[Quick recap in case you have not read the final post of Third Son. This takes place in the alternate universe known as the Brotherhood of the Lost. Eighteen new legions based on fan-Lost Legion projects replace the canon eighteen. Alexandros is no longer the master of the II Legion, but of the Vth, being discovered second of the Primarchs. Outside a different Prologue, the story follows the exact same notes as Third Son until Chapter 11. Thus, one can view this as the spiritual successor of Third Son. Enjoy!]

Prologue

The aide hurried through the vast garden. He carried with him news, news that would change the fate of their world and their sister worlds. A fleet had been detected entering the system. A fleet composed of ships of vast power and size. A fleet heading steadily advancing toward their defense network. The aide climbed up a small hill, cursing the Prime Minister for his insistence on detaching himself from the world at such an inopportune time. During these times of meditation, the Prime Minister would turn off all of his portable communication devices, and could only be reached via physical messenger. At the top of the hill, the aide paused as he scanned the garden for his task. A single glance was all it took. No one could mistake the Prime Minister for anyone else. After all, not one man or woman could hope to reach the Prime Minister’s height.

The giant was tending to his portion of the garden, several bushes of flowers was his focus for this month. It was strange to see such a famous and powerful man on his knees in the dirt, idly humming as he worked with his gardening tools. The aide sprinted down the hill and closed the distanced between them in a few seconds. Before he could open his mouth, the Prime Minister without turning to look at him lifted one finger. “Catch your breath, Gregory. I already know.”

Gregory resisted the urge to touch the holy symbol around his neck. He was one of many who believed the Prime Minister was blessed by the gods. The Prime Minister’s mysterious foresight, which had led him to becoming the de facto ruler of the entire system, was the largest piece of evidence of the blessing. Gregory took a few deep gulps of air before he opened his mouth to speak again.

The warning finger wagged. The Prime Minister glanced at him with a mischievous smile before he shook his head. He began to pack away his tools. “Relax Gregory. There’s no need to be alarmed. Change is coming, but ultimately, I think it’ll be for the best. Please inform Admiral Zhon to stand down and to welcome our guests.” With a sigh, Gottfri climbed to his feet and stared at the sky. “My father has come for me.”

~~~

Seated on his command throne, Irvin Ruel impassively listened as the reports filed in. One last ship had been claimed by the warp during translation into the target system. Compared to the total fleet's size, it was a minute payment for entry. For the price of one ship, two legions had successfully entered the system. Not just any two either. Out of the corner of his eye, Irvin could see one of the crewman's display showing ships belonging to the Fifth and the First legions. The entire Fifth Legion was here, called in from the various fronts to coalesce into a united whole. While only representing a small portion of their strength, the First detachment contained some of the most powerful and famous ships of the Great Crusade, including the Thunderchild. It was another hint for the reason they had been brought here. Of the twenty legions, only one so far had been reunited with their lost primarch. Somewhere on the Thunderchild was the Primarch Icarion. And, if the whispered rumors roaming the hallways were true, then a second had been found. By far, the biggest supporting evidence was the one ship dwarfing even the flagship of Icarion. The Bucephelus, the personal flagship of the Emperor.

Thus, when the fleet had first been forged and brought together under the personal command of the Emperor, the rumors had started. The second primarch had been found and it was time to bring him back into the Imperium's fold. Irvin had done his best to contain the rumors. While it was certainly a possibility their father had been found, he saw no reason to raise the legion's hopes without some kind of evidence. The Emperor himself had never claimed to have found their primarch and when asked, didn't confirm they had found him. If there was no primarch to be found, it could hurt morale after inflating false hope.

Yet, as scans revealed the local fleet's size and strength, Irvin couldn't keep the rumors out of his own head. The local fleet was a mere fraction of theirs, and their largest warship was half the size of the Thunderchild. Unless there was another purpose to this campaign, it was a waste to have so much of the Legiones Astartes concentrated here. "How quickly is the local fleet responding?"

Fleetmaster Themos answered as he studied the visual feeds, "In slow order. The fleet is dividing into three groups with escorts forming a screen. If I had to guess, my lord, I don't think they've ever prepared to combat a fleet of our size." The Fleetmaster had been recently promoted following his excellent performance in the Selecuid campaign. The man was void-born and marked by it by his unusual height. He was merely a head shorter than a space marine, but his thin frame made him appear almost two-dimensional when standing next to a marine.

Irvin frowned as he judged his possible adversaries. "Is our fleet in position?"

"Yes, my lord.The Lightning Bearers have already formed their spearhead and are beginning their advance." The Fleetmaster glanced at him with his iron-colored eyes. "I fear we may not play much of a role after the Bearers finish their first strike if they don't accept compliance soon."

Before Irvin could reply, communications officer Daylen announced, "My lords, we are receiving a general message from the local fleet commander."

"Let's hear it," Themos commanded.

Throughout the bridge, a voice said, "This is High Admiral Zhon-Vrook Carde of the Delian Federation. We ask you to identify yourselves, and to halt any offensive maneuvers. We are prepared to stand down and are willing to negotiate as necessary."

One of the junior bridge officers snorted. "Negotiate? Someone can't count."

No one had a chance to say anything as the Emperor himself answered, his voice echoing throughout the entire Imperial fleet. "I am the Emperor, and have no desire to engage in hostilities. My only wish is to arrange for a meeting between myself and your head of state at the earliest convenience."

~~~

Gregory waited impatiently as he relayed the avalanche of reports coming to him through his small communicator currently wrapped around his ear. The balding aide was under the distinct impression he was being ignored as the Prime Minister occasionally nodded, while he put the finishing touches on his uniform. Gregory glanced around the small ready room as his mouth instinctively spoke. Small was a relative word for this room and the rest of the mansion that was the personal home of Salim's Prime Minister. The ceiling, the walls, even the furniture were twice the size of their normal cousins on the rest of the planet. It had to be, for the Prime Minister was a giant, though he made sure there was plenty of normal-sized furniture to host the many leaders and guests he often entertained. Unfortunately, this room made no such accommodations for the rest of the humanity as this was Gottfri's personal ready room. A single large desk and chair were the only furniture, while most of the walls were decorated with weapons, pictures, and other keepsakes that supposedly enhanced the Prime Minister's creative desires on the days where he simply wanted to tinker.

Gregory took a moment to ignore his communicator as he asked his own question. "Sir, is it wise to choose your military uniform for this...event? You said there was nothing to fear."

"We don't," Gottfri reassured him as he finished pinning the last of his military awards, which covered both sides of his suit jacket with ribbons, seven-pointed stars, and medals. "But, until the unknown is cleared away, the people will fear this strange fleet coming towards us. They will want to know that they will be protected and what better way to show them then by physically reminding them that I am their Commander-in-Chief." The giant turned to the trusted aide. "Has the Senate convened?"

"Most of them, sir. Senators Myron and Senator Xiu haven't arrived, but their aides say they are only momentarily delayed."

"Good. Have my car waiting for me outside. I'll be leaving in a few minutes myself."

"Yes, Prime Minister," Gregory replied before hurrying out.

Alone and free of distractions, Gottfri turned his head toward the ceiling. With ease, his mind reached out, and he left his ready room behind as he awareness flew through the atmosphere. As ordered, Zhon's fleet had stand down and was holding orbit above the planet. The thousands of human minds in the fleet were colored with fear, anxiety, surprise, and hope. With a thought, Gottfri passed through the fleet to study the far more interesting arrivals. Before him another sea of humanity slowly moved towards them. No. Not just humans. While there was humanity numbering in the tens of thousands stretched out before him, some of them were not quite human anymore. Thousands of minds were subtly different in a way that took Gottfri a few seconds to miss out. No fear. No hint of it. Fascinating.

And two minds stood out like stars in the enormous cloud of human thoughts and emotions. Well, a star and a supernova. Gottfri thought about investigating the smaller star, but he recognized the mind of his Father. After several decades of not knowing who his true parent was, he allowed curiosity to focus on the golden power, and he hurried to it.

Not yet, my son. All in good time.

Gottfri blinked and was surprised to see he was on the floor. The words. So few, and yet more than enough to 'gently' push him back into his body. No one had ever shown such power to him. Not even the strange xeno he had caught a decade ago. He climbed onto his feet as he analyzed the words again. He felt hints of amusement, a strong dose of determination and affection. Yet, he could detect a smidgen of disappointment. Without meaning to, he felt his second sight reaching into the future to determine the cause for the disappointment. He frowned and stopped himself. For all he knew, his father would sense that as well and take offense to that. Still, he doubted his brush with his father's mind was the cause of the disappointment, but what was it then?

Salim, the capital of Delos, was originally a small town in the center of the western continent Maghādvīpa. Few events had occurred in this little spot of Delos throughout the ages of mankind, which is why Gottfri chose it upon uniting the world under one government. There was no old blood lingering beneath the foundation to spoil the peace he had crafted after a decade of hard work. In the span of a few years, the small town had transformed into the ideal metropolis, featuring the newest technological wonders the planet had to offer. And at the heart of this new city was the Senate. Utilizing a word from ancient Terra to satisfy Sindhuans, Hellasans, and the smaller represented cultures, it was here the representatives of the planet gathered to guide and vote upon the future of Delos. The building in which they met was a large dome a mile in diameter and divided into three rings. The outer ring featured in-door gardens, restaurants, rooms for solace, and other features that allowed Senators, aides, and governmental workers to relax and interact with the common man. The middle ring housed the numerous offices, libraries, and work stations where most of the daily work of running a government was done. In the center was a vast chamber shaped into an amphitheater with the stage replaced by a platform and a large desk fit only for a being the size of the Prime Minister. Each ring was separated by boundaries of increasing security the deeper one went into the Senatorial dome. Although a web of corridors, walkways, and paths spread throughout the dome, a single path existed that went straight from the southern entrance to the main chamber.

Today, two ranks of security personnel stood on both sides keeping the ever-growing crowd of people as Delos waited for its newest visitors to make their way down the road to the Senate proper. Gottfri waited with the Senate in the main chamber, for once, silent as he allowed the Senators whisper to one another. Normally, he kept a full awareness of each Senator's thoughts and desires. With his powerful perception, no Senator could ever hope of deceiving or conspiring against him. It saved the political process a great deal of time and effort that used to be wasted on such fools. No Senator was ever elected without first understanding that they would be sacrificing their privacy for their term of service. To be a public agent of the people, this was a small sacrifice. At least, in Gottfri's opinion.

With such an old habit, it was taking effort to not peer into the minds of the incoming visitors. His passive sense told him there were three parties coming in in a line. In front, the blazing power of his father's mind led three others. From the tidbits he could sense, these three minds intrigued him. They reminded him of the strange, fearless minds he sensed among the fleet, yet were distinct from them. Behind his father, he sensed another powerful mind, one equal to Gottfri's own power. Yet, though equal in power, this mind was much stranger. It was a mind used to casually wielding authority but possessed discipline sharp enough to cut through adamantium. Curious. Three lesser minds traveled in the wake of this great leader, mirroring the other's discipline to a degree. But the last party of three individuals intrigued Gottfri the most. No great mind there, but each of them were alighted with anticipation and joy to the point that Gottfri was eagerly awaiting to see the reason why.

It wouldn't be long. With precision and ceremony, the Senate guards reached out and open the Senate doors to welcome the self-proclaimed Emperor of Mankind.

Gottfri had mentally prepared himself for being in close proximity to his father's powerful mind. He had not been prepared for his sheer physical presence. When the doors opened, the Emperor stood towering and radiant in golden armor of incredible complexity. It was like the power and brightness of a star had been condensed into a single being. After a momentary pause, the Emperor strode forward, attended by three warriors in golden armor carrying pole arms with guns attached to the shafts. Taking a moment to distract himself from the walking sun, Gottfri peered into the minds of his Senators. All worry, fear, and anger had evaporated and been replaced with awe. Simple, profound awe. If the Emperor had asked of them to resign their positions and come serve him, Gottfri had no doubt that he would be left with an empty chamber. As the Emperor came forward, Gottfri managed to glimpse the rest of the retinue entering the chamber.

The first half of the retinue was a giant poised man clad in sleek power armour, dotted with lightning bolts. A great crystal decorated the center of his chest that Gottfri suspected as being an amplifier of some sort. The man moved with a dancer's grace, every movement precise and measured. He wore a mask of serenity as he studied Gottfri. Four warriors formed a crescent moon behind him, each small reflections of their leader.

Gottfri resisted his curiosity to learn the name of this other giant, for he sensed that he couldn't make such an under taking without discovery. For this man was a psyker, like himself.

Icarion Anasem.

The name was 'said' aloud to a room where only a telepath could hear. The elegant giant barely nodded towards Gottfri before taking his place to the side of the Emperor. Gottfri quickly understood that it was a welcoming gift. Wishing not to be a rude host, Gottfri answered in kind.

Gottfri Alexandros Darshan VonSalim.

