Chapter 5
Had I told any other Primarch that a watch needed to be set on them to ensure their intentions, they would have raged at me. Perhaps not Sanguinius, but all the others would have loudly protested and, at best, questioned my reasoning. Not Corax. She accepted my suspicion as natural. Did that make her more or less likely to be a weapon against Him?
Her manner was polite, her reasoning logical, and her responses emotionally approachable. As a Primarch, she seemed eager to work cooperatively, despite wishing for autonomy. And yet, I grew more and more concerned.
After only a brief meeting with Horus, he had become her greatest advocate. The quelling of an Ork incursion had been swiftly successful, but Corax was wounded. I read his thoughts and saw what happened. Had she purposefully allowed herself to be harmed to further ingratiate herself with her brother-Primarch? Impossible to say. The Ork had been larger than Horus and difficult to kill.
Tanya Corax was an unknown. And unknowns alarmed me. Paradoxically, the more she proved herself loyal and productive, the more it strained my credulity and sharpened my fears.
-Malcador the Sigillite
My training with Malcador took quite a bit out of me. I did learn much, and that made it worth it. Psykers did not use their gifts the way the Imperial Mages did, but the underlying principle was still the same – directed alteration of localized space with phenomena. Malcador and other Psykers did not even know the formulas they used when casting a spell.
The vernacular was something I was still adjusting to. Magic, mage, spell, and sorcery were all terms I should never use. Based on old tales from the Dark Age of Technology, when Warp storms had cut off various branches of humanity, a powerful Psyker could do all sorts of awful things. Where sanctioned Psyker powers ended and 'sorcery' began likely depended on who was telling the tale. Either way, no one in the Imperium wanted to be viewed as one of those dangerous folk of old.
Malcador showed me additional means of using my abilities. The most useful was the ability to disrupt other Psykers and shield others from their potential effects. He also taught me how to use telepathy. The formula for that was absurdly simple and utterly bizarre. The use of mana to partially entangle one's own synapses with another's in this way should have been impossible. And yet… it worked.
I was also able to produce bolts of fire and flame. It was a variation of the explosive formula, and as I studied it, I found the right equations to supercharge it with mana. The advantage was that I could produce hotter and larger explosions of heat. The disadvantage was that it proportionally took a great deal out of me. I could see the practical use of this ability among the Librarians of the Astartes, but I possessed far more raw combat power than any mere Space Marine.
Agreeing to accompany my brother to war against the Orks had necessitated that I be equipped faster than the Emperor's artificers could manage. I was given a Combi-bolter – something heavier than what most Space Marines used, though its weight and recoil were negligible to someone with my physical attributes.
My armor was a bastardized set of Power Armor. I did not have the implants to make the Mark IV Power Armor function properly, but since I would be receiving a set uniquely designed for me, it did not matter except for the rushed nature of this affair. I ended up wearing an old relic hastily modified from the Unification Wars.
Along with the armor and Combi-bolter, I was given a Power Sword. It was a sword made of adamantium that had a power field. When switched on, it created a disruption field in a corona around the weapon that would tear apart the very molecular structure of anything it struck. Power Armor was no exception, though it could occasionally redirect the blow to be less than fully lethal. Terminator Armor, with its built-in refraction fields, did a bit better. But truly, the only defense was to avoid the blade or parry it with your own Power Weapon. It was one of the reasons that despite the vast improvements in technology since my second life, war would often still lead to face-to-face situations.
Before I left with Horus, I sat down with Arkhas Fal. He had wielded my Legion well, but there were some issues. He cared little for collateral damage, and some of his tactics felt callous toward the lives of the Raven Guard.
"I have reviewed the military campaigns you conducted, and based on the goals and expectations the Emperor and my brother Primarchs had for you, you have done an exceptional job."
"Thank you, Lady Corax."
"My expectations will differ."
I explained how. In the past, rapid compliance was critical, and if some eggs were broken in the creation of the omelet – that was the mission's success – it was considered acceptable. However, since every world the Raven Guard took was now needed as a supply node and manufacturing base, as well as needing to remain compliant, I required more care with the existing infrastructure.
After giving several examples, he understood what I was getting at and promised to do better.
"I must remind you again, Arkhas, that you met all mission parameters, and any goals or objectives not stated are not your responsibility. Now that you have updated criteria to perform against, I will assess you by those metrics in the future. They will not be backward-looking evaluations of your prior campaigns."
Despite understanding what I was getting at, it still felt like I was kicking a dog. I wondered if all the Legio were like this. To any normal person, he would appear completely stoic, but with my senses, I could tell he was distressed that I had disapproved of how he executed his assignments.
"Your good work deserves honors, and I will be speaking of how dependable you were to the rest of the Legion. I will also give you the choice of your next assignment. The first is to remain at my side and be my XO. I intend to use my unique talents to disrupt enemy formations, which will necessitate me being incommunicado at times." I paused, gauging his reaction, then continued. "The second will be to take charge of a Chapter, or more as necessary, tasked with targets that don't require the bulk of our Legion. Finally, the third option will be to take charge of the defenses of the Kiavahr system – overseeing the training of new recruits and the testing and integration of new technological systems."
The response was immediate. "I wish to stay with you, Lady Corax."
