we are again, over two months later. Time sure flies if you have a lot of stuff to do. Luckily, I also found time to continue the story, and now the next chapter is finally ready!
As always, I sincerely hope you enjoy reading, and would be happy to hear what you thought of this chapter!
Without further ado, let's get to it!
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Eldrad Ulthran was lost in thought, meditating, his mind churning as he adjusted plans and schemes, pondering how best to achieve His vision for the future. Their vessel was travelling once again through the webway, making good speed towards Ulthwé, where His plans would begin to come to fruition…
Suddenly, and without warning, he was thrown forwards as their ship came to a lurching halt, anti-grav fields struggling and failing to fully compensate for the sudden deceleration. There were predators in the webway, and ancient foes, both warp-borne and material; be they daemons, corsairs or even Necron raiders. Thus, fearing the worst, Eldrad readied his mind, the runes on his armor glowing brightly. He would not allow His design to be jeopardized now!
Wreathed in phantasmagoric swirls of impossible light, a single form stepped, simply stepped through the solid outer wall of the ship and into his quarters, the wraithbone flowing aside to accommodate it. Eldrad's psychic power, second to none among his people, swelled in response to his emotions. He would not be taken unawares a second time on this day. He…
The being stepped towards him, brushing aside his defenses like one may a mote of dust. Where the Yngir had been oppressive in its emptiness, this was the very opposite, a psychic potential so vast it defied comprehension. A buried, subconscious part of him knew without delay, without question, what had come before him, no matter the cloak it wore.
"Cegorach" he whispered, falling to his knees "God Who Laughs, God Who Remains. Guardian of the Webway, defier of She-Who-Thirsts."
"Eldrad of Ulthwé" Cegorach sighed, with a voice that was many, and yet was one. "Rarely have I encountered one so potent, so dedicated to the Aeldari cause, and yet so foolish in his actions." It shook its head, as if regarding a particularly slow pupil, "We are in luck that the Yngir chose to send you back to your kin in your own vessel, throughout this ancient pathway of your people, or I would have not intercepted you so easily" the beings voice was a motley of pitches and intonations "I suppose my ancient enemy wished to make his hold over you less obvious. Or maybe he was simply arrogant enough to dismiss the possibility of my intervention."
Laughter echoed through the ship
"Be that as it may, I have arrived to play my part, and release you from its hold."
"Hold?" Eldrad whispered, confused. The very notion of being under the star gods hold appeared very much laughable to him, for He had merely convinced him by speaking the truth. The conclusions that had been drawn from the truths He had spoken were naught but a logical consequence, then. He shook his head.
"I know of the Yngirs abilities; It could have torn my memories from me to find the fortresses, enslaved me or any other aeldari present, and forced us to do its bidding, yet it did not. It spared me, despite my attempt to destroy it, and chose to cooperate instead, for the benefit of all. It showed mercy, where I expected cruelty-"
"FOOL!" the exclamation hit Eldrad with the force of a thunderclap, battering him down. "It lied! The Yngir spared you because it needs you, and to cloak its trap. It did not take from you your memories because it already has what information it desires. What it does not have is the means of using it to its advantage."
The laughing god chuckled.
"A delectable irony, that. It can find the blackstone fortresses time and again, but my late and lamented brother's creations are not beholden to its whims. They recede into the great ocean once they sense the Yngir drawing near. And when it sends its minions in its stead, they swallow them up without a trace to be found. I am positively certain they have proven a source of…endless frustration to it."
Hysterical laughter echoed around the ship from everywhere and nowhere at once. No doubt sensing Eldrad's confusion, the laughing god elaborated, his tone one of an exasperated teacher now:
"Those that have given themselves fully to the Yngir cannot operate the talismans of Vaul, and neither can those that serve them directly, even if unwillingly so. Only true, spiritually whole and uncorrupted children of Asuryan can rouse them to anger and wield their fury in battle. The Yngir realized that it needed to trick you into its service, so that you would do for it what it cannot, gain the employ of Asuryani pure of heart and soul, unsullied by its own vile grip." Cegorach smiled again, but there was no mirth in it now:
"It succeeded, too, for it plays the Great Game masterfully. Fortunately, however…" and now, mischief and mirth crept back into Cegorach's voice "…it is not the only god playing."
Eldrad shook his head, his vision swimming as conflicting powers clashed in his mind, perceived certainties and convictions falling, only to rise again, as if locked in mortal struggle. A sharp pain throbbed in his head, sharing a rhythm with his heatbeat.
Seeing the Farseer's expression, the laughing god elaborated, chuckling. "Of course my ancient foe prefers you joining his cause without visible pressure. Loyal subjects are always to be preferred over indentured ones. Furthermore, if there is no overt shackle on one's mind, then none can be found, either, by those one is sent to convince. But his true motive this was not, that I can assure you."
Cegorach nodded to Himself, as if satisfied.
"Yet, I am in luck. The Yngir could not resist the urge to try and convert you into a true follower, instead of merely turning you into a puppet. Its need to reaffirm its own greatness may be the only reason all is not yet lost." The God grinned. "Speaking of shackles on one's mind, I believe I have something to return to you…"
The memories hit the ancient Farseer like a battering ram. His plans, his predictions, his grand designs; the memory of a mon-keigh primarch forging a weapon fit to end the long war… He gasped in shock and terror: "The Talisman! Is it…"
"Safe." the god in front of him chuckled disapprovingly. "No thanks to your particular personage. You almost jeopardized the grand design! To think that, after all those millennia, after the mon-keigh Emperor succeeded in keeping it hidden, all was almost undone by one foolish little Asuryani, who blundered without hesitation into the grasp of our most ancient foe."
Cegorach laughed once more, but it was a sound that struck fear into Eldrad, making him acutely aware of the frailty of his mortal body and soul. Cegorach shook His head, exasperated:
"Yet, thankfully, I took the liberty of pulling the related memories from your mortal consciousness before your ill-fated meeting and concealed the gaps I had left behind. I judged my ancient enemy correctly, and he was arrogant enough to forego a most thorough and close scrutinization even as he readjusted your mind to suit his designs. As far as he could discern, you truly had little feasible plans beyond the desperate gamble of rousing Ynnead, and no Talisman of Seven hammers exists. This momentary absence of knowledge concerning your own future plans may have lessened your resistance to the Yngirs influence, but that too is to our advantage, for it thinks that it has you now."
"Then it was manipulating my mind…" Eldrad muttered. Until now, that notion had seemed utterly absurd to him, but the longer he remained in the laughing god's presence, the more he felt as if a veil was being pulled from his eyes that he had not known existed.
Cegorach laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh please, of course it was."
Realization hit the ancient Farseer as the clouds upon his mind lifted:
"Your Harlequins, they wished to accompany me, and you speak as if…Did you know it was waiting there for me?"
The figure before him shook its head, the wraithbone of the ship flowing and swirling in impossible colours around it.
