"It's already begun. Get ready — time to extinguish the Astronomican."
'The Lion' looked up at the waves of disturbance rolling from the Eye of Terror above, and knew that Perturabo had already engaged Chaos.
'Dorn' wasted no words, immediately directing his Legion to prepare. The sacrificial offering had been ready for a long time — this moment was all they'd been waiting for.
In a great pit below lay Astartes, most wearing the colours of the Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists, though a scattering from other Legions had been thrown in for various reasons — all of them lying weakened and barely conscious.
"How long will it take you?"
"Three days."
"Then have Ferrus and Fulgrim begin their assault now. Start pressing from other directions simultaneously to draw their fire."
'The Lion' said.
"Let the Luna Wolves advance directly. Saves us from listening to Abaddon come around and whine about it."
'Dorn' was already at the point of wanting to crush that young man's skull. Truly insufferable — always acting like he had some profound grasp of military theory.
What he didn't realise was that his so-called brilliant tactics, in the eyes of a Primarch — and a Primarch extraordinarily gifted in offensive operations — sounded like a child playing at war on paper.
"Horus is critical. What if the Luna Wolves are destroyed? Who knows what state he'll end up in."
'The Lion' frowned slightly. He wanted no unexpected complications at this stage. Getting sidetracked right now would be extremely unwise.
"If he dies, all the better. Saves us from listening to that nauseating drivel he goes on about endlessly. He's been beyond saving for a long time — corrupted to that degree by Chaos, and the one thing he still remembers clearly is his days with the Emperor."
"I have no idea what the Emperor ever saw in him. He can't match Guilliman in strategy, can't match you or Ferrus in military honours, can't match me or Perturabo in conquest and fortification. And in diplomacy and goodwill, he's not obviously better than the Angel either."
"Yet he alone earned the Emperor's singular favour, and we were all just convenient tools. Looking at it now, there's a reason the Emperor loved him — after all, his precious son managed to stay devoted even after being turned into a fool."
'Dorn's' tone was even, but 'the Lion' could detect the contempt beneath it. And beneath that contempt, something faint and harder to name — his grip tightened on the banner of the Fist of Dorn.
"Is that why, the moment you arrived here, you took your Legion to kill Horus, and then took his gold ring and sewed it onto the blanket your grandfather left you?"
'Dorn' turned sharply toward 'the Lion.' Even through the helmet, 'the Lion' could feel the lethal quality of that gaze through the visor slit.
"That ring was earned by this timeline's Horus through his own capability — he struck down the Ork Emperor of Ullanor himself. Perturabo and the others had nothing to say about it. Why do you care so much?"
'The Lion' ignored 'Dorn's' stare. He wanted to understand what this 'Warmaster' was actually thinking.
"He was nothing but an animal. I could have done the same. And given what he pulled before — does he deserve it?"
"But it is genuinely something he earned with his own hands. That you care about it at all — I find that somewhat surprising."
"I simply took back what was rightfully mine."
"You're the man who bombarded Terra. And you still have feelings like this. When you see the Emperor again, I hope you can still bring yourself to do what needs to be done. Don't develop some strange attachment like Horus did."
"No need for you to say it."
A cold silence settled between them.
"You think you've been hiding your feelings well? Muttering to your sword every night — who did you think you were fooling?"
That one landed. 'The Lion' couldn't contain it.
"Alpharius couldn't have infiltrated my quarters! How do you know about this?"
"Always keeping your little secrets. Your Legion is exactly the same as you — what exactly is there to hide? I won't comment on other matters, but on this one, do you honestly think you've been discreet? Everyone simply chose not to say anything. Take a look at yourselves — you're at least as bad as Horus, if not worse, and you think you're well-hidden? Your entire behind is hanging out and you still think you're invisible."
"You—"
'The Lion's' hand went for the hilt of the Black Sword. But clearly, this was not the moment for self-indulgence.
"Enough. I'm not discussing this. What's your plan for the Legions right now?"