Gottfri finished his greeting with his own imperceptible nod before his attention to the last group entering the chamber.

~~~

It was with no small annoyance that Irvin Ruel felt his discipline threatening to break. His instructions were clear, handed down from the Emperor himself. He and two other legionaries of his choice were to form a diplomatic party and join the Emperor in a first contact scenario. A simple mission. Simple were it not for the fact that the other members included the Emperor and Icarion. To be in the presence of the Emperor alone would be one of the highest honors a space marine could achieve. To be in the Emperor's presence and the only discovered primarch was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Add in the possibility that his own gene-father was waiting for him at the end of this road left Irvin nearly overwhelmed. Although they hid it well, he knew his companions were struggling as much as he was to maintain their discipline.

To his left was Immanzeul Kant, the legion's most powerful psyker after Yeshie's demise. Unlike the former Master of the Legion who had a wide mastery of powers, Kant was more focused, limiting himself to three of the psychic disciplines to specialize in. One of them was telepathy, and Irvin could only imagine what the psyker was enduring as he walked behind the two most powerful beings in the galaxy, while the monstrous crowd closed around them. Yet, Kant marched with steady purpose with them. On his right was Jorg Cavso, the best of their champions. No other had survived the lethal whirlwind of close combat as much as he had. It was not without cost. Beneath his power armor was a web of scars hinting at how close to death he had often come, but with such experience none could match his skill with the maul. His infamous maul was missing today as their only armament allowed was a bolt pistol and a combat knife. The way his fingers occasionally twitched, Irvin knew it was missed.

Regardless, they maintained their place behind the Lightning Bearers as they marched into the large domed building. Every step heightened their anticipation as they neared the two large doors at the end of the road. When they opened, Irvin resisted the urge to lean over so he could see past the enormous form of Icaroin. By the Emperor, may our search come to an end.

He knew it wasn't so, but it felt as though their pace slowed as the Emperor entered. It felt slower still as Icarion passed through the doors. As the last of the Bearers entered, the inner chamber came into view. Time switched its moods as suddenly events sped forward. In a few short steps, Irvin and his companions entered the chamber. Before them in the center of the chamber stood a primarch. Their primarch. Even without Kant's mental investigation, Irvin knew that the Primarch of the Fifth Legion was found. Standing erect in an obsidian dress uniform, he wore a confident smile even as the Emperor stood before him. With bright red, short hair, their gene-father turned his attention toward them. His smile broadened as though he already knew they were his sons. Irvin had never before felt such elation.

As they came to a halt behind the Lightning Bearers, the Emperor spoke. "Alexandros Darshan VonSalim, Prime Minister of the Delian Federation and Commander-in-Chief of her military power, I greet you as the Emperor of the Imperium and as your Father. It is my dearest wish that you and your world join me."

Gottfri inwardly twitched. It was a small issue, but he sensed something large behind it. Of course, he wouldn't have shown his disquiet outwardly. One of the first lessons of politics he'd learned from his mortal father was self-control and how to present oneself. A simple yet powerful lesson, especially here. Not only did his true Father stand before him with the entire Senate, above them was a flock of recorders, cameras, and news personnel as they observed and telegraphed the proceedings here to the entire world. All it required was a minute exertion of his will, but a thought whispered, Why didn't he use my first name?

As a child, Gottfri had been discovered at the base of a mountain on the eastern continent of Tyrin. It was Vitrion, a local magistrate, who found, named, and raised him. When Gottfri had accomplished world unity, he had discarded his last name, while giving himself three more. Darshan was to appease and connect with the Sindhuans of the West. Gottfri and VonSalim were two names he had discovered when he read about ancient Terra in Delos' oldest library. He had taken them because they're linguistic and cultural roots didn't exist on Delos. It was a sign that while he identified with all people of Delos, he was a neutral unifier who refused to play favorites, even among the people he had grown up with. Ever since that day, those two were the names he wore in public. Is my name offensive to him?

After his opening statement, the Emperor proceeded to give a speech. It lasted thirty minutes. As it ended, Gottfri knew one thing.

Delos belonged to the Imperium.

Not one man, woman, or child who had watched the broadcast could possibly refuse the Emperor's desire. What had taken Gottfri ten years of careful calculation and hard work was accomplished by the Emperor in half an hour. When the Emperor finished speaking, eight Senators immediately stood to propose Delos' compliance. The proposal seconded by a second wave of Senators. Before the Prime Minister could enact the official sanction of the vote, the rest of the Senators rose and declared, "Yea!" Gottfri smiled and knew he need not fear a painful transition for Delos. It was exactly what he wanted when the first vision appeared to him three weeks ago.

The Senate's decision was quick and simple. The actual process of compliance was a much longer affair as thousands of Imperial ships made planetfall. In a matter of weeks, the technology of Delos would be advanced by decades, a deficiency that had plagued earlier efforts at fighting off xenos raiders. Lasguns would replace their stub guns, Warp technology would allow them to chase raiders outside of their system, and new medical technologies would allow them to combat the various poisons and chemicals the repulsive xenos often employed against them for their twisted motives.

Although Gottfri had won a major victory against them four years ago, he knew he had defeated one faction among many. One of his political cards was to remind Delians that they had no guarantee they wouldn't return. Unity would lead to a much stronger defense against their foes. And now, they had the power to fend them off and destroy them if they desired.

Yet, these weapons pale in comparison to these, he thought as he studied the men assembled before him. No, not men. Astartes. Legiones Astartes. The process of Compliance was now on automatic, allowing Gottfri to invite his Father and his brother to his home.

After a brief tour of his home, they now stood on the back patio of the mansion. While they were inside, another group of Astartes had assembled here. As Gottfri stood above them, he took a moment to enjoy their excitement and pride as they waited for him to speak. These Space Marines would become familiar faces to him as they represented the upper echelons of the Vth Legion. His Legion. His sons. I have a much larger family now, Gottfri thought to himself with a smile. But one issue had to be resolved before he greeted his sons. Without turning toward him, Gottfri 'spoke'. Father. My first name, must I not use it?

No, Alexandros. Gottfri is a name that is ill-suited to you now. Much like how you required the Delians to forsake their petty quarrels to be given a greater purpose, you too must cast away that name as you ascend to your true purpose. It is a small sacrifice, my son, and one you will not regret.

Alexandros briefly wondered why Gottfri was the only name he was losing, but after being separated from his true father for a decade, he was willing to trust him on this. The mental conversation concluded in half a second. Taking a step forward, Alexandros shouted, "My sons! I cannot express my joy on this day of happy reunions. While I knew the Emperor was approaching, what a happy surprise it was for me to learn that I have brothers and sons to share in my happiness. From this day forward, may we never be parted as we partake in our greatest mission: to rescue Terra's lost children and protect them against those who would harm us! We will form the line against evil. We will be the shield of the Imperium. We will be the wardens, watching over our charges as we ward away the darkness! My sons, are you with me?"

In one voice, his legionaries shouted, "FOR THE EMPEROR AND ALEXANDROS!"

Before Alexandros could step forward, the Emperor mentally spoke with him.

My son, your Chapter Master and nine others will accompany you to Terra. There I will teach and prepare you for being a true master of a legion. You may pick the other nine. I will take my leave of you now and will see you again on Terra. Your brother will remain here and in orbit for another day before returning to the Great Crusade. Good-bye, my son. I eagerly look forward to your training.

Not much of a good-bye in human terms, but the words were carefully wrapped with pride, happiness, and anticipation. Alexandros turned and smiled. I as well, Father. With a deep nod, the Emperor walked toward his brother. After a quick round of words, the Emperor strode toward the mansion, while the other primarch approached him. Although Alexandros was eager to learn and interact with his sons, the amount of his time with his brother would be more limited. Best if I take advantage of it while I can.

Formal introductions had been made quickly earlier, so Alexandros knew his name. Now, it was time to learn much more. With an easy smile, he hailed him, "Greetings Icarion Anasem."

The giant in pale armour stopped a respectable distance from him and bowed, unintentionally displaying his warrior's bun. "It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Prime Minister VonSalim."

Alexandros hesitated before indulging in temptation. With a though the thousand paths of the future laid bare to his mind. In a third of a second, he found the answer he sought. Wearing a confident grin, Alex returned the bow before answering, "Please, we are equals. Alex will do just fine."

Anasem raised an eyebrow before assenting. "As you wish, Alex. Then, it would only be fair to address me as Icarion." The Primarch glanced over the mansion before his eyes settled on the garden covering the acres before them. "You have quite the abode. I have seen the homes of many generals and warlords and few are as filled with warmth such as yours. You especially have a capable horticulturalist."

Releasing a hearty laugh, Alexandros said, "I'm glad to hear it! I've only recently picked up the hobby."

Icarion quirked an eyebrow, but Alexandros could sense he wasn't as surprised as he let on. "This garden was made by your hand?"

"Every seed and tree," Alex answered before he swung a hand towards it. "Would you care for a walk through it?"

Icarion nodded. "It would be my honour."

With a subtle hand sign, Icarion signaled for his sons to remain where they were. Alexandros turned to his own sons and said with a smile, "I'll be back shortly."

The head of the Storm Rider company, Irvin, bowed. "As you will, my lord."

The two giants walked off the terrace and into a world of green. Alexandros lengthened his stride to match Icarion's gait as they passed by several crops. "I must confess, I'm surprised you would take the time to grow your own food," Icarion commented. "I assume you could afford any meal that could be made on this planet."

With a chuckle, Alexandros reached over to pluck a cluster of grapes from its stalk. "You assume correctly. With a snap of my fingers, I could order any dish I wish, but my reasons for growing my own food is threefold. First, farming was the key for the ancients to establish themselves and to no longer bend to the fickle fate of hunting. It allowed us to establish roots that led to cities and then to civilizations. Thus, it is a way for me to connect with our collective past. Second, for millennia, it was mankind's primary occupation. When I work here, the Delians see it as a form of humility and respect my leadership all the more so. Third," he finished as he picked a few grapes before tossing them into his mouth, "food tastes better when it comes from my own hand."

He held out the rest of the branch to Icarion. "Would you like some? You're lucky enough to arrive just as the crops have ripened."

"I would be honored," Icarion answered as his fingers adroitly handled the tiny fruit. Although he could eat the branch in one bite, their advanced biology able to digest wood, the Anasem picked and ate one grape at a time. "Delectable."

Alexandros grinned. "Thank you." He gestured toward the path, and the two continued their trek. "Have you ever tried to see how long you can last without eating?"

"The idea to try never occurred to me," Icarion admitted before glancing at his companion. "I assume you tried?"

"You assume correctly. Alas, I had to give up after three years."

Icarion nodded. "I imagine the pain was distracting by that point."

With a laugh, Alexandros shook his head. "Fair guess, but no. I suspect I could have last several more years, but the problem was that the longer my fasting lasted, the more disconcerted my people became with me. I ended my fast to reestablish my connection to them, which is a pity. I'm still really curious what our limits actually are," Alexandros mused as the pair moved to a different part of the garden.

"Were there really enough complaints to justify ending your experiment? If you were really concerned with the people's perceptions, why not just pretend to eat in private?

"Because, I'm a telepath," Alexandros said bluntly. "All my life, I've been able to see past any front, deception, or facade meant to conceal a person's true self. In a few seconds, I can understand a person as deeply as their most intimate lover without their consent or their knowledge. I have used this power to manipulate, to protect, and to build in my rise of power to create unity and peace on my world. I was voted into office upon a promise. Since no man or woman could be safe from my gaze, I surrendered any claim to privacy." Alexandros stopped and waved a hand over the entire mansion. "I'm sure you noticed it when I gave you the tour. Every single square inch of my home is monitored by an entire web of cameras with only one room exempted. That surveillance network is plugged into this world's information network. At any point in time, any citizen can log into their personal cogitator and watch my actions as I go about my day. Thus, I have earned the Delians' trust, and it allowed me to enforce my own requirement that any who seek the office of Senator has to make a similar kind of sacrifice. So, no, no eating in private for me."

"I confess," Icarion began as they turned another corner, a wave of pleasant aroma welcoming them. "It is a rare moment for me to be surprised, but I know of no other ruler, not even the Emperor, who would go to such lengths to reassure his own people. Pardon me if I'm being too far forward, but why? Why do you sacrifice so much of yourself for them?"

"You're not being too far forward," Alexandros quickly reassured him. "We are brothers, after all. As to your question..." A pause lingered between them as the marched down between a row of bright orchids. Alexandros chuckled. "You know, I think you may be the first person to ever ask me that question. A third of my people believe me that I am some deity's servant and assume that my generosity is part of my nature. Another third would never ask, lest my thinking tempt me to indulge in more base desires. And the last third are too busy trying to find a way to take advantage of my kindness to bother inquire as to why." He came to a stop and turned his attention back toward the estate. Icarion halted as well, patient for his answer. "Perhaps I'm selfish. One forward question for another. I know you are a psyker, like me, but what powers do you command?"

"Command is not the word I would use," Icarion said. "It implies a level of control that I don't think is truly possible. The Warp, for all of the potential it offers, is more wild than a raging fire. No one can hope to tame it, but only unleash it in controlled measures."

"There is much wisdom in that," Alexandros agreed as he turned his gaze back to his brother.

Icarion nodded. "Thank you. For a more prosaic answer, I have some mastery of most known arts, but I focus my efforts in the arts of divination and... purity."

In the back of his mind, Alexandros noted the awkward pause but chose not to pursue it at this time. "We are alike in that way, then," he said cheerfully as he held up an open palm. A miniature fire sparked into life a few centimeters above the center of his palm. "I too have knowledge of most of the styles out there, but I find them a distraction." Without a sound, the fire ceased. "Like you, I have a natural inclination toward divination. Yet, my best expertise lies in telepathy." Alex dropped his hand, and his eyes swiveled back towards Salim. "I burn with a desire to know and learn about people. Telepathy has served as my greatest tool in that regard and provided me with some of the most beautiful images of humanity. You know something about telepathy. Have you learned how to see auras? Have you ever seen a metropolis at twilight?"

"I haven't," Icarion said. "While I know some of the basic principles that guide the art of telepathy, I've never pursued any of the more advanced techniques."

"Ah, you don't know what you're missing. You see..." Alexandros trailed off. "Actually, I could show you, if you're willing." 

Icarion glanced at the Delian sun. While the day was late, the Primarch estimated that sunset was still an hour or two away. "I do not wish to be rude, but I have duties I must return to before long."

"No, no," Alexandros explained as he shook a hand. "I understand that we're nearing the limit of our time together today. No, I meant, I can show you my memory of it. As though you were there yourself."

There was a moment of hesitation before Icarion nodded. "As you wish."

Alexandros grinned before suggesting, "It might be easier if you closed your eyes. Less of an abrupt transition that way."

Another pause before Icarion complied. The world changed. The soft sounds of a garden were replaced by the distant sounds of the city. The warmth of the afternoon sun was gone as a chill was carried by strong winds. Icarion opened his eyes and saw an evening sky greeting him. Next to him was Alexandros who was watching him, amused, as the pair stood on the edge of his mansion's roof. Glancing behind him, Icarion was surprised to see a second Alexandros, who did not notice either himself or his duplicate, dressed in casual sleepwear. The other Alexandros was walking towards them before stopping a foot away, his eyes fixated on the city with a smile.

"You settled?" The current Alexandros asked.

"I believe so," Icarion murmured. "When is this?" 

"A few weeks ago before the first of my visions of our father." Current Alexandros pointed toward the city. "Watch."

Icarion turned his full attention toward the city. As any city in twilight, artificial light had filled the void after the last rays of sunlight disappeared beneath the horizon. Despite being a typical city of mid-level technology, no smog threatened to obscure sight of it. Vehicles traveled along the roads, offering their own small lights to the cityscape. 

For a moment, Icarion thought his eyes failed him. As he watched, the lights grew brighter and morphed into different colors. The roads became veins of red and light blue. The skyscrapers reflected bronze and vermilion. By far, the most colorful were, what Icarion assumed, were the city's dormitories. They were rainbows emanating from these buildings, but when Icarion focused, he saw that there was a subtle domination of light greens. 

Alexandros answered the unspoken question without prompting. "To me, light green is the color of excitement. Or, at least, that's the color I see when I see someone excited. Salim is a new city. Most of the people here feel like they are a part of something new. Something that is bigger than them. That they're on the edge of something new and powerful. The city was like this even before I began dropping hints that the Emperor was coming."

"Now," Alexandros began, "here comes the main event."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the dormitories exploded with even more color as shades split further into lighter and darker iterations, briefly intertwined to create a stunning sight. These tornadoes of auras engulfed entire neighborhoods as Icarion watched. Almost as quickly as it had come, the cornucopia of colors subsided, yet grew more wild as the spectrum bounced between different hues.

Alexandros happily sighed. "Normally, a human being uses only one hemisphere of their brain during the day, alternating between the logic and the creative given whatever task they're on. But, for a few moments before a person falls asleep, both hemispheres are active, creating some truly incredible sights to my eyes."

"Were only I an artist capable of capturing such beauty," Icarion murmured.

With a wave and a chuckle, Alexandros dissolved the scene before them, returning them to the garden. "Perhaps that's why I serve humanity so diligently. To indulge in the wonderful sights they offer to me."

"If only more men were as 'selfish' as you," Icarion said with a wry smile.

Alexandros' grin grew wider. "I appreciate the thought." He glanced at the sky of today, and his grin shortened. "Ah, I suppose we are out of time. My how quickly it can travel when one wishes otherwise."

Icarion nodded. "True words, but only for this day. You'll soon see. The Great Crusade may become your primary mission, but our Father allows quite a bit of leeway when it comes to personal execution of the war. There will be campaigns where we will fight side-by-side, times we can reserve for leisure, and, eventually, the Great Crusade will end. Then we, and our other lost brothers, will have all the time we desire to learn about one another."

"Then let us return, so we can bring that happy day closer!" Alexandros declared before leading Icarion back to the mansion.

Chapter 11: The Two Seers

Darshan sat in the center of his quarters on bare floor. Hands pressed together with his feet resting on opposing thighs, he wore nothing as he assumed his own replication of the ancient padmasana pose. Although his eyes were closed, he saw far more than the human eye was capable of. Twenty shards of his soul surrounded him in a large circle, a ray of light connecting each shard to him. In a ritual invented on his days of Delos, he inspected each beam for damage. Metaphysical cracks were identified and healed with persistent concentration.

He could not recall the first time he became aware of the spiritual damage he had incurred. Recognition of the corruption had eluded him even as he had gained a gradual awareness that his soul was not quite what it should be. Nor was he sure exactly what would occur if one of the spiritual tethers broke. Would the shard simply fade away? Would it assume a life of its own? Or would it be devoured by a Warp predator?

It was one of the few times Darshan had been tempted to break his own self-imposed divination limitation. The damage was gradual, and it would take decades, scores of years before the event in question could occur. As curious as he was, Darshan decided against looking so far into the future nor would he allow the damage to accrue. It was too irresponsible.

However, he suspected a clue lay in the onslaught of Battle Fatigue that had afflicted his sons. Indeed, he was afraid that it was a fault within him that had manifested among his legion. A small pang of guilt rang out as it always did when he thought of it. Even if it was a weakness that Alexandros had no part in its creation, dozens, perhaps hundreds, of his sons had paid with their lives for it. Still, the symptoms had been diverse, which made it difficult to speculate how his soul would break, or if he would break in the same way. A primarch, despite similarity in appearance, was not the same as a space marine.

With a final effort of will, Darshan exorcised the last of the spiritual blemishes. Before he concluded the ritual, he prayed. It had been a new addition, shortly after leaving Terra. He prayed for the protection of his sons in war, and that his remaining lost brothers be found. There was a reason he always split himself into twenty fragments. He did not pray to any deity and cared naught if his prayer was answered by nothing. It was the action itself he found solace in.

Alexandros opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He had not taught his psyker-sons this technique because it required utter discipline and an intense mastery of telepathy to use. None of his sons had yet to demonstrate the necessary strength or aptitude to perform it. Dharma and rest would have to suffice instead.

Speaking of which...

Clothing himself with his robe, Alexandros exited his private quarters into a large hallway. Three unique lumens were installed in the ceiling at regular intervals. That had been the last modification to the Elpis, completed only a week ago at Hena-jagathi. Alexandros was eager to put them to use as he exited the hallway into another room. This room, while reserved for his use, served as an ambassadorial suite. Unlike the eclectic collections decorating his quarters, the suite was more focused, featuring the luxuries expected by the elites of Terra, such as a table of mahogany from the On-turas system.

Alexandros swiftly crossed the room and opened the door to the hallway. Standing on the other side was a Halcyon Warden, on the verge of opening the door himself. The legionary recovered and saluted, "My lord, requisition for you." Behind the Warden was another escorting a stasis crate. On the other side of the crate was Irvin Ruel.

"Lord Commander Ruel, what an unexpected surprise," Alexandros said as he returned the salute. "Legionaries, if you would deliver the requisition in the inner hallway."

As the legionaries moved, Alexandros waited for a moment before falling in step behind them. Irvin took his place next to his gene-sire. Although he had offered a respectful nod upon Alexandros' greeting, his following silence was more than enough to reveal his displeasure to the Primarch. Alexandros didn't press. What Irvin wished to discuss would require complete privacy.

The four of them entered the hallway between the rooms where Alexandros directed them to the center. Once there, Alexandros keyed in the code to deactivate and unlock the crate. The legionaries, unaware of what was inside peered around the giant as he opened the crate. Inside the adamantium shell was a young sapling resting within a large pot of fresh earth.

Alexandros smiled as he withdrew the plant, "At last." He delicately placed it next to the wall before reaching for a set of controls built into the wall. After inputting a few commands, the central lumen shined with the brightness and youth of Sol itself. "Thank you, my sons. Please return the crate to logistics. Lord Commander, if you would be so kind as to remain."

Irvin held his silence long enough for the entrance to close behind the legionaries. "You ordered a tree?"

"Not just any tree. This is an authentic green apple tree as could be found on ancient Terra. A descendant species survived in the Alpha Centauri system."

Irvin spared the sapling a few more seconds before he turned his attention to the three ceiling lumens. "Why three? Wouldn't one suffice?"

Alexandros pointed at a space on the wall. "There are two forcefield emitters built into the wall. I intend to have three separate biomes here. The center will be temperate, the section closest to the suite will feature a recreation of a jungle. The final section I'm not sure what I'll use it for. Perhaps desert plantlife as we saw on Hena-jagathi." The Primarch shifted the pot a little bit more before he deemed his work finished. He stood and gave his full attention to Irvin. "Now, what is distressing you enough to come to me, Irvin?"

As far as Alexandros knew, Irvin had never worn off-duty robes. A black, body sleeve was the closest he would ever reach to casual wear. Today, he wore his full armour, meaning he wished to discuss official matters. Irvin came to a position of attention, which, as always, mildly exasperated the Primarch whenever it happened in his private ship-domain. "My lord, I wish to formally protest the new legion organisation."

Alexandros could not be less surprised, even without calling upon his arts. "Not pleased with your new title, Brigadier?"

Irvin's patrician features twitched. "I am able to serve under any title as necessary, whether it be chapter master, brigadier, or sentinel. However, I do not see the benefit of modifying the organisation of the entire legion. Especially four years after Balov."

"The new structure is more forward-looking, Irvin," Alexandros countered. "If we remained with the original organisation, the legion would have well over 50 chapters. Nor do we intend to cap the legion's size at 50,000 marines. At some point, we were going to need an additional layer of unit size to accommodate our growing size."

"I understand that, but why was it necessary to institute so many changes instead of simply adding an additional unit size, such as the brigade? What benefit is there from renaming a company to a century, using company to replace chapter and outright eliminating battalion? Especially now that it has been five years after Balov."

"It suited my purposes," Alexandros said. "The new organisation better reflects the synthesis of the traditional Roma legions and the more modern designations. I agree that it would have been an easier transition if I had implemented the new system during the transfiguration at Balov, but it was not necessary to address it at that time. If anything, this will serve as an abstract lesson that the legion's evolution is not yet concluded. You are well aware that my divination is limited, and that there might be additional reforms necessary as the Great Crusade progresses."

Only partially mollified, Irvin continued. "Very well, my lord, but what of the new rank system? Allowing every officer to choose an alternative title will cause unnecessary chaos and confusion when the chain of command, by its very nature, requires absolute clarity."

"We've reached the rendezvous point."

~~~

For better or for worse, first impressions carried an inordinate weight when judging a person's worth and character. Thus, while he might enjoy quite the advantage when meeting with recruits from worlds he had liberated, Alexandros always wore his parade armour when he met with the newest additions to the Fifth Legion. He stood in the largest landing bay aboard the Elpis, a line of ten legionaries standing behind him, volkite chargers held at attention. No longer was Alexandros a flash of purple in a sea of grey as those early days with his legion, but now they mirrored the colours he proudly bore.

The same could not be said of the stormbird that landed before him. The Deliverer of Strength had fallen into an odd niche. It had not been present with the legion at Balov when they had spent two entire years adjusting to Alexandros' reforms and being repainted in purple and red. Yet, it had been produced before its manufactorum had received Alexandros' instructions of colour scheme, leaving it in its factory-grey. It was one of a few dozen vehicles that were on the cusp of meeting the legion standard.

Regardless of its external appearance, the stormbird performed its duty with precision, landing smoothly in front of the Primarch. Alexandros held his helmet in the crook of his arm, while his left hand rested on the pommel of his sword. With a hiss, the ramp opened, and one-hundred Halcyon Wardens marched out. Alexandros watched with a smile as he passively judged their performance. It would not be long before he would have to restrict this personal practice. Quite simply, too many recruits were being added to the legion, especially with the new protectorate systems sending regular cohorts of recruits.

The recruits formed four ranks before their gene-sire and stood at attention. "At ease and helmets off!" Alexandros commanded, his voice carrying above the din of the landing bay. With movements not as smooth as their drill, the recruits managed the task. As Alexandros scanned the faces before his eyes focused on one familiar face. Although his eyes moved away, Alexandros' smile widened.