"Know? No, even I cannot predict its actions with certainty. But I know my ancient adversary well, as I know the penchant for folly that my children possess, and thus took the necessary precautions."
For the shortest of instants, the god in front of him seemed weary, almost smothered by the responsibility of its position. Then, the moment passed, leaving Eldrad confused, wondering if it had ever truly occurred.
"Fortunately, the potency of the Endless' powers is matched by the strength of his belief in his own superiority, and he appears to have seen no need to examine your mind all too closely."
There was a short pause, as if for dramatic effect, before the laughing god continued:
"As such, the Yngir now thinks it has your loyalty, which will allow you to find and neutralize the other agents it has no doubt already planted within Aeldari society." Cegorach became utterly serious, then, His voice took on a tone of utmost urgency. "Make no mistake, Eldrad of Ulthwé, the Yngir has invested much in the attempt to ensnare you, which is why my intervention was crucial."
"I…am afraid I do not understand…" Eldrad admitted "What struggle would there be for it in this endeavor? Surely it can traverse this galaxy at will…?"
The god before him chuckled, shaking His head, this time displaying equal parts or mirth and sorrow.
"The Yngir is both hunter and hunted, much as I am. Its realm is a fortress, yet also a prison, ensnared and besieged even now by the powers of the four. Every time it ventures beyond its borders, it risks being beset by the Servants of the Gods of Chaos. In fact, such an attack occurred as it was making its way towards the trap it had set for you. The screams of the god's minions that the Yngir annihilated are still reverberating in the great ocean."
Eldrads eyes widened: "Could they…have ended it?"
"Unlikely." Cegorach conceded. "But every such fight forces our foe to expend precious resources, all while it desperately seeks to conserve its power and gain more. The Yngir knows that it needs every morsel of energy it can gain access to, for it was never the strongest among its misbegotten kindred. Others are returning, star gods able to overpower and consume it. It is shepherding its strength, as well as attempting to acquire weapons that can tip the scales in its favour once the time comes for it to face its kin."
Cegorach smiled, as if privately amused at some joke unknown to Eldrad.
"In one regard, the C'tan did not lie. It came to you because you represent something the Asuryani are sorely lacking: Hope. Some Aeldari may despise you, but you are a hero to many of your kin, one who does not accept destiny, who rages against the extinction of your people. It also knew that you are one of the few beings potent and independent enough to not be easily swayed by one of its puppet servants. No, if it wished to take you, it must needs come in person. It wastes no energy without good reason, and yet it has expended so much to ensnare you, only for me to foil its plans." Cegorach laughed in earnest now, shaking the aeldari ship, leering faces dancing across the wraithbone walls. "Oh, how it will rage once it realizes that its ploy has failed."
"What…" Eldrad swallowed, shaken by the enormity of the responsibility that was being placed upon him now, and the weight of the revelations he had been made privy to. "What am I to do? Surely you have a grand design in mind, oh Lord of the Webway?"
"Indeed." Cegorach answered, grinning wickedly. "Let the Yngir waste their energies in internal struggles for dominance. By denying the Endless and all its misbegotten siblings the talismans, we ensure there is no easy victory for any of their number. They will expend precious energy in their fights with one another, and whichever one remains at the end will be weakened, hopefully enough so that, united under Ynneads protection, in possession of the Talismans of Vaul and with their psychic potential unfettered once more, the remaining Aeldari will be able to destroy it, once and for all."
Eldrad's brow furrowed, his voice filled with confusion:
"Hopefully? Lord, I… surely one such as you can see the future in clarity? Will we win, oh one that remains?"
"I cannot say for certain" Cegorach admitted, sighing. "This is a war of the gods now, Eldrad of Ulthwé.", the laughing god explained, his otherworldly voice heavy. "The future is in flux, and victory cannot be guaranteed, only striven for."Eldrad swallowed hard, shaken by the idea that even Cegorach, a god of the Aeldari, the eternal guardian of the Webway, could not guarantee his people victory… he shook his head, composing himself: "I see. What would you have me do?"
"You must oppose the spread of the Yngirs influence among your people. It has already placed agents loyal to its wicked cause among the Aeldari. They will have begun to stir sentiment in its favor. We cannot allow their influence to spread too far." Cegorach smiled, mischief creeping into its manifold voices. "Thankfully, you are well-disposed to stop them. They will expect you and yours to join them as allies once you return. You must do just that. Play the role the Yngir had set for you, Eldrad of Ulthwé. Employ agents of your own, those that you can rely upon; use them and your own position to identify those that serve the Yngir, and then strike hard to remove them. Take care, though, that their true mission is unknown to them, or shield their thoughts, for their true purpose must not be discovered prematurely!"
Eldrad nodded, his face grim: "I see." His brow furrowed, "I must needs ask, though. How long am I to pretend I am one of theirs? Surely, the longer I am among them, the better will I understand the true extend of their influence."
Cegorach sighed: "This now is the conundrum that faces you. What you must do represents a trade-off, of sorts. The longer you mingle with them, the more you may learn about how far their influence has already spread, but with every passing hour their reach among your people grows. You cannot continue to remain among them for too long, for your personage will lend them credence. I trust you to judge the right moment. My harlequins will follow your example, and support you, to ensure this piece plays out to our satisfaction."
Eldrad bowed his head: "As you will it, Guardian of our people, so shall it be done."
Cegorach stepped backwards, the walls of the ship parting before him, laughter following in His wake: "Play your part, Eldrad of Ulthwé, and the stage shall shift in our favor!"
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And there we have it. I know quite some readers wished for more chapters from a xenos perpective and, well, here we are.
As it turns out, Aeldari deities are none too happy about star gods trying to take control of the race they were made to protect; and while many of them are either destroyed or broken, at least one remains that is very much whole, and not planning to let the Endless simply proceed unopposed.
We shall see where this new development leads in future chapters, which will hopefully take less long to come out than this one did. I hope you enjoyed reading and look forward to hearing what you thought of this chapter!
Kind regards
Chapter 43
Roboute Guilliman stood motionless and unhelmed, high on one of the Imperial Palace's many towers, inhaling the thin wisps of the Terran upper atmosphere. A mortal would have struggled greatly, and indeed expired soon if subjected to such conditions unprotected, but Guilliman breathed easily enough. He could taste even now the many poisons that were part of the Terran air. Smog, ash, by-products of industrial manufacture, heavy metals, chem-residue, rad-particles…
He smiled to himself despite this, for their concentration was decreasing, day by day, for the first time in millennia. By his order, newly built air-scrubbers had been installed all across the homeworld of humanity, expanding upon the network of existing engines that had laboured for generations, struggling to keep the planet in a state approaching habitability, forever on the edge of failure. Now, their numbers were bolstered to a point where, instead of merely staving off their insidious foe, the gigantic purifier-machines were making headway. Hundreds of tons of pollutant-particles were pulled from the air with every passing hour, filtered out to be either recycled into something useful, or compacted and shipped off world by giant bulk-haulers, to be deposited in graveyard-orbits within multiple uninhabited star systems earmarked for that purpose.