"We've already gone over it."
"But you didn't mention this — Mortarion and his people were supposed to be guarding against Robert."
"No longer necessary. We can't stop Robert. Better not to waste strength on him — let the cannon fodder absorb some of the Imperium's fire instead."
"Don't forget — they've gone on the offensive now. Do you think our side is any more cohesive? Mortarion and the Khan. Magnus and Russ. Can you count on any of those people?"
"That's not what you said before."
'The Lion's' eyes sharpened. Had 'Dorn' reached some private arrangement with 'Robert' behind his back?
But 'Dorn' gave no direct answer.
"Are you in or not? Don't forget — you agreed before. Operations are mine to direct, command is yours. Do you still want to destroy the Imperium and capture the Emperor?"
"I'm going to kill him."
You'd better mean that.
But 'Dorn' said nothing further. Another silence fell between them.
"We activate the backup Astronomican beacons now? That will cause communications disruption on our own side."
The Emperor listened to Dorn and Ferrus's views and wasn't particularly in favour of it.
"The traitors are planning to blind us anyway. Even if we don't activate them now, once the Terra Astronomican goes dark we'll have to. Better to control the timing ourselves than let them control it for us."
The Emperor felt something uncertain about this, and instinctively looked for his old friend's opinion — only to find Malcador had closed his eyes and was performing a convincing imitation of someone who had ceased to exist. He had no intention of being involved in any of this anymore.
The Emperor sighed. He was about to speak up again when Dorn and Ferrus's exchange interrupted him.
"Curze and the others have moved out, but they're finding none of the traitors in those directions."
'Dorn' was frowning. These traitors were obviously extremely powerful, yet they were playing hide and seek — a style of warfare that was profoundly ill-suited to Dorn, whose natural mode was overwhelming frontal assault.
"They did find another Magnus and another Russ near the Halo Stars region. Those two were duelling each other. Angron spotted them, and they disappeared into the Warp the moment they detected Angron's fleet."
"Alpharius's people encountered another pair of Alphariuses. They report having successfully planted an agent among the opposition — though I expect we're similarly compromised on our end."
Ferrus was developing a headache. In open warfare — void battle or planetary assault, it made no difference — he knew no fear. But these enemies were slippery and elusive, and still powerful. Without a proper direct engagement, there was no way to wear them down effectively.
"Reports are coming back about another Fulgrim and another Corax. The moment Sanguinius was preparing to strike, they fled. You need to think about how to handle this — if the enemy keeps running us in circles, we risk being picked apart one piece at a time."
Ferrus and Dorn were both deep in thought. The situation looked poor. Going on the offensive had produced no decisive advantage.
"Our fleets have been scoring some results — the traitors are sortying, but they hit and run every time. We can't catch them."
Powerful enemies who were also cunning and flexible were genuinely frightening. By now Dorn and Ferrus had lost any clear picture of the real state of the Sol System's war, and the same was true of other sectors. With communications severed, getting any information about the traitors required personally going and finding it.
"The Webway side — any incidents?"
"None. Thank goodness for what Vulkan and Perturabo developed — otherwise travelling through the Warp again would cost us dearly."
My contribution counts too!
The Emperor very much wanted to interject, but Dorn and Ferrus paid him no attention.
"So what now? Keep waiting? We should advance as well. Father is here — those traitors can't possibly take Terra."
Dorn was losing patience. When things were going badly, he could analyse the situation calmly and hold every advantage in tight defence. But right now the situation was not bad — in a straight fight, they would win without question. And yet no direct engagement had materialised.
The communications block was real, but the fact that the traitors still hadn't formally attacked meant they couldn't be that much stronger than expected either.
This was something Dorn simply could not tolerate. Did the traitors think the Imperial Fists were joking? Had they not heard of the twin pillars of the Imperium — the masters of both offensive and defensive warfare?
