IX: Revenio
Khyron sat cross legged, his mind cast into the aether. In his previous life he had viewed it as a great ocean, teaming with benign entities and many predators, but an ecosystem which could be mastered like any other. One which humanity could explore the depths of and know everything that dwelt within it. But his time on this planet had taught him to reconsider this notion. The warp was not an ocean, it was not a knowable thing. It was in a constant state of shifting, warping, changing. Nothing was ever constant. Above all, everything was a lie there. There was no truth to be found within the warp. There was knowledge, but the Gods which dwelt there used that knowledge to usurp the truth. They sat on their perverted thrones plotting the damnation of humanity; plotting its descent into chaos.
Over his time here, he had died and been reborn. He had died, one piece at a time. First, his hubris died. Such a thing would have been his downfall, and it almost was. He had been forced to purge his arrogance from his mind. Then his thirst for knowledge. That had been difficult to rid himself of. He had never thought it a problem, but chaos was insidious. It had used his healthy desire and appreciation of all knowledge to feed him and stuff him like a glutton until he was bloated and useless and easy to destroy. The others had died slowly like him too. Valdar and Pelenas had been forced to cast their unwavering loyalty to a father they once had aside. Now they were only loyal to the Brotherhood and the Creed and everyone else was never above suspicion. Drystann had been forced to overcome his own bloodlust, lest it destroy him. Geronitan’s kindness and humanity had to be put to death. They had all died and nothing remained of the men they once more. But that was necessary. For in death, they had become something greater. Something the war needed. They might have forgotten who they were, but they had not forgotten their purpose.
There had been many times when they had come close to faltering. Most were in the first phase of their time on this Warp-infested planet. When they had been alone and wondering if they would ever be rescued. What had felt like months had passed with no respite from the horrors that dwelt on this planet and not contact save each other. Tempers had frayed and the Brotherhood, although it was not yet the Brotherhood yet, had almost split in its infancy. Then they had found the human settlements and that had almost been the final nail in the coffin. Most of the humans that dwelt here were corrupted by Chaos and served the Dark Gods with every base depravity that existed. Khyron had thought then something he was certain that they had all felt; could humanity ever resist Chaos? At that moment, it had felt like they were staring into the inevitable fate of humanity. They had all considered laying down their arms and giving into the inevitable.
Then they had found the humans. What they had not realised was that Lorgar had been here before them. Many of the populace had fallen to his sway, and many still were already tainted by the powers that manifested here. But a small group of humans had hidden away. They alone in a world gone mad could see that the Chaos Gods brought nothing but ruin and despair. There was no hope or truth in them, only lies and Chaos. They had embraced the broken Astartes with joy. They saw these dull armoured warriors as their saviours. But the truth that the Brotherhood acknowledged was that these simple mortals were
their saviours. They had nurtured their faith in humanity and each other, and shown them that that was their greatest weapon. Faith was anthemia to these denizens of the warp. And so, they wrote the Creed, the Word of Humanity. It was a code to live and die by and it gave them faith. In exchange, the Brotherhood had helped these humans to destroy those who had sold their souls to the Dark Gods and trained them to succeed them.
Khyron and his brothers had cast a net of warp energy around their encampment. To the naked eye, nothing existed. But to one who could see through the warp, thousands of tiny strands of invisible thoughts and power stretched out of kilometres. Anything or anyone trying to move against them would find an enemy that was prepared to meet them. Not that anyone had challenged them in a while. Well, except for the most fool hardy of daemons, usually of the Blood God himself, but sometimes the most supremely arrogant servants of the other warp powers would challenge them. Such was life on the blasted wastelands of this world.
Khyron sat in the centre of this web like a spider, waiting for anything to disturb his nest. Suddenly, the strands underneath him shook. Khyron spread his consciousness along the threads, finding where they had been triggered. He couldn’t find a point of origin. The strands were vibrating, but it was not from one point. It was the whole of the threads, vibrating at the same time as if hit by a wave.
A wave. Khyron’s heart rate accelerated. He had sent his message to a man only remembered as the Cyclops, but he had wondered if it would ever be answered. If it was the Old Ones, his web would not have felt their entrance, for their ships did not disturb the warp like humanity’s craft did. It had to be them. No one else had any reason being here. Khyron’s eyes snapped open, and he stood up quickly. He had to tell the others. They had been heard.
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“My lord Amon, we have entered the world designated ‘Cadia’’s orbit. Your instructions?” The shipmaster of the
Imohtek asked Amon. Amon stood passively behind the command throne of the captain.
“Topographical scan of the planet.” Amon said. It was phrased as a statement and he expected a swift response. Several of the other humans at the many consoles of the ship tapped furiously and brought up a 3-D rendering of the planet.
“There appears to be several small settlements my lord. Do we know where we will find Lord Azhek and the others?” the human called Phael asked. He was a good man and had served the Fifteenth legion, even through the madness of Prospero.
Amon turned to the eldar Seer as his side. He did not like the xenos. He had left his brother on the forsaken world and did not seem repentant in the slightest. But he was a first rate psyker and his father had bade him to take Eldrad with him. “Do you feel that?” Amon said.
“Yes.” Eldrad said staring straight ahead. He knew exactly what the Son of the Cyclops was talking about. There was a form of psychic beacon calling from the planet. It spoke no words, and conveyed nothing, it simply existed as a waypoint in and of itself. Amon nodded in assent.
“Master of the Deck…” Amon spoke into the vox “…have two Thunderhawk transports prepared for launch immediately.” The captain of the Thousand Sons turned to the eldar. “We are leaving.”
“And if it’s a trap?”