Hello, Mahtva.

Gone was the thin youth always on the verge of starvation. In his place stood a man in his prime. Wearing a solemn face, accentuated by a thick moustache, Mahtva gave no physical sign he had heard Darshan's psychic message. But Darshan could see the fierce pride blazing in the man's aura and felt a particular joy welling in his own soul.

"Welcome to the Fifth Legion, the Halcyon Wardens," Alexandros began, his words drenched in enthusiasm. "You are here today not because of chance biology nor of indefatigable will. You are here because every one of you made a choice. You were willing to make a sacrifice for the benefit of humanity."

As Alexandros continued his speech, he couldn't help but analyze the lineage of the recruits before him. For the first three years of his command, Terra maintained an uncontested monopoly as the recruits from Jermani continued to pour in. It was only in the fourth year did Delos begin to send her sons to join the Fifth Legion. Fair-skin mixed with tan and dark. Where once the clipped, guttural tones of Low Gothic dominated, now was joined by flowing and elongated tongues. Not long after their arrival, the Delians represented the majority of the recruits. This was not due to favouritism on Alexandros' part, but simple demographics. A planet could produce a great many more recruits than a nation-state.

And now Balov would be represented among the legion, the first of the protectorate systems to have the honour. "Let my words guide and strengthen you as we embark on this noble mission to lift humanity high into glory!"

The recruits cheered after the fire in their souls had been carefully fed by Alexandros' speech. He allowed them to bask in the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mahtva cheering with a knowing look. Alexandros winked.

Alexandros gestured to a sergeant now joining them. Darshan took a moment to read the Warden's chosen rank. "Lochias Hoffman will give you your assignments. Until the day we meet again, I bid you good fortune and may you honour the Fifth Legion."

With a quick salute, Alexandros took his leave as the recruits saluted a moment before Hoffman began bellowing at them. Alexandros headed for the exit as he made plans to meet with Mahtva later. Undoubtedly, it would have to take place in the Elpis' sanctam. The ten legionaries followed behind him, striking a balance of giving him a bit of space with being close enough to intervene if necessary. Alexandros glanced at the nearest one. "Deshpande, time?"

The bodyguard promptly answered, "1050, my lord."

"Good, I'll have a few minutes to spare for Kharkis."

~~~

As usual, the officer of the XVIth Legion stood at attention next to Alexandros' throne.

Ayatollah Kharkis may have appeared as the undisputed commander of the 8-13th Scout Fleet. The Sixteenth Legion was one of a few legions that had not the numbers to warrant their own Expeditionary Fleet when the Imperium crossed the borders of the Sol System. The campaign against the Dirigiscrae of Neptune had reaped a fearsome tally on the young XVIth. Alexandros wasn't sure if it had been at Lord Commander Hennasohn's command or if it had been a decision among the entire Praetorate, but the Sixteenth chose to separate itself into twenty sub-fleets and attached themselves to other Expeditionary Fleets. Each sub-fleet was then commanded not by a single officer but a democratic council of 'Monarchs', which meant that Ayatollah Kharkis did not truly command the 8-13th but merely served as a representative of the Monarchs.

And the entire Monarch council held a grudge against Alexandros.

When he had assumed command of his legion, Alexandros had desired to fight with his sons and his sons alone. It made no difference that he had personally arranged for the Cthonian Headhunters to join the 8-13th, which had allowed the legionaries to campaign independently. After Balov and his reforms, Alexandros had contacted them to renew their previous arrangement, only to deal with cold resentment. Although it might had been easier to simply allow ties to be cut, Alexandros had been championing the power of diplomacy at Balov and felt that this too provided a learning opportunity to the Halcyon Wardens.

In the end, it had taken two new Cardinal-class heavy cruisers to appease the XVIth's bruised pride. 

Kharkis' salute was brusque but professional and quickly returned by Alexandros.

"Report," Alexandros said. 

"We've finished establishing a perimeter around the fleet, my lord. No hostiles or unusual signs to note." 

"Well done." As usual, the compliment was ignored by Kharkis, who stood at attention. Alexandros could order 'at ease' but had quickly learned the Ayatollah preferred to be at a position of attention. "Are you prepared for the briefing? Will any of the other Monarchs be joining?"

"Yes, my lord, and no." 

In theory, there was no need for the other Monarchs to attend, but Alexandros couldn't help but wonder if this was motivated equally by practicality and spite. Regardless, Alexandros nodded and answered, "Very good. How does this day find you, Kharkis?"

Kharkis' sea-green eyes hardened. The Terran warrior gave Irvin a good running in professionalism, but Alexandros suspected that Kharkis was more frustrated by the subtle influence of Alexandros' power. He wasn't quite sure how to describe itself without resorting to words better suited to unenlightened mysticism, but the Primarch possessed an aura of sorts. He had never been aware of it, until he had met the Emperor. The Emperor emitted something similar and different. Majesty was the word that came to mind. Being in the Emperor's presence was to stand before the power and brilliance of a star in the shape of a man. Yet, Alexandros did not exude such raw might. Instead, he had learned that men and women were predispositioned towards him in friendship and trust. 

It was against this power that Kharkis resisted. Even without his telepathy, Alexandros could easily imagine Kharkis fighting to hold onto his grudge through sheer willpower. 

Kharkis grunted. "Well enough, my lord."

The Ayatollah was spared from further conversation when a shout came from navigation, "Detecting Warp signatures, my lord."

"Ah," Alexandros said with a smile. "They're here."

~~~

Reality screamed in the void as it tore open. Escaping the hellish currents of the Immaterium, a fleet smaller yet mightier than both the 35th and 8-13th combined took its place next to them. Bearing the black and white of Clan Anasem, the ships assumed formation as reality healed behind them. The 2nd Expeditionary Fleet had arrived.

While half of the fleet featured the familiar shapes and blocky construction typical of Martian shipyards, the other half were sleeker and embellished with the touch that bespoke of the Akiran shipyards. Before the Imperium had discovered Madrigal, Icarion had successfully unified the planet and expanded his rule to the rest of the system. Among these other planets was Akira, who's shipyards boasted a tradition dating all the way back to the Dark Age of Technology. Although it could not match the sheer fame and power of Mars, Akira distinguished itself with an emphasis of quality that was sought by many admirals.

Thus, though the Halcyon Wardens outnumbered their cousins in ships, Alexandros doubted their numerical advantage could guarantee their victory. At the very least, the 2nd Expeditionary Fleet possessed a potent advantage in its capital ship: the Thunderchild.

"Communications," Alexandros commanded, "Contact the Praetorate and inform them that they are to assemble in hangar bay one." He turned to Kharkis. "I extend an invitation to you to fly on my stormbird, if you are so inclined."

Kharkis shook his head. "I need to speak with Lusca after the briefing. Privately."

With a nod, Alexandros said, "Very well, I'll see you on the other side shortly."

~~~

With war yet to make its reappearance, the hanger bay was more quiet than usual. This is not to say it was silent as various squads and centuries did embarkment drills, tech-priests completed maintenance checks, and pilots practiced their craft. Alexandros greeted or acknowledged each group between him and his destination. As expected, most of the Praetorate had already arrived since Alexandros had the longest trip from the Elpis' bridge all the way to its head. There were other launch bays closer to the ship's center, but hanger one was the largest and most notable since it opened directly to the ship's front.

Since this would be Alexandros' first official meeting with the First Legion, a level of decorum and theatre was necessary.

To that end, Alexandros' personal stormbird would serve. As a Nepheros-class stormbird, it possessed the distinction of being one of the largest stormbirds of the entire Great Crusade. Gold edging served to distinguish the Byangoma from the rest of its kind. "My sons," Alexandros said after he returned their salutes. His eyes scanned the group of officers. "Where is Weyland?" 

Qapibain answered, "He should have received the order."

Before anyone could explain, the sound of heavy footsteps broke through the bedlam. While most of the legion officers predominantly bore the purple, the figure who approached favoured Martian red. Even for a simple meeting with another legion, the High Lord of the Forge could not part with his servo-arm. Alexandros appreciated the fact that Weyland did not carry his ax. 

"After Icarion reformed it," Alexandros added. Several raising hands fell back down, leaving half of the Praetorate remaining. "Good, then this will serve as an introduction and a refresher course. Madrigalan culture places a large emphasis on honour and social cohesion. In that regard, they tend to favour social rituals that show proper respect and deference. Right before we disembark, we will assume formation. Ruel, you'll stand on my right, Praun, my left."

The Lord Commander and the Commander of the Signal Corps nodded.

Continuing, Alexandros gestured to Crassus, Lothar, and Qapibain, the Brigadiers. "You three will form the first rank behind me. Adalbard, Villrof, and Scholl the next rank, while Vonsmith, Ludendof, and Niemann will form the last rank."

"Desh, you and your men will form two columns of five on our flanks as an honour guard. The Lightning Bearers will have their own party waiting for us. After we have disembarked, they will greet us with a bow. All of you are expected to bow as low as they do with myself excepted. They'll lead us to my brother's strategium. From what I've been told, when we reach the location, we will be declared before Icarion and bow again. Throughout the meeting, use titles at all times. Only by Icarion's command can this stricture be relaxed. I expect all of you to properly represent the Fifth Legion. Any questions?"

There was a pause before grey-eyed Qapibain asked, "While I have no intention of embarrassing ourselves, how severe are the repercussions if we fail to observe all of the social necessities?"

"Officially, none. The Lightning Bearers pride themselves on their professionalism. However, you will learn that campaigns will become much more difficult as First Legion units ignore requests for support. You will discover that you will be unable to enter their camps, along with a reluctance to share intelligence. Not to mention that the First is favoured by the Emperor above all of the legions." 

"Sounds petty," Niemann said. 

Alexandros glanced at the former destroyer. "It's no different than how the titan legios or the knight houses operate. Pay proper respect, and in turn be respected. This will be the first time I've campaigned with my brother, and I want this to go as smoothly as possible. Understood?" 

"Yes, my lord."

~~~

By the time the Byangoma's ramp opened, Alexandros and his legionaries were in formation. The moment the ramp rested on the floor, they marched out. Awaiting them was a party of three Lightning Bearers. The forward one bore a helmet with the signature datemato crest, marking him out as one of the First Legion's highest officers. His sapphire irises bespoke of the First Legion's geneseed, but his darker skin and bright hair marked him as a Terran instead of a Madrigalan.

"Greetings, Lord VonSalim. I am Valorion Manst, Sentinel of the Second Company," the officer declared with a low bow, going well past his waist.

Merely deeply nodding his head as custom dictated, Alexandros replied, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sentinel Manst."

Behind Alexandros, the Halcyon Wardens matched Manst's motion, though a couple of them struggled with unfamiliarity. Once all were upright, Manst said, "If you would follow me, my lord." With an about face, the Lightning Bearers marched forward.

Maintaining an exact distance of seven (human) paces, the Halcyon Wardens followed. Given its colossal size, the Thunderchild was less a ship and more of a flying city. It took five minutes alone to simply cross the hangar to the proper exit. Although much of the hangar mirrored a similar scene on the Elpis, one element stood out.

In addition to the transhumans performing drills and maintenance throughout the deck, they were paralleled by mortal warriors bearing crimson armour. No simple armsmen, these were the Rakurai that Alexandros had read in his reports. Not every man was capable of becoming a legionary. Yet, that did not bar him from war if he so chose. Failed aspirants and men of the Sphere who wished to fight beside their lord were recruited into the Rakurai. While they would never enjoy the protection of power armour or wield the strength of a volkite, the Rakurai were outfitted as well as the famed Solar Auxilia.

Alexandros could not help but recall similar issues that were happening on Delos and and the protectorate systems. To become a legionary required a powerful combination of a pristine genetic system with an indomitable will to survive the process. If either one was lacking, failure and death were never too far behind. For now, failed aspirants and those eliminated through the screening programs were directed to the Imperial Army...

The train of thought faded as they left the hangar and made their way through the ship to the distant strategium. What struck Alexandros as they journeyed through the ship was the sense of openness. Outside of structural keypoints, the Lightning Bearers eagerly used armacrys glass for walls, including entire rooms. Although Alexandros' eidetic memory knew room and corridor widths and sizes were equal to the Elpis', the Thunderchild felt more open and larger for its transparency. 

It was a feeling Alexandros enjoyed and wished he had thought of it when drafting the plans for the Elpis. The Thunderchild had one last surprise for him as they finally arrived outside the strategium. Surrounding the double doors was a wooden arch. Painted in vermillion, two posts stood straight before being joined by two horizontal beams connected by a center support strut. The only curve to be found was a crowning black lintel that curved upward at the edges.

Standing before the vertical beams were two Lightning Bearers. One was unhelmed and blind, while the other bore a curved sword and a bulky pack on his back. Both parties came to a halt before Valorian bowed to them.

The two guards bowed in turn before turning to the door, each opening one side.

As they were led into the strategium, Alexandros and his sons were struck by how different it was. Instead of a circular hololith in the room's center, it was rectangular and long, built into the floor instead of rising above it. No seats surrounded it as the cadre of the First Legion's Praetorate sat on the floor itself, legs tucked beneath them. No Lightning Bearer occupied the short ends of the hololith table. A few metres away from the head of the table occupied the lone throne of the entire room. A silk tent draped the throne in darkness, but there was no hiding the giant who sat in its throne. Two more blind warriors stood watch over the throne.

Manst silently took his place at the table, his companions assuming their position along the wall with the others. Alexandros brought his party to a halt at a respectable distance. Alexandros was on the verge of bowing when Icarion's voice rang through the room. "A great day this is to welcome my brother to my dojo!"

"Welcome, Lord VonSalim!" The Lightning Bearers proclaimed as they bowed. Alexandros couldn't but notice the Terrans moved with equal precision and grace to their Madrigalan brothers. After twenty years of Madrigalan influence, it appeared to have been adopted wholesale by both halves of the legion. Alexandros looked forward to the day when he could say he had achieve the same unity.

Not a moment after, Icarion emerged from his throne as he stepped toward the table. As before on Delos, Alexandros' eyes were drawn to the great, horned mask on Icarion's right pauldron and to the aqua jewel embedded into his forehead. "Though it is tradition to offer fealty here in my domain, I hereby recognize you, Lord VonSalim, as my equal. For a brother to expect submission from another would be a poor joke, don't you think? I may be a lord to your warriors as you are to mine, but I would rather we remain brothers to one another."

Offering a small smile, Alexandros answered, "I thank you for your kindness, brother." He gestured behind him before introducing each of his officers to the Lord of the First Legion. After each introduction, the officer bowed as deeply as Manst had bowed to Alexandros, with some mental prompting by Darshan. Weyland was the most awkward one as he had to bow with his servo-arm clinging to his back. 

Once Alexandros had finished, Icarion swept an arm over his own officers. "These are my Sentinels: Sahaal, Manst, Tasetar, Horace, Kionen..." While Icarion continued, Alexandros reviewed what he had read about the Lightning Bearers. 

Without a doubt, the most famous of them was the First Sentinel, Korvost Sahaal. The first hero of the Legiones Astartes was also the first Legion Master of them all. It was said that the Emperor had personally chosen Sahaal to lead the first of His legions. Sahaal had proven their worth with the infamous Silencing of the Eternal Dirge, freeing an entire continent from a demented religion of blood and song. Alexandros was eager to speak with him and learn more about Otovan Biz'sark, the first Legion Master of the Storm Riders. 

He also wondered what kind of relationship Sahaal had with Icarion. Although Sahaal's reign over the First Legion had been a scant five years before Icarion's discovery, it had been a storied one filled with honour and glory. Had Sahaal stepped aside willingly, eagerly to his Primarch? Did he wish he had remain in command longer? So many questions, and Darshan dare not call upon his powers for a shortcut to his answers. Such an effort would be obvious to many of the psykers in this room.

Peering over the rest of the Sentinels, Alexandros saw a fascinating picture of transition. Third Sentinel Tasetar was one of the original chapter masters fighting at the side of Sahaal, but Manst had replaced Ise, the third famed commander of the Silencing. Horace was not of Terra, but of the Sphere, while Kionen's blood was pure Madrigalan. The remaining, and younger, officers were dominated by Madrigalans. In the centuries to come, it was more than possible that the last of the Terrans would eventually fade.

It was a fate Alexandros did not desire for his own legion.

As the last of the introductions finished, Icarion gestured to the hololith table. "Now, to war."

Signaled, the Sentinels shifted as they left their spots around the table. Behind Alexandros, the doors opened to admit the other necessary representatives in the coming campaign. Stepping to the side, the Fifth Legion contingent waited as various greetings and rituals were observed. It was only due to Alexandros' status as the only other known Primarch of the Imperium was he allowed such a private introduction of his new legion. In reality, it would be both unwise and rude to conduct a briefing without the other important members of the Expeditionary Fleets. 

Three Rakurai Lord Marshals was not enough to represent the Imperial Army as several Lord Commanders entered, entourages in tow. Commanding the Lightning Bearers' allied Titan force was Princeps Senioris Demarcus. Although a sliver of a man, Darshan could sense the man's powerful aura that alluded to Legio Telesto's nature as psy-titans. Yet, for all of the power Telesto contained, it was a controversial force. The technology used to construct them was among the greatest of Martian secrets, and to gain them cost much while accruing Martian ire. What had happened to make Telesto possible was a well-kept secret, even to Alexandros' own probes. 

In comparison, Princeps Majoris Eston dal Pirana wielded authority over a demi-Legio of Ignatum in support of the Halcyon Wardens. Legio Ignatum was the opposite of Telesto. Ignatum was one of the oldest Titan Legios and commanded a great deal of respect. However, their assignment with the Fifth Legion was temporary. It was yet another task for Alexandros to be mindful, establishing a true alliance with a Titan Legio as opposed to the ad hoc basis currently in place. 

Ayatollah Kharkis was the last to enter. While the other officers had taken care to pay proper respect to the Emperor's Firstborn, Kharkis teetered on the edge of disrespect as he threw a half-bow to the Primarch before taking his place at the table. A moment passed as all eyes shifted to Icarion. Yet, he nodded, accepting the poor showing before the hololith table revealed the galaxy...

...with an unspoken order, the fierce abomination faded as the hologram deactivated. "Again, I expect all forces to be briefed and prepared for combat in thirty-six hours," Icarion announced. Darshan's senses twitched for the fifth time. Alexandros could not describe how confused he was. Perhaps the the sheer number of connections to the Warp concentrated in the room was playing with his supernatural senses. Yet, he almost felt there was something subtle at play. As he scanned the faces, he could not grasp at whatever it was that vexed him. Yet, all he noted physically were the variety of expressions commonly found at a briefing, ranging from determination to hidden boredom to satisfaction. Alexandros' eyes lingered on Kharkis for a second longer. 

"At once, my lord," Demarcus stated as his thin frame bowed low before taking his leave from the gathering. 

As the attendees began to leave, Alexandros dropped the mystery. For now, at least. He turned to Ruel. "Lord Commander, return to the Elpis with the Praetorate and prepare the legion. I require a personal meeting with Lord Anasem."

"As you will, my lord," Ruel answered without a hint of surprise.

While the Halcyon Wardens filed out of the strategium, Alexandros turned and found Icarion approaching him. Before Alexandros could say a word, Icarion gestured to the exit. "If you would follow me, brother."