Water-rich asteroids in nearby systems – the Terran asteroid belt having long since been exhausted of such resources – were now being mined for their icy bounty, massive quantities of fresh water being then delivered to the Sol-system, to be added to the Terran aquae-systems. All water on Terra was endlessly recycled, of course, uncountable pipes and reservoirs holding the volume of the ancient oceans, a distant echo of the seas the world had once possessed, but Guilliman was determined to, at the very least, increase the available strategic reserves.
The Primarch knew Terra would not have living seas for millennia, and maybe never again, for too dense was the urban sprawl, too toxic the very ground, but he was determined to raise the living standard as much as he could, and larger water reserves were a measure of many contributing to that goal.
It was a strategic choice, of course, for the healthier the Terran populace, the more reliable their access to clean water and air, the more productive the world would be; less likely to rebel, less susceptible to disease, more resistant to siege. But it was more than that.
He personally detested what Terra had become. Humanities birth-world was by definition a symbol of the Imperium, of Mankinds current state. It symbolized all they had become only too well, he thought bitterly. Polluted, stagnant, scarred by countless violent conflicts, forever teetering at the edge of collapse, kept functioning only by desperate repairs of failing systems, an iron-hard grip of the law, and copious amounts of religious fervour. Immense riches, amid deepest squalor. Echoes of ancient grandeur, caked with pollution…
Roboute Guilliman bared his teeth in a wordless snarl of anger, clenching his fists. Slowly, he regained his composure, taking several deep breaths, and reminding himself that the situation was improving, albeit with grating slowness. It would be years, decades, until the atmosphere could ever be realistically called somewhat clean, and of course new pollutants were being added, despite the additional, improved exhaust filtration units being installed in all existing manufactoria by his order. It would never be wholly pure, but it would be a marked improvement for all those dwelling here.
The Primarch was determined to make Terra a fitting symbol of the coming times, a beacon of hope, of positive change, something at last that befit the home-world of Humanity.
His superhuman mind moved without pause to different matters. The appointed meeting with his brother was approaching fast. He had supplied the Lion with all kinds of additional information since their first, fateful encounter, weeks prior, but received no word from his taciturn brother in return.
Beyond regular confirmations of the receipt of Guillimans messages and tactical estimations, no communication had taken place, leaving the ultramarine Primarch wondering what his returned brother truly thought of his decisions and strategic assessment, now that he had spoken to their creator, and been supplied with ample time to reflect on the matter.
This left him unable to judge what his brother thought of his actions, or how he may react once they met again. Guilliman disliked the unfamiliar uncertainty he now experienced with fervour, but saw little ways in which to mitigate it beyond reflecting again and again upon the messages he had sent to the Lion.
Unwilling to be, or even appear, any less than fully prepared during their upcoming meeting, which would no doubt involve further accusations and mistrust; Guilliman thus began to reflect further on some of the information he had supplied his withdrawn brother with:
The Noctis Eeterna had split the galaxy in half, cutting the imperium off from much-needed resources and manpower located in Nihilus, yet also causing untold amounts of damage to Imperium Sanctus.
Though it had ostensibly been spared the worst of the calamity, its worlds possessing still a line of sight to the Astronomicon enabling interstellar navigation, Imperium Sanctus too was grievously wounded. Millions of psykers in Imperial service had died or gone insane during the cataclysm that was the expansion of the Eye. Astropaths, Navigators and other sanctioned psykers had all fallen victim to the psychic shockwave that had accompanied the eyes expansion, crippled in mind or body, if not outright slain or possessed by entities from beyond the veil. This rendered many a world deaf and blind, unable to communicate even with neighbouring systems at any practical level.
As if to worsen the issue, demand in psykers had increased directly after the catastrophic depletion of their numbers. Vessels lost to the warp or stranded in Imperium Nihilus had to be replaced, and additional listening posts and scout fleets put into service in an attempt to counteract the vastly improved mobility of their chaotic foe, which had already led to numerous incursions and assaults upon worlds previously believed to have been in relatively safe areas of the galaxy.
Said listening posts had to be constructed, crewed and, most difficult of all, equipped with astropaths in numbers sufficient to facilitate fast communication. Additional response fleets had to be created and moved into position, necessary yet a painful drain of resources nonetheless. A standing fleet, ready to repel an attack that may not come for years or even decades, was all but a waste of resources, yet without forces to back up their gathered intelligence, the listening posts and augur-relays along the expanded warpstorms borders would have been all but useless, unable to do anything but impotently scream the location of the foe into the aether as they rampaged through Imperial space.
This need occurred in addition to the strain that his own Indomitus Crusade had placed on the Imperium's remaining resources since its inception. It was of course necessary to strike at the foe, to disrupt their preparations and force them to react, lest they proceed unhindered with the destruction of the Imperium, system by system, or gather strength for another Black Crusade aimed at Terra herself, yet such was the need in ships and manpower that some less important worlds had since been all but abandoned by the Imperial Navy, left unprotected and weak.
In a feat of bitter irony, the rate of psyker-births had increased since the creation of the great rift, something most of Guillimans advisors attributed directly to the cataclysm, and the influx of warp-energies it brought into the galaxy. As such, the increased demand for psykers would have been manageable, had the entire infrastructure put into place to identify and collect them not been thrown into disarray. Yet, with the temporary failure of the Astronomicon, and the tempestuous upheaval that accompanied the birth of the Noctis Aeterna, many black ships too had been lost; stranded or destroyed.
As things stood now, rogue and possessed psykers were an issue that increased in severity with every passing day, forcing Guilliman to sanction cullings and elimination strikes. If a world could not be reached by the black ships regularly, it may be forced to simply execute all psychic individuals it had identified, lest they come fully into their powers and wreak havoc. It pained Guilliman, as psykers were a desperately needed resource, and many were already in Imperial hands, only to then be lost because they could not be processed and trained in time.
He sighed deeply. New black ships were being constructed, of course, and at irregular intervals others, believed long-lost, would still limp back to Terra, yet it was not, and would not be, enough.
A direct consequence of this issue was the crisis faced by the Grey Knights, a chapter of Daemon-hunter Astartes that the Imperium required now more than ever before.
Guilliman had recently spoken with Grand Master Aldrik Voldus, one of the few survivors of his initial push towards Terra following his reawakening, and the memory pained him even now.
For even though the Grand Masters attire had no doubt been improved upon before their meeting, as much as was possible in so short a timeframe, Guilliman had immediately noticed the battle damage:
Discoloured patches of armor where acidic vitae had attacked the ceramite plate, deep gouges that looked as if they had been inflicted by claws and teeth and a high-pitched whine that accompanied every movement of the left shoulder joint.
Guilliman did not fault the Grey Knight for his state, far to the contrary, he preferred such a meeting over any formal council weighed in presumptuous finery, but it shook him nonetheless to witness such an illustrious figure so … haggard.