"Excellent, then so you shall. Your first task will be to provide me with recommendations for who would be best suited to garrison the Kiavahr system, as well as a list of those who would do well acting independently. The formations we have now will mostly stay the same, but I see we have drifted from the Principia Belicosa. I am not averse to change, but I prefer to keep things as transparent as possible. For example, First Chapter has well over 5,000 Astartes, while Second Chapter has 2,384, Third Chapter 872, and Fourth Chapter 1,982."
He was quick to defend, "Casualties and necessity…"
I moved my head and his moth clicked shut. He really was high strung.
"Make an argument for the ideal Chapter size to me; I will listen and then decide. Better yet, write for me a report championing it. Regardless, I will want our line formations to be kept at that number, casualties allowing. I will also insist that we revitalize the role of Chapter Master and cease having the 1st Captain considered the Chapter Master. I'm open to Raven- or stealth-based naming conventions, but the role of Chapter Master is different from that of the 1st Captain, and command responsibilities should be identified clearly. The fact that my brother Primarchs have also strayed from the Principia Belicosa is likely why you followed suit, so there is no censure, but it will change."
After he left, I prepared for my own departure. I would say goodbye to Nasturi and check in on how the gene-seed implementation was progressing for those who had come with me from Deliverance. While I disliked fighting and viewed war with distaste, I could not deny a certain excited thrill beginning to course through my body. I put it down to an eagerness to see just what this body was capable of in real conflict. Yes, that had to be it. A practical test. Empirical data. That was what had me excited.
***
My second time traveling the Warp was more interesting. In order to use the immaterial space known as the Warp for navigation, a ship needed a Navigator, or at the very least had to follow a ship that had one. For extremely short distances during calm periods, one could theoretically dispense with a Navigator, but it was risky.
The Warp was kept at bay by powerful Geller Fields. If they failed, a ship would be destroyed by the energies of the Warp. The skill of a Navigator could allow ships to weave through the currents of the Warp and avoid the storms that plagued it. As an experiment, I opened my senses again and tried to pick out the currents.
It was mentally straining, but fascinating. I could hear the hum of this strange dimension without using my ears. Like last time, I sensed things out there. Were they personifications of the storms that our Navigator avoided? It was all very fascinating, but ultimately the utilitarian part of me wondered to what extent I could piece together these paths or why my senses could even perceive them without the Warp Eye, a literal third eye that all the Navis Nobilite possessed. It was a mutation that could now be bred, but what I was doing was considered impossible.
I had to wonder about my extrasensory abilities. They seemed tied to my Psyker powers as well as my strange talent for becoming invisible to others when I willed it. It wasn't true invisibility, but rather a mental effect – when I chose to use it, people simply could not see me. I had even tested it with Amon, and an enhanced warrior like him still could not detect me.
When I tried to do it in the middle of one of my spars with him, it didn't work, so there are limits.
I wasn't actively using a formula, and yet the ability existed, just like my ability to sense the Emperor's feelings when we met, and this ability to sense the Warp around me. I really wished the Emperor didn't keep so many important things, such as how this body was created, under wraps. Malcador's standard response of "You'll have to talk with Him" was a convenient copout. If I could speak to the Emperor, maybe even include things like that information as part of my stretch goal rewards, I might have a better handle on both what a Primarch should be capable of and whether whatever fuckery Being X did to me in the Warp, when I was sent careening out of Terra, is responsible for these additional senses.
Coming out of the Warp and into realspace was jarring. It would be another few days before we arrived at Zonju Secundus. Updated tactical reports were being sent to Horus, and I watched as he analyzed the data. We were in the strategium of his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit. A massive holographic table dominated the center, pulsing with star charts and flickering battle projections. Along the walls, cogitators hummed.
Far below us lay the principal command level, thronging with hundreds of uniformed personnel and burnished aid servitors, which I took pains not to scowl at. To either side, the beehive sub-decks of the secondary platforms, dressed in gold and black ironwork, rose up past the level of the projecting strategium. Each area was busy with Navy staff operators, cogitation officers, and Astropaths. The standards of the Luna Wolves hung from the arching roof.
Horus was in his element. Every eye not busy with work was upon him. He graced each with a smile, shared a joke, or gave a nod. Non-Astartes looked with awe, while his Space Marines looked on with reverence. He explained the tactical situation and sought the opinion of his 1st Captain. Clad in the hulking warplate of Cataphractii Terminator Armor, Ezekyle Abaddon loomed at his side, a monolith of ceramite.
The Orks number a scant two million. The local regiments have taken heavy losses and are in retreat. They've bled them well enough and are falling back in good order. Their armored columns, battered yet resolute, hold the rearguard with lascannons and steel. In another week or two, the Orks would have laid waste to their major cities.
The plan Abaddon suggested was straightforward. Deploy the Legion and strike at the heart. Meanwhile, have the Byzant Janizars, the Imperial Army regiments assigned to Horus, set down with the planetary guard and keep any of the beasts from causing more havoc on the planet.
The plan was solid. Orks came in endless variety, and some could even challenge the power of a Space Marine. By and large a single Space Marine should be able to defeat dozens or even hundreds of the average of their ilk. Given that the garrison forces had inflicted harm and weren't overrun, they were likely middling or lesser Orks.
"Horus," I asked, "is there a reason we do not use the Vengeful Spirit to strike them from low-orbit?"
"Captain Sejanus," Horus said, tone even, "care to illuminate my sister Primarch as to why we would not do so in this situation?"