After a short walk, Alexandros' building curiosity was sated when the doors to Icarion's quarters opened. The first thing he noticed was the wooden floor. Not a hint of the adamantium beneath it was allowed as polished brown reflected light, except for a square area around the entrance. Unlike Alexandros' three rooms, Icarion's quarters consisted of a single room partitioned into several smaller areas by paper walls. Yet, tradition did not hold sway over the entire room. To Alexandros' right was a living hologram cycling through landmarks from Madrigal. Beneath the hologram was a stasis generator holding an antique watercolor painting depicting a restless sea. To the left, hanging on the wall, was a strange spear with a ballistics weapon attached, reminding Alexandros of the Custodians' own weapons yet far less advanced. Sitting below the spear was a ruined helmet, split into upper and lower halves. It too was a pale shadow of an Astartes own helm, but what remained was highly decorated with a crest and symbols he did not recognize.

"Brother, if you would, I ask that you remove your boots before stepping onto the wood."

As Alexandros obliged, undoing the seals to his armour, he gestured to the warrior's display. "A former enemy?" 

"Your instincts serve you well," Icarion said, his eyes lingering on the split helmet. "They belonged to a man known as Hirato Tokawa. I once counted him among my friends, a clan head who had shown great promise and fought by my side to maintain peace on Madrigal." The Lord of the First paused as a shadow covered his face. "He, among all men, has come the closest to killing me."

"Ah, this is the arms and armour of the infamous Tokawa. I am surprised," Alexandros admitted. "From what I read, Tokawa had become a monster in both spirit and body when you slew him."

"He had," Icarion said with a nod as he stepped onto the wooden floor, only the thin material of his bodysuit between his feet and the floor. "When we met again in battle, he was scarcely how I remembered him. He was more machine than man, standing at my height on metal legs, his heart replaced with something more insidious. Yet, proud he was, and he only used subtle modifications for his head so that he could continue wearing that helm he could never part with." Icarion turned his attention away from the display. "You, however, have no such tale to speak of. Were the records accurate in that you never made war on your planet's people?"

"It is true, but it was a close thing at times," Alexandros said. "Several assassination attempts were made upon me. Only once did I command an army for battle. At the time, the planet was divided between two overarching coalitions on the eastern and western continents, divided between the Sindhuans and the Hellasans. I landed on one of the eastern isles and began my unification effort there. It took a few years, but I had rallied a third of the eastern coalition to my banner, but hadn't been able to make any inroads among the Sindhuans. They were extremely suspicious of me, you understand. At the current rate, the effort to persuade them would have taken decades. However, fortune provided me an opportunity. I assume you've read the mission report of my first battle after Father found me?"

Icarion nodded before gesturing for them to move deeper into the quarters. "I did."

Alexandros continued as they walked. "Roughly five months before the event, I saw a vision of those tainted xenos raiding Delos. If I proceeded with care, I had an opportunity to strike a blow against the devils who plagued my world and to break the resistance against my dreams of unification. Only my family and my closest confidants knew the truth when I abruptly changed tactics. Where once I called for peace, I called for war. The traditional elements of the Hellas Confederacy could not decide if I had finally 'seen reason' or if it was yet another ploy, but could not resist a chance to destroy their historic enemies."

Alexandros nodded before mirroring Icarion a second later, both of them sitting cross-legged across the table. "There was an island between the two continents; it was once a volcano until it nearly destroyed itself in a terrific explosion. I was able to have both armies land there. At the appointed hour, the xenos attacked right as we were about to kill each other. Our massed forced was a lure since they believed the Delians would only put a meagre resistance, leaving them to raid the rest of the planet at their leisure. After all, they had launched successful raids against Delos repeatedly over the centuries. Why would this be any different?"

He grinned. "Oh, I suppose one thing had changed since the last raid. A certain giant who was eager to enlighten these alien drek about his existence."

"And so you took two warring clans and created an alliance of necessity and blood," Icarion said. 

Alexandros nodded, his grin subsiding as a frown took its place. "Much blood was spilt. It was only with overwhelming numbers and my powers that we were able to surprise and then drive back the xenos. Casualties were high among both armies."

"Which only highlighted your calls for unification I'm sure. Furthermore, if any leaders of the traditional elements died in combat, it would only make your cause easier to accept for their successors."

"The moment they struck from the skies, I sent a general call, offering my protection to any who wished it." Alexandros shrugged. "It is no fault of mine that certain commanders could not see past their pointless grudges."

Icarion nodded. "How long did it take to unify the planet after the battle was won?"

"If you mean by treaty, an alliance was created within the week. In theory, all of Delos now stood shoulder-to-shoulder against the threat of the alien. Yet, I consider that merely the first step of unification. I wanted the people to be united in, not just martially, but in government and in heart. The former would take several more years. The latter is still on-going though the Imperium is keeping such developments on track without my presence."

Alexandros chuckled. "All this to answer your question, yes, I have never made war on my people."

"Yet, not quite as bloodless as the Iterators now proclaim," Icarion said. 

"No. Only rarely is history as clean as the citizen understands it."

"Agreed," Icarion said. "Which brings me to the present. New as the Imperium is, word has swiftly reached me about your victories and newfound glories. Your deeds in regards to Balov in particular stand out. Yet, behind these honours, how are you handling your duties to the Great Crusade?"

For a moment, Alexandros considered weighing his words before shrugging. "With great difficulty."

Icarion raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Commanding a legion is not the same as commanding an army," Alexandros confessed as he stood and paced the room. "Every year since I assumed my position, it has been a struggle to find the delicate balance between what the Imperium requires and to mold my sons to my ideals. When the Imperium measures them, all they can see is combat ability. A battering ram to smash aside humanity's worst foes. Any changes that might threaten their battle performance is viewed with suspicion." Alexandros stopped before sweeping a hand down. "I cannot accept such a truncated existence for my sons. Yet, so many have internalised such views that I struggle to root it out from within as much as I attempt to ward it from without."

"What do you want?" 

"I want them to thrive in peace as much as war. This war will not last forever. One day, the Pax Imperialis will be instituted from one end of the galaxy to the other. Of course there will be rebellions, resurgences of hostile activity, but nothing will require the full strength of the Imperium ever again. On that day, I do not want my sons to fear what will become of them, but already well-suited to transition." Less animated, Alexandros sat down. "Which is why I request your aid, brother."

Icarion nodded. "It'd be my honor."

Alexandros smiled. "Thank you, brother. The balance I am seeking I believe lies in your own Madrigal College. I want to institute a series of societies within my own legion to better spread my ideals. I want you to tell me every aspect of the Madrigal College and any recommendations for harnessing it in different forms and for other purposes, other than psyker mastery."

"As you wish. Let me begin with the Blue Volta..."

Chapter 12: Masters of the Third Dimension

Ayatollah Kharkis considered the enemy fleet before the Imperium. The Scara ships were ugly things to look at. A mixture of rock and shell, the vessels looked less like ships and more akin to floating mountains. They reminded Kharkis of space hulks yet smaller. Easily countable as well since the Scaras did not believe in support vessels. Seventy-three of their warships opposed the Imperium at the outer edge of the system. Looking at his foes, Kharkis wished the conflict could have been resolved with a series of cyclonic torpedoes and be done with it.

Orders, unfortunately, insisted otherwise. The Scara worlds had been scanned by foolhardy Rogue Traders. Those scans had revealed the planets to be replete with deposits of adamantium, gold, copper, and a dozen other elements vital to the Great Crusade. Thus, the worlds were to be taken intact, and their xenos occupiers exterminated. The Magos Biologis were hard at work attempting to find a biological weapon that would destroy the hostile species without poisoning the worlds, but the Imperium had few samples for them to experiment with. Until that situation had changed, the Legiones Astartes would use the old-fashion way. 

Which placed Kharkis in his current dilemma. Victory was beyond a doubt. This was the only system the Scara had populated, and they lacked enough warships to turn back the firepower of the Imperial fleet before them. No, if there was going to be a defeat here, it would most likely strategic. The Imperium was still new, flexing its power within a small fraction of the galaxy. Who knew what enemies lurk out there? Hence the need for the Legiones Astartes to bear the weight of these first critical decades. Therefore, whatever tactic ensured a victory with the fewest casualties would bring the greatest honour in this battle. 

Kharkis considered his options as the fleets steadily closed the distance. He had been given orders. Lord Anasem had been established as the overall commander for the campaign and had ordered the 16th Legion ships to divide and harass the enemy flanks. The Ayatollah chafed at this given role, as did half of the Monarchs. He could not deny the fact that the Fifth and First Legions possessed the heavier ships and numbers necessary to destroy the Scara fleet, but to be reduced to such an inglorious duty...

He glanced at the display, showing his ships maintaining their forward position ahead of the rest of the Imperial fleet. He could order his fleet to ignore Lord Anasem's orders. After all, he was not their Primarch, and it would not be the first time an officer had earned renown for taking the initiative. Already, he identified three Scara warships the 16th could focus their firepower upon and disrupt the enemy's formation. Then again, the casualties in return would be... significant. And one did not flout the Emperor's First Son so easily.

"Your orders, Ayatollah?"

Kharkis' sea-green eyes swiveled to his lieutenant, Captain Gharis. The man's light chocolate skin clashed with his bright blue eyes as he patiently waited for his commanders' vote. For not the first time, the Monarchs were too divided between whether to obey or to chart their own course, which meant Kharkis possessed the final vote which would break the stalemate.  For being a more symbolic role, Kharkis had been operating with a lot more influence than his position suggested. One day, we will have our own Primarch to command and give us glory. "I vote to execute the Tselo flanking manuever."

Gharis nodded before he shouted the order again, word quickly spreading threw the 8-13th. No doubt several Monarchs were frustrated with Kharkis' delay, but he was conflicted as the council was. Regardless, the vote was cast. On the monitors, the scout fleet began to splinter as they sought to attack their foe from all angles. 

~~~

"Hm," Irvin rumbled as his blue eyes peered at the tactical displays of the Imperial ships. "I wasn't sure they would follow orders."

Alexandros sat on his command throne, eyes closed as visions of the future danced in his mind's eye. "It was close," he murmured, his voice quiet enough to reach the ears of the Lord Commander. 

Irvin grimaced as he regarded the 16th Legion ships. "Democracy has no place in a Legion. War requires decisive action."

"And calm deliberation," Alexandros added. "Until the day they compromise the Great Crusade, they are welcome to their eccentricities."

Irvin grunted his disapproval but did not press the matter. "The fleet is in position."

"My brother has graciously offered us the first blow," Alexandros declared, his voice raising so it reached every ear on the bridge. "Let us show the First Legion our firepower. Fire the nova cannon!"

~~~

Mounted underneath the Elpis' bow, a complex machine boasting sacred Mars as its birthplace came to life. The ordnance, already loaded, waited for the trigger that would fulfill its purpose. Before it a series of gravimetric impellers first hummed and then shrieked as gravity struggled and then bent to its new masters. The gunnery officer watched this new struggle begin and end in a few seconds as nothing more than a readout on his cogitator. With the Primarch's order, the officer gently pressed the button.

In the second after as his finger followed the button back up, the nova shell was halfway through the main cannon, well past the sound barrier. By the time the officer's finger separated from the glowing electronic, the nova shell had achieved maximum velocity as it shot out of the cannon with a low roar powerful enough to rumble throughout every kilometer of the warship. The sheer force of the shot reduced the Elpis' speed by a quarter before its massive engines compensated.

Nearing the speed of light, the ordnance armed itself a mere second after its own firing. It took only another five seconds to cross the vast distance between the two fleets. The Scara ship in the path of the shell had no hope of evading the shot and had to trust in its metallic shell to endure. The nova shell, upon contact, made a mockery of that trust as the city-sized explosive detonated. In a brilliant flash of light visible to observers on the Imperial ships, the Scara capital ship was reduced to rubble, the largest of said piece no more than a rock the size of a man. 

Upon his command throne, Alexandros smiled. "One down, seventy-two to go."

As the fleets neared each other, Darshan reached out to touch the minds of the Scara xenos, searching. The Scaras were divided into three castes: workers, warriors, and leaders. The first mind Darshan reached was undoubtedly a worker. It focused on its current task, strengthening a section of the ship wall with four of its limbs, with a singular devotion. Darshan could manipulate the creature, but it would be a wasteful effort. It's one-track mind would allow only the most brutal methods of mind manipulation to have any impact on its actions. It simply wouldn't be worth the energy invested to gain control of a drone, let alone the million others that could replace a single crippled one.

Darshan left it alone and soon found a group of warriors. The Scara possessed no kinds of interception craft, which meant the warriors were there strictly to defend their ship. While the workers possessed almost no will or emotion on their own, the warriors were rife with tightly shackled aggression. The warriors may have had a rudimentary intelligence to allow some independence, but the sheer emotional hostility provided an unintentional defence against Darshan's powers. They might not be as hard to crack as the workers, but it would be tricky work. 

Which left the true weakpoint of the Scara exposed. Within the center of the warriors was one of the leader caste, granted the lowest of its caste. To Darshan's amusement, the creature looked more humanoid than the rest of its rest species as it balanced itself on two legs. The leader caste required more sapience to be able to control and direct their simpler kind's members. Yet, it was that degree of intelligence that could allow Darshan to infiltrate. 

Darshan pursued the leader's mind. It was the lowest tier of its caste, barely able to command more than a dozen individuals at a time. Such authority was of little use to the Primarch, but the information of the Scara's 'chain of command' was. He perused the information before his spirit followed it to the master of the warship. He found two beings responsible for the ship's control. The first was a higher tier of the leader caste. The humanoid laid in an artificial cocoon of flesh and slime. It was connected to the other being which commanded the ship. The creature was an odd thing. Its mind was as simple as a worker's, yet far more powerful. As Darshan studied the creature, he realized it was, in a sense, the core of the ship's intelligence system. The creature was connected throughout the ship by a network of biological nerves which transmitted information from the various parts of the ship back to the command node. 

Upon closer inspection, Darshan corrected himself. It was subtle, but the nerve network emitted clear use of psychic power in its construction. The 'pilot' too displayed an almost instinctual use of Warpcraft to meld with the nervous system, allowing it to send commands to the different areas of the ship. What an unwelcome development, Darshan thought to himself. The Rogue Traders had not scouted close enough to learn what other powers the Scara may possess that burden now falling upon the Legions to endure. 

Darshan sent a separate shard to warn Icarion as the main shard fulfilled its original mission. He reached into the leader's mind. With its minimal Warp talent, it had the smallest forewarning that something was happening. Untrained in any form of mental defense, the humanoid had no choice as Darshan slid inside and locked the Scara's consciousness away before Darshan sent new orders throughout the warship. 

~~~~

Without any redundancies, the ship could not resist its master's commands. Engines mirroring volcanoes fired and shoved the warship away from its compatriots. As it moved, it spun on its internal axis, until the fewest cannons aimed toward the nearby ships.

Kharkis watched the other enemy ships to see if this was an enemy tactic. None of the other ships moved from their current trajectory and commenced firing on the main fleets. He could not understand why it was happening, but he would not allow this advantage to slip away. "Have the Neptune's Fury and us concentrate fire on the ventral cannon, while the Dhow and the Tufan flank and strike their engines."

Captain Gharis slid up to him and whispered, "Is this VonSalim's doing?"

Kharkis grunted. Since the XVIth had yet to fight with the Lord of the Fifth until this day, none of them had a true measure of VonSalim's power. That had not stopped a tide of rumors that declared everything from Alexandros being nothing more than a talented deceiver to telepathically controlling every action and thought of the Halcyon Wardens. Kharkis despised such wasted talk and suspected VonSalim stoked these rumors as part of some on-going ploy. 

"A distraction," Kharkis stated. "The battle is our sole concern."

~~~

Crassus felt a small shudder run through his ship. His armored hands clenched as he visualized the alien torpedo striking against the void shields. With a visible jerk, Crassus focused on the holographic projection before him. Tanks of light raced across a battlefield, leading a flock of rhinos toward a line of emplacements. A modicum of Crassus' anger relented as a ghost of a smile crossed his face. He had always considered the Battle of Three Flags as the birthplace of the Prefects, the elite tank masters of the Fifth Legion. Finally, their legion had something it could boast over the First.

His blue eyes locked onto one tank as it broke through the defensive line. A faded swell of pride and exhilaration flowed through the Prefectus Alae. He had been a mere driver during the battle, but he had been the first to break through. His fist slammed on the table's edge. And now, he thought bitterly. By the Primarch's own command, Crassus had been forced to wait while not one, not two, but three entire campaigns had been completed without his service, cheated of the glory that was rightfully his, and denied his true nature. He had been embarrassed to accompany his Primarch onto the Thunderchild, given his absence from the field. 

It did not matter how kindly his Primarch had spoken to him, nor how often he had promised Crassus he would see battle again. Always, the meeting ended with the Primarch exhorting Crassus to seek the Sanctum and to choose an Arete. He threw a contemptuous glare at the Sanctum around him. 

One of the Primarch's edicts after Balov required every Fifth Legion warship to maintain a room or space for a Legionary to pursue his Arete. Crassus had obeyed the order to the barest minimum. The Glory of Jermani may have been a proper battleship, but its Sanctum was no larger than his own personal quarters, large enough to room a dozen individuals. It featured a holographic table and a shelving unit filled with dataslates about every campaign from the last archived Great Crusade battle to the first Unification Wars skirmish. 

The Glory rumbled again and Crassus seethed at the Sanctum. He saw nothing more than a prison. He desperately wished the aliens would board and finally give him a chance to draw his blade.

~~~

Muniza watched with satisfaction as the battle swung in Humanity's favor. The Scaran warships, for all of their size, were ponderous beasts. Their xeno weapons were marginally faster than their ships. Muniza did not understand the mechanics, but the Scarans fired chunks of molten rock as their sole weapon. The torpedoes were all too easily avoided and threatened only the largest of Imperial warships. He watched as destroyers danced through barrages with ease. While the ships of the line engaged the Scaran fleet, the lighter warships plunged through the center.

There was little reason for Muniza to remain on the bridge. Yet, as the First Legion's newest Sentinel, he was eager to establish his presence and validate his Lord's recommendation and his captains' trust in him. Therefore, he stood in the bridge's center, poised and hands clasped behind his back. With void victory assured, Muniza's mind move to the next battle. The Scarans possessed colonies throughout the system; however, Lord Anasem had predicted that it was imperative to strike at the Scaran homeworld to prevent the campaign from lasting a toil-filled decade. 

Muniza looked past the waning battle and pictured the planet. The next battlefield would be the asteroid belt around it. Long-range auspex scans had detected artificial heat signatures and Scaran xenoforms. These asteroids would have to be secured before planetary operations could begin.

"Thunderchild advancing out of formation."

Muniza broke from his thoughts and turned towards the screens. 

~~~

Over three-quarters of the Scaran fleet drifted through the void, weaponless. A remnant retained engine power and impotently tried to resist. Only a lone Scaran warship possessed the ability to launch volleys at the Imperial fleet. Said fleet counted not a single warship destroyed or disabled as over one hundred ships of Man bore down on the alien ships.

For this final foe, the Thunderchild, pride of the First Legion, sallied forward. Well over twenty kilometres in length, its powerful void shields deflected the Scaran fire with contemptous ease as the mighty ship gained speed. Too late did its prey realize the danger. The xeno warship may have been a mountain. The Thunderchild cared not. A last volley from the volkite sahi blinded any foolish to look upon the livid light. The bladed tsunami of a prow pierced stone and metal. Flames spewed around the Scarans' gaping wound. Thousands of xenos were crushed by their own ship's rubble. Though the Thunderchild slowed, it did not yield as its engines burned brighter. Until, at last, the Thunderchild cleaved the mountain in twain.

