005.M31.
The Shadows of Order fought on the galactic eastern edge, systematically eliminating the xenos strongholds on the periphery of the Gordian League's core systems.
In the Isstvan system, the spearhead-like, long, flat prow of the Vengeful Spirit pierced realspace from the Warp, its shimmering, shifting energies like blossoming fireworks.
The pearl-white livery of the Luna Wolves had been replaced by the metallic grey-green of the Sons of Horus.
The Eye of Horus at the ship's prow gazed forward, watching the three fleets translating from the Warp.
The dull, dark grey warships burst into realspace.
Only the brass skull emblem on their prows adorned their hulls.
The Endurance's ships were also unpolished dark grey. The Death Guard never used unnecessary ornamentation.
On the other side, the purple-gold, opulent Pride of the Emperor resembled a palace more than a warship.
Every Emperor's Children vessel was lavishly decorated, like ornate carriages flanking their king.
The saber-like Conqueror was the last to emerge from the Warp. Its hull was hard and massive, its blue-white livery stark.
Boom!
The Bloodletter's axe slammed into the floor of the Conqueror's Triumph Hall. Angron crouched like a beast, yet still towered over Khârn.
His scarred face was etched with violence. His eyes were sunken deep within a web of savage scars.
He wore an ancient, bronze-hued suit of armor, its heavy plates covering the chainmail beneath.
Of the two chainaxes crossed on his back, only the Bloodfather remained.
He tilted his head, staring at Khârn.
"I didn't hear you clearly. Say it again."
Crack!
The deck splintered like a spiderweb. Khârn's boots sank into the fragments.
"Mago's 18th Company, Kourage's 21st, Keptra's 37th, and forty-six other companies have gone silent."
"The 18th Company hasn't sent a message in three months."
Angron rose. His shadow engulfed Khârn.
"You told me they were my sons. My World Eaters."
"And now, forty-nine companies have vanished. My forty-nine thousand worthless sons have fled?"
"Since the Imperium discovered the Isstvan system, its southwest has been wreathed in Warp storms." The Primarch's Equerry, Khârn, straightened.
"They-"
Boom!
A blur shot past the corner of Khârn's eye. He was hurled back, his body gouging furrows in the deck.
Outside the hall, the World Eaters' captains listened to the roars and crashes within, growing restless.
Captain Dreger of the 9th Company raised his hand, pressing down. "Khârn can handle it."
He had already guessed that Mago and the others had taken their companies and broken away from their gene-father.
Chief Apothecary Gahlan Surlak had promised them hope, if they were patient.
Now, that hope had arrived.
'They didn't tell me. Should I leave too?'
Dreger looked at the World Eaters around him, the Nails embedded in their skulls.
Though he had attended the same meetings as Mago and the others, he disagreed with them.
The root of the noble War Hounds' corruption was not Angron or the Butcher's Nails, but the Emperor's treatment of their father.
He had torn Angron from his slave-brothers on Nuceria, forcing him to lead the Legion.
Whosoever fault it was, the World Eaters, lost in slaughter, needed to be reshaped.
He had thought the hope Gahlan spoke of was Khârn, the Legion's champion, just as he had decided to stop Khârn from taking command.
But now he doubted whether Khârn could truly lead them and reshape the War Hounds.
Khârn had been at Angron's side for too long. He had been the first to willingly accept the Nails. He was as bloodthirsty as their father.
If Angron was the beast, Khârn had become his fangs.
'Where did Mago go?'
'What is the hope Gahlan spoke of?'
As Dreger pondered, Khârn rose from the ground. Blood dripped from his forehead.
"Mago and the others haven't deserted. I will continue to contact them."
"I promise I will re-establish contact and bring them before you."
"You are persistent." Angron's voice was cold, mocking. The Nails in his skull whirred.
"I will give them one more chance."
"They will be punished for their lateness. I sentence them to decimation."
He remembered Mago's brave but futile resistance on Ghenna's orbit.
"Mago treated those worthless neophytes as his future. This time, I will have him kill them all. With his own hands, he will strangle his own future."
"An appetizer before the feast of slaughter."
"Your World Eater, will be done." Khârn said.
His comm-bead buzzed. After listening, he said to his father.
"Maloghurst, the Warmaster's Equerry, requests your presence, along with Lord Fulgrim and Lord Mortarion, on the Vengeful Spirit to discuss the plan for punishing Isstvan III."
Angron drew the Bloodfather, slinging it alongside the Bloodletter on his back.
"Let's go. Let's see our Warmaster."
His face dark, Angron followed Khârn into the Wolf Council Chamber.
He glanced at Fulgrim and his Emperor's Children, emerging from another archway, clad in purple-gold armor.
The lumen light reflected a detestable golden sheen, like the father they detested.
He turned his head, watching the procession from yet another archway.
Their armor was dull, unadorned, save for the brass skull emblem of the Death Guard on their pauldrons.
Mortarion's pale, diseased face was pitted with scars. His hairless head was smooth. A heavy gorget covered his mouth and throat.
The Warmaster rose from his high throne, walking to the center of the chamber.
He opened his arms. "Fulgrim, Mortarion, Angron."
"Welcome, my brothers."
"The Warmaster seems to greet us as he always has. Do you intend to be like the king on Terra?"
Horus Lupercal's gaze swept over Captain Nathaniel Garro of the 7th Company, beside Mortarion, without changing expression.
"Angron, I'm glad you could attend."
"How could I miss such a wonderful meeting." Angron was like a volcano about to erupt, his breath searing.
"Warmaster, I greet you." Fulgrim's silver hair billowed.
Horus's gaze swept over the hammer and ornate blade at his waist, a faint frown creasing his brow. It passed. "Thank you for attending."
"Our brother Mortarion is here as well."
"Everyone is here." He nodded to Maloghurst.
The hall's lights dimmed. A bright sphere descended from the ceiling, hovering above him.
"This is Isstvan III. Here, we will make history."
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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