"Yes, my Primarch." The Luna Wolf regarded me and gave a respectful nod. "When a horde of these green-skinned Xenos attack a world, they are not thorough in hunting all life. There will be pockets of retreating soldiers and non-combatants the horde may have overlooked in their zeal to reach the enemy that can fight them. Additionally, this Xenos has a peculiarity. Firing solutions from orbit or even planet side artillery sometimes veer off track around them despite our best targeting augers. Whether this be a relic of the Dark Age's lost artifice or some foul quirk of their kind, I cannot say. Twice, in the ash of campaigns, have I seen it with my own eyes."
Abaddon's ceramite-clad boot crashed against the strategium's deck. "Hastur has the right of it, but there is another reason, Lord Commander of the Nineteenth. We are the Emperor's spear tip, forged to shatter the foes of mankind. We will prove our might and valor. We will show the mortals of Zonju Secundus the strength of the Luna Wolves! For us it is just a fleeting clash; for them, it is a legend wrought in blood and steel."
I prefer the first explanation better.
Horus added a final statement. "Greenskins cling stubbornly to worlds, sister, yet I've found a truth in their defeat. Slay their warlord face-to-face, and their horde falters, its vigor sapped as if their crude spirit breaks. Worlds scoured by orbital barrages often hide seeds of their kind, burrowed deep, only to sprout anew from shadowed crevices. Strike the leader with your own blade, and such resurgence wanes. Battling Xenos differs from guiding errant humanity to Compliance, Tanya, and you will see it in time."
I thank him and the rest of the Captains for their hard-won wisdom. I would be joining Horus on his Stormbird and we would be among the first to clash with the Ork line. When the time came to drop onto the planet, I advised him I had my own talent for stealth. I informed him after getting a measure of the Ork fighting strength I would slip from view and find the Ork leader himself and deal with it.
"Bold, Tanya. You have the same fighting spirit as your brothers. One of my Techmarines will attach a homing beacon on you so that should you encounter trouble; we can find you."
Part of my purpose in doing this was to prove myself. I wished to test my abilities and see how my instincts carried over from my second life. There, I had been the one to eliminate the enemy HQ time and time again. This Ork warlord was hardly 'Headquarters,' but if what they were telling me was true, it would amount to the same thing: disrupt the enemy, destroy their cohesion, victory.
***
The Luna Wolves' assault unfurled with deceptive simplicity, yet through my enhanced senses and understanding of war, I could see the synergetic orchestra that Horus had planned. Stormbirds and other landing craft swooped down. Drop Pods carrying Dreadnoughts equipped with heavy flamers and other armaments smashed into the Ork horde, while gunships spotted the rare crude heavy weaponry some Greenskins were armed with and annihilated them.
I was beside Horus and the elite Terminator Guard that accompanied him. They were skilled and let loose a barrage of disciplined fire that avoided needless overkill in favor of slaying fresh targets. Astartes tanks, mostly Predators and Sicaran, plunged into the enemy line. Before they could be surrounded and isolated, they sliced back out of the horde. A crude missile corkscrewed through the air and hit a Land Raider, but the thick ceramite armor prevented its destruction.
I contributed to the wave of bolter fire that executed Orks with ease, the reactive shells sometimes joined by beams fired from older Volkite weapons. My Combi-bolter easily tracked targets, and my superlative mind kept track of the details of battle with borderline supernatural ease.
I let a tide of Luna Wolves Astartes surge past and then willed myself to pass through unnoticed. Despite sprinting far faster than any human Olympic runner, I was not seen by the Greenskins as I wove through the Xenos, sidestepping their lumbering forms with preternatural ease.
I felt the ebb and flow of the battle and sensed a sixth sense directing me to where I knew I would find the Xenos warlord. Find him I did, and his size was staggering. The creature stood more than twice my height, all corded muscle and brute strength. His bulk was not merely the product of biology but of domination. He wore a patchwork of scrap-metal plating and looted ceramite, hammered together into something resembling armor but closer in function to a mobile fortification. It bellowed commands as I moved into position to strike my Power Sword through its heart.
Dark green lightning crackled toward me, hurled by one of the Xenos. Its face was hidden behind a crude, painted mask, but two malevolent eyes glowed through the slits, locked onto mine. It raised a gnarled staff and gestured, and the warp-tainted energy surged again. I moved, narrowly avoiding the blast as it scorched the ground where I had stood.
The Orks cried out in their savage tongue. It was understandable to me, but Orks were so barbaric and simple that I heeded little of it. The situation was that I had been spotted. The Ork Psyker unleashing the attack broke whatever inborn talent I had to fool their senses. I was once more an incredibly tall human in Power Armor, easy for any to see. My Combi-bolter spat out death at the bizarre Ork creature.
The first salvo punched through its fetid robes and into the mass of glyph-covered armor plates strapped haphazardly to its chest. Green blood sprayed in gouts, but the Ork staggered forward shrieking and gathering more power to itself. Meanwhile a horde of Orks with a variety of weapons surged toward me.
I wielded my blade in my other hand and easily parted their flesh, letting not one attack even mar the paint on my Power Armor. Another surge of energy coalesced, and I used what Malcador had taught me to disrupt the gathered energies. Unlike in my training with the Sigillite, where the distilled power of the Warp dissipated and dissolved, the result of what I did was far more explosive. The Ork's head exploded.