The void belonged to the Imperium.

Chapter 13: Battlefield of Thought

"And to think," Alexandros began with a smile, "they told me that you were famous for your contemplative restraint."

Icarion allowed a small smile to show on his features. "I was merely giving you an educational demonstration in void warfare."

Alexandros chuckled. "Consider me enlightened."

Icarion paused as he glanced in the direction of the fleet advance. The two Primarchs stood in the Thunderchild's strategium. They were alone save for each other. "The real struggle will begin soon. I spent my time in meditation, but I was not able to reveal everything before we translated in the system. What of your own efforts?"

"Not much," Alexandros confessed with a hint of frustration. "The void battle was clear to me. Past it, a fog obscures all. I remember a few images. A giant in shadow. Fire in caves. You know, the usual, unhelpful vague visions."

Icarion quirked an eyebrow. "Often is the case of our art. Do you struggle with the limitations?"

"These glances and crumbs of the future are usually worthless, until the event in question comes to pass. I typically avoid such uncertainties by concentrating my efforts on the near future. The more focused I keep my gaze, the more I learn, the more I can change. Past a certain point, a year perhaps, there are simply too many factors to weigh to guarantee much in the terms of accuracy." 

Icarion paused, hands folded above his stomach. "There is truth in what you say, but I would suggest that you needlessly limit yourself. Even if the information is of questionable veracity, it can provide an important clue to be acted upon at a later time."

"Maybe," Alexandros said with a shrug. "While I'd be willing to have a deeper philosophical conversation on future-sight, this doesn't prepare us for the next step of the campaign."

"You're right. And the news of this psychic power among the xenos could explain my own struggles. I'm under the impression that if we do not choose our battles with care, we risk being caught in a bloody mire. Since each of us alone couldn't discern much, together, perhaps we can break through the layer of ignorance."

Alexandros grinned. "I'd be more than happy to offer my services."

The two psykers knelt in the empty strategium. Icarion folded his legs beneath him as he rested his hands on his thighs. Alexandros crossed his legs before pressing his palms together. Both bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Darshan peered the physical world muted as another reality opened itself to him. The room of war hosted echoes of restained bloodlust and hidden uncertainty.

Dominating the room was Icarion's spirit. Had a mortal looked upon the Primarch with mortal eyes, blindness would have followed. The Lord of the First blazed with lightning. Upon closer inspection, Darshan saw that it wasn't a single bolt of lightning contained in the figure of a man, but thousands of winding bolts winding over Icarion's 'skin'. Darshan idly wondered how he appeared to Icarion. 

Although they were safe deep within the Thunderchild, Darshan detected the barrier surrounding and protecting Icarion. It was a subtle thing, given away by the 'smell' of heavy ozone, and quite dangerous to anyone who would violate the Stormborn's defenses. Darshan focused for a fraction of a second and crafted a small link-thought in the form of a small bird. The luminous creation flitted from Darshan's hands and stopped just outside Icarion's defenses. 

The barrier relaxed, allowing the link-thought to enter. It flew to the lightning and immersed itself. Icarion's soul-lightning took on a blue tint as Darshan could only now perceive his brother's mood on the spectral plane. As the link settled, a wave of orange amusement rolled over the lightning-being before their thoughts were joined. 

A bird, Alex?

With the equivalent of a mental shrug, Darshan answered, why not? It's not often I enjoy company on the astral plane.

What of your sons?

I have far less time than I'd like to spend with them. It's only now that the changes wrought on Balov have slowly settled. What time I have had, the focus has been on mastering the self.

A pause.

For your sons who have mastered that lesson, you may want to emphasize protection from immaterial threats. Deeps as we are in Thunderchild, your own defenses could be strengthened.

Darshan couldn't help but think of that last bit as perhaps a bit much. Then again, who knew the threats that Icarion had faced and learned hard lessons from? Very well, brother, I will take your words to heart. Now, onto the matter at hand?

Without waiting, Darshan turned his attention toward the future. Darshan stood on a mountain. Before him was a shallow ocean, dotted with islands. With each passing millisecond, islands grew larger or collapsed beneath the waves as potential events grew closer into certainty or faded away into oblivion. Despite time's onward march, Darshan never moved as the cliff edge consumed the ocean, always standing at the moment the future became the present. Simultaneously, he 'saw' how Icarion perceived the future. The heavens lay displayed to infinity with stars standing where Darshan saw islands. In his visions, the far future faded into the far vision. Here, the far future went on and on and on. The sheer amount of information disoriented the Primarch. He spent a full second anchoring himself before signaling, I'm ready.

Good. I spent much of the voyage here in meditation. I saw enough to know that if we target the colonies as our first priority, we risk defeat. Victory requires a decisive strike against the xenos homeworld, but I do not know where.

Even as the thought finished, Darshan saw several islands sink beneath the waves, battles that were removed from existence by choice alone. Darshan surveyed several island chains representing potential campaigns on the main planet. But details eluded Darshan as the islands emitted a thick fog. Darshan could only extract a few images from the worst islands. The shadow giant now loomed over him. A familiar officer wielding a sword in gleeful rage. Hundreds of mutilated mortals.

My own visions are similarly bare, Icarion echoed.

We need more information, Darshan declared. He left the ocean and islands behind as he turned his attention to the Scaran homeworld. Although distance meant less to his power, Darshan had not extended himself this much in some time. Nor was the planet inviting. A vast network of green light criss-crossed over the continents. It was the exact same structure as the xeno warships. Darshan focused on the largest continent and followed the strands of Warp energy to the brightest point.

Careful, Alex.

Darshan's consciousness emerged in a vast subterranean chamber. The sound of a thousand wings filled the area as warrior forms flew about. At first, it felt random. One warrior flew up five meters, grabbed onto the wall, dropped four meters, and then traveled across the chamber. Darshan waited as he scanned the hundreds of scurrying xenos. Gradually, Darshan could sense a pattern to all of the movement.

An entire web of surveillance coalesced before Darshan's 'sight'. The warriors forms' attention was ultimately anchored to a single point at the center of the chamber. The same point also happened to host the nexus point for the planetary Warp network. His spirit-shard approached the point. The vast roots of energy did not outshine the center of it all. Darshan saw an earthy star, hidden beneath layers of dirt and wax. Focusing his power, Darshan perceived the star for what it was: a creature, vast and powerful, used to uncompromising authority. 

The creature was also an opportunity. 

Darshan took a moment to prepare his defenses. As potent as his mind was, he understood that the task he would attempt was quite dangerous. And he would have to it bereft of his vaunted foresight. The moment came and finished. He connected his mind to the creature's.

An inhuman screech cascaded through his being.

In the same instant, Darshan could see everything.

Caught between the flood of information and a world's rage at his trespass, Darshan felt something slip out of his reach. Water, liquid imagination, surrounded his being and pressed at his unmoored protection. Visions, thoughts of the entirety of existence threatened to drown him, each more incoherent than the last.

Before the last thread could snap, a voice roared out for him. ALEX!

Alexandros blinked.

Exhaustion as such he had never felt before made even the act of scanning his surroundings difficult. He was back aboard the Thunderchild. Judging by his direct view of the ceiling, he seemed to be on his back. That was both unexpected and unwelcomed. Icarion knelt above him, open concern on his face. A second passed before Alexandros realized the telepathic link was still in force.

"You are safe", Icarion said, in both the verbal and the mental. The unusual combination made it sound like two voices overlapping with each other. What really surprised Alexandros was how different the tones were. The verbal words bore concern, familial affection, and a spark of kindness. All of these elements reassured and lifted him, emotionally. Yet, the telepathic tone was much more measured. Darshan could sense concern and relief but also frustration and even a hint of anxiety. Instantly, he recalled the nagging sensation from when Icarion addressed the war council. A dozen different reactions from the attendees, but all, in some way, shape, or form, favorable whenever Icarion had spoken. Alexandros had interacted with only one other being that possessed a similar power.

"You have father's voice," Alexandros and Darshan said.

No sooner had thought and word been uttered that confusion crossed Icarion's features. A moment passed as Darshan felt his soul probed by Icarion. Alexandros could not but find that curious. Icarion had never demonstrated any mastery of telepathy, yet the power washing over him was definitely exploratory in some sense. It was also not telepathy, which bewildered Alexandros. What art would parallel telepathy?

After a moment, the probe ended. "You are not tainted, but you are not quite whole?" Icarion said.

"Wholeness is a matter of perspective at times," Darshan and Alexandros answered as his strength returned to him. "But I am in no danger."

Icarion mused on the response. "I suppose we both have our share of secrets. Can you stand?"

"In a few more seconds, I will. However, I believe my energy could be better spent elsewhere." Darshan delved into his memory. The most recent memories began smooth, until Darshan reached the disaster. His memoryscape became a jagged mess of half-formed thoughts, glimpses of past and future, and memories that did not belong to him. Darshan regarded the area with distaste as he sifted through it to find his own thread.

He swept away the leftover fear of a dangerous pregnancy. A child's memory of a fight with a former friend had to be tossed to the side. The visions were the most stubborn of them all. One shattered mirror showed him slowly burning atop a golden artifice. Another replayed a scene of two men playing a game of Regicide over and over on a world Alexandros did not recognize. The last one was the most preposterous: a young woman who had inherited his features, standing next to a tech-priestess attached to a spider-like engine. Truly, the Warp was a wellspring of insanity.

Finally, Darshan located his own memories. Most of them were little more than a series of impressions, colored by an emotional upheaval of confusion, surprise, and dismay. He analyzed every second in aching detail despite his current emotions growing more volatile. Darshan paused as he grabbed a more familiar memory. He was a child, hand held by his adopted father as they walked to the town center.

Perdiccas, as was his custom, wore his best formal attire as he had done since being elected the town dēmarchoi. Diligent care had kept the suit whole, but not even to prevent the years and the relentless sun from fading away its sharp colors. Although Perdiccas was the highest municipal official, that did not change the fact that Makadon was a small village, barely noticed by the larger Hellasan nation. Perdiccas had been unable to afford to replace his suit given how measley his salary was.

"Papa," his younger self had begun. His red hair blazed among the crowd of burnettes and raven-hairs. A fact that caused not a few of the villagers to look at the young Primarch with frowns. "Why do you wear that old suit every day? Attalus is the judge and all he wears is his sleep-wear."

"His robe is not sleep-wear, Alex," Perdiccas reminded the boy in between greeting villagers.

"I'm not talking about the robe," Alex answered stubbornly. "I'm talking about what he wears underneath his robe. I saw it when he was stepping off his judge chair. And all he thinks about is going back to sleep at the end of the day."

"Good morning, Pausanias!" Dropping his voice to a gentle whisper that only Alexandros could hear. "We've talked about listening to people's secret voices."

"I didn't mean to," Alex mumbled before redirecting the conversation. "If he wears sleep clothes, why do you dress so nice?"

Darshan smiled at the memory as he listened to Perdiccas' words before resuming his search; his emotions now anchored on the happy memory.

"Because I want the people of Makadon to know that I will always do my best for them, including dressing as best as I can," Perdiccas instructed, waving at an older couple. "Whatever job you do, Alex, you do the best you can. To do any less is to cheat yourself."

The boy Alex became pensive as he mulled the words. Finally, he answered, "Yes, papa."

Perdiccas grinned as he picked up Alex and carried him on his shoulders to the child's delighted laughter. "That's my boy. You remember that lesson, and you'll do great things."

The memory came to an end as Darshan located what he sought. He left the memoryscape behind to return to reality. Icarion awaited him with a small smile. "Your father seemed a decent man."

"He is," Alexandros and Darshan lightly corrected. "I should pay him a visit when I return to Delos."

Icarion became quiet for a moment. "Treasure that gift, while you can."

Their connection was the sole reason Darshan could hear the regret and nostalgia in his voice. He wanted to ask, but the next battlefield awaited them. "Here." The memory Darshan materialized in both of their minds. In the moment before Darshan was crushed beneath the Scaran Gestalt consciousness and the Warp's sheer belligerence, he had indeed seen 'everything'. In their minds, the Primarchs could see the entirety of the Scaran presence on their homeworld. A snapshot of every worker, soldier, and leader was now theirs to analyze in addition to a complete picture of the Scaran communication network.

It was a strategist's dream of military intelligence.

"Let us begin."

Chapter 14: The Tempest Within

"Are you Mahtva?"

Mahtva looked up from his dissambled volkite with brown eyes. He had just started a maintenance routine. A Halcyon Warden stood above him in full armour sans helmet. No rank distinguished him as being Mahtva's superior. "Yes."

"You are being summoned by Hydinburg. Please follow me."

Mahtva glanced down at his volkite as a spark of frustration burned within him. He glanced over to one of his new squad mates. "Obelius?"

Obelius, a tall man even for an Astartes, looked up from his own volkite. He glanced at Mahtva, his volkite, and nodded.

"Thanks," Mahtva said before he followed the messenger. They left the rear Astartes quarters behind as Mahtva was led toward the bow. The Advance of Progress was a light cruiser only recently added to the 35th Expeditionary Fleet to replace a loss from the earleir Hena-jagathi campaign. Prepared explicitly to serve the Legiones Astartes, it featured flight decks for stormbird deployment and drop pod stations for orbital insertions.

Both had gone unused in the previous battle. In fact, Mahtva found his first battle rather anti-climatic. He remembered how his hearts beat with anticipation as his squad assumed their posts before the battle. Outside of the enginarium was a secondary armoury reserved solely for the Halcyon Wardens. Mahtva's squad along with three others took their places next to the armoury's exits. The direction of a boarding attempt decided which squad or squads would respond. Each squad assumed position, lined against the walls in combat order.

And waited.

Waited as they strained their ears for the order to deploy. Waited as each stood at combat ready for several hours straight. Waited until they were informed the battle was over and to stand down.

Mahtva could not help but feel disappointment. He had been ready to serve in the legion of his savior and had been denied. His one consolation is that the campaign wasn't over yet. 

Their journey ended not far from the officer quarters. The messenger knocked on the door before announcing, "Mahtva is here, sir."

"Enter."

The messenger opened the door before stepping to the side. Mahtva walked in as the door closed behind him. The room felt different. It was an early lesson Mahtva had learned. Give a psyker enough time in a singular location, and it would absorb the individual in its very nature. While theoretically any such individual could have the same effect on a space, psykers doubled the effect in intensity and in half the time. 

To Mahtva, he felt these effects as a temperature that touched his soul. In this place, his soul stood in the middle of a desert. At the center of the searing heat was Hydinburg. 

The older battle-psyker stared at the younger man for a moment with iron eyes. "So, you're the Primarch's chosen."

Mahtva shifted uncomfortably. Although more than eager to serve Alexandros in life and death, he did not care for this odd reputation among the Fifth Legion. Legionaries who were aware of his involvement on Balov had one of two reactions. Either they were proud to have a 'historic figure' join their ranks and believed the Primarch saw greatness in him, or they were resentful of the the boy who had both been elevated by the Lord of the Fifth and had witnessed their chastisement. The only exception was when Wardens were unaware of Mahtva's identity. It was a kind of ignorance Mahtva was more than happy to encourage.

He wanted to counter Hydinburg's words, but kept his mouth shut since Hydinburg was his superior officer. Hydinburg grunted at Mahtva's silence. "Still young enough to fight the fire. We'll see how long that lasts. What did they tell you about your service after training?"

"I would be assigned to a squad and serve as a standard warrior for a time."

"Technically accurate," Hydinburg admitted. "Our Primarch wants us to experience what being a regular marine is before we have to leave the ranks behind. Keeps us from becoming too separated. But we're not the Eleventh. We may have more psykers than half of the other Legions, so we can obey our Primarch's vision, but only to a degree. Your squad will not see as much combat now thanks to you. Can't put you in too much danger, so your squad now falls under my command."

Mahtva could feel his frustration building within him. He had been looking forward to serving as a regular legionary, even if he knew it would not be permanent. To know that his status would reduce the honor his squad could earn only added to his anger.

Not to mention, Hydinburg's room wasn't helping. 

"Sir, I don't need any hand-outs. I can fight as well as any other Warden."

Hydinburg snorted. "It's not about you. Oh sure, our Primarch wants every one of us to feel equal before his eyes, but the fact of the matter is you and I come with a rarer abilities that make us more valuable than the others. Also, make no mistake, you and your squad might not be thrown into the hardest fighting, but we will pull our own weight. Like you're going to do in the next fight."

Mahtva perked up at that. "We're getting deployed?"

"Since you're a 'standard legionary', you'll have to wait for the chain of command," Hydinburg said with a snark-filled smile. "Before you rush out of the door, let me finish the briefing. I will determine when you're done pretending to be normal. When that happens, you're going to be directly under me before I eventually decide you can stand on your own. For now, at least."

Mollified a bit, Mahtva mulled the information over. "Have you trained other psykers?"

"You'll be my ninth." Hydinburg snapped his fingers. A flame burst into existence at the top of his index finger. He stared as it danced. "It's strange. Before we found the Primarch, we had a steady stream of pyrokinetics. Now? We're becoming fewer. I don't understand how simply discovering our Primarch can have such an impact on our abilities." Hydinburg allowed the flame to die. 

Mahtva did not know what to say, if he should say anything. He didn't know what to make of Hydinburg nor the sudden thoughtful confusion. He also didn't know why Hydinburg kept using Alexandros' title instead of his name. "Do you have anything else for me, sir?"

Hydinburg's snide tone returned. "So eager to do your part. No. Dismissed." 

Mahtva eagerly left the room before he did say something he would regret. 

~~~

"Young Muniza!"

Said commander paused mid-stride to turn to the source of the voice. Approaching him at hearty pace was one of the Legion's more vibrant characters. It was not hard for Fujin Isu to stand out. In a legion often composed with a somber dignity, Isu's easy smile separated him from the others. The fact that he was one of the legion's most diplomatic officers had seen his career rise as he became Sentinel Taseter's right hand. 

Appropriately, Muniza deeply nodded to his superior. "Good day to you, Commander Isu." 

Isu offered a quick nod in return. His silver eyes seemed to twinkle with unending amusement. "How are you finding your new duties?"

"Well, my lord. I will not deny there is a period of adjustment, but my brotherhood will not fall short of our Primarch's standard."

"Of course, of course," Isu said with a nod. "Your brotherhood has chosen well. Not to mention you will have ample opportunity to find your footing in this campaign. Starting right now, no less!"

Muniza quirked an eyebrow. "My lord?"

"Lord Anasem wishes for your brotherhood to open the First Legion's assault against the xenos defenses among the asteroid field." Isu cheerfully handed over a dataslate. "We'll be watching you to impress our cousins among the Fifth, young Muniza. Good day!"

Muniza, hapless and spinning, could only watch as Isu marched away. After a moment, Muniza collected himself before he pored over the new dataslate. The asteroid field had indeed been designated as the next combat zone, but it had been deemed imperative that as few legionaries be wasted. In their stead, the Rakurai would deliver the hammer blow. This did not mean the legion would avoid battle entirely. Muniza's brotherhood would form an adamantium core to strengthen the Rakurai's assault. Likewise, the Halcyon Wardens would be offering a number of units, including a fair number of battle-psykers. Of greatest concern was time. Although the orders did not state why, the operation was to be completed as rapidly as possible. 

At the end of the report were a number of units recommended by Sentinel Taseter. Although they were 'recommended', Muniza treated each one as though it were an order. A third of them he knew already, which he counted as a boon to his favor. Or Taster had foreseen Muniza knowing them beforehand and had reacted accordingly. In a legion where over half of them had some level of precognition, it was difficult to sift what was honest chance and what was foreordained by the more skilled.

Regardless, Muniza launched into a spirited walk as he began to compile orders in his mind.