Dorn, who had spent his time on Terra behind fortifications and artillery, harboured an absolutely implacable resolve against traitors. The Imperial Fists would reduce every single one of them to rubble.
Ferrus, equally volatile in temperament, found himself holding back by contrast. He wanted to destroy the traitors just as badly — but having nearly caused Akurduana and his own sons to die through arrogance at Gardinaal, he was considerably calmer now.
"Don't rush, Dorn. Perturabo said to hold Terra with Father. As long as Terra holds until Perturabo returns — we've won."
Neither Ferrus nor Dorn had any brilliant solution, but they were genuinely stuck.
Without warning, at least a hundred brilliant points of light blazed into existence across the Warp — every one of them no dimmer than the Astronomican of Terra itself.
The daemons and traitors who had been peering into the Imperium all found their sight seared in an instant. Some traitors went immediately blind, the eyes that had grown across their bodies weeping foul blood.
The blazing light burned and drove back daemons that had come too close. Weaker daemons released distorted, horrifying shrieks and then combusted, burning away in a slow and agonising disintegration.
"What is this? Your sacrificial ritual has barely reached the halfway point! And the Imperium has already responded?"
'The Lion' came storming in — and found 'Dorn's' expression equally dark.
"Robert absolutely sold us out. There's no other explanation for how fast they reacted. Perturabo just entered the Eye of Terror — there is no rational reason they could have synchronously activated this many Astronomican beacons so quickly."
Miscalculation. What else had Perturabo managed to set up?
'Dorn' and 'the Lion' both went cold, the Chaos energies on them surging in ways they could barely contain, their armour shifting in subtle, wrong ways.
"Direct assault. No point concealing ourselves anymore. Better to hit them straight on. I refuse to believe they're actually this formidable."
'The Lion' was done waiting. The situation was making him furious. All that effort to stay hidden had come to nothing — and they were going to have to attack directly anyway. Better to have done it at the start. At least then they'd have caught the Imperium off-guard.
"You take command. My Legion will advance directly on Terra alongside you."
"Though don't say I didn't warn you — the Abominable Intelligence cohorts aren't soft targets. If our Legions grind against them, even a brilliant performance costs us more than it costs them. Don't let yourself get swept up."
'Dorn' knew this explosive Lion all too well. Perceptive, capable of striking precisely at an opponent's weak point and dismantling them completely — but rational and calm were never words that described him. He could be rational when it didn't interfere with his temperament. But pushed hard enough, there was nothing he wouldn't do.
'The Lion' said nothing more. He simply walked out. Moments later, several enormous fleets began advancing from the border zone between the Obscurus and the Sol System.
This had been intended as the optimal entry point after the Eye of Terror was torn open. The plan had fallen apart. Straight assault it was.
"Retreat! Move now!"
'Abaddon' looked at the fleet ahead of them — in scale, it dwarfed their entire Legion — and felt a wave of deep and genuine bad luck.
Of all the encounters to stumble into, he'd found the strongest Legion on the false Emperor's side.
The 'Luna Wolves' were fast, but Frax's pursuit was faster. And the artillery barrage had already begun — their engagement envelope was considerably wider than the traitors had anticipated.
In fairness, the timing had been extraordinarily fortunate. He'd just been swinging by this direction to take a look, and had accidentally run into a traitor fleet preparing to assault an entire star system — without a Primarch in command.
Luck like this, Frax wasn't going to let pass. His power fist had been hungry for a long time.
'Abaddon' had never intended any of this. He'd simply mentioned offhandedly that perhaps they could find another route — a faster path to Terra.
Originally all he'd wanted was to end this quickly, to stop Father from continuing in his deteriorating state. He'd never imagined 'the Lion' and 'Dorn' would actually direct Horus's finest veteran warriors to strike along an entirely different axis — and drag along outstanding captains and commanders from other Legions as well.
If it had been a few people, that might have been manageable. But having seen the Imperium's current strength, sending all these people along with the Legion's best — this was transparently about using them to draw the Imperium's attention while stripping out the Legions' command structures.