Shocked, I hesitated for a moment, and then the Ork warlord swiped his crackling axe at me. Instead of dodging, I blocked with my own Power Sword. My feet had not been fully planted, and despite my strength, the Ork's was even greater. Even so, my form and positioning of the blade were perfect, and I kept the crude Power Weapon from my armor, but with my lack of footing, I was also launched away.
My armored frame slew a dozen Orks just by being thrown through them. As the momentum of the blow spent and gravity brought me to the surface, I let my Combi-bolter crack out and slay a multitude of Orks eager to come to grips with me. The over five-meter-tall monstrosity came on with unexpected speed. I dodged, and the axe left a crater a meter deep in the earth as it swiped again at me.
I dodged and rained bolter fire at its head. The crude armored helm festooned upon its bestial features somehow limited the damage. It shouldn't be possible. A trio of Orks, each brandishing autocannons better suited to war machines tried to pin me down with a barrage of fire. I circled around my opponent causing them to hit him instead.
The beast bellowed, its fury turning as it charged to rend its own Greenskin kin. I pursued, my ceramite-clad legs devouring less ground than the brute's monstrous stride. My pace hardly slowed as I carved through a half-dozen Orks, their crude blades seeking my flesh. A dull chime rang from my Power Armor as their clumsy rounds struck my pauldron, to little effect.
Far from a quick assassination, this was turning ugly. I could hear the crude engines of some Ork war machines nearby and activated the signal for assistance. The Ork turned back to me and began swinging his oversized axe with a frankly stupid and absurd amount of skill. It must have been acting on some sort of instinct, as I struggled with it.
Having had enough, I used an Optical Decoy Formula as a feint and drew the enemy's axe to slash through an illusion. In the opening, I rammed my Power Sword through its chest and into its heart. It laughed and clamped down on my arm, squeezing. Power Armor splintered as if it didn't exist, and I jammed my Combi-bolter into its side and fired until it was empty. The joints in my arm were torn asunder, but my gene-forged bones were stronger than mere adamantine and ceramite, and they did not suffer the same fate.
It pulled my arm and sword out of its torso and then slammed me down onto the ground. I couldn't get free of its grip. Panic surged in me, and I let loose a massive burst of fire – a modified explosive formula. The burning impact further shredded the exposed skin of my arm, as well as the exposed parts of the Ork's skin.
The brute recoiled, its iron grasp loosed from my arm at last. Its heart ought to have been rent asunder. Charred wounds fused its crude armor to its Xenos flesh, yet the beast only roared with savage mirth. I holstered my Combi-bolter and picked up my Power Sword, ready to continue our battle. One arm hang limp at my side, but I was far from out of the fight.
A shimmer of void-born lightning split the air, its crackling arcs heralding teleportation. The Justaerin had arrived, and fortunately for them, at their head was Horus Lupercal. The elite Terminators of the 1st Company were skilled, but I feared how they would fare against an Ork that had nearly ripped my own arm off. Horus was unhelmed, and his eyes sparked with rage as he saw my wounds. Without preamble, he advanced on the Ork warlord as the Terminators fired at the lesser Orks in a widening circle.
As I moved to assist, he called out, "Stay back," he commanded, his voice filled with iron resolve. "This one is mine."
There were plenty of other foes to annihilate, so I listened to his instructions but kept a keen eye on the battle. Horus used his own Power Sword, a more advanced and deadly weapon than my temporary one. Gripping it two-handed, he met the Ork warlord's savage blows, each clash a thunderous retort that rent the air. I watched, impressed with my brother's strength as Horus slowly began to drive the taller Ork back.
I spotted several vehicles that must have been forged from pilfered steel and scavenged thrusters. They were a jagged mosaic of rust and bolted plates, their frames shuddering with the growl of sputtering engines. Twin heavy cannons, lashed crudely to open frames, unleashed a storm of slugs, their wild trajectories hitting more friends than foes. I was already surging forward, and my Power Sword split one of the vehicles in half, slaying both occupants.
Many were torn apart by the Terminators' firepower, but one survived long enough to veer the machine headlong into a Justaerin. The Terminator stood resolute, his Cataphractii warplate unyielding as the Ork's affront to engineering collapsed into bits of metal and debris. Its prow crumpled against ceramite, its momentum utterly defeated.
Horus had the previously wounded Ork leader on the back foot. More wounds opened as my brother, the Primarch, pushed forward with ease. In a flash, it was over. Horus dipped underneath an axe sweep and amputated one of the Greenskin's mammoth legs. It fell over, and Horus moved like white lightning. In another tenth of a second, his blade was bursting through the back of the Ork's skull.
What I had been told before proved prescient. The Ork horde collapsed, and the Luna Wolves cried out in triumph.
"LUPERCAL!"
"LUPERCAL!"
The battle was not, strictly speaking, over. But the manic zeal and suicidal courage were gone. They were lethargic and confused. A few even began fighting each other halfheartedly instead of directing their efforts against the Marines who were butchering them with ease.
Horus made sure my wounds weren't dire – and they weren't. I could already feel my body beginning to heal. I knew Astartes healed faster than humans, but this Primarch body turbocharged it to an absurd degree. By the time I was back on Terra, I would not even have scarring despite the burn damage.
Horus's voice carried a brotherly warmth. "Your next battle will go better, sister. The armor you wore was ill-suited for a Primarch and the battles we wage. Father's artificers will clothe you in proper protection."