~~~

Ayatollah Kharkis leaned back in his seat as the shouting increased in intensity. He idly checked the chronometer. A mere twenty minutes was left to make a decision. Around him, fifteen Monarchs debated and yelled their positions for a third and fourth time. For not the first time, Kharkis cursed Hennasohn with coming up with this command style, Kharkis for allowing himself to be persuaded into taking the role of Ayatollah, and the Monarchs he now oversaw. He had heard other Ayatollahs did not have to struggle as much as he. No, apparently, other Sixteenth Legion fleets experienced relative harmony and did not take an hour to argue over a single tactic. 

Kharkis wished he had left his helmet on. He would have been free to roll his eyes at the proceedings. 

Monarch Resa's voice broke through the din, "We are just talking about a few asteroids. Even with a thirty minute head start, we can cleanse them without aid from either the First or the Fifth! If I'm wrong then allow me and my men the chance, and we will prove it to you!" Several Monarchs nodded or shouted their agreement. Resa, a bull of a bald-headed man, fed off the support and stood taller. Which meant little to his short height. 

Kharkis was tempted to let Resa try his plan. He'd be free of the man's gravelly voice if things went the right way. 

"And be guilty of insubordination?" Monarch Ardashir countered. No marine could ever be accused of truly being thin, but Ardashir's muscles were compacted on a wiry frame. Whatever he may have lost in horizontal height was more than compensated in vertical height as he towered above everyone else in the room. 

"They are not our Primarchs!" Resa roared, causing Kharkis to mentally twitch. "They have only been given authority over their own legions. Not ours!"

"You would say such a thing to the Emperor?" 

"It doesn't matter!" Resa insisted in a pathetic example of deflection. 

Monarch Masistius declared, all too happy to interrupt, "We should become our own fleet after this campaign." Kharkis could not stop himself from imagining a monkey whenever he was forced to look at Masistius. The big nose, the odd eyes could not be explained away by battlefield injuries. "The 8th- 2nd is already proving our legion's worth without relying on morsels offered by the Emperor's bas- sons."

"You would have us scavenging for scraps of glory in small raids?" Resa stated with disgust.

Ardashir sneered. "And be denied the best opportunity to prove our worth to the greatest leaders of the Great Crusade?"

It never ends, Kharkis groused to himself. He checked the chronometer again. Seventeen minutes remained. The worst part of this argument was how petty it was. Icarion had requested the XVIth to provide a few units to aid in the assault against the asteroid field. Kharkis had checked the numbers himself. The Lord of the First, with methods Kharkis did not fully trust, had managed to predict and recommend a suitable number of units to be committed to clearing the asteroid interiors without compromising the warships' combat capabilities in case of unexpected boardings.

Which meant this entire argument was about adopting a combat plan tailored to their resources or doing something different. For the sake of insulting the Emperor's greatest general.

"Kharkis!"

He mentally swore as the argument reached its logical conclusion. 

Ardashir was addressing him. As usual. "I call upon you to bring this debate to a close."

"No! I have more points to address!" Resa countered.

"You've been repeating the same point for the last ten times. Time is running short, we need to come to a decision."

Kharkis could not help but agree with those last two points. Even if time refused to move faster than he preferred. 

"Then I'll be on my way," Resa declared as he picked up his helmet from the holo-table they were around. Several of his followers quickly mirrored their leader's motion. "We will strike and destroy the xenos before the other legions can steal our glory!"

The results were instantaneous. Every Monarch not aligned with Resa shouted at him. The bull-headed Monarch twitched towards the exit, but relented beneath the verbal barrage. "Next time you threaten our code again," Masistius warned, "You will be thrown out. We will leave here in agreement and only in agreement. That is what we have sworn to honor."

Resa growled something under his breath, but returned to his seat at the table. Ardashir again turned to Kharkis. "The Monarchs are unable to come to a ruling. I invoke you as Ayatollah to finish the debate."

Kharkis glanced at the chronometer. Thirteen minutes. Enough time had passed, he supposed. "We will implement Lord Anasem's recommendations."

Ardashir gave a vigorous nod, while Resa fixed Kharkis with a furious stare. Kharkis did not care in the least. A legionary's purpose was to wage war. These debacles of wasted breath offered nothing to the legion. And the sooner Kharkis could escape them for a proper battle, all the better. 

~~~

Crassus slammed his fist against his chest. "Welcome aboard the Glory of Jermani, my lord."

Lord VonSalim nodded as he returned the salute, two warriors on his flanks. "Thank you, Brigadier Crassus. If you be so kind to lead me to the sanctum, I wish to inspect it."

The worst part of having a telepath as one's commander was that even if you could hide the rage from your physical appearance, there was no hiding it from supernatural perception. Crassus, accustomed to this state of affairs, did nothing to suppress his emotional state as fury gripped him. However, so long as they were in public, the 2nd Brigadier would not embarrass himself as he answered with a curt, "Aye, my lord. This way."

"How did the Second Brigade fare in the last engagement?" VonSalim inquired as their small party traveled through the ship. 

Crassus did not wanted to be reminded of the Scaran's utter ineptitude in boarding his ship. Still, he began to rattle off a casualty list (only minor ones due to incompetence), unit readiness (they were ready), and whatever else Crassus could use to pass the time. The Primarch asked a few clarifying questions here and there, while adding an occassional encouragement. To the casual viewer, ti would not have been obvious that there was any ill air hanging between the superior and his subordinate. 

In due time, they arrived before the sanctum. As small as it was, it was easy for the Primarch's voice to ring through the room to the few occupants. "I ask for a moment alone with Brigadier Crassus." 

The Wardens hastily departed, leaving VonSalim alone with Crassus. The Primarch wandered over to the library and inquired, "What information do you offer to your brothers?"

Crassus' frown materialized, freed from the watchful eyes of others. "Previous engagements. They can learn how we won victories through strength and daring."

VonSalim's gaze slid toward Crassus. "As opposed to now?"

A Primarch's gaze was never a casual thing. Especially when one's own gene-sire looked down upon you. But Crassus wasn't some weak mortal to cave. He steeled himself and met VonSalim's gaze with set jaw. "Name one other legion that hides its warriors from war... my lord."

"Tell me, Prefect, do you go to war without ensuring fuel is in your tank? Or your treads will hold regardless of terrain? Do you make sure you have ammunition before speeding toward the battlefield?" 

Crassus gritted his teeth. "We are more than pieces of hardware."

VonSalim quirked an eyebrow.

Crassus blinked. 

Darshan asked, "Are you?"

The winds of Afric blew around them, catching their respective capes in gentle embrace. Crassus' resolve shook as he stood, once again, at Three Flags. His blue eyes flashed to the East where he could see the shield towers protecting his past enemies from airstrikes. Crassus remembered too-late the other side of his Primarch. A mind-witch of terrifying strength and skill.

As he turned his head, Crassus caught something in the corner of his eye. Behind him was the Albyon Slayer, the first tank he had driven. The tank he would soon ride into the upcoming battle. Alarmed fury filled him as he noted its state. The pintle-mounted volkite caliver fizzled with damage as it dangled off the turret. One of the treads had come loose. Corrosion wrapped around the cannon's barrel. Never would Crassus allow his steed to fall into such deplorable condition.

"Well, Prefect?" Darshan asked as he stepped up to the vehicle of war. "Would you go to war in this?"

"Of course not!" Crassus spat back, indignant anger rocking his voice. Only to realize a moment later he had completely walked into a trap. 

Darshan knocked his knuckles against the tank. "So, if you wouldn't take this into war, why would you try to persuade me to allow you?"

"Can you not see me, my lord?" Crassus argued as he gestured to himself. "I am a keen edge, ready to do battle. I'm in the training rooms daily, waiting for the day I can rejoin my brothers on the front line. What more do you want of me?"

"To stop being blind," Darshan countered. "You think nothing but the body when it is your mind that is breaking. This tank," he emphasized with a wave of a hand, "is your mind. You have blindly trusted in the psycho-conditioning to prevent the damage that is now infecting you. This is what I see every time you ask to be deployed." 

Before he could stop himself, Crassus said with not a light touch of sarcasm, "You told me that spending time in the sanctum would improve this."

"It would if you actually used it instead of stewing in your own self-righterous misery," Darshan declared, his voice hard. "Worse, you inflict your petty attitude upon your brothers with this paltry refuge of a sanctum, abandoning your responsibilities as a leader, one of my four Brigadiers no less. You shame yourself with this puerility and you shame me as both your commanding officer and as a father."

Again, the worst part of facing a telepath is that they knew every thought, which meant Crassus had no chance at hiding the vindictive spark of satisfaction at frustrating VonSalim. 

This time, however, Crassus felt shame. It wriggled around the vindicitiveness as Crassus did his best to ignore both of them. Although he reined the unwanted emotions in, he did not offer a retort. It was then he realized something. "What is your purpose of this meeting, my lord?"

"Lord Anasem and I have agreed on a tactical plan to cripple the Scaran threat and prevent a campaign of attrition that will waste years in this system. However, it all hinges upon a decapitation strike against the Scaran queen. Even with Anasem and I personally involved with this attack, it is an extremely risky gamble that will see a horrific blood price. You will be the sole Brigadier to be deployed to my side."

The thrill of war shouted within Crassus' being, but his mind was already shifting with suspicion. "Given our conversation, I would not imagine you would reward me, my lord."

"Make no mistake, this is no reward," Darshan affirmed as he stared down at his officer. "You will unleash your rage at the enemy, and it will serve a purpose. However, in half of the futures we have foreseen, you are slain in this upcoming battle. In a third of the other futures, you are maimed, interred within a dreadnought, to be forever denied the exhiliration of commanding your beloved Praefectus and riding into war. Only in that final sliver of possibility do you emerge from the battle whole."

Crassus paused, caught off-guard by the revelation. "You would condemn me... father?"

Darshan ignored the shallow attempt at filial manipulation. "You have condemned yourself. If you perish in this battle, you will die in glory, unmarred by your disappointing disobedience to the chain of command and a hero eternal to the Fifth Legion. If you are placed within a dreadnought, I will retain a capable warrior who cannot poison his subordinates with his foolishness. If you remain standing when victory is ours, you will have had the battle you have so desperately craved, and another opportunity to redeem yourself."

Crassus blinked, and the two of them were back in the small sanctum. "Regardless of the result," Alexandros finished as he turned away, "The legion benefits. Prepare your brigade for war, Brigadier."

~~~

"Lord." The word filled the room as three individuals bowed to the new commander. Muniza offered a shallow bow in return, completing the martial ritual. The Rakurai Taichou, as the Lord Marshals were referred to within the First Legion, may not have the honor of being Astartes, but they had proven themselves a potent weapon in Lord Anasem's arsenal. Clad in carapace armor of crimson, the Rakurai were the Lightning Bearer's answer to the famed Solar Auxilia, a mortal force better equipped and trained than the line regiments of the Imperial Army. It was not without some irony Muniza noted the Taichou each commanded well over eight thousand soldiers, far greater than Muniza's personal Brotherhood. 

"Name, rank," Muniza ordered. 

The individual on the right, a thin man with a bald head and a severe face, nodded before he answered, "Taichou Kazatoyo of the 4th Rentai."

Standing in the center was large man covered in muscle only just contained by his armor. "Taichou Tarō of the 74th Rentai." 

The last warrior wore long, thin whiskers he could not resist stroking as he said, "Taichou Inoki of the 385th Rentai." 

Muniza replied to all of them, "I am Commander Muniza of the 36th Brotherhood. Know me, and I will know you. Each of us have been chosen to serve the Astral Prince. We bear the honour of striking the first blow against the gaijin homeworld. None will be allowed to threaten our lord's or his lord brother's drop onto the planet surface. For this alone, we will cleanse this asteroid field. I expect nothing less than complete victory. Know my intentions, know our lord's will. Dismissed."

The three mortal Taichous bowed deeply to Muniza who returned a shallower bow. 

Muniza watched as the three officers filed out of the room. He kept his face clear of emotion, but within he was racked with doubt. Some Lightning Bearers were comfortable with sending orders to the Rakurai without ever truly meeting with them. Indeed, with the orders mostly composed, there was little need for Muniza to do anything besides place his own mark upon it. Yet, it sat ill with him to not see the faces of those who would kill and die on his behalf. But what did they think of this brief meeting? Were they honoured to meet with him? Were they frustrated, annoyed at this waste of time? 

Muniza cursed how difficult it was to connect with mortals as an Astartes.

Especially with mortals who were deserving of praise as the Rakurai. He could imagine now as he walked out of the briefing room. The crimson warriors would now be filing onto their shark assault transports and arvus lighters. The latter were a necessity given how many soldieres would be deploying. But little danger would await the weaponless lighters since the Scaran anti-ship weaponry was worthless. No, the only real danger would arrive with the landings. 

As Muniza stepped onto his ship's main hanger, a cacophony of war-in-potential washed over him. The sound of screaming engines as war machines came alive. The shouts of officers as they directed their warriors. His eyes swept over the stormbirds which would ferry his Brotherhood to the enemy, ahead of the Rakurai. The Rakurai would fight and fight hard; however, the Lightning Bearers, as always, would strike the first blow. 

It is only proper, Muniza thought as he secured his helmet on him. This was the purpose which the Emperor had created the Legiones Astartes. And no mortal would take that away from them. 

Chapter 15: The Rocks in the Path

One of the most difficult first lessons Mahtva had to learn was how to stay still. As a boy, it had been easier, robbed of energy by hunger and deprivation. Well-fed and charged with the power awakened by the Primarch, it had become an impossibility. The sheer vitality had seen Mahtva blow through physical challenges. The first day of learning drill and ceremony proved to be a nightmare. He couldn't move in place, couldn't look around, or so much as twitch. Long days had passed as the legionary instructors punished Mahtva's ill-discipline with words, exercises, and more. At last, Mahtva internalized their lessons and no longer embarrassed himself in the ranks.

Not since that time had Mahtva struggled so hard to keep still. 

No more false hopes. War would not avoid Mahtva this time. He forced his eyes to stare straight ahead as ordered, but his peripheral vision sucked in every detail it could. 

Five storm eagles finished their pre-flight checks as legionaries began to load upon them. A stormbird was available, but the target hangers would be a tight fit for its considerable bulk, and they would be deploying to multiple engagement zones. Mahtva's century stationed aboard the Advance of Progress assembled in the ship's hanger. The briefing stated the Fifth Legion was to offer but a small force to augment their cousins' efforts, but Mahtva couldn't help but feel pride at a hundred Halcyon Wardens standing at attention. 

Centurion Koler spoke a few quiet words to the banner bearer. It may not have been the most practical move to take the Century's banner, but there was already a hint of competition between the two legions. And the Halcyon Wardens would not be found wanting. 

"T-minus 2 minutes!" Came the warning. 

Mahtva's heartbeat steadily rose with anticipation. 

"Gentlemen!" Koler began, his voice filtering through the vox amplifier built into his armor. "It's been over a decade since we've had the opportunity to fight alongside our cousins of the First. Since then, times have changed and so have we. What has not changed is our ability! We will show them that our capabilities have grown twofold since our Primarch now leads us. We will not disappoint him or our legacy as we exterminate the bugs with blades high and-!" 

"ZEAL HIGHER!" The Century answered, the newest recruits stumbling over the battle-cry. The words sounded strange on Mahtva's tongue. 

It was a war cry he could not imagine the Primarch using. 

"Lieutenants!" Koler shouted. "Load them up!" 

"Century, right face!"

Almost on instinct, Mahtva swiveled to the right. 

"File from the left, column left! March!"

Mahtva did not have to wait long before he was stepping off. Sergeant Mohandis lead the file, until they reached their storm eagle. He slid to the side as he urged the marines to hurry into place. Compared to the storm eagle Mahtva had arrived in, the storm eagle's transport bay was a small thing, less than half the size. Only two rows of ten seats lined against the walls. As soon as they reached their designated seat, they sat. Mahtva was at the halfway point within the bay, which meant it would take a few seconds longer for him to rush into combat.

Freed from military decorum, Mahtva fixed his attention at the ramp. He saw as Hydinburg and Mohandis board last. 

Restraints slid over Mahtva as the storm eagle's engines roared.

His hearts beat faster.

It was almost time. 

~~~

Kharkis watched the flying globe of magma with utter boredom. "If you fail to dodge that, I will jettison you into deep space," he told the pilot. 

The pilot replied, "Yes, my Ayatollah." 

The storm eagle rolled, until the enemy projectile was 'beneath' it. Then, the pilot pushed the accelerator. The storm eagle, with scant meters between them, zoomed by the Scaran missile. Kharkis snorted. "Looks like I won't jettison you today."

The pilot nodded with a ghost of a smile, while Kharkis left the cockpit behind. 

"On your feet!" 

Nineteen legionaries stood, while Kharkis descended the steps into the troop bay. "Once again, we stand before the bridge of life and death."

"Our bodies are the Emperor's to sacrifice," came the familiar refrain, their voices speaking as one.

Kharkis walked between the two files of his chosen warriors. "We see the other side of the Separator, fearing nothing our eyes see."

"To feel fear is to betray the Emperor's trust!"

Kharkis could feel the storm eagle swing about, no doubt bringing them on their final approach. He reached the end of the transport bay, pivoting to face his warriors. "Failure is the shame of sacrifice without cost, to cross the Separator alone without an honour guard of slain foes."

"We will cross with an honour guard of thousands before our final sacrifice," the Legionaries intoned, their voices solemn with ritual. 

Gravity boots powered on as the the ramp opened. Kharkis and his legionaries watched as their target asteroid came into view. The asteroid was 'above' them to their eyes. Kharkis walked out onto the edge of the ramp. The pilot proved his worth again as the ramp angled perfectly parallel to the target. Cutting off the power to his boots, Kharkis waited a moment before kicking off. While in range, his armour connected to the storm eagle's rear camera. As his body floated toward the asteroid, he watched his brothers follow his lead. 

To be Sixteenth was to understand the battlefield was not a field. It was a sphere. And the most cunning warriors understood the most effective strike came from the unexpected direction. 

No ship-bay or entrance awaited Kharkis and his strike force. Instead, they approached a bare patch of rock and metal that seemed to boast of no significance. None, except it was the thinnest point between the void and the stablized interior as revealed by auspex scans. With more than a few melta bombs among their wargear, Kharkis doubted any of the xenos would expect this strike. 

~~~

Muniza leapt from the ramp as the transport finished its turn. His naked katana ignited as he swung at the nearest warrior-form. As he foresaw, his blade bifucated the xeno, cutting without effort. Using both hands, he slew two more before he was forced to dodge the first counter. Any hope of overwhelming this lone officer vanished as the rest of his honor guard landed. A hundred xenos may have filled the hangar, but they were Legiones Astartes. In between sword strokes, Martian crimson blazed holes into the swarm. Muniza took a step forward against the press and counted two more needed for victory. 

He bowed, evading a swinging talon. The same manuever allowed Amago to fire with his volkite, killing the one who dared itself against Muniza and the one behind it. Muniza took another step forward. 

