.” Magnus grimaced. Interrupting Angron’s rampages would be a tricky endeavor, even if the World Eaters Primarch could not kill them. I suppose Fulgrim will be of some use in that regard... “Very impressive, Lorgar,” Fulgrim said as he slithered out of the dark. The Primarch of the Emperor’s Children was beaming, his four arms clasped behind his back as he took a place near the center of the room. “Slaying the Hive Mind so quickly? Truly that was a display of power unmatched by anything shown before. To hear the death of billions of minds at once?” Fulgrim gave a breathy sigh. “Pure, blissful agony. Please tell me there is more to come.” “It would be like you to be easily impressed.” Peturarbo grumbled. Fulgrim stopped, glaring at the Iron Warriors’ Primarch. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he hissed, reaching for two of his swords before Lorgar spoke. “Peace, brothers,” he said. “Let us not squabble at the moment of our great victory. Fulgrim, if you would please take a spot over there, we can begin.” Lorgar gestured to a spot to his left with his mace. Fulgrim regarded him for a moment, but his hands dropped away from his weapons and he moved to take position, taking a position next to him so that he, Fulgrim, Lorgar, and Magnus formed a rough circle. Peturarbo stayed put, continuing to glare out at Cadia as the Imperial fleets shifted about. Lorgar raised a hand, power swirling about him as he began to speak in the dark language of Chaos. Magnus said nothing, but shifted his power once more to lend some strength to Lorgar’s incantation. Already he could feel rage, hatred, bitterness- traits that Angron carried with abundance and made him easy to spot even in the tides of the Warp. There was a blunt shift, Magnus furrowing his brow as his and Lorgar’s magic worked to circumvent Angron’s psychic defenses. Finally something slipped through, and a column of red light shot from the empty space between the Primarchs. That light soon produced, arms, wings, weapons, until finally Angron stood before them, his face twisted between confusion and outrage. When he spotted Lorgar, outrage won over and the Daemon Primarch advanced on his brother, drawing his chainaxe back for a strike. “Hold, Angron!” Lorgar said quickly, raising his hand as if to shield himself from the World Eater. Angron hesitated as Lorgar continued. “Think not of this as the Emperor kidnapping you from your brothers on Nuceria; your legions await you on nearby worlds for a far greater slaughter than anything you could have found within the Eye. Stay, and the whole of the Imperium will be yours to take vengeance upon.” Angron hesitated again before scoffing, slowly lowering Gorefather and trudging to a spot near Mortarion. The Primarch of the Death Guard gave Angron a brief look of weariness, but said nothing more as all assembled turned their attention to Lorgar. “Brothers, welcome,” he said, raising his hands towards the ceiling. “Not since the Heresy have so many of our number assembled in such a place, at such a great moment of triumph. We are the heralds of the true order, a great symbol that shall last for an eternity: the Death of the Imperium, and the ascendance of the Dark God of Chaos. “Before us stands the world of Cadia. It is where the first revelations of the Primordial Truth were revealed to me, and stands as the first Gate between stagnant Order and liberating Chaos.” Lorgar scoffed. “I will not weep long once it is destroyed, for its death heralds the fall of Terra and the fall of the pathetic Emperor of Mankind. “Behold, for I have brought the last servants of the Four before me,” As Lorgar spoke, Magnus could feel something twisting around his legs, binding him in place. He tried to use his magic to deflect the binding, but instead his power mingled with the force tightening around his legs. The other three had reacted with varying intensity, from Fulgrim’s bemused pleasure to Angron’s barely contained rage. “They are the remnants of the Old Gods, forgotten in the ascension of the True Master of Chaos. But they need not be left to the side, but bound before the Dark God, Four brought into One!” No sooner had Lorgar finished the last sentence did Magnus seize up, his arms falling to his side as a force yanked him against his restraints. He could feel power flowing from his body, twisting through the structure of the Blackstone Fortress, the craft humming with its own power. Magnus could feel the structure shifting, drifting towards Cadia as it took up an ideal firing line. The defenses of Cadia have withstood great Warp Storms, he thought. What makes Lorgar think a Warp-based weapon will have any effect? That is what you would like to think, isn’t it? A voice rumbled in Magnus’ mind. I am beyond your pathetic Changer of Ways. I am beyond the Blood God, the Prince of Pleasure, and the Lord of Plagues. I am beyond the schemes of xenos deities and so-called ‘Star Gods’. I am the Dark God of Chaos, the Warp Made Manifest, the Doom of Man. Now watch, as Cadia finally dies. Magnus’ vision went black, the Blackstone Fortress shaking as its main weapon fired. He could not see anything, pain shooting down his back and filling his body. He grimaced but said nothing, biting back a scream as more power and pain flowed through him. His muscles strained, his eye twitching as he tried to break through the pain. Pain was all he could find. Pain, and memories long left buried. “Magnus!” he heard the harsh voice of the Emperor echo through his mind. “What have you done?!” “Please hear me, Emperor,” Magnus said, his astral projection stepping towards the Emperor. “You are betrayed! Horus has turned himself over to foul powers and even now marshals an army to march on Terra! We must act before he arrives and destroys all you have fought to build-” “You disobey my commands, use foul conjurings to try and contact me, destroy my great work in your foolish attempt, and you dare to accuse Horus of treason?!” the Emperor’s eyes flared with power. “A century’s worth of work, gone, because of your stupidity!” “Emperor, I only wish to save the Imperium,” Magnus pleaded. “I-I can fix the