And that had been his overall impression, too. For all his physical and mental fortitude, the Grand Master had sounded weary and exhausted. Guilliman knew by then that the Grey Knights were being run ragged in their attempt to contain the effects of the Noctis Aeterna, and the Primarch shuddered to imagine how dire their situation must be if even a grand master set to meet with a son of the Emperor could not be clad in undamaged warplate.
Human psykers were being born at an unprecedented rate, many of whom soon fell prey to the creatures dwelling within the warp. The veil between the warp and realspace had thinned dangerously, not only causing the uptick in psyker births, but also allowing the denizens of the warp to influence the material universe more directly, a vicious combination that had seen a worrying increase in daemonic possessions and outright incursions.
Together with the temporary collapse of the fleet of black ships, this issue, which would have strained the Imperial Daemonhunters even in more stable times, had become outright disastrous.
Astartes, while far more resilient than any baseline human, were still biological beings, capable of experiencing fatigue if denied rest and recuperation for exceedingly long stretches of time; and it appeared as if this point had been well and truly reached. The Primarch had received reports of combat fatigue starting to impair functionality and even outright physical and mental collapses among the Grey Knights; something unheard of for any Astartes in regular circumstances.
Yet the Knights of Titan had been fighting without pause for over a century now, their minds being assailed by those beyond the thinning veil at any opportunity. Even outside of combat, so the reports stated, during transit from one calling to another, the Grey-clad sons of Titan could not lower their guard, thus they were denied whatever short rests they might otherwise have had, unless they retreated into their warded bastions upon Titan itself.
Voldus had further explained that the Daemonic foe they faced had grown dangerously in power since the expansion of the eye. Each daemon, the weary astartes had stated, needed to invest a certain amount of its powers simply to maintain coherency in the materium, in turn limiting how much they could use to increase their speed, strength or the potency of their weaponry.
Now that the veil had thinned, less energy was needed to maintain coherency, and in turn the daemons that the knights of titan were called to face were faster and stronger than they had ever been, and more difficult to banish.
Most Grey Knights had since foregone their customary terminator plate, realizing that even it provided only insufficient protection now from the daemons swords and claws. Instead, the Knights went into battle clad in lighter artificer armour, equipped with jump-packs for increased battlefield mobility in a bid to limit losses and match their foes newfound speed and agility.
It had helped, to a degree, but did not suffice.
"We are being bled dry, Lord." Voldus had rasped, his voice edged with fatigue. "As it stands, we cannot offset our losses with the number of recruits available to us."
Even though the Grey Knights were offered first pickings among all incoming psyker shipments under usual circumstances, the perilous state of the black fleet meant that barely enough psykers arrived at Terra to keep the Emperors throne and the Astronomicon active and functioning. Those most vital of purposes, integral to keeping Imperium Sanctus from total collapse, had taken precedent even over the needs of Titan.
The Knights were thus unable to replace the losses they suffered, and so demanding was their task, and so high the price of failure, that they could not, and would not, compromise on their selection criteria and training demands when recruiting aspirants, lest they prove sub-standard in the hour of greatest need. It was a conondrum, one that would have seen them all but vanish in another century or two, had they continued as they did.
At this point, Guilliman had interrupted the Grand Master, and issued new orders to Voldus. The Grey knights were to rebuild their chapter to at least half-strength, then maintain a loss rate that they could counter with current recruitment numbers.
The Grand Master had protested, vehemently. The Sons of Titan were called upon only in the most dire of circumstances. Every plea for help that they did not answer would most likely lead to untold amounts of warp-corruption and destruction. Entire star systems may be lost to the foe for any such inaction.
Guilliman agreed, but he did not relent. The knights` existing expertise in daemon-hunting was not to be lost, and the things they guarded must needs remain under lock and key, so they could not, under any circumstances, allow themselves to die out, which they would eventually if they continued as they had until now. He had further made it clear that his Father himself wished for them to remain functional as an organisation, ending the discussion.
As a concession, he had promised Grand Master Voldus that, as the Indomitus Crusade forged onwards, encountered psykers would be regularly sent back to Terra to ease the Knights' plight.
He had also ordered the Grey Knights to send out some of their experienced daemon hunters as advisors alongside newly formed crusade detachments, there to teach the Astartes present how best to engage the demonic foes they were likely to encounter with appalling regularity. They would furthermore introduce to all available Astartes librarians their expansive knowledge of the disciplines of sanctic daemonology and the incantations of daemonic banishment.The Grey Knight`s struggles had led to a second, complimentary measure that the Primarch had begun to implement, the creation of so-called banisher squads, dedicated anti-daemonic strike units of line Astartes, made up of a librarian, a chaplain, and a varied number of veteran brothers, chosen for demonstrated feats of both mental fortitude and martial prowess, and equipped wholly with Jump-packs, land-speeders and other anti-grav vehicles to match their foes exceptional mobility on the field of battle, and limit losses by allowing for equally fast retreats.
Supplied with rare, blessed weaponry and munitions, and trained ad-hoc by the larger fleets Grey-Knight contingents, these improvised formations were now being used to engage the ever-growing number of warp-spawned monstrosities that Imperial forces encountered, or even seconded to the Grey Knights themselves, there to bolster their dwindling numbers and allow them to rebuild their near-shattered chapter by easing the strain placed upon their own forces.
Likewise, and against his own personal wishes, Guilliman had been forced to mandate new procedures for Imperial Guard units. It had shown itself time and again that faith in his creator provided tangible benefits when engaging warp-afflicted foes. By his word, all Imperial Guard formations had greatly increased the number of priests and preachers among their ranks, who continuously blessed and sanctified the weapons and armor of their charges or led them in prayer at much shorter intervals than before. It irked him still that he had been forced to do so, but the results were undeniable, as loss rates fell and morale improved, and so the practice continued.
None of this the Lion had commented on. No accusations had come back, but neither had any messages of agreement or understanding. Guilliman was thus left wondering what his reclusive brother thought or intended. This displeased him greatly.
Regarding issues that displeased him, Guilliman's mind turned to the changes he had made to the Imperium at large, changes that went beyond his reshaping of Terra.
Many worlds were now being governed by Astartes ruling councils that he himself had selected for their outstanding abilities in state-craft and governance and who had de-facto replaced many of the less competent planetary governors, by his orders.
Long-lived, highly capable and not given to the vices of mortal men, they ruled fairly and efficiently, much more so than the mortals they had replaced.
The Ultramarine Primarch was acutely aware of the political risk this represented, and the impression it created. Indeed, it went against his father´s own long-term wishes for the future of humanity, and yet he saw no other choice. Mankind must one day govern itself, certainly, but the current strategic situation was beyond grim, and simply did not allow for wasteful luxuries such as misallocated resources or less-than-optimal efficiency in governance. The Imperium was weaker than it had perhaps ever been, with Nihilus cut off, while their foe was stronger and more mobile than ever before.