Above their heads, support fire thundered as the next transport arrived. One more step, Muniza thought as he skewered another alien. 

A few seconds after taking the final step, the Rakurai declared their entry on the battlefield with a salvo of white beams. The Scarans had been on the verge of pushing the Lightning Bearers, until a whole rank was cut down. Never taking his eyes off his foes, Muniza could imagine the picture behind him. Section after section of crimson-armoured troopers stepping off the transports. Pausing only long enough to fire before moving to let the next section off. There would be just enough room in the hanger for the Rakurai's first wave to disembark. 

Perfectly synchronizing with the Lightning Bearer's assault. 

With the First Legion serving as the blade, the two forces cut into the xenos. As inhuman as the Scarans were, they were not immune to fear, or whatever passed for self-preservation. They broke beneath Imperial might as the Imperials claimed the first half of the hangar. The surviving aliens scurried deeper into the asteroid through several tunnels, no doubt to lay traps for the warriors of Man. 

Muniza pointed his katana at the retreating forms, declaring, "Let none live!"

~~~

Mahtva breathed deeply as he concentrated on Hydinburg's impromptu lesson aboard the transport. "All fire requires two things: resources and ignition," the veteran battle-psyker had begun. "Whether it be ancient wood or fresh gas, fire must have a meal ready before it exists. This is as true for physical flame as it is for Warp flame. We provide the resource. Our emotions, our minds is the waiting meal."

Mahtva pictured his tension as an oil. A space marine may feel no fear, but was not immune to other dark emotions. Battle, after all, cared nothing for the differences between human and transhuman. He may have dedicated his life to Alexandros, to humanity, and to the Imperium. But self-preservation was the oldest and most powerful of drives. Tension, anxiety, dread, all of it swirled within him. It stuck to his spirit, trying to drown him in its disgusting, coarse embrace.

"The ignition," Hydinburg had taught. "Is our will. It must be a conscious decision, or you risk the flames self-combusting. Should this ever happen, you can expect a quick death of immolation at the hands of the Immaterium itself. Never let anger be the trigger. Never let the fire form without your explicit permission. You are the master, always!"

Mahtva pooled the dread-oil into his hand. He aimed his hand at the Scarans enduring his squad's volley. 

Burn.

Flame, bring in its orange, coalesced into existence, feeding on Mahtva's dread. In the second of its brief existence, Mahtav gave another command. 

Kill.

The mind-fire cupped in Mahtva's hand exploded. From a ball, it gushed toward the xenos, tripling, quadralping, quintupling in size. Unprepared, the Scarans bathed and shrilled in the fire. Their exoskeletons, which had provided some protection, betrayed them. It locked the heat it and cooked their soft innards at twice the speed. 

A ferocious grin laid hidden within Mahtva's helmet as he left the fire die. The results couldn't have been better as he took a deep breath. The Scaran's sudden flanking manuever coming from a shaft above the squad had been neutralized. 

Mahtva sidestepped as the corpses fell in the middle of the Wardens' push.

Hydinburg, no memory this time, observed Mahtva's handiwork and nodded. After a furious fight at the Scaran version of a landing bay, the Halcyon Wardens had followed their cousins from the First Legion into the myriad tunnels spanning the asteroid. The primary objective was to destroy the magma cannons. 

Unfortunately, close-range auspex readings revealed the quickest routes were vertical. And the Scarans did not need stairs. Several secondary routes offered workarounds but doubled the amount of time and combat the Imperial assaults faced. No matter, Mahtva thought to himself as he aimed his volkite pistol. We will overcome.

The pistol barked, Martian red burning into another wave of Scaran infantry charging at them. As before, there were too many of the xenos as they sought to bury the Emperor's warriors. The oversized beetles had learned their exoskeletons were of little protection against volkite fire. They compensated by shielding themselves with their own corpses.

A barrier Mahtva attempted to avoid as he aimed his pistol. Again, he ran through the firing fundamentals, supported by years of training. Steady breathing. Check. Use the sights. Check. Squeeze, not pull, the trigger. Check. The last step was the tricky one. Aim center mass, the command echoed in Mahtva's mind through the voices of a dozen instructors.

Center mass would do nothing here. The Scaran Mahtva aimed at carried two bodies in front of it in an organic wall of chitin and bone. He aimed low and fired, trying to blow off a leg. The shot went too low, sizzling a few centimeters in front of the bodies.

A different volkire fired, the ray slamming through a thin opening between frozen limbs. The xeno squealed as its abdomen ignited, joined by the one behind it. Mahtva's target faltered in its charge as it slipped onto the ground. It's limbs thrashed out in agony. Mahtva finished off with his own pistol.

Off to his right, Mahtva found Obelius at his side, volkite reaping through a new target. Mahtva nodded his thanks and received a small one in turn. 

Together, the Halcyon Wardens fought onward. 

~~~

Kharkis, curved sword aimed downward, ordered the two warriors next to him, "Now." Each had a firm grip on a pauldron. Anchored to the floor, the two hurled their leader down through the portal. Rock, dirt, and a strange organic residue flashed past the ayatollah. The asteroid's weak gravity field alone could no pull him down through this passageway, forcing him to request assistance. It was a worthwhile endeavor. 

Kharkis' sword pierced the next Scaran warrior attempting to crawl up through the vertical passageway. As weak as his inertia was, the sword's power field sliced through chitin and organ like parchment. Kharkis rode the corpse as they came to a soft landing on the level below. A swarm of the foul bugs surrounded Kharkis as he was the sole representative of the Imperial military in sight. 

With calm deliberation, Kharkis pulled out his blade, a scimitar, out of the dead foe before swinging through the warrior charging at him. 

The smell of burnt ichor filled the air as Kharkis bifucated the attacker. It was merely the first of a wave as the xenos sought to bury him with their corpsees. Pushing his transhuman abilities to their limit, Kharkis countered by charging the nearest xenos as he sprayed volkite beams into a different portion of the swarm. Appendages flew as Kharkis' blade thrummed. Two warrior-forms bulldozed into Kharkis' back, driving him into another at his front.

All four of them hit and then bounce off the wall in the weak gravity. Although the two Scarans scratched and clawed at his armour, he ignored them as he killed the one in front. He kicked the body, using the force to speed a spin that cut through both attackers.

Three more warriors replaced them.

Before they reached him, a Drowned Man landed on the center one, disrupting the attack. "There will be more drills," Kharkis declared even as he took advantage of the intervention. He eliminated the one on the left, while his companion countered the one on the right. 

"My ayatollah, I was supposed to go first," the Drowned Man reminded Kharkis. Kharkis recognized Yaz's voice as the two immediately put their backs together as the Scarans pressed the assault. "How are we to form proper honor guards if you insist on killing the foes before we reached them?" He asked, amusement and exertion mixed into his tone. 

Kharkis burned through two more Scarans before one slammed a claw against his chest, narrowly missing a weak spot between adamantium plates. He grunted, "Be a better warrior, and you won't be left behind." 

Another martian beam, this one from above, chipped at the Scarans' attacks. To their credit, or mindlessness, the xenos did not relent as the Drowned grew in number. For that, Kharkis was thankful. It would waste much less time than having to hunt them down throughout the asteroid. 

Rumbling waved through the corridor. Kharkis kept one eye toward the source as he slew more of the insectoids. From the end, a Scaran beast, five times the size of its smaller kin, erupted onto the battlefield. It buzzed before unleashing a piercing shriek. 

It filled half of the corridor with its bulk. Stretching its eight limbs, it gripped both walls. It charged forward, propelling itself through the low-g environment at full speed. 

"Priority target!" Kharkis commanded as he fired against the giant. His legionaries attempted to obey, but the xenos pressed on them. Only a few red beams burned against the Scaran war-beast. None of them hit a critical point. Only infuriated the alien further. 

The Scaran war-beast cared nothing for its fellow aliens as it bowled into the melee. In the weak gravity, both marine and xeno went flying, bouncing around the corridor. Kharkis was thrown against the asteroid's wall and pinned there by one of the beast's legs. Another alien landed and impaled itself on Kharkis' scimitar. This boon turned out to be poisoned as he couldn't shift the bulk off his sword to cut off the limb pinning him in place.

Kharkis wished he had brought a squad of heavy support with him, but he had deployed those to other asteroids. His honour guard would simply have to make do with what they had. As he continued his private struggle to free himself, his warriors fought back.

Malka was the unluckiest. The war-beast snatched him as he flew away. Its mouth may have been small compared to the rest of its bulk, but it bit off the marine's head in an instant.

Although taking their first casualty stung, the fate rapidly proved her capricious ways. The war-beast's charge had flung all of the combatants everywhere. Yet it was the Drowned who recovered first. Freed from the press of melee, Kharkis' bond-warriors concentrated fire against the rampaging xeno. For all of its bulk, its armored hide was no better at deflecting the energy beams as its lesser kin. It absorbed the first volley in shrieking pain; its bulk keeping it alive long enough to retaliate. 

It stabbed with its forelimbs. With pure luck did it find the weak point between plates and stabbed another of Kharkis' warriors into the asteroid. A beam, Kharkis didn't see who made the shot, sizzled through the limb pinning the Ayatollah. He shoved the detached limb off of him before freeing his scimitar from the corpse. The rest of the Scarans recovered and surged again to the legionaries. Kharkis ignored them as he focused all of his attention on the war-beast. So long as it prevented them from reforming into a cohesive unit, they were doomed to be dragged down and slaughtered as individuals. 

He crouched before shooting himself off the rocky wall. The war-beast did not react before the scimitar jutted into its thorax. It screeched and twisted and turned. Kharkis held on, but he knew he could not remove his sword without dislodging himself. Instead, he pressed his volkite pistol against its exoskeleton and squeezed the trigger. He did it again and again as the beam dug deeper and deeper into its body. With each blast, its shrieks grew sharper. It slammed itself against the rock walls. Kharkis' armour protected himself from the crushing pressure as he continued his barrage.

Finally, among the smell of burnt organs, Kharkis hit something vital.

A death shriek erupted out of the beast's mandibles as its struggles came to an end. Kharkis pushed off before the new corpse drifted to the asteroid floor. He did not revel in his victory as his attention switched to his warriors. His honour guard fought in formation as they covered each other in the melee. Two warriors, as Kharkis had foreseen, had been overwhelmed before the unit could reform. They laid in pieces, bodies torn by the aliens in what had to have been slow deaths. However, the end of the Scaran horde was in sight, their numbers finally exhausting against Imperial might.

Kharkis did not dally as he rushed forward to fight alongside his brothers.

~~~

"Kneel!" Muniza ordered, his in-built vox extending his voice throughout the new cavernous room. As one, the Lightning Bearer's line knelt. For the briefest of moments, they were exposed before the Scaran defenders. The xenos surged forward.

As if the First Legion would ever allow such a gross opening.

"Fire!" Roared the captain. The Rakurai poured another brutal fusillade into the aliens. It hammered them back with a second and then a third round. Only then did the Rakurai fire slacken.

"Charge!" Muniza commanded the second the last las-beam crossed above the heads of the Lightning Bearers.

Sizzling power katanas sliced through alien flesh as they repeated a dance started in the landing bay. The Lightning Bearers would push their enemy back in the melee. The moment Scaran numbers threatened to overwhelm them, the Lightning Bearers made one last opening in the enemy mob before the Rakurai fired volleys to erase whatever progress the Scarans were gaining. Once completed, the Lightning Bearers took up their blades once again to repeat the cycle for every contested metre. The Rakurai may not have been Astartes, but the two forces worked with a grace worthy of Lord Anasem himself.

The dance, however, would soon be coming to an end. Muniza saw this as his helm's optic sensors saw their objective: the asteroid's volcano cannons. Counting the number of remaning xenos, Muniza estimated the battle for this particular asteroid would be over in as little as four minutes.

He also saw twin disasters he had to prevent to maintain their quick victory. "Priority target," he declared as he picked out a Scaran worker among the final defenders. The worker was of a unique sub-type. Far hardier than the ones killed previously, this and its kind had much thicker armour. For these were the ones who were responsible for the Scaran's propulsion and volcanic weaponry. Before Muniza's eyes, a ring of them manipulated a series of miniature calderas. While other workers provided raw rock and earth, the unique types formed them into magma with a combination of natural and Warp heating techniques.

It was almost obscene the level of control the Scarans managed their Warp energy for all of their lack of true intelligence.

This particular worker, however, represented a unique danger. Through no intention of its own, it has the possibility of stopping the Imperial advance. “Execute,” Muniza commanded. “My warriors, let not pass.”

The order given, the Imperials changed the pace. The Rakurai rear ranks no longer supported the advance as they poured fire onto the lone target. The reduced firepower began to tell as the Scarans pressed against the Thin Lightning Bearer line. Muniza and his warriors fought furiously. To his right, a marine, Koto, had traded his pistol for his short blade, wielding two swords in the melee. Muniza would have to offer him praise later and wished he had used a sliver of his divination for his self.

The thought had not finished when one Scaran slipped past Muniza. It combusted as the Rakurai first rank blazed at it, along with any other Scarans who bypassed the Lightning Bearers.

Seconds had passed, and the target was not dead. Lasfire struggled to find a hole among the worker's thick plates. Aim suffered due to the distance and the worker continous movement. Half of the shots landed, but the creature had been created to withstand great heat, giving it an impromptu resistance against their weapons.

The window before disaster shrunk in Muniza's eye. He resisted the urge to shout at the Rakurai. Even in the height of battle, he would not besmirch his dignity with such a display. He had given his order; he would leave his trust in the Rakurai to see it through.

One of the Rakurai screamed as the first Scaran slid through both blade and lasrifle. Human blood now occupied the chamber, Muniza thought to himself as he gutted a Scaran warrior form.

The Rakurai, at last, threw back failure. One of the dozens of las beams burned past the creature’s natural armor. Muniza could imagine it shriek as many of its kind did when wounded; the noise lost in the furious battle. It fell off the caldera’s edge into the bubbling, superheated liquid.

The first disaster would not come to be. The room would not be flooded with magma, destroying the Imperial assault.

Only now did Muniza turn his attention to the second would-be disaster. This one, however, remained in Muniza’s hands to deal with. “Prepare to withdraw ten paces,” he ordered over the vox. The Scarans retained their single-minded press, but their numbers slackened. It was a good thing as well. The number of bodies piled at the Lightning Bearers’ feet, making it more and more difficult to maneuver in close quarters.

“Execute.”

Moving as one, Rakurai and Lightning Bearer marched to the rear as they continued to fight off the shrinking Scaran force. Scarcely had they assumed their new position did an ear-piercing shriek pierce through the din of combat. A monstrous Scaran dropped from the ceiling.

Right where the Imperials had been a moment earlier.

“Bearers, concentrate your efforts on the new target. Rakurai, hold position and assist.” With sudden force, the Lightning Bearers sprang forward. The now-paltry Scaran assault shredded as the Bearers pushed through it.

Muniza sidestepped a large claw before he cut into the beast’s thorax. The creature’s size did not intimidate him in the least. The future held victory in outstretched hands towards him. He would accept it in a few more second

Chapter 16: Behemoths of War

One by one, the orbiting titans of rock forming the Scaran defense network fell into the hands of humanity. Over a hundred magma cannons bled fire and fell cold. Through the freezing void came new titans of metal. Fearing no reprisal, the combined fleets of the First and Fifth Legion sailed through the asteroid belt.

Unhurried, the great warships of Man assumed thrones above the Scaran homeworld. Weapons steadily turned towards the surface, both cannon and something more dangerous.

Alexandros watched information scroll past his eyes. Its speed, as it descended across the screens, would have been eye-watering to an individual without his gifts. A single line of information would appear at the top of the scroll and would be gone in the span of a second. Alexandros did not struggle to read or comprehend the vast flow of data. In fact, it was a faster way for him to absorb the situation than to hear it relayed to him.

He leaned back against the walls of his drop pod. Thus far, all had gone as predicted by himself and Icarion. Soon, they would grab the opportunity to cripple the Scaran species in a single stroke. Or die in the attempt. For the first time in quite some time, the Lord of the Fifth honestly did not know what the future would bring to him. The power of the Scarans had defied both him and his brother's attempts to know all.

He relished in this rare moment of ignorance.

Only two others occupied the drop pod with him. Desphande, captain of his bodyguard, was one. Jorg was the other. The maul-wielding former Storm Rider was not a regular member of Alexandros' personal guard. However, both he and Deshpande had insisted on his presence for the upcoming battle. The bald-headed warrior still laid claim to being the legion's most potent champion.

Alexandros' own views about having a bodyguard were slowly shifting. What he had once deemed as an overreaction was changing to something more positive. Seeing that Icarion possessed his own bodyguard had eased his views, despite their blindness. And facing the unknown had been an effective reminder Alexandros, for all of his knowledge and foresight, was not truly immortal.

How will I meet that end? He wondered. Knowing his purpose, he suspected it would be in war. Age would not slay him, poison could not touch him, and disease held no sway. That left only violence to await him. Did he regret that? The loss of a peaceful end, surrounded by his family? He covertly glanced at his companions beneath his helm. To his surprise, he did feel an iota of regret at the loss.

"One minute until we're in position, my lord."

The time has come, he thought to himself. The reports flying past his eyes declared his sons were waiting for the command that would unleash them upon the alien. Brother? Darshan reached out.

A moment later, a reply came. Yes, Alex?

Alexandros smiled to himself. One benefit of their shared divinations was an increased connection between the two of them. It was a slight thing, but it was there. Distance, already a weak concept in regards to telepathy, grew weaker still. How much more could this bond grow? Is the First ready?

Of course, Alex, Icarion assured him. Ready for the unknown?

As ready as we can be.

Then let it be done.

"Commence bombardment," ordered both Primarchs, thought and word melded into one.

Much had been learned in their divination session. For one, the Scarans lived in mounds that mirrored their ships. Or, more accurately, their warships mirrored their homes. No doubt any terrestrial invasion would have to endure merciless close quarters combat through a maze of tunnels. Each mound had been reinforced with metal supports. Between the metal and the compact ground, each mound was worthy of an Imperial bunker. Such a target would be resistant to an orbital strike.

Resistant but not immune.

The second they had learned was the location of their objective. It resided a kilometre beneath the surface. Above and around the chamber in which it lingered would be thousands of Scaran warriors in defense. Combined with the first bit of information, the two Primarchs had prepared accordingly.

Lances of light and heat slammed into the surface of the alien homeworld. Countless xenos were incinerated on the surface. The mound at the center of the bombardment crumbled beneath the onslaught. Earth melted and seared away as the Imperium stripped layer after layer. The swarm awaiting within suffered. Seconds passed after the first wave of firepower before the second one began. The Scarans beneath the surface found their subterranean caves to be less than protective.

The upper caves burned away under the barrage. The lower caves did not escape harm as collapses ripped throughout the mound. Structural points vanished in a heartbeat, breaking entire networks into small and divided pieces.

Darshan saw all of this in his mind and in the digital displays of cannon fire. Thousands of the aliens were now dead. Millions would soon come to defend the most precious resource of their race. For all intents and purposes, the bombardment served as the gunshot to a race.

"Deploy," the brothers commanded.

Desphande and Jorg tensed for a brief second. Astartes felt no fear. Yet, there was a particularly humiliating disgrace to a misfiring drop pod. Denied a chance to see the enemy and dying within one's own ship was a cruel fate for warriors such as they. No matter how rare of an occurrence it might be.

The drop pod shuddered as it was shot out of the Elpis. His companions relaxed. Only two more horizons threatened them. Alexandros did not share their worries, though he did not fault them for it. Future-sight could be quite the handy tool for seeing what dangers would threaten oneself.

Their drop pod was joined by a hundred others across the gathered fleet. All in all, it was a small landing, considering the size of the legions. It was a necessity. Precision was their weapon, not brute numbers. The Primarchs had assembled only the bare minimum necessary for their task to reduce losses in the inevitable withdrawal. To support the landing force, enough gunships and bombers to fill the sky would follow to provide the most intense air support these aliens would ever see.

Pity this battle will not be fought on the surface.

The silence of the void gave way to screams as admantium ripped into atmosphere. The second horizon arrived. The slightest miscalculation would send a drop pod plummeting off course. Guidance thrusters stood ready to fight against this fate, yet it was no sure thing. It was unlikely a drop pod would flip mid-transit to dash its cargo in an explosive crash, but a simple miss of targets would be just as deadly in this case. Too far from the deployment zone would doom any of his sons to a death by attrition as they would be overwhelmed by an endless tide of xeno chitin.

It was not without reason Irvin did not approve of his Primarch riding a drop pod to war.

Darshan studied the fates of all of the drop pods in this wave. His abilities may be more limited in this situation, but he would not allow fate to have her way without his say. He spread his efforts in a spiral around him. The launch had been carefully prepared and diligently executed. None would suffer far from his brothers on this day.

The final horizon arrived. Dozens and dozens of maneuvering thrusters spat fire as the wave of drop pods fell from the skies. Only now did Alexandros stir in his seat. He pushed himself off from the drop pod’s side as he unholstered his weapons. His sons mirrored his actions, using their grav-boots to steady themselves in the heavy turbulence.

The adamantium seeds slowed in the air as the ground shot towards to greet them. “Prepare to deploy,” Alexandros commanded before orienting himself toward the planet’s south pole. The turbulence died away as the thrusters steadied their charges for the last meters of descent.

With a crunch, the drop pod landed. The doors exploded outward. Alexandros raced out. Jorg and Desh were a second behind him. All around him, Alexandros heard similar controlled explosions as the rest of the strike force disgorged from their pods. Alexandros heard mechanical whirring as dreadnoughts thundered onto the surface. Alexandros heard a growing cascade of boots striking the earth as the strike force rushed toward their objectives.

His eyes, though. His emerald eyes locked on the tear in the ground that would guide him and the strike force to victory. “Forward!” He roared as he charged beneath the surface. Into the hives of the Scaran heart.

--

Crassus took four paces into the entrance of the Scaran hive. He stopped and whirled toward the entrance. His eyes scanned over his tactical overview as he listened for his lieutenants to declare their readiness.

He would not be a part of the glorious assault against today’s all-important objective. No, his Primarch had assigned him to the rear guard. As the rear guard commander, it was his duty to ensure the strike force was not caught between two waves of xenos mobs from the front and the back. It would fall upon Crassus’ defenders to stop any Scaran reinforcements from entering the hive’s westward entrances. A mirroring Lightning Bearer commander would do the same for the eastward approaches.

Crassus wondered what fool had earned Icarion’s displeasure to be given such an ignoble assignment. In truth, he should know who his companion officer was, but he had not cared enough to review that information in the debriefing.
For Crassus only had one goal today: spiteful survival.

He would deny the visions of his Primarch. He would not fall today. He would live, healthy and whole, to return to his beloved steed and the Praefectus.

He slid his zweihander from its sheath. Lightning sparked into life as he activated its power. Once, its weight would have felt unusual in his hands. The large sword was not suited for a tank commander. It was Crassus’ habit to take a much smaller weapon with him to battle. In the tight confines of his tank, size worked inversely in effectiveness against boarders.

Hours spent in the practice arena had erased its unfamiliar heft. A bolt pistol added to Crassus' arsenal, but he did not intend to use it unless deprived of his blade. Given his weapon's weight, it would be dangerous to switch from his sword to pistol without adequate time to switch to and fro.

Behind him, large footsteps rumbled through the ground as Hathus moved his ponderous dreadnought chasis into position. Alexandros had ordered quite a few of the legion's dreadnoughts into this mission. The intent was their hardier armor would better hold against the xeno swarms. Volkite energy banks charged as Hathus prepared for the inevitable onslaught.

Crassus' personal bodyguards fell into position behind Hathus. No doubt several of them wished their charge was among their number. Crassus, well aware of his Primarch's prediction, would oblige them in due time. However, as their leader, it was imperative Crassus landed the first blow against the enemy. It was his duty and honor to do so.

The last of his subordinates reported they had dug in. Outside the new cave, the world shook as the bombardment held off the tide of enemy reinforcements. Crassus listened to the deafening orchestra, his helmet's auto-senses protecting his ears. Soon, the orchestra would slacken as various airships would have to return for resupply. It would be then that Crassus and his warriors would have their chance to spill blood.