Those two bastards.
But 'Abaddon' had no leverage. His strength wasn't there yet. And wanting to see Father recover quickly had made him careless about other considerations.
He genuinely hadn't anticipated it — charging out into that blinding Astronomican light, just wanting to destroy something to vent some frustration, and immediately running into the single most powerful fleet in the Imperium. The Iron Warriors, of all people.
'Abaddon' had never put much stock in Tarot cards. But recent events had been so consistently disastrous that his confidence had wavered.
Maybe he should find Khayon when this was over and have a reading done.
'Abaddon' had made a friend in the Thousand Sons during this period — strong psychically, and well-versed in the Tarot.
But Frax was not going to watch this prize escape.
"Keep pursuing! Reduce these traitors to dust!"
"First Captain — those warships are getting closer. If this continues, we'll be destroyed along with our vessel."
The adjutant felt a chill at the Iron Warriors fleet closing in behind them. Nobody wanted to die, especially not like this.
"What do we do?"
'Abaddon' looked at the relentless pursuers, his expression hardening.
No more running.
"Signal all ships — prepare to board."
"Have you lost your mind, Abaddon?"
The adjutant stared at him in disbelief.
"We have no teleportation beacons. And their fire—"
"I know. Do you have another option? We can't even get the Warp drives operational. If we don't board and fight for a chance, do we stay here and die?"
'Abaddon' didn't want to do this either. Boarding without teleportation beacons — there was no predicting what could go wrong.
But trying to board under this weight of Iron Warriors fire in assault craft wasn't realistic either. Running wasn't working anymore. Staying was death. Boarding was the only gamble left.
"Our Librarians are few. Severian is still—"
"Enough. Prepare to board. Stop wasting time."
"Yes."
"Commander — I'm detecting unstable psychic fluctuations from multiple points across the enemy vessel."
The Logis Engine's voice came through, but Frax had already understood the implication.
"They're attempting a beaconless board?"
"Probability eighty-eight percent."
The corner of Frax's mouth curved into something predatory and contemptuous.
"Have the Abominable Intelligence cohorts and our brothers ready. A group of fools is about to jam themselves into our hull. Cleaning up that kind of mess will be tedious."
"Yes."
'Abaddon's' transit was considerably steadier than most of the others — the Librarians were clustered close to him and the Justaerin. With four Librarians and a hundred Justaerin around him, Abaddon was fully confident he could seize one warship and get out.
No Space Marine could face him and a hundred Justaerin in the confined corridors of a vessel. He had enough faith in his own ability.
As for the others — 'Abaddon' could only offer his regrets. Someone had to survive. And beaconless boarding wasn't necessarily a death sentence — the question was whether they could survive what waited on the other side, which was the Iron Warriors.
'Abaddon' stopped thinking about it, because they had already successfully boarded Frax's vessel.
But when they dispersed across the massive battlecruiser Iron Indomitable and got their bearings, they found Iron Circle automata and Castellan robots already waiting for them — and Iron Warriors behind them, storm shields raised, heavy boltguns and plasma guns aimed and ready.
Damn it all.
Were these the same stocky Iron Warriors? Since when were they this tall?
Before 'Abaddon' and the Justaerin could process anything further, bolt rounds and plasma fire were already pouring into them.
Iron Warriors in heavy Tyrant Terminator and modified Centurion plate were positioned behind cover, and the moment these traitors dared advance, these human Leman Russ tanks would demonstrate exactly what it meant to be armoured from every angle, inside and out.
Listening to the shrieking of bolt rounds across the bridge deck, Abaddon crouched behind a steel plate and concluded that his luck had become truly catastrophic.
Was this level of firepower actually normal for a warship interior?
How were they supposed to fight in this?
If all the Imperium was like this, did they have any realistic chance of winning in open battle?
"First Captain — we need to get out of here."
"Obviously I want to leave! How exactly?"
"We teleport out!"
One of the Librarians said.