There could simply be no more inefficiencies, no more weaknesses and delays. If mankind was to survive the coming millennia, every ounce of their strength was needed.
Roboute Guilliman would not, could not, sit idly by and watch resources being squandered or withheld, or wasted in internal power struggles. If that meant he had to ignore his own earlier decrees, made themselves under very different circumstances, so be it!
He knew he was making enemies aplenty across the Imperium, indeed his own operatives had already uncovered multiple large-scale plots against him, not to mention uncountable numbers of smaller scaled grievances. It made no matter, he could deal with those more easily than with a lack of resources.
His comm-bead hissed into action, priority hail, interrupting his somewhat bitter musings: "Lord Guilliman" a member of his security detail whispered, with some urgency "The Lord of the First Legion has arrived."
"I thank you," Guilliman replied "I shall be there shortly. Please, bid him to wait for my arrival."
"As you will it, Lord Regent." The link cut off.
With a last, sorrowful look at the endless city below him, Roboute Guilliman stepped away from the balustrade, moving inside to join his brother in conversation once again.
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And here we have it, chapter 43. A closer look at the situation of the Imperium, and what Guilliman has been doing to try and drag it from the edge of the abyss that it is teetering on.
Short ramble, but I think the official canon lore does not explore in enough detail just how catastrophic an event the great rift (in my opinion) is. Chaos raiding fleets can apparently traverse it with some accuracy, and emerge at almost any point along its length, stretching Imperial defenders perilously thin.
Simultaneously, the veil has thinned, daemons are therefore stronger, can manifest in more places, many imperial ships were lost, the astronomicon was down for weeks or months, and the imperial resource and manpower supply has been basically cut in half.
All of this puts an immense strain on an already overworked system, offset to a degree by the superhuman organisational skill of Guilliman, but even he cannot conjure stuff from thin air, and needs to make changes and sacrifices as a result, which causes new problems down the line, and so on and so forth...
Anyway, I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading, and would be happy to hear what you thought of this chapter in the comments below!
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Commander T
Aug 29, 2021
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Threadmarks Chapter 44: Two brothers - One purpose?
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Commander T
Nov 1, 2021
here we are again, over two months later. Damn. I really hoped I´d be able to release this chapter earlier than that, but that didn´t quite work out, sadly. Ah well, be that as it may, the next one is here now, so without further ado:
Chapter 44: Two brothers - One purpose?
The two brothers were set to meet in one of the inner palaces many chambers, their honour guard ordered to wait without while they held private council.
Roboute Guilliman reached the meeting chambers first. At his gesture, the heavily ornamented doors now swung open, and in strode Lion El Johnson. He was, Guilliman had to admit, an imposing, imperious figure, the pain and exhaustion that had been so readily evident on his face after his meeting with their creator nothing but a distant memory.
"Brother!" Guilliman exclaimed, "It is good to meet you in person once again!"
The Lion gave nothing but a short, noncommittal grunt in reply, though he clasped Guilliman's vambrace in a warrior's handshake: "This galaxy is in an appalling state." he rumbled, sounding as if he still held Guilliman first of all responsible for the severity of the situation.
"Indeed it is." The Ultramarine Primarch confirmed, ignoring his brothers accusatory tone, apparently determined to avoid verbal confrontation. "As you are surely aware, I have begun rectifying the issue to the best of my abilities." A slight bit of sarcasm had crept into his voice.
The Lion seemed to have noticed too, as his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly: "I am certain you have tried." he allowed, coldly. "I have studied the reports you sent me…" the Lion answered, a slight undertone of annoyance now in his voice. "… and come to the conclusion that your forces are lacking still in the area of enhanced battlefield mobility. Jetbikes, as I have heard, are no longer an asset employed by the forces of the wider Imperium."
Guilliman merely nodded, taken aback. He had expected further accusations, mistrust, or many a similar scenario, but not…this. The wider Imperium indeed no longer employed jetbikes, as the comparatively miniaturized, yet highly potent anti-grav generators needed to construct them could no longer be manufactured.
Some relics remained in use, and indeed the Adeptus Custodes, as he had learned recently, still possessed gyrfalcon-pattern jetbikes in numbers sufficient to form assault formations, but guarded the secrets of their construction jealously, clearly still acting under the same assumption they had since the Heresy, that any other Imperial force was at risk, and indeed highly likely, to turn from the Imperium sooner or later, thus delivering knowledge and materiel to the foe and robbing their own forces of an advantage.
"I believe the Dark Angels can be of assistance in that regard." The Lion went on, "I have learned that my Sons have … most recently … rediscovered an ancient STC pattern, for potent anti-grav systems and the highly sophisticated control mechanisms needed to modulate the fields with sufficient speed and accuracy. The entire assembly is light enough, and it's power demands low enough, that jet-bikes can be constructed upon it's basis. Indeed, the Dark Angels facilities upon the Rock have already begun to assemble vengeance- and eradicator-pattern models, and stand ready to transfer them, and copies of the STC fragments that allowed for their construction, to the Mechanicus, provided that it is guaranteed that they will be produced in numbers for imperial forces, and not hoarded by the priests of Mars."
Guilliman nodded enthusiastically, smiling as he did so, his confusion overcome by joy as he began to imagine the possibilities this represented: "That is wondrous news, brother! Cawl has been able to make advances in that regard, but the unique combination of requirements that must be fulfilled to build a useful jetbike remained elusive even to him. These machines will be a great boon for all Astartes forces! Surely the mechanicus will likewise be able to introduce improved patterns of the existing land-speeder and grav-tank variants…"
He chuckled, interrupting his own musings: "I am quite forgetting my manners; and apologize for it. I give my thanks to you, Lion!"
His taciturn brother merely nodded, before moving on to another topic without pause: "I am afraid that you will find my next talking point less…wondrous, brother." He warned, his tone of voice becoming more hostile once again: "I have now thought at length about the measures you have implemented since your return and find that I dislike most of them." He raised a hand to forestall Guilliman's reply: "However, I see their usefulness, and am not so blind as to let my distaste of Idolatry or the subversion of the Emperors edicts – if it is justified – blind me to their necessity." He smiled coldly: "There is, nonetheless, one matter in particular that we shall need to speak of now; the so-called Primaris Astartes, and the restructuring of Imperial military might you have enacted."
Despite his apprehension, Guilliman almost laughed. It was good to know the Lion had lost none of his tactical acumen: Wrong-foot your verbal sparring partner with a compliment, draw his mind to different matters and then, when his defences are open, strike at the heart of the matter.
As was so often the case when in the presence of the lord of the first, Guilliman felt the urge to explain himself, to justify his actions, despite having already done so in earlier communications. He had, of course, relayed all the necessary information to his brother already, but could not resist the feeling that he was being truly judged by the Lion for his past actions, here and now. Going by his brothers expression, his manner of speech and threatening tone, he was deadly serious, and there was need to repeat some of which had been written already….