~~~

Alexandros kicked and then crushed a Scaran skull beneath his heel. Behind him, Deshpande, Jorg, and the other Wardens fought to maintain their Primarch's speed. The Scaran resistance was uncoordinated; the aliens still reeling from the orbital bombardment. But a glance at the skeins of fate showed this was a very temporary situation. Were it viable, Alexandros would have left the entire strike force behind. He and Icarion could move much faster alone.

Not fast enough to avoid a few thousand claws, though.

He counted off in his mind as one eye locked on the tactical readings. A single kilometre stood between him and the central chamber, half of the distance vertical. He augmented the physical sensors with his own telepathic abilities. He winced at the empyric feedback shooting back at him. The entire area was dredged in Warp energy, a side effect of the Scaran's peculiar ways. Only the thinnest of slivers barred the Immaterium from flooding reality. It was for this reason he could not use any of his gifted sons for this mission. He himself had to limit his own capabilities to the softest of efforts. If Alexandros pushed too hard, one of two disasters could occur. First, the Scaran queen could retaliate again with an entire planet's worth of energy at her disposal. Much closer to her physical form, the results would be much more threatening than what had occurred on Thunderchild.

Second, the Warp itself might break into the physical realm. While using Alexandros as the channel. Not only would the area be engulfed into infinite insanity, the odds of Alexandros surviving the event were quite slim. His sons, his brother, and his nephews may very well die for his own foolishness. That was unacceptable to him. Thus, this upcoming battle would have to be fought without using both his and Icarion's most potent weapon.

And Alexandros still did not know if survival lay on the other side. He wondered if Crassus had ever realized that in half of the realities he had died was because the Primarchs had failed in their mission. A rare sense of anticipation and anxiety filled Alexandros as he and his sons continued their descent.

He and his warriors reached a crossway, and he brought them to a reluctant halt. Only a sliver of possibility had been made available to him at this junction, but he could not afford to press on without investigating the possibility. He did not touch the Immaterium. If the sliver was accurate, he would have his answer in a few moments. Alexandros pointed to his left. "Form up, prepare for large contact."

His sons dispersed into a prearranged formation. One not of Alexandros' creation. Before any of the Primarchs had been found, the Legiones Astartes, probably with the Emperor's guidance, had crafted a series of tactical responses. Alexandros was curious what danger the Emperor had foreseen that would require a tactical deployment specifically against giant creatures.

The Wardens scattered, taking positions against the walls. Unlike formations against smaller, more numerous foes, the general philosophy against larger foes was to allow them space to flow in-between the formation. Simply standing and holding against such bulk would have pointless consequences. Best to spread out, invite the beast within the prearranged firing lanes, and blast it from all sides, until a weakness could be identified.

The said beast crashed through one of the tunnels. It was the centipede-beetle giant hybrid reported previously. Volkite fire slammed into its flanks. It howled, but Alexandros ensured its attention was on him.

He had not taken cover like his sons. Instead, he stood in the center of the crossway, blatant and defiant. As he wished, the beast focused on him. A bolt of plasma helped. The liquid fire melted a limb off and identified Alexandros as its greatest threat.

It released an insectoid roar and charged at him.

Alexandros held his ground as he hefted Aegis. The beast threw fifteen metric tons against the Lord of the Fifth. Alexandros grunted as he was forced back a centimeter. Then two. No more. As limited as the beast was, Darshan sensed a note of confusion in its mind. Alexandros grinned before he shoved the beast back a centimeter. Appendages slammed against the Primarch but his immaculate armor held. Another centimeter slid against the Scaran war-beast. "There," Alexandros said before Xiphos sliced from its sheath. The beast screamed as the powered blade cut deeply into its head.

The beast reeled back before a fatal blow was inflicted. It mattered not. Great gouges in its side burned of charred exoskeleton as the Wardens made excellent use of their sire's distraction. Alexandros lunged forward faster than the war-beast could retreat. More alien blood sizzled as Alexandros struck deep. It released a dying wail as its wounds tipped it over towards Death's waiting scythe.

~~~

"Brigadier, we're engaged."

"Carry out your orders!" Crassus growled into the vox. It was not that he was angry with his subordinate. It was the distraction the few hundred Scarans were providing. They came charging into the tunnel in broken groups of a dozen or two. This rendered them not much threat to the various defensive points Crassus commanded, but he was greatly concerned with ammunition. As such, all units, unless threatened by overwhelming force, were under orders to engage in melee to save supplies where possible.

With a single swing, Crassus bifurcated one of the ugly aliens. Beside him, Geist shook the cave entrance as the dreadnought crushed two of the aliens with a bulky arm. Crassus was thankful for the large, mechanical warrior. Between the two of them, they had successfully held the entrance, preventing any from slipping past them. As much as Crassus wanted to claim credit due to his impressive swordwork, Geist's sheer size was the true reason none of the Scarans had slipped past them.

That did not mean he was leading in kills, however.

Crassus was already using his momentum to shift into another stance was another two aliens came at him.

Crassus swept his his sword in a wide arc, catching both of them. Xeno bile and blood sizzled as the power field sliced and burned flesh. One died immediately, while the other shook with pain. Not enough pain to stop it from lunging at Crassus. The former Storm Rider grunted as it lobbed against his armor. Too close for his blade, Crassus slammed his head into its. The alien warbled something as the force sent a step back. That was all the room needed for Crassus to curve his blade upward. It carved deeply into the Scaran's exoskeleton. The thing fell dead, and Crassus hurried to stop another four.

~~~

Rubble rumbled before exploding into the primary hive chamber. Alexandros and his sons charged through the new gap. On the opposite side of the chamber, Icarion led his own Lightning Bearers in a similar assault.

Their target laid between the two.

The shadow from Alexandros' vision revealed itself in its full hideous. The queen was thrice the size of the war-beast he had slain. It lay in a bloated pile of mass and chitin, eight massive legs stretched to its sides. Its abdomen displayed the majority of its bulk, occupied as it was in laying more eggs. The most dangerous physical aspect was undoubtedly the large jaws extending from its mouth. As Alexandros watched, those jaws crushed an elephantine creature as it fed.

Icarion and Alexandros glanced at the most pressing threat. The hundreds and hundreds of flying Scarans who formed the final defense of their queen. "Engage covering fire!" The two brothers ordered as the pair charged for the objective.

Crimson beams of Mars carved through the insectoid flock as Wardens and Bearers obeyed. In answer, the Scaran fliers descended upon humanity's finest warriors. Alexandros did not fear them. He did not fear any physical threat in this chamber.

It was the enormous psychic presence which threatened victory.

The giant shadow long threatening Alexandros' visions manifested itself in the form of the Scaran queen. It was more hideous than the glimpses he had gleaned from his powers. It was twice as bulky as the Scaran war-beasts, not with muscle but fat. It was curled inward, leaving only enough room for its head and its egg-laying sac. Fat rippled as it sluggishly moved its bulk. Six black eyes regarded the intruders with scorn and rage.

Physically, it could not be an easier target.

Darshan and Icarion gritted their teeth as they braced themselves.

The Scaran queen screeched. The noise alone was piercing. The wave of Warp-heat following in its wake slammed against the Emperor's sons.

Both of them weathered the assault, but not equally. Icarion paused as his defenses blocked and redirected the energy around his soul. Three seconds later, he advanced without ill effect. Alexandros, on the other hand, stumbled as he prevented his life from being burned away. He could feel heat cocooning him as he kept the worst of it away, but it took ten solid seconds before he could safely move.

I really do need to work on my ethereal endurance, he thought sourly to himself.

By the time he moved, Icarion struck the first blow. His spear cut deep into the queen's flank, spraying ichor onto the ground.

~~~

Crassus couldn't stop the groan spilling from his throat. With a silent fury, he stopped the alien from retracting its talon as he slammed the pommel of his sword into its eyes. The blow was weak for a transhuman, but he was rewarded by its squeals of pain as soft tissue collapsed. Satisfied, he pushed the Scaran away from him. Its talon slipped out of the gap in his armor where blood now spitted. It would not be lethal in of itself, but Crassus recognized he was reaching his limit.

Swallowing his rage, he stepped back allowed his brothers to envelop him in their ranks.

No longer did the Scarans come in disorganized clumps of chitin. It was a steady stream of the xenos. Similar streams pushed against his entire command as the Wardens fought to not let any of them through. It was a goal they were succeeding at. But the first casualty notices were reaching the Brigadier's ears.

Crassus activated his vox-link. "All units, fire at will. Pay no heed to ammunition and send these beasts' corpses back to the surface!"

The thunder of bolters exploded across the vox and in Crassus' chamber. When would he escape VonSalim's damned, prophetic dooms?

For the first time, he felt a pang of regret as he watched the man-sized insects flood in. After his meeting with VonSalim, he had allowed his anger to rule his next deployment. He and his brothers with him were placed in the center of the firestorm. Back then, Crassus had imagined that not only would he disprove his Primarch's prophecies, but he would do so after surviving the worst position.

The first Warden halted fire. The first necessary reload had come. The marine volley suffered little more than a 6% reduction in strength. Yet, Crassus counted one, two, and then more Scarans surviving the fire. After being thrown back by the intensified firepower, the Scaran line inched back toward the marines.

Idly, Crassus wondered how his counterpart was faring.

~~~

Tasetar frowned as his volkite pistol was torn from his grip. It was unavoidable. For all of the great utility foresight offered, the power to see the future came with its own limitations. The body, after all, was only flesh and blood. No matter how much he might have willed it, he could not force his body to ignore the weight of gravity or command his bones to bear more than they could stand.

The future was its own master. He could learn from it and guide it to a degree. Yet, in the end, it would arrive in its own time without care for any desire or wish.

So it was, Tasetar found himself and his brothers beginning to drown in an unending tide of chitin and critter.

~~~

Alexandros paused as he prevented his body from spontaneously combusting. Both physically and spiritually. The queen's rage continued to rise as Alexandros cut deep into its flank. Icarion mirrored a similar blow against the other side of its bloated body. The queen replied with more heat as it sought to defend itself and its domain.

The barrier between reality and unreality grew thinner as the instinctual beast pulled more of the Immaterium's unruly waves. Both Primarchs dodged. Icarion sliding gracefully to the side while Alexandros hopped away. The spaces where they had occupied erupted into pinkish flame coming from nowhere and everywhere.

This is taking too long, Darshan noted.

The issue was that the queen had yet to approach any theoretical limit of her power. She wasn't pulling on the Warp on her own but was channeling an additional fountain through the Scaran homeworld's strange network of magma-Warp flow. As the queen's efforts to defender herself grew more desperate, she forced more of the planetary system to funnel heat and power to her. Not only was there a real danger of a true Warp breach exploding into existence, but Alexandros sensed the planet's physical health would not be able to handle such brute manipulation of its upper mantle.

As if it to confirm his suspicions, a rumble roared through the entire hive as a different kind of heat grew angry below. Half-expecting it, Alexandros danced with the shifting earth as he dodged another combustion. He glanced downward for an instant.

Alexandros could survive many things.

Bathing in lava was not one of them.

No answer could be summoned by his potent future-sight. The Immaterium boiled and roiled and burned away any paths to the future for him to gaze. "The future is blinded to me," he called out to Icarion, forced to discard his telepathic gifts as well.

"As am I," Icarion replied as he spun his spear. The blade caught a limb of the queen and neatly sliced it off. "Even so, one does not need to see the future to see we have only minutes."

A loud crack whipped Alexandros' attention to the cave's ceiling. Weakened by the brief earthquake, a stalactite thrice his size lost its grip. The dagger of earth plummeted toward the Primarch. Alexandros sprinted from the impact zone a moment before the impromptu missile collided with the floor. Pieces of dirt flung against his armor with no effect.

Then the queen's monstrous tail slammed into him. Its bloated girth had enough strength to send him flying back several dozen meters. He landed on his feet, more chagrined than harmed. However, his forced withdrawal, momentary as it might be, allowed the Scaran queen to focus her entire attention on Icarion.

A flash of lightning fired from his person and struck her chest. An answering scream accompanied her counter. She swung a talon toward him. The talon missed as he easily dodged. The wave of fire which burst from the blow's wake caught Icarion by surprise.

He shielded himself with an arm, and the exquisite craftsmanship of Mars bubbled beneath the supernatural heat. The fire flitted from existence. Icarion recovered just in time for the queen to lay another blow against him. This one connected, and he was smashed to the cavern's floor.

She reeled back. Then screeched as Alexandros tackled against her bulky flank, Xiphos embedded deep within its body. Alexandros ran along the flank, cutting as he did. The queen wiggled and forced him back when she began to roll over.

He stepped away with time to spare and saw Icarion was back on his feet.

The cave's temperature continued its hellish climb.

~~~

Crassus heard the last bolt fire. He saw it hit. It rip a Scaran in half. And he knew his tactical situation had finally become desperate. Burned blood and sizzling viscera clung to his weapon in small clumps. Even with his mental conditioning, he struggled to remember how many aliens he had slain.

He gutted another one as he saw Bode dragged down by a swarm of the disgusting xenos. Beside him, Geist continued his implacable defense. The Scarans could not pierce his armor, but they had learned to aim for the hoses and gears enabling mobility. Three Scarans had sacrificed themselves to jam the dreadnought's left leg. It would have been a simple matter to pull out the bodies and parts, but no Warden could spare a single second to aid their ancient warrior.

A loud crack grabbed Crassus' attention. He saw the ceiling and floor shift. A chunk of the ceiling fell upon the Scarans butchering Bode. Crassus took no solace in the minor blessing of fate as the Scarans could replace their numbers.

He couldn't.

"Beware!" He bellowed over the vox. "Eyes open and hold!"

~~~

Tasetar saw a similar crack appearing before his head. Not at the moment, no. He possessed eight seconds before it would appear.

It, however, was unavoidable.

With a melancholic smile hidden behind his helm, Tasetar prepared himself. Truly, there was nothing so exquisitely painful as grim and unyielding foreknowledge. "My brothers, hold! Honor the Stormborn and Emperor and hold!"

The crack snapped across the cave's ceiling. A pebble fell from the new opening and bounced off of Tasetar's armor as he gutted the sixty-seventh Scaran. So many he had slain, and still more poured into the cave's entrance. The Lightning Bearers stood half in number. Yet, they did not yield a single metre without an extravagant blood price.

A pity we could not demand such a tithe from the planet itself, Tasetar mused to himself. Another tremor pulsed through the area. A boulder lost its grip on the ceiling. Tasetar's smile grew larger and more solemn as he killed the sixty-eighth xeno.

His sword never left the alien corpse as the boulder crushed its owner without care or knowledge of its preordained path.