"How?"
"I placed a mark on the Soul of Vengeance earlier. I can sacrifice myself to send the rest of you back."
"What are you saying? You want me to abandon you?"
"There's no time, Abaddon. Go back and tell Father — we can't participate in this assault anymore. This Imperium is nothing like the one we attacked before. We can't win. You have to convince Father to take everyone and run. Don't come back for us."
At that moment, several Iron Warriors noticed the cluster of Justaerin sheltering nearby — specifically the very tall silhouette with the upswept topknot staying deep in cover.
Some of the veterans remembered a Legion Master from a black Legion they'd trained alongside.
They'd encountered the Luna Wolves before, just not in quite these circumstances. And this Abaddon looked nothing like the silver-armoured one they'd met then.
"Commander — I believe I've spotted someone you'll find interesting."
First Captain Lucas filed his report with Frax.
"I'm on my way."
Frax moved without another word. That damned nuisance — finally caught up with him. The training ground incident had cost him considerable grief.
He still couldn't explain it. What kind of Astartes could absorb thirteen power fist strikes to the face and still turn the fight around? He'd been aiming at the head the whole time.
But now, Frax looked at the enormous power fist in his hand — larger than a Dreadnought siege hammer, capable of making Valdor cough blood with a single blow.
He'd like to see this 'Abaddon' be quite that resilient today.
Through the vox came the sounds of brothers screaming. Reports came in of warriors who had jammed in the deck plating during the beaconless transit.
'Abaddon' was pinned down, unable to move, bitter and frustrated. Looking at the state of the brothers around him made it worse.
The Luna Wolves — who had once made enemies tremble at the mere mention of their name — when had they ever been this miserable?
Just as 'Abaddon' was preparing to shift position and buy time for the Librarian to finish the ritual, the fire from ahead suddenly stopped.
'Abaddon' frowned. He peered carefully around the edge of his cover — and saw an enormous figure had appeared ahead.
Iron Warriors were already tall. This figure made them look comparatively modest in scale.
A single look was enough to make both of 'Abaddon's' hearts stop. His mind went completely blank.
A — a Primarch?
No. Impossible. Why would a Primarch personally come down to deal with him?
"Come out, Abaddon. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
'Abaddon's' expression shifted sharply. What was going on? This person knew him?
"I want to see — how many of my power fist strikes your face can take this time."
Frax's enormous power fist clenched. The charged fist crackled with snapping blue arcs.
What the hell do you mean how many power fist strikes my face can take?
But before 'Abaddon' could respond, Frax was already closing the distance in long strides.
The other Iron Warriors maintained their aim on the remaining traitors — though in truth they weren't particularly worried. Among all current Astartes, they could find no one capable of matching their commander in single combat.
The Custodian-Captain had lost. Did these wretches think they could do better?
"How long do you need, brother?"
"Five more minutes."
The Librarian's voice was already wrong. The pain of his body being torn apart in pieces had paralysed him almost completely. When he spoke, the words came out with violent trembling.
Blood was seeping through the joints of his power armour. He wouldn't last much longer — but the ritual was almost complete.
"Abaddon — we'll buy you time. Remember — get Father to take everyone and run. Don't come back to avenge us."
Adjutant 'Falkus' finished speaking. Before Abaddon could say anything, Falkus led the remaining four Justaerin and charged directly at Frax.
This Iron Warrior was simply too powerful. He was not an opponent they could match. Five minutes was a short time — but in the current situation, it felt like an eternity.
"More cannon fodder to throw away? Fine. Either way, you're not leaving here today. Traitors — receive your final judgement."
Frax's face behind the helmet would have been grinning. 'Falkus' could somehow feel it despite the visor — feel the expression of a warrior considerably taller and larger than himself who was already thinking about reducing them to wreckage.
"For Lupercal!"
Nothing else to say. He bellowed it and charged with the four Justaerin behind him.