"Legion-sized formations led by few or even single individuals, mixed formations of Imperial Guard and Astartes…" The Lion shook his head, "All on the orders of the very man who forbade such things before, who broke apart the Legiones Astartes and hamstrung the Imperium's military forces, ostensibly to protect it. And yet, here you are, Guilliman, the Legion-Breaker, with tens of thousands of Astartes under your direct command." The Lions tone became one of mock curiosity: "Are you suddenly not worried any more what may occur, brother, if one being, transhuman or not, was to wield so much power? Or is your concern alleviated knowing that it is you who leads them, the only one of all our brothers integral enough to ever be trusted again to wield such dangerous formations?"
The Lions voice now all but dripped with acidic scorn, but Guilliman would not relent: "Not the only one to be possibly trusted with such a force…" he retorted "…merely the only loyal Primarch that was available to lead them, until recently." He sighed: "This is not a choice I made lightly, Lion; I acted this way because I could see no other option. And I can assure you, brother, that measures are in place to ensure the larger crusade fleets will not turn from the Imperium, including Custodes and Grey Knight complements that serve both as advisors in matters of warfare, especially against the arcane and the supernatural and to ensure the continued loyalty of high command."
"A cadre of overseers, then, to put down your sons if they stray too far from the path." The Lion chuckled humorlessly: "Mayhaps I was wrong, you seem to trust them no more than I do."
"You are mistaken, Brother, I trust them fully, otherwise I would never have selected them!" Guilliman retorted, anger creeping into his voice as his temper rose at the implications of the Lions words: "But Chaos is an insidious foe, and rarely was its influence upon the materium greater than right now. I have thus taken all precautions that I can to ensure no great betrayal befalls us this time."
The Lion nodded, appearing unhappy still with his brother's decision, but not contesting his words, instead returning to his wider point: "This does not, however, resolve the larger issue at hand." Anger was still present in the Lions voice: "Whole star systems ruled by Astartes councils, large crusade fleets led by individuals…" He sighed: "And not only are these forces organised in the same way you yourself saw fit to abolish, nay, they are all of your choosing, hand-picked by you, the very same brother who forced us other Primarchs to disband their own legions after the great betrayal!"
Guilliman shook his head, his tone of voice defensive: "I did not force you. Us brothers voted and, by majority, agreed. Besides that, the situation, as you well know, was markedly different after the heresy."
Guilliman began to explain once more what should have needed no further explanation: "During the scouring, we saw our fallen brother´s legions shatter and loose coherence with staggering rapidity as they retreated. By the time they neared the eye of terror, the traitors were fighting each other almost as much as they were loyalist forces. It appeared more than likely that their corruption would soon be their undoing, and nothing would remain save a few twisted and mutated beasts, fighting over scraps within the eye."
He shook his head: "It had been demonstrated aptly how quickly Chaos was able to corrupt those once believed unquestioningly loyal. With their erstwhile puppet servants destroyed or routed, locked in internal struggles and degrading quickly, I feared that they would soon seek to acquire new servants from among the remaining loyalists to continue the fight with. The weakness of man, his susceptibility to corruption, appeared to be the Imperium´s biggest enemy, then, not inefficiency, and I acted accordingly to safeguard it."
He shrugged: "Now, it has shown itself all too clearly that the traitors have not withered away within the eye, and that Chaos from without is currently the larger overall threat. Single chapters cannot hope to contest legion-sized formations, and their cooperation is hampered by their divergent cultures and mentalities, which formed over the past ten millennia. Thus, I adjusted my approach. I do not believe that reacting to changed circumstances and newly acquired knowledge makes me a hypocrite. And even if it did, so be it. This is a matter of survival now, Lion, not some issue of principle!"
Now Guilliman's voice rose, his expression fierce: "Humanity, uncorrupted Humanity, may not survive the coming centuries if we fail! Inefficient leadership is something we cannot afford to tolerate, not after the loss of Nihilus. My father´s dream is an Imperium ruled by humanity, aye, but for us to achieve that, there must be an Imperium left at all!"
The Lion nodded, brow furrowed. "A rousing argument, no doubt worthy of roaring applause if held in the Imperial senate, or in front of the dim-witted populace of Terra. I see your points but remain…unconvinced."
Guilliman sighed, his shoulders slumping: "Then I do not know what else I can say, brother. Would you like me to lay out all the ways in which I was wrong, the mistakes I have made? Shall I elaborate on my many regrets?" he took a breath: "I regret breaking the legions apart, not just for military reasons, but for the conflict it bred among us remaining brothers. I miss Rogal, Jaghatai, Sanguinius, Vulkan, Corax, by my Father's throne, I even miss Russ!" he made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
"I dearly wish I could hear their counsel just once more, or bicker with them over one matter or another. I regret that I parted with so many of them in anger or in distance. Rogal was right, right to implement the last wall protocol, right to oppose the legion´s breaking, and I cannot even tell him that I am sorry, and that I was wrong."
Guilliman stared off past the Lion, his gaze unfocused: "At the start of the Indomitus crusade, I inspected the Phalanx, a diplomatic visit of sorts, to oversee repair work, show my support and let the Imperial Fists know that their services are greatly appreciated. While there, they permitted me to their inner sanctum, a matter no doubt intended to be of the highest honour."
He smiled sadly, pain at the memory evident on his stately features: "They have Rogals hand there, Lion, his torn-off limb! Skeletal, enshrined and stasis-bound, like some worshipful relic. It is the only thing they have ever found of him, and each chapter master has the right, the "honour" if you will, of engraving his name into the bone. I paid my respects and took care to show nothing of what I truly felt of this macabre spectacle."
He sighed again: "Then again, what are they supposed to do, they who never knew their father, but cling to memories?" He shook his head: "I live in a waking nightmare, Lion. I beg of you, brother, do not make it worse for us all. I need your support, not further enemies within the Imperial structure!"
Finally, the Lion nodded. "I have studied the reports and histories you sent to me carefully, after which I came here, to hear from you, in person, what you did, and why you acted in a given way; to ask what I wished to ask, before coming to a final conclusion. I had time aplenty to give these matters thought, to recuperate, and intend not to let my emotions cloud my judgement, or act before you have had the chance to say what you wish to say. So, speak further in your defence, elaborate, and I will listen."
Guilliman nodded, relieved, and continued his explanation.
The size of the Primaris Legion, as many now called it when they believed themselves unheard, had come as a shock and relief both to the returned Primarch, and had proven decisive in the following decades. Still, Guilliman's hopes of old, of a galaxy united under mankind's rule, had been dashed swiftly after his return, for even when employing the added might of Cawls works, he had been able to do little more than stabilize Imperium Sanctus.