“We are leaving with weaponry and 3 squads of my finest men.” Amon said leaving the bridge and expecting Eldrad to follow.
“So barbaric.” Eldrad muttered sub-audibly, although the Astarte probably heard him. In truth, he was more worried that 3 squads might not be enough if they had given over to the ruinous powers.
Within five minutes the Thousand sons were already penetrating the atmosphere of Cadia and speeding towards the encampment. It was a mis-match of ramshackle huts, but at least it resembled something human. As they came into approach, Eldrad could not help but feel that they had disturbed something, but they had moved so quickly it was impossible for him to tell what. As the Thunderhawks landed and the pristine Astartes disembarked, eight similar figures stood to great them. They were flanked by dozens of humans, all of which seemed oddly unimpressed with the arrival of these armoured giants from the skies.
Amon was shocked by the sight that greeted him. He recognised several of the marines which stood before him, but only by their faces. Their armour was scratched bare, any paintwork it once had was now gone. Strangely, their armour bore no iconography, but this did not seem inflicted by battle. It was as if the armour had been designed that way. The same armour was dented and obviously patched up in several places. But it was not the armour that bore the scars. The visible flesh of these Astartes was scared and their eyes spoke of mental scars which were as unspeakable as they were terrible.
The one that stood at the head of the group Amon recognised. A smile broke across the Thousand Son’s face as he saw his friend, even in a state such as this. “Brother. It is good to see you!” Amon exclaimed as he rushed forward to embrace his battle brother. For Ahriman’s part he simply stood still even at the man he had once known wrapped his arms around him. It was a one sided embrace for a while, until Ahriman tentatively returned it.
“It is good to see another defender of the Imperial truth.” Khyron said as the Astarte who seemed convinced they had known each other released him. “Ahriman? We are more than fellow defenders…” The man stared, his eyes perplexed and imploring. “…We are cut from the same cloth. Both Sons of Prospero.” Khyron sighed. He had not realised that many would mistake him for someone else.
“I’m afraid we are not.” Khyron spoke flatly. The Astarte went to speak, but the xenos Khyron remembered to be Eldar placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Be still Amon, I’m sure all will be explained in due course.” Eldrad spoke this time
“Indeed. I believe formal introductions are in order. I am Khyron, First of the Eight Swords and Master of the Sharpest Sword Blade.”
“I am Valdar, Second of the Eight Swords and Master of the Watcher Blade.”
“I am Pelenas, Third of the Eight Swords and Master of the Long Sword Blade.”
“I am Dhask, Fourth of the Eight Swords and Master of the Banisher Blade.”
“I am Geronitan, Fifth of the Eight Swords and Master of the Hidden Sword Blade.”
“I am Arno, Sixth of the Eight Swords and Master of the Healers Blade.”
“I am Drystann, Seventh of the Eight Swords and Master of the Purifying Flame Blade.”
“I am Ordan, Eighth of the Eight Swords and Master of the Shield Blade.”
Eldrad watched as each of the Astartes he had left to an almost certain fate stepped forward in turn; Ahriman, Umojen, Rubio, Tarugati, Kastix, Guryoi, Balsar and Felix. He had known when he had left them on the planet that they would likely be corrupted or killed. So many strands of fate lead to one of both of those. He had spent countless nights pouring over the runes and seer stones trying to see if there was any alternative long before he had approached Horus with his offer. There had only been one where they had lived and Eldrad could scarcely believe that the universe had moved in such a way as to allow these men to continue to serve. Beneath his pointed helmet, Eldrad let his mouth experience the luxury of a smile as joy washed over his insides.
Khyron’s expression turned from one of relative friendliness into one of open hostility. At once his weapon was drawn as was the weapons of his eight fellows. “Assemble the Brotherhood” Khyron called out and Ordan and Dhask split off from the groups and roused several dozens of humans from their slumber. These men were built like initiates into the Astartes, with muscles thick and iron forged all bearing crude armour and weapon with marking etched over them.
“What is going on Ahriman?” Amon demanded. “Don’t you understand, fool! We are under attack. Now ready yourselves, the Enemy comes.” The one known as Drystann snapped. His once angelic face had been horribly marred down one side and a thick ropey scar wound it’s was from his temple until it disappeared under the collar of his armour. His eyes were flinty and spoke of a ruthless uncompromising nature.
“Where is this enemy? There is no one here!” Amon exclaimed exasperated. “Ahriman...” He began to implore. Surely his friend was simply jumping at shadows. He was totally unprepared when Ahriman’s hand struck him across the face.
“Call me that again, and I will have your tongue! I am Khyron you dense fool and the Enemy WILL be here and we need to be ready for them. Now ready your men and form the back row behind the Brotherhood!” Amon straightened himself and the man who had once been his brother stepped to within an inch of his face. For a moment they simply stared, Amon’s a mix of revulsion and anger, Khyron’s one of cold indifference in irritation. “Now.” Khyron hissed.
“Yes…” Amon replied and a moment later added “…sir.” Khyron simply joined the humans who stood ready behind him. These must be the ones he had said he was the master of. All of the eight Astartes had a group which followed them, some larger than others. Drystann’s lot, the ones they had called the Purifying Flames, could not have numbered more than twenty and they stood facing a hill waiting for an enemy Amon still could not see. There could not have been more than a hundred and fifty humans between all the groups. Amon obeyed his orders and formed up the final row behind the humans. Even as he and his men stood ready to fight, he could not help but wonder why these humans were a more sturdy bulwark than his Astartes in the eyes of his brother and cousins. These thoughts occupied his mind until he saw the tide of screaming bodies start to appear over the hill just as they had said and then his only thought was what kind of madness had they landed into.