Did he feel sorry for me? I had suffered a wound and lost the use of my arm, but now that I knew how it fought, round two would have gone differently. I had already decided to focus on the head instead of center mass for my next strike. Had reinforcements not arrived, my next attempt would have involved using a flight formula to move in an unexpected way and stab into the beast's brain.
Still, I could understand how it must have looked. My armor ripped to shreds, lacerations and burns all along my limp arm, and my request for aid must have seemed as if I was about to be slain. I had my professional pride, but I wasn't going to take away from my brother's accomplishment or seek to diminish it. He thought he had saved me, and if it made him happy, so be it.
"I look forward to it. Thank you for coming so swiftly. I was not expecting my foe's strength, I owe you one."
Horus's voice, rich with Cthonian cadence, dismissed her words with grace. "Speak not of debts, sister. It was my honor to ensure you will return safely to Terra's light." His lips curved into a wry, wolfish smile, eyes glinting with fraternal jest. "More so, as I had to sway the old man for your presence at my side. I'd scarce dare tread Terra's soil if you fell in a fray, I bid you join."
"Ahh, now I see, brother. It was not my safety you concerned yourself with but the Sigillite's opinion!"
The amusement in my voice made plain my intent.
"Jaghatai will enjoy your wit, sister. It is time to return to the Throneworld and your Legion. Perhaps together we can convince our good uncle to see our sons fight side by side in the next campaign."
Chapter 6Chapter TextChapter 6
Corax restored the ironclad organizational doctrine bequeathed by the Emperor. The Nineteenth Legion returned to the clean and orderly lines of the beginning. Put more simply: It was perfect. Perfect. Everything down to the last minute details.
- Roboute Guilliman
"Guard your tongue, brother. We have shed blood side by side across a dozen stars, but speak ill of my Primarch again, and I will not answer with words alone," said Arkhas Fal, his tone edged with heat.
The First Captain of the Luna Wolves raised his chin. "Oh? We can settle it in the dueling cages, if that is your wish."
That did nothing to cool his ire. Arkhas was already bitter over being denied the chance to accompany his Primarch to Zonju Secundus. Learning she had been wounded in battle had set his jaw tight with frustration. And now, here on Terra, where the Legiones Astartes were often quartered near one another, he heard the tales – whispered or bold – that diminished Lady Corax and her deeds.
"Soothe your choler, Ezekyle, Arkhas. We are battle-brothers in service to the Emperor." The calming words came from Hastur. Arkhas knew him as one of the Luna Wolves' Mournival, those chosen Captains who advised Lupercal himself.
"I have never backed down from a challenge." Abaddon's expression lost none of its vehemence. "Nor have I spoken a falsehood. Our Primarch saved yours. You were not there, so how can you gainsay me? You should be thanking us."
Hastur moved even further to interpose himself.
"Arkhas, I heard Lady Corax thank my gene-sire with my own ears. The stories we share, the tales we tell, can at times seem grandiose, and the fog of war often clouds perception. Your Primarch fought with honor, taking the lion's share of the danger upon herself to strike at the great chieftain and his guards alone. Hold your head high, for when we arrived, there lay a grim harvest of dead Greenskins."
With effort, Arkhas mastered his anger. He recalled the long decades of shared war against the enemies of mankind and released the wroth stirred by Abaddon's words.
"I will, Hastur. The Nineteenth is reforming, and soon you will see our Legion bring victory after victory. Enough to rival the Lion, Lord Dorn, and even your own!" He met the gaze of the Luna Wolf. "I thank you for your interference. Ours is a bond that must remain unbroken."
Arkhas knew part of his frustration stemmed from the scant time he had with his Primarch. She was constantly closeted away with Malcador. Rather than engage in regular conversation, she preferred he write down his thoughts so she could digest them in an accelerated manner far swifter than human speech allowed. From a standpoint of efficiency, he understood, but it was grating.
It will be better when we are on campaign.
Then there was the matter of some of her reforms, which were bound to cause friction within the Legion. They were to cease sending potential Techmarines to Mars. She confided in him that the Emperor's Imperial Truth made an exception for Mars's views out of necessity, not because it was the ideal. She would hold herself to that ideal, allowing attrition to erode any dual loyalties within her Legion to the Mechanicum.
There was also the return to a more rigid rank structure. Most Legions simply used titles like Captain, with the details of their inner workings understood by custom. Tanya had insisted on a return to the original formation sizes. He had considered adjusting the numbers per her suggestion – that he marshal arguments for a size other than one thousand – but he did not wish to overstep.
His own rank was now Praetorate, second in command of the Legion. Lord Commanders, or simply Commanders, led the thousand-strong Chapters. Each Chapter contained two Battalions of five Companies, with each Battalion commanded by a Lieutenant-Commander. Reorganizing the structure and ranks of hundreds upon hundreds of officers across tens of thousands of Astartes had been exhausting, even for one of his post-human endurance.
He was also dissatisfied with his role in selecting commanders to oversee the garrisoning of worlds. The Raven Guard did not operate that way. They fought only until a world was secure, then moved on to the next battlefield. His… her warriors would obey, but he felt it robbed them of future glory. Occasional Ork incursions did occur on previously secured worlds, but they were infrequent.
Arkhas had not taken to his new duties, and he wondered if he should have requested a different assignment. Perhaps leading his own splinter Expeditionary Fleet would frustrate him less than the tasks he faced now.