In fact, the Primaris Astartes now appeared like nothing but a contingency to many, a timely seal to plug the widening holes in an otherwise failing dam, yet they had not been planned by him as such. He had earnestly hoped, he now explained again to the Lion, that they would be the ones to complete his father's crusade. Improved further to be capable of besting the traitorous sons of their fallen brothers despite the latter's newly acquired fell powers, more resistant towards corruption and led by Guilliman and his remaining loyal brothers – if they were willing to join forces with him – the Primaris Astartes had been supposed to end the heresy once and for all, hunt down the remaining traitors, and shield mankind forevermore from any and all dangers to its existence. Yet, shortly after their creation had been ordered, Guilliman fell above Thessala.
With his mortal wounding and his subsequent internment in stasis, knowledge of the project, already beyond secret since its inception – for what mortal ruler could be trusted to wield so potent a force? – had all but vanished. No one then remained to order the Primaris' usage, or indeed the cessation of the project; and Cawl, without new orders, and true to his word, continued to produce war machines, weapons and the transhumans to wield them for ten millennia. Equipped with the regent's seal, he had been able to acquire the resources and manpower necessary, and overcome whatever obstruction was placed before him.
Here, the Lion interrupted, despite his earlier assurances:
"Beyond secret, eh? Did you not see fit to notify any of your brothers of this…Legion, when you conceived of it? You let Belisarius Cawl, by my knowledge for all intents and purposes a rogue element within the Mechanicus, one who often skirts the very edge of tech-heresy with his work, meddle with the Emperors creation!"
"The changes he attempted were the necessary minimum required to give uncorrupted, loyalist Astartes a chance to not just match, but surpass those that gorged themselves on the warp and its foul blessings in speed and resilience." Guilliman replied.
"Such foes the original legion Astartes were never intended, nor equipped, to fight effectively. Besides that, to whom of you should I have spoken, brother?"
Guilliman now inquired, his voice heavy with frustration: "The Primaris program was still in its infancy, it's successful completion far from guaranteed. And even if it had been, what would that have changed? Most of my loyal siblings, you included, were gone already when I gave Cawl the order, vanished one way or the other into smoke and shadow, or otherwise unreachable."
The Ultramarine Primarch sighed deeply: "Corax, fleeing from his perceived shame and failure, or perhaps gripped by madness, for he is said to have ventured alone into the eye of terror itself… Russ, grief-laden, brooding, removing himself from the wider Imperium to construct the Aett on Fenris… The Khan?"
He shook his head in saddened exasperation: "Ambushed by Drukhari forces when seeking to rescue the victims of a raid on Chogoris, and not found by his sons to this day. Dorn? He was heartbroken still about our Father's fate, and the fate of His dream. He was full of bitterness, and resentful towards me because of the Codex' implementation. He soon struck out from Terra to guard the eye, eagerly waiting, it seemed to me, for any chance to unleash his fury upon any traitors foolish enough to emerge ever again from its depths. He left, although I would have required his assistance here on Terra. I pleaded with him to stay, but he refused, and made it clear that he did not wish to speak thereafter. Vulkan…" he shuddered slightly: "Vulkan changed after what Curze did to him. To die at a torturer's hands is one thing, let alone one as twistedly imaginative as him, but to then miraculously return to life, merely to suffer that very same fate again and again…"
Guilliman trailed off for a moment, pain and pity in his eyes. He had sat in mourning next to his brother's charred corpse on Maccrage, and later witnessed his inexplicable return to life; stared horrified into familiar eyes made strange by tortured insanity. He shook his head: "He returned with his sons to Nocturne and seemed to care since then for little that happened beyond it. Though his body healed any wound, I fear his mind never recovered fully. Certainly, none of my remaining brothers were able or willing to join me in the dealings of governance! There I was, standing alone amongst the smouldering ruin of our Father's dream…of my dream. Surrounded by the frightened, the broken and the leaderless, and no brother abound to offer me his council. I had to act in the way I believed best, Lion, expediently and in secret, for I knew there was no other who would do so!"
With some apparent effort, the Lion suppressed his temper, staying outwardly calm and measured: "I assure you, brother, I did not leave the Imperiums leadership to you alone by choice." He smiled without mirth: "I am merely amused how quickly you moved to create a new Legion, under your command of course, after going to such lengths to break apart the existing ones."
"Do you still mistrust me, Lion?" Guilliman retorted, sounding wounded now, "After my brothers had disappeared from imperial command in one way or another, did I not hold the keys to Warmastership in my hands? Who would have stopped me, had I gone to claim the title? And yet, I broke my own legion apart as well, insisted on an administration ruled by mortals, helped establish the council of the High Lords, despite its obvious shortcomings, all in accordance with our Father's wishes. And see how it has cost the Imperium, how far it has fallen compared to Ultramar…"
"Is that what you would wish for?" the Lion inquired, his voice a low and dangerous growl, "An Imperium ruled either by you or through your teachings? Ultramar, but spread across the width and breadth of the Galaxy?"
"I did not say that." Guilliman retorted, defensive, "But one cannot help but wonder how much bloodshed and loss could have been avoided if this Imperium had been properly commanded and organized in the past ten millennia. I do not wish to usurp our Father, I simply wish to keep His Imperium from being torn apart! And I would appreciate it if you could finally let go of your mistrust and cease your attempts at holding me responsible for the many failings of this realm, most of which I am not responsible for!"
The Lion's brow furrowed, as if in deep thought, but his tone was mocking: "Let go of my mistrust, eh? If only you would stop giving me such a multitude of reasons to hold onto it."
"Curse this new age!" Guilliman snarled. "Curse those that warped and corrupted this galaxy to the point where faith, faith in my Father's divinity, is one of the most potent tools in my arsenal! You said you would listen to what I have to say, brother. Now I have spoken, and I require an answer. The Indomitus crusade will continue soon, and I require the aid of you and your sons if it is to be truly successful. Do I have your support, or will you leave me to face those who would destroy all that we have striven to create on my own, because of some matter of principle?!"
The Lions face remained impassive, silence reigning for a few tense heartbeats, before he nodded. "You have my support. The joint operation you suggested shall proceed as planned. I will assist you in driving back the foe, if only because I fear that you might fail otherwise. After that, we must part ways."
Guilliman's face hardened: "Do not tell me it is what I believe it is."
The Lion took a step forward: "You are the one who supplied the information to me. You know full well what I must do."
"The Fallen are barely more than rumours, Brother." Guilliman insisted, his voice almost pleading: "And even if they do exist, so what? There are countless traitor Astartes, likely numbering in the hundreds of thousands, most of them hidden within or behind the Noctis Aeterna, all but inaccessible. You cannot intend..."
"Oh, but I can!" The Lion retorted. "You ask me why? Think for yourself, brother! The Fallen were my sons, and they betrayed me. Luther...I called him a friend once, I trusted him, and he too betrayed me. Former members of my legion, the First Legion, have been plaguing this galaxy for ten millennia! It is outrageous, and shameful." The Lion sighed, pain on his regal face: "I failed to prevent it. This is my greatest shame and failure, Roboute, my burden to bear, and by my hand must swift judgement be delivered!"