But the moment he came close — before his power axe had even moved — Frax had grabbed him, man and axe together, in one hand. The force was almost enough to pulverise 'Falkus' completely.
He could feel his Terminator armour crackling and buckling around him. His organs were being crushed, bleeding.
The four Justaerin started forward to save their adjutant — but Frax calmly reached to his side and drew a warhammer.
Forged by Perturabo's own hand, infused with ossified bone and living metal — a phase weapon. Awarded to his most courageous son, the same treatment given to his Primarch-brothers.
Under 'Falkus's' despairing gaze, Frax moved at a speed they had no chance of reacting to. In the span of a heartbeat, the hammer obliterated the upper bodies of all four Justaerin simultaneously.
Shattered Terminator plate and flesh — thoroughly saturated with Warp energies — scattered across the deck plating.
"Commander, you're making our clean-up work more difficult."
First Captain Lucas said it with a smile from behind Frax.
"Understood. I'll keep it tidier."
Then the right hand clenched. The enormous power gauntlet crushed inward around 'Falkus's' body.
'Falkus' wanted to scream. But the violent agony and the suffocation of death had already taken his voice.
His eyes were being forced from their sockets by the pressure. He had nothing left. The last of his strength left him, and Frax simply crushed him — the traitor's remains erupting outward in every direction. A psychic barrier in front of Frax caught the debris.
"Commander."
"I know. One traitor remaining. Deal with this one and we're done."
Frax looked at 'Abaddon,' who had emerged from cover. Two figures with thunder hammers stood facing each other — but Frax had already stopped thinking of the traitor in front of him as a serious threat.
He would crush this traitor's body with his own hands. But first — he wanted to see if this 'Abaddon' was really as resilient as he remembered.
'Abaddon's' eyes were stretched wide with fury. Having witnessed what had happened to his brothers, his reason had completely left him.
He raised his hammer and charged at Frax.
But at the moment the hammer was about to connect, Frax caught it.
Speed insufficient. Strength insufficient. Evidently this traitor hadn't yet grown into the formidable Black Legion Master.
Frax, on the other hand, was something else entirely.
He swung his hammer upward — the phase warhammer driving into Abaddon's chest from below, caving it inward in an instant. The organs within ruptured immediately.
'Abaddon' coughed a mouthful of blood mixed with shredded viscera and slammed into the steel plating behind him, blood running freely.
Frax gave him no time to recover. He was on him immediately — the power gauntlet driving down into the already-caved chest.
The Terminator armour exploded. 'Abaddon's' upper torso was nearly destroyed. The flesh of his chest and abdomen had been reduced to ruin, his bones and organs slowly liquefying across the deck.
"Looks like you're not all that resilient after all. I was expecting you to give me more of a surprise."
Frax looked coldly down at 'Abaddon' collapsed and ruined on the deck.
"You... you should... aim... my head..."
The barely-recognisable face of 'Abaddon' produced a few faint, exhausted laughs — and then, under the gaze of Frax and everyone present, he vanished in an instant. The next second, Frax had already raised his foot to stamp down on 'Abaddon's' position — and his expression became deeply unpleasant.
His gaze passed through the deck plating. A heap of flesh that had just been destroyed was still seeping blood.
"Commander — do we continue advancing?"
Lucas stepped forward and asked.
Frax's expression was poor, but what was done was done. He'd say nothing further. Next time they met, he'd aim for the head directly.
"Continue advancing. Until Ferrus, Lord Dorn, and the commanding officer issue new orders, our mission is unchanged."
"Yes."
"Any remaining traitors?"
"All dealt with. Except some of them jammed in our hull plating during transit. Cleanup is going to be a bit difficult."
"Resolve it quickly. Minor issue."
Aboard the Soul of Vengeance, inside a room thick with blasphemous ritual markings, a flash of psychic light drew the attention of several Librarians.
When they came to investigate, Abaddon's entire upper torso had been destroyed. He lay unconscious, barely clinging to life.
"Get the Warmaster — now!"