***
To say I was excited to receive the Emperor's gifts would be an understatement. It was like learning I had been admitted to the Imperial War College; the prestige alone was one thing, but joining meant being pulled from the frontlines. My joy upon seeing the arrayed equipment matched that same level of elation.
First came The Sable Armor. Its ceramite plates were black as the heart of a starless void, not merely coated but steeped in a darkness that seemed to swallow light itself. I could tell it had been infused with adamantium and some unknown alloy. The armor was sleek, its surfaces unmarred except for the faint etchings of ravens, wings carved mid-flight. It was lighter than I expected, built for stealth and speed, its joints whispering rather than clanking. I traced a finger along the edge of a vambrace, feeling the faint pulse of its power field. The artificers had wrought a masterpiece of subtlety.
It was not just a work of art; it was a bonanza from the Dark Age of Technology. The refractor shielding could turn aside even some Power Weapons before marring the alloyed surface. The armor gave off no signal and completely encased me from detection by augers. Even more unfathomable was the fact that I could command the suit to release what amounted to a modified EMP pulse that scrambled sensors, vox communications, and unshielded electronics. Through some archaic wonder of technology, it also created a bubble around me that dampened all sound whenever I wished.
The Emperor has outdone himself. I know he worked with the greatest artificers of Mars to forge this, but I would love to master such technology. This goes far beyond the implanted knowledge of artifice, material science, and physics I was given.
The next piece of equipment was named The Korvidine Pinions. It was a jetpack, and once again, the science behind its construction surpassed my understanding. It could rocket me far faster than any standard device, and the wings made it aerodynamic. Their sharp edges could also serve as weapons when unfurled, the metallic blades equipped with nanofilaments capable of cutting through most materials.
I was also given two unnamed Archeotech Pistols. They were far more powerful and longer-ranged than regular laspistols, customized to my size since the ones constructed millennia ago would have been awkward, or perhaps even impossible, to wield.
Well for my brothers, I could probably manage it with my smaller stature.
In terms of Power Weapons, I was allowed to choose from the higher-quality ones. Nothing truly extraordinary, but those forged by great artificers were less likely to short out, break, or require extra maintenance. Given how easily I could close with a foe using my armor and jetpack, I wanted something superior. In the end, I settled on a Power Spear, though most preferred to call it a Power Lance.
I chose it partly because of the battle with the Xenos and my desire to extend my reach, as well as because it would complement charges made with The Korvidine Pinions. Acquiring additional war gear was going to be one of my priorities. Horus had regaled me with tales of how Vulkan enjoyed crafting his own weapons. Trying my hand at creating something, with the help of the finest innovators of Kiavahr, was definitely high on my lengthy to-do list.
I should also ask Malcador about backup armor. It seems even more durable than Terminator armor, but I wouldn't know where to begin with repairs if it were damaged in the field.
All told, I was tremendously pleased with what the Emperor had provided. When I next saw him, I would be sure to thank him for his generosity.
***
In the following year, I was kept very busy. A grumpy Horus set out to rejoin his Expeditionary Fleet after receiving a rare and direct refusal, presumably from both Malcador and the Emperor. He had insisted that I accompany him for the next decade, along with my Legion, to ease me into the rigors of command. He was a phenomenal warrior, but I got the sense he didn't respect me in quite the same way.
No matter. The proof is in the pudding. My results will speak for themselves.
Restructuring the Legion, training with Malcador, working with my new personal equipment, pursuing research projects, refining schematic designs, and planning the routes for my Expeditionary Fleet, among other duties, kept me from spending as much time with Nasturi as I would have liked. Nonetheless, I did make time for her, and I also began ensuring she advanced quickly in her own educational development.
The most promising warriors from Deliverance had all taken well to their implanted gene-seeds and organs. I had wanted to give them the best chance of avoiding rejection, so they were implanted with the original gene-seed from this body. The newly synthesized gene-seed, derived from my current genetic template, had been implanted into Terran-born recruits and, so far, it appeared just as stable as the original.
Arkhas Fal followed my instructions, but his extended stay with me on Terra was clearly making him antsy. No doubt being stuck in a safe post away from the front lines had him climbing the walls. He would get his chance to fight soon enough.
There were over 3,000 primary Expeditionary Fleets active, not to mention countless resupply, trade, and patrol fleets. Not all Expeditionary Fleets were the mighty kind mine would become, but they didn't need to be. Systems had to be surveyed for potentially dangerous Xenos, even if it was quickly apparent there was no human life present. Empty systems with harvestable and useful resources that could be easily colonized were a tertiary responsibility of the fleets.
There were approximately two hundred billion stars. Even with the massive armada the Emperor commanded, there was no practical way to reach them all. Assuming a very optimistic rate of ten star systems explored per primary fleet each year, it would still take well over five million years to fully chart the galaxy. And ten star systems per year was extremely optimistic, even with the Warp relatively calm these days. It wasn't unusual for a Warp storm to delay a fleet for years. That was a fear that gnawed at me personally, given my aggressive timetable.
The Emperor was actively increasing the number of fleets being launched, but realistically, the idea of checking every star wasn't practical. Instead, the Expeditionary Fleets based their movements on stable Warp lanes, not only to reduce travel time, but because it was likely those same routes had been used by earlier explorers and colonists.
The second method was intelligence-based: newly discovered systems with intelligent life might possess more advanced knowledge of other habitable systems in their vicinity.
