Aboard the Shadow's Sovereignty, in the Primarch's office.
Nareth looked up sharply, light and shadow flickering in his obsidian eyes, as if gazing through the void.
A blazing light shot from the Warp, streaking across the cold void, striking the Jokaeron force field.
Boom!
The silent impact sent ripples across the void, scattering the floating debris.
Nareth's eyes narrowed. He felt a familiar presence from the light.
Burning like a star yet wreathed in a flawless benevolence.
Magnus the Red.
'A fragment of Magnus's soul.' Nareth thought.
He remembered that after Magnus's soul shattered, its fragments would appear in places of significance or near those he cherished: The ruins of Tizca, the City of Light. The Webway of Aghoru. Mahavastu Kallimakus, the Primarch's personal remembrancers who had written the Book of Magnus.
As Nareth pondered, the blazing light grew brighter. Magnus's soul fragment struck the Jokaeron Force field again and again.
Boom!
The blazing arrow, wreathed in obsession, shot into the palace.
A piercing alarm sounded, echoing through the decks.
Nareth pressed his comm-bead, speaking over the all-fleet channel.
"There is no enemy invasion. Only an old friend. Continue as normal."
Ending the call, he moved his mind, summoning the Jokaeros to repair the damaged force field
He walked from his office to the palace, where he saw the crimson-skinned giant, cloaked in aetherically woven white robes, looking up at the asymmetrically arranged Chapter banners, three on the left, four on the right, five in the center.
"I remember Perturabo frowned the first time he came here. He said he would tear down your palace and rebuild it for you."
Nareth looked at the figure as he turned, his eye a warm orange. "Indeed."
He knew Magnus's soul fragments would manifest one of his many facets.
The fragment on Terra would be his most benevolent, noble self. The one that merged with Kallimakus would hold his pure pursuit of knowledge.
"You remember correctly. But why have you come here?" Nareth asked, probing.
"Those were the best days of the Great Crusade. Three brothers, united, striving for a common goal." Magnus's eye gleamed.
"How I wish I could return to those times at the galactic core."
Nareth studied Magnus thoughtfully. 'It seems this is the facet of friendship, or brotherly love.'
Magnus's orange eye suddenly blazed red. He roared in fury.
"Blanks!" He clenched his crimson fists, glaring at Etritch, who bore the Dionysian Spear.
"They destroyed my world. They slaughtered my people."
Nareth signaled Etritch and the Honour Guard to leave. He reached out, placing a hand on Magnus's arm.
As his fingers touched the crimson skin, he felt a slight tremor.
Magnus's single eye closed. "I failed."
"I was ambitious, trying to achieve what had never been done."
"I was reckless. I ignored our father's warnings. I killed everyone."
Nareth sensed Magnus's despair and remorse. He squeezed his arm gently, guiding him to the edge of the dais.
They sat side-by-side. Nareth spoke slowly.
"What happened?"
As Magnus recounted the events on Prospero, within the Silver Fortress guarding Tizca's eastern gate.
Sul Kontep of the 5th Fellowship stood at the center of the gathered survivors. Following Chief Librarian Hathor Maat's command, he had led the civilians rescued from the old city's northern sector in their retreat.
He had rescued Katon Aphea, commander of the Palatine Guard, who had been fighting a desperate resistance with his last hundred men.
They had reached the Silver Fortress.
This stronghold had been reinforced by the mechanized automata of the allied Forge World of Zhao-Arkhad, and by the Pyrae Cult warriors, who had been routed by the Custodes at the orbital transfer station, and their Castellax-Achea Class Robots. Together, they had held off the Wolves.
Zhao-Arkhad, a Forge World allied with the Thousand Sons, had established a forge temple on Tizca.
The Warmaster had dispatched twelve Titans of the Legio Mortis to attack the temple. The defenders had wisely withdrawn.
Magos Tacitus Monitor, in close cooperation with the Thousand Sons, had conscripted psykers for experiments, researching the generation and manifestation of psychic phenomena.
His research had been applied to the Zhao-Arkhad automata, including technologies some Mechanicum factions had branded heretical.
They had used extensive synthetic mapping neural networks and special cortical matter in their combat cores, enabling coordination despite psychic interference and Warp storms.
They had used their familiarity with the terrain and the enemy's communication paralysis to lure the twelve Titans into the wilderness and escape.
Sul gripped his staff, listening to the report of the Sanctum Instructor of the Raptora Cult.
"I have gathered the power of all cult members, trying to contact the Chief Librarian or any other senior commander. But I cannot reach any captain or master of the secret orders."
"From the distorted mental pulses and shadows of the Great Ocean, I have gleaned some."
He took a deep breath, ascending to the First Level of the Enumeration, trying to clear his thoughts.
"Father… is dead…"
"The Pyramid of Photep is destroyed…"
The Thousand Sons wanted to denounce his blasphemy, but the echoes of the psychic blow still lingered in their minds.
"The Wolves and Custodes, with the Sisters of Silence at their core, are still hunting the scattered battle-brothers. Wulfen and…" the Sanctum Instructor said.
"Flesh-Changed battle-brothers roam the ruins."
A Corvidae Cult member, his eyes half-closed, spoke, his voice deep: "The Great Ocean is in turmoil. I cannot grasp the threads of fate."
"I see only destruction."
Sul was silent for a few seconds, then asked, "How many of us are there?"
"Five hundred and ninety-two of the 5th Fellowship. A detachment of the 8th Fellowship, two thousand strong, was holding the Silver Fortress. We have gathered one thousand and thirty-seven scattered battle-brothers from other cults."
"Katon has reorganized the Palatine Guard and Spireguard survivors. They number four thousand six hundred."
"Eighteen thousand Tizcan civilians."
The Magos, his red robes billowing, spoke through his vox synthesizer.
"One hundred and twenty-nine automata."
Sul nodded. "We may be all that's left of Tizca. We must fend for ourselves."
"My plan is to seize fliers and anti-gravity vehicles. Use low-level flight and the bombardment debris for cover. Head for the sea."
"When the last wave of invaders withdraws, strike the orbital transfer station. Capture ships and escape."
Despite Hathor's orders, Sul was not content to wait for death. He had decided on a desperate escape.
"You are not alone." A senior "Lawyer" in black armor spoke.
"Lord Hathor told me my father would act soon. He will rescue us."
The Thousand Sons' eyes gleamed. Sul thought for a few seconds, then asked.
"This concerns all of us. Are you certain?"
"Absolutely." The Shadow of Order did not hesitate.
"We should leave this fortress immediately. Head for the underground bunkers in the wilderness outposts."
"My father's people will come for us soon."
"Very well." Sul nodded.
'We hope Lord Nareth will come soon to save us survivors.'
....
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