Guilliman shook his head: "Brother, I beg of you, see reason! There are rumors aplenty of our fallen brothers stirring. Dark portents and great suffering is all my seers speak of these days. I am uncertain if I can stabilize Sanctus without your help. If you must hunt for your fallen sons, do so after Sanctus is safe, I implore you!"
"And when will it ever be safe, pray tell?" the Lion inquired. "How many millennia would you have me wait while the Fallen amass, and advance their dark designs? How long must I stay my hand and bear the shame of knowing that traitors born from my blood remain, beyond judgement?"
Now it was Guilliman's turn to snarl: "Is that truly what you care about the most, Lion? Your personal vendetta? Your oh-so-very-important pride and reputation? To the point where you will abandon the rest of humanity to chase after your fallen sons?"
"I do not abandon them." The Lion growled, his facial expression dangerous, "And the next time you question my loyalty in such a fashion, you will regret it greatly." He sighed, evidently struggling to compose himself: "The Fallen represent a greater threat than you believe. They will not be content to remain hidden, not now that I have returned. I must strike at them before they can spread out and fully set their own designs in motion. If the traitors are allowed free reign in Nihilus, they will use it to raise new forces, acquire resources and weaponry, and then strike at any point in Sanctus through the Noctis Aeterna. We know already that some of them are able to traverse it, even where we are not."
"Nihilus is all but innavigable!" Guilliman implored, desperate now, "You may become stranded, and suffer immense attrition within your fleet. These are losses we cannot afford."
"You are not in a position to tell me what I can and cannot do." The Lion replied, coldly: "Nihilus can be traversed and traversed it shall be! My men have supplied the relevant information and plans to your personal cogitator already."
He looked his brother in the eye, his tone more conciliatory now: "Roboute, I cannot sit idly by while my own sons, Astartes of the first legion, are causing such destruction and suffering to this Imperium! It is my duty to set right the mistakes I have made. Besides, you may believe me when I say that the Fallen are a threat that must be neutralized, and quickly."
"It appears that once again, you know a lot more about them than I do." Guilliman interjected, icily. "I have long since known that the Dark Angels are less than forthcoming concerning information that they consider secret, no matter how useful it may be to the Imperial cause, and have tolerated their behaviour, for the sake of future cooperation and internal stability. I will not press you on this matter now, but I hope you remember this, the next time you feel the urge to call me a hypocrite, or a hoarder of secrets." He nodded to himself:
"I furthermore expect more information concerning these `Fallen´ to be supplied to me as soon as the crusade is underway once again. I do not wish to face a foe whose numbers and doctrine I cannot judge accurately."
The Lion nodded grudgingly: "You shall have it. Until then, let us speak no more of it. I believe there is a parade to be held before we depart. I suggest we get it over with."
Guilliman nodded. Together, and yet apparently removed from each other, the two Primarchs strode from the stateroom, and into the waiting palace beyond its doors…
_____________________________________________________________________________
And there we have it, the indomitus crusade is back on track, and the Lion is even taking part, if only for a certain while. Doesn´t make him any less secretive or proud, but I guess you have to take what you can get, eh?
Anyway, I do hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, and would love to hear what you think about it in the comments below! I also hope that the next one will be out faster than this one has been, but that remains to be seen...
Last edited: Nov 3, 2021
66
Commander T
Nov 1, 2021
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Threadmarks Interlude - Complications
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Commander T
Nov 21, 2021
#689
Deep inside His realm, the Endless resided, His immense mind spread across the galaxy, closely following the advancement of His manifold designs. Suddenly, His attention was drawn towards the Aeldari craftworlds He had placed agents upon.
Eldrad of Ulthwé had returned to his craftworld following their encounter, as He had instructed him to, and begun working towards His cause, linking up in turn with more of His agents, and beginning to spread His word among the aeldari.
Now, with a suddenness that all but ruled out coincidence, most of His agents within the craftworlds and upon the maiden world colonies, themselves acquired at the expense of considerable resources and effort, often saved from the grasp of the fourth chaos god by His own elite strike forces, and carefully reintroduced to Aeldari society after their loyalty to Him and belief in His vision had been ensured, ceased reporting.
The majority of them had fallen silent without warning or notice, and His expansive mind began to search immediately for potential reasons, clues to be found that could illuminate the wider context of the situation, even as He sent a signal of warning to all remaining assets among the Aeldari, alongside an enquiry as to the current situation.
Soon, the first reports were returned to Him. Although most of His agents had become unresponsive, and were to be assumed neutralized, some remained, those who had been capable enough to escape their predicaments, as well as those that He had conditioned to stay hidden, or even to outwardly oppose His design, to ensure valuable intelligence on all organized resistance to Him within Aeldari society, and they confirmed what He had already begun to suspect:
A concerted strike from within Aeldari society, executed by the servants of the accursed Aeldari laughing god. They had struck at his own servants in unison, having apparently identified the majority of them, even those that had gathered in secret, sparing none except for … for the shortest of moments, the Endless hesitated, confirming and then reconfirming what He saw…Eldrad of Ulthwé.
Sudden realization filled the C'tan's very being with an all-encompassing rage: Cegorach! Cowardly parasite, hidden manipulator, waste of energy!
The one Aeldari deity not fully accounted for. The Endless had entertained the possibility of its continued existence after the fall; but with little else than fragmented reports and the faith of its servants to base conclusions upon, deemed the matter unlikely.
Yet there was no other explanation. The Aeldari seer had been irrevocably His, set to enact His plan and further His cause, yet something had broken His hold, and turned the puppet against Him, supplying His foes with a hidden eye among His loyal Aeldari servants. Few beings existed that were able to do so, and fewer still that would counteract Him in such precise and clandestine a manner. An Aeldari god-construct had outmaneuvered him. There was no other explanation possessing of an acceptable probability.
The star god twitched, His necrodermis glowing with unlight. Within his realm and beyond, His servants sensed their lord's displeasure, and made it their own, a new hatred swiftly ingraining itself within them, until it was as if it had always existed. The Aeldari deity would pay for this, as would its accursed followers. The glow ceased as the Endless calmed Himself. For now, other matters took precedence and the star god swiftly began to readjust His plans:
The Aeldari operation was not yet lost. The C'tan had suffered a considerable setback, but some servants of His remained within Aeldari society. New ones would be introduced, some authorized now to move more openly and directly against His foes among the Aeldari, while others would continue using oratory, or subterfuge and secrecy to sway what Aeldari they could to His cause, and prevent or slow the spread of organized resistance directed towards His designs.
The psyker project would likewise have to be accelerated, to compensate for the loss in current and future Aeldari assets. The pace of His preparations for the coming war needed to increase in the face of this new development and a certain rate of loss was acceptable in that regard…
__________________________________________________________
And there we have it. It was never going to take that long for the Endless to realize what happened once it did and, suffice to say, He is less than amused. This is a pretty short interlude, and we shall see (hopefully soon) what further consequences will follow from this...
As always, I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading, and would love to hear what you though of this chapter in the comments below!
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Commander T
Nov 21, 2021
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