My fleet was frankly gargantuan in my estimation, though apparently most of my brothers had far larger fleets. The Raven Guard portion consisted of forty Capital Ships on its own. Led by the Shadow of the Emperor, my Gloriana-class Battleship, my fleet also boasted eight Battle Barges and thirty-one Strike Cruisers. The Imperial Army also had its own flotilla, which was under my command for at least the next ten years and, in most cases, continued to serve with the same Expeditionary Fleet indefinitely unless in need of lengthy repairs or sadly destroyed.
The cost of replacing even a single Capital Ship makes me weep. These massive vessels use more material than a million tanks. Only certain Forge Worlds have the necessary resources and manpower to make even the smaller Capital Ships.
The Imperial Army fleet was larger in size, but its most powerful ship, the Justitia Aeterna, a Retribution-class Battleship, was significantly smaller than the Shadow of the Emperor. The Imperial Army fleet was meant to add firepower to my Legiones Astartes as well as transport regiments of the Solar Auxilia and Imperial Army units from Therion. Both fleets had a number of frigates and destroyers serving as escort ships.
To be blunt, it was overkill. The vast majority of Compliance campaigns did not require that kind of firepower. Granted, the show of force was a powerful tool to convince the offshoots of humanity to surrender and join the Imperium, but I abhor waste and the inefficient allocation of resources. Most of my brothers had several splinter fleets as well, but I intended to be even more aggressive in my approach.
By the time my campaigns began, I wouldn't have my Raven-class Destroyers produced yet, but eventually I intended to host a whole fleet of destroyers, all scattered across unexplored systems under the protection of Reflex Shields. Information was the name of the game. Efficiency with my main forces would allow me to leapfrog and quickly bring systems that didn't require major deployments under my wing, then regroup for major pushes.
Further sapping my time was the fact that I was the only Primarch on Terra and regularly had notables wishing to speak with me. From Imperial Army and Solar Auxilia attachments who would be part of my Expedition Fleet to Terran aristocracy, it felt like not a day went by without another person wanting to see me. To say nothing of my own Legion, who were all eager to meet me personally!
One appointment came through that I had not been expecting, though I probably should have. It was from the Mechanicum, Magos Valthor Kul. I had him come to me in the expansive quarters where I was housed, both to save time and to enhance my own prestige. Ultimately, I wanted nothing to do with them, but I also knew I couldn't afford to make enemies without purpose.
The man wore robes of crimson synth-silk. The fabric clung to his skeletal frame, which contained not just two mechanical arms but another trio of them. Mechadendrites was the official term for these. They were essentially more advanced servo-arms that occasionally still bore some original biological flesh.
The Magos's inhuman face was a mask of adamantine, and augmetic ocular implants had replaced his eyes. They shed a green light that further distanced him completely from the rest of humanity. This was the visage of my enemy, the author of the cruelest degradation of the human spirit. I kept my face impassive despite my internal revulsion.
"Hail, Tanya Corax, Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion, gene-progeny of the Omnissiah's divine will. Thank you for granting me this meeting."
I gave a brief nod. "What can I do for you, Magos Kul?"
"We of the Mechanicum are puzzled by your insistence that our role on Kiavahr is limited to inspection and monitoring."
I leaned forward, still sitting at my desk. "The Emperor agreed and formalized a contract, a treaty if you will, that allows me autonomy over that system, so long as I tithe Psyker talents not given the gene-seed, enforce the Imperial Truth, and do not allow the rise of Silica Animus. I understand Mars and the Emperor also have a treaty. Surely you do not wish to suggest that my father acted negligently toward his agreements?"
The Priest of Mars seemed to shake for a moment. His servo-arms shivering and gesturing.
"The Omnissiah's will is absolute. You cannot be coerced to yield stewardship of the nascent Forge World. The Deus Mechanicus decrees your willing submission, a testament to your communion with the Motive Force. You strive to forge and create; we can aid you. We can illuminate the Omnissiah's divine will."
So they already know of tinkering with the baseline Thunderhawks and Destroyers. I am not getting in bed with this religious lobotomy experiment gone wrong.
"I am curious about creating devices and weapons of war. I also wish to run my own star system, to prove what my ideas and industry can accomplish. No doubt I will stumble, but that is where learning comes in. If I have your more experienced hands," I said, looking questioningly at the servo-arms, "guiding my every move, I would stunt myself. I will certainly consider it in the future."
It was difficult to read the creature before me. It was more machine than man, but its words were clear enough.
"We have promised to aid the Omnissiah in his unification of the galaxy. As per our agreement, when he commands, we produce sacred machines for his legions, we will obey. When your brothers need the aid of the mightiest of the God-Machines of the Collegia Titanica, we assist. When you have allowed us to administer Kiavahr, we will do the same for your Legion. We will also establish a new branch of Questoris Familia on Deliverance or Kiavahr, as you prefer."
The stick and the carrot.
The Mechanicum could likely withhold their Titans from serving as my auxilia when I called for them. If the target system was important enough to warrant Titans, the Emperor could intervene—or, if he chose to be diplomatic, he might give command to one of my brothers and have the Titans support their forces while I played second fiddle.
The carrot portion was the forming of a new Knightly House, which would bring a powerful garrison to my home system. Knights were bipedal tanks ranging from five to ten meters. They were a boon to any battlefield, and I had some ideas of one day creating my own version to be used by Astartes. The more advanced technology of their design was outside my mastery, but analog-controlled walkers, more along the lines of oversized Imperial Army Sentinels, should be simple enough to create.
