Chapter 258: Ferrus and Fulgrim
Creed's command post was rocked by Chaos bombardment. He glanced at a nearby soldier who had fallen to the ground. A medic in a powersuit rushed over to check, but their medicae-injector could not bring back the dead. The medic simply shook their head at Creed.
"Cremate him immediately," Creed ordered, his voice flat. "Prevent Chaos from using his corpse."
Across the defensive lines, funeral pyres burned, consuming the bodies of Cadian soldiers and the Astra Militarum reinforcements who had fallen alongside them. There was no longer time or capacity to identify them or their origins. All the Cadians could do was separate the bodies of the loyal from the traitors. The ashes of the faithful would remain on Cadia, forever becoming one with the land they died to protect. The smell of scorched flesh hung heavy over the Blackstone Plains.
The lho-stick in Creed's mouth continued to burn, its smoke doing little to mask the stench of death in the air. On the table beside him sat several mugs of Recaff, laced with chemical stimulants to ensure he could maintain peak mental acuity. He stared at the tactical map, his eyes tracing the unit markers as he issued a constant stream of orders. But on the map, one infantry regiment after another was being wiped from existence. He kept moving his game pieces, only for them to be knocked over.
Daemonic legions were not something mortals were ever meant to face.
Creed was thankful for the powersuits; without them, the situation would be far worse. With the suits and the other advanced equipment, he at least had room to make tactical adjustments and launch counter-offensives. Positions were constantly changing hands between the loyalists and the traitors. The Daemon Primarchs were tearing through their defenses on three separate fronts at an alarming speed. He continuously calculated the forces he had left to command.
However, it was not all bad news. A communication from the Kasr Kraf front informed him that the situation there had stabilized. Although the Chaos Titans and the bulk of Abaddon's forces were still putting up a fight, at least he no longer had to worry about them reinforcing the plains or the planetary shields falling.
And deep beneath the Blackstone Plains, Cawl was beginning the final calibrations.
"Two... two hours at most. Then they will completely break through our lines..."
Creed calculated the time he had left. This was, without a doubt, the most dangerous moment of his entire life. He turned to the Black Templars Marshal at his side, Amalrich.
"Marshal," he said, "I need you and your warriors to buy us time, at any cost. I will commit the Battle Sisters and all available forces to support you. You must hold back those Daemon Primarchs."
"You do not need to ask," Amalrich replied, his voice a low growl. "We will do it."
Amalrich did not truly believe he could stop the Daemon Primarchs. It was likely that he and all his battle-brothers would die here today. But their destiny had always been to die on the battlefield. The Black Templars were one of the most active Chapters in the Imperium. If the entire Chapter were to be gathered in one place, their numbers would be terrifying—a tide of black plate thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands strong. Even the Daemon Primarchs would have to hesitate before such a force. But time was too short; there was no way to recall the Chapter members scattered across the galaxy.
Yet, before Amalrich could rally his forces, Creed stopped him.
"Marshal! Wait! We have a situation!"
Amalrich returned to the tactical map. The icons representing the three Daemon Primarchs had all ground to a halt. The enemy, who had been advancing almost every second, had suddenly stopped their attack. It was as if something had blocked their path, preventing them from gaining another inch.
Then, a report came in from the front line.
"Lord Guilliman and his forces have halted the Chaos Primarchs' advance? Excellent! The great Primarch has come to Cadia! Wait... say that again! What did you see?"
Amalrich looked at Creed, wondering why this famously calm mortal commander was having such a strong reaction.
"Creed, what in the hell is happening at the front?"
But before Creed could answer, the Black Templars on the front line sent back their own report. Creed and Amalrich looked at each other, their faces masks of disbelief. They had received the same intelligence almost simultaneously.
Another Primarch had appeared on Cadia? Their first thought was that it must be another of the traitors.
But when a pict-feed was transmitted back to the command post, at great risk to the men on the front, it revealed something even more incredible.
A being who looked identical to Ferrus Manus had appeared.
If the reawakening of the slumbering Guilliman was something they could understand and accept, and if another of the missing Primarchs, like Vulkan during the War of the Beast, had returned to save the Imperium in its hour of need, that too would be plausible. After all, those Primarchs were only missing.
But the appearance of Ferrus Manus, Primarch of the Iron Hands—whose death was confirmed—made them both think the reports from the front had to be a mistake. He had died, completely and utterly. His head had been cut off. How could he possibly have reappeared? His death was a matter of public record, witnessed by more than one First Founding Chapter. A common citizen might not know, but how could Marshal Amalrich not know the fate of Ferrus Manus?
At that very moment, Ferrus had arrived on the front where Fulgrim was leading his assault. Karax had activated all of the completed Purifiers. Two thousand of them now stood behind Ferrus. They were not only robotic Zealots but also a contingent of unmanned Immortals.
Two hours... Ferrus thought. The Solar Core can only sustain this body away from the Spear of Adun at full combat power for two hours... but it should be enough!
He recalled Karax's warning. The more powerful the body, the greater its energy consumption, and combat would only increase that drain. This body, a fusion of hundreds of Purifiers, consumed a hundred times the energy.
On the battlefield, the Cadian soldiers ceased firing. Across from them, the Emperor's Children also halted their advance. A strange silence fell over the front. The daemons of Slaanesh still wanted to press forward but were stopped by a furious roar from Fulgrim.
Swaying his serpentine tail, Fulgrim moved to the very front of his lines. Seeing Ferrus truly standing before him, a brief moment of clarity appeared in Fulgrim's eyes.
"Ferrus... is it really you?" Fulgrim couldn't believe what he was seeing.
"Fulgrim, you traitor!" Ferrus's voice was cold, laced with a rage that had simmered for ten thousand years. "Look at what you have done!"
The word "traitor," spoken by Ferrus, shattered the moment of clarity, and Fulgrim's heart was once again consumed by rage.
"I killed you... I personally struck your head from your shoulders! I killed your clones... Why? Why will you never stand with me? We could have reshaped this galaxy according to our own vision!
"What is there to cherish in this decadent Imperium?! What is there about that false Emperor that is worthy of your loyalty?! He offered us nothing but lies! In his heart, there was no place for us, only for the 'humanity' he so often spoke of. We are stronger, more perfect! In our hands, the Imperium would have been truly magnificent!"
Though Fulgrim did not know how Ferrus could be standing before him once again, he began to try and persuade him, just as he had countless times before, to join his cause.
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