In the Golden Palace, after the other Primarchs' psychic projections had vanished, Nareth spoke to Russ.
"Russ, remember that you owe me a promise?"
Leman Russ's ice-blue eyes turned fierce. His face ached. Scenes from Dulan flashed through his mind.
Jorin's 13th Great Company. The Wolves' Canis Helix malignant mutation. The Dulanites capturing the mutated Wolves and displaying them publicly. His helpless plea to Nareth to keep the secret for him and his Wolves.
He had agreed. He had kept his word, never again speaking against Nareth or the Shadows of Order. The Wolves hunted for him on Fenris.
He still owed Nareth a promise.
"State your demand," Russ's gaze was sharp, his voice cold. "I will not accept any unreasonable demand."
He emphasized the word reasonable. He held the power to interpret it.
"I want to bury Hannibal. Give me his body."
Though he would not be the executioner, he still wanted the greatest prize, a Primarch's body.
A Primarch's body was a treasure trove. One that had consumed so many xenos was even rarer.
When he had made his demand of Russ on Dulan, he had been planning for this moment.
As for the psychic ban at the Council of Nikaea, it wouldn't last long. Using the promise for that would be pointless.
He didn't believe Russ would change his stance on psychic powers. That would be an 'unreasonable' demand.
Asking for Hannibal's body was different. Russ wouldn't violate the Emperor's orders for that.
Russ looked at Nareth with a penetrating gaze. "You're quite good at playing the good guy."
"I'll try to leave his body intact."
Russ ended his psychic projection, vanishing before Nareth's eyes.
.....
910.M30.
As the Shadow's Sovereignty and the Seventh Chapter set sail from the Kalium Gate, the Wolves' iron-grey warships filled the Lecter system.
Russ's harsh voice echoed on all vox channels.
"Faceless! Your Primarch has committed evil. I have come by Father's command to carry out punishment."
"Some of you have not fallen as your father, and your battle-brothers have. You have his mercy to thank for your chance to live."
"Lay down your weapons. Surrender. Await your fate."
His voice was cold as ice. He roared his declaration. "Hannibal, clean your filthy face. I will end your evil myself."
The Custodians' voice followed, deep as a well. "By order of the Master of Mankind, Faceless, lay down your weapons."
"Lord Nareth, the Emperor's Pegasus, will arrive soon. He will give you a chance to live."
As the repeated broadcasts echoed, a dozen yellow-brown warships lingered in orbit. Dozens more lowered their void shields, welcoming the Wolves.
More yellow-brown ships formed up, crashing against the iron-grey punitive fleet.
Lances flickered, illuminating the system.
Lasers, plasma, and torpedoes carved deadly paths with pure destructive force.
The iron-grey and yellow-brown ships charged, exchanging dense broadsides as they passed.
Silent explosions bloomed. Layered, destructive firestorms raged, filling the void.
Engines imploded and disintegrated. Ships, losing control, plummeted, breaking apart in orange and yellow light.
The Wolves' brutal assault tore through the yellow-brown lines. The battle spread to the 2nd Legion's homeworld.
Two Legions that had fought side-by-side on the Wheel of Fire, purging Orks, now slaughtered each other without mercy.
In the Faceless' legion fortress, neophytes Meron and Sasebo Tezuka looked at each other.
In their eyes, the other's face was smooth, unmarked by volcanic ash.
Neither had undergone the final ritual, the Communion, under the guidance of a Communion Master.
They read the concern in each other's eyes. The faint rumble of battle. The herds of xenos, no longer hidden, driven into the fortress. The feasting frenzies, all told them time was short.
Sasebo's hands moved rapidly, shuffling the Emperor's Tarot.
After two shuffles, he offered the deck to Meron.
"You do it." Sasebo, born on Terra, raised in the Emperor's light, had trained in the moonlight of Luna. He had only recently come to the homeworld. He believed he could better sense the Emperor's light, but Meron was a Librarian aspirant.
Though not skilled in foresight, he was a better Seer.
He had shuffled the deck. The divination's fate would include him.
Meron nodded silently, spreading the cards on the iron table.
Sasebo watched Meron's hand hover over the cards. He silently intoned.
"Emperor, grant us a sign."
As the candles flickered, Meron quickly turned over three cards:
A chariot stained with blood. A holy, flaming wing. A blizzard spreading across the sky.
Sasebo stared at the cards, frowning, seeking the Emperor's revelation.
"The first card represents the present. Blood and death. Not surprising. The Wolves' battle with us will stain Lecter red."
"The second card represents the path we seek. The Emperor's revelation to us."
"A wing?"
"Lord Nareth has golden wings." Meron's eyes were deep, his voice low.
"Our hope?" Sasebo looked at Meron hopefully. Their divination was not just for themselves, but for the fate of nearly four thousand neophytes.
Since the Legion's return to Lecter, the Communion Masters had ignored them.
The neophytes felt forgotten. They had gathered around the wise Meron and the resilient Sasebo.
"Hope!" Meron said definitively. "Even that wolf said the fate of those who surrender will be decided by Lord Nareth."
"We have never committed evil. Lord Nareth will not turn his blade on us."
Sasebo recalled blurred memories of Terra. The tales of Lord Nareth told in the hives.
He was like the Monarch coins brought to Terra by families like Visscher: extraordinary, majestic, noble. He lacked Russ's savagery and Angron's rage. He was inclusive.
"Should I surrender to the Wolves? Wait for Lord Nareth's review?"
Meron nodded without hesitation. "Yes."
Sasebo breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at the card revealing the future.
"Our future. Snow?"
"Perhaps it is the trial Lord Nareth will give us. Or a new home. Or the path we must walk." Meron offered three uncertain possibilities.
"Regardless, we must act now."
Sasebo nodded. "Good."
As Meron and Sasebo gathered the neophytes in the Communion Hall, Hannibal sat enthroned on a throne carved from Aeldari bones.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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