I have other priorities, and my Legion specializes in stealth and speed. Still, having them onsite could jumpstart my knowledge…
No. I wasn't going to make the devil's bargain. Letting the Mechanicum into the running of Kiavahr was like letting the Type 95 fuck with my brain all over again. I was willing to commit Xenocide, help a despotic ruler conquer all of humanity, and use orbital bombardment against my enemies, but I was going to draw a line. And this was going to be it.
"A tempting offer, Magos, but I have not seen the Titans or the Knights in combat. Perhaps if you extended the same gesture of friendship to me as you did to my brothers, I would be convinced of their worth. Primarch Russ did not need to hand over administration of the industry of his homeworld to you, and yet the Collegia Titanica comes to his side when he calls."
"Fenris does not have the potential to become a Forge World. This is a false comparison," came the swift response.
I kept my gaze on the green light of his false eyes.
"I will consult with the Fabricator-General, Primarch Corax. He will not be pleased. Omnissiah grant you wisdom."
He left, and I was annoyed. Not being able to call upon some of the most powerful auxilia could impede my performance. On the other hand, considering their manufacturing costs, I found Titans a bit wasteful. At least capital ships could ferry troops, maintain control of the void, and unleash massive ordnance on surface targets. Three important tasks justified, at least in part, the atrocious cost of their construction. Titans had only one purpose. It was an important one, but there were plenty of ways to blow things up.
***
Techmarine Diago Malov had served in the Nineteenth Legion for just shy of one hundred years. Thirty of those had been on Mars, learning of the Omnissiah and the sacred rites that needed to be performed to keep the machine spirits happy and Legiones Astartes equipment functioning. He had seen his Primarch from afar, but now, seeing her in person at such close range, he felt both of his hearts stutter.
She was perfection. Her golden hair framed a face that, in another era, would have launched countless ships. Her azure eyes gleamed with otherworldly intelligence. Her form was larger than any woman Diago had ever laid eyes upon and was flawless. The overwhelming urge to kneel was stifled only by her earlier commands to the Legion that a simple salute was professional, and that anything more was a sign that emotion had overcome discipline.
It took effort to obey, but obey he did. His oaths of service exceeded even his awed reverence for his gene-sire.
"Lady Corax! Reporting as instructed."
She stood up and inspected him closely.
"Techmarine Diago, I have studied the reports of battles you have been in and looked at your maintenance logs. You are without a doubt the finest and most gifted Techmarine in my Legion."
Pride suffused his every being. A joy that surpassed all others he had ever experienced surged through him.
"I… I am unworthy of such praise."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? You question my judgement?"
As he rushed to protest, she raised her hand.
"I thought not. Your efficacy is admirable, and your loyalty unquestioned. But now I will challenge it."
A pang of some strange, never felt emotion filled him.
"My Primarch?"
"When in conflict. Who do you serve? The Raven Guard or the Mechanicum?"
"The Raven Guard." His answer was immediate.
"The Raven Guard or the Omnissiah?"
Now he hesitated, uncertain if his Primarch understood. She was not of Mars and might be ignorant of the Cult of the Mechanicus.
"Lady Corax, the Emperor is the Omnissiah."
She clicked her tongue. "No, Malov, he is not. The Emperor denies divinity. He has declared the Imperial Truth. He is not a God, nor does he wish to masquerade as one."
"Forgive me, my Primarch, but he has allowed the Mechanicum as the sole exception. He is…"
"No, he is not. He has entered into an agreement with Mars out of convenience so that he can unite humanity sooner. The Emperor has told me directly to my face that he is not a god. Do you call him a liar? Or me?"
Diago felt his insides twist. This was an impossible choice. All he had been taught on Mars, the sacred rites, the inherent infallibility of the Machine God… he fell to his knees.
"Lady Corax, the answer is the Raven Guard. I serve you and the Emperor, not Mars. If embracing the Imperial Truth means accepting it without exception for the Priesthood of Mars, then I cast their teachings aside. I am of the Legiones Astartes, and I am loyal."
She took his hands and lifted him off his knees.
"I believe you, Commander Malov."
He was confused, but she explained before he could ask.
"I am promoting you to the rank some call Chapter Master, but Lord Commander is its true rank under the Nineteenth Legion. You may be called to serve on the battlefield, especially for field testing, but your charge will be commanding your brother Techmarines and ensuring they also embrace the Imperial Truth. There are no Gods, including the Emperor. Your duties begin there, but will also include overall responsibility for the creation, maintenance, and testing of arms and armaments the Raven Guard make use of."
It was a heady thought, yet there was even more to come.
"You will work closely with me on some designs I wish to implement. You will collaborate with mortal industrialists and scientists as we continuously improve the quality of our equipment. I am lending you one of my Archeotech Pistols. I have named it 'Conceit,' and I will keep its sister with me for the battles ahead. Your purpose with it is to unlock its secrets, determine how it was made, and replicate it."
What she was asking for was impossible. The technology used to forge such a device must have originated in the time of the Old Night.
"Commander Malov, technology operates on repeatable principles. If something is possible once, it is possible again. Replication of results is the height of science." She graced him with a knowing smile. "That said, I understand the difficulty of the task. Given our current knowledge of technology, it may not be possible. Try nonetheless, and in your failures, we will still increase the sum of our knowledge."
Her steady countenance wavered