damage. It’s a Webway portal, no? I’ve studied them during my time on campaign, and I can contain the energies before they grow too much. But please, you must stop Horus! He will turn on you-” “Horus has been nothing but loyal to me since I found him, and is ten times the son you are! What made you think I would favor you in this matter?!” Magnus stammered, his projection wavering as the Emperor continued. “Magnus, you have betrayed me and the Imperium, and for this sin you must be held accountable.” “P-please, Emperor...Father...!” “You are no son of mine.” the Emperor growled. “We will discuss the manner of your punishment when you arrive on Terra. Begone!” Magnus’ soul snapped back, the Primarch staggering forward as the bonds around him were released. Blindly he summoned his Blade, taking the halberd in his hand as he prepared for an attack. From what...? Slowly Magnus’ vision returned, and he blinked his eye as the rest of the world came into focus. The other three appeared similarly agitated, Angron in particular twitching as he swept his gaze about, Gorefather growling in his grasp. Each of the other three now bore a small black mark upon their foreheads, a mark of their new allegiance Magnus guessed. Lorgar was passive, the head of his mace resting on the floor as he stared out through the black towards their target, Magnus following his gaze as he took in all before him. The Blackstone Fortress, supercharged with the remnant energies of the Four mixed with the power of the Dark God, had torn a massive gash through Realspace straight towards Cadia. The Cadian Pylons, those pieces of archaic xenotech that had held the Warp at bay for so long, had slowed the progress for a few moments perhaps, but had done little to correct the reality that Magnus saw. The entirety of space before him was consumed by the Warp, calm space replaced by familiar twisting patterns and images of foul creatures. Cadia, the last bastion of Mankind, had been cleaved clean in two by the strike of the Dark God, infernos of Warpflame racing across its surface as all life was scoured away. “Abaddon’s bungling did have some hidden fruit,” Lorgar mused, grinning as the others regained their senses. “He knew the power of the Pylons; a little push was more than enough for him to destroy enough for this to work.” Magnus looked up at Lorgar, the Word Bearer still grinning. “It was not by my doing. The Dark God had foreseen this triumph in days long passed.” “Most impressive,” Fulgrim breathed, stretching out as he surveyed the damage. “What else is there to be seen?” “More Warp storms will begin to break out across the Imperium,” Lorgar said, stepping between his brothers as he watched the destruction of Cadia. “Thousands of planets will die like Cadia, their pathetic populaces screaming in agony as they are sent to serve the Dark God. The might of the Space Marines will fail in the face of the true power of the Warp! Every fool that does not bow to the powers of Chaos will tremble at the display of my power!” he raised his hands towards the ceiling again. “Behold, my brothers! As Cadia dies, so we shall rise! We are the Heralds of the End Times, and the Galaxy will burn in the fires of our vengeance!” “If we do not burn in the fires of the Emperor’s wrath first.” all present turned as Alpharius stepped from the darkness. Lorgar sputtered as the Primarch of the Alpha Legion spoke again. “Apologies for interrupting, Lorgar, but we have unfinished business to attend to.” “I told you before that you are free to do whatever you like.” Lorgar growled. “Just do it away from my sight!” “I still await the troops you promised me to recover the Anathame Blade,” Alpharius replied. “Or were you too caught up in religious fervor to remember your promise to a brother?” “I consider promises to you to be as hollow as the Emperor’s.” Lorgar flicked his hand outward, a Warp Portal forming before him before he turned back to the group. “Mortarion, Angron, there are still survivors on Cadia... let’s remedy that fact, shall we?” Angron grinned, hefting his axe as he all but jumped into the portal, Mortarion and Lorgar following close behind. Magnus watched in silence as they departed, his head still throbbing against the mark that no doubt rested upon his forehead. “His sorcery will only lead to more difficulties,” Peturarbo grumbled. “Alpharius, you say you need troops? I have several thousand slaves who are of no use to me; even if your scheme has no need for them, it would be better if you got them out of my sight.” “I will find some use,” Alpharius said before his gaze focused on Magnus and Fulgrim. “Though perhaps, brothers, you might be able to lend me more... ‘Direct’ power.” ... The battleship Hrafnkel emerged from Warpspace at the head of the Space Wolf armada, just in time to watch as the Eye of Terror blossomed forth from Cadia’s death throes. Even within Realspace the ships rocked from the force of Chaos washing over them, warning klaxons blaring as Gellar fields strained to hold back the tide. The Astartes were all veterans of centuries of warfare within the Eye of Terror, but even they could still feel some form of anxiety when the Warp threatened to overtake them. Leman Russ stood in silence on the command bridge, watching as a world died and the Warp was set free. Every instinct of his told him to move, to take up axe and sword once more and dive back into the madness, perhaps even strike the head off the snake while they still gloated over their victory. It would be easy, a challenge worthy of the Wolf King and his sons. Every instinct... save one. “Orders, my king?” one Wolf Guard asked from below. Russ continued to watch the destruction, his hand running down the hilt of Mjalnar. “... We move,” he said. “We find worlds that have not yet been struck and warn them of the coming danger. We dig in, we fight, we die, for that is the task we have been given as Legionnaires of the Imperium. I do not expect any of us to survive this time, my brothers, but with axe and sword we will see the traitors die with us. “The Wolftime is upon us, my sons. May the Emperor take pride in us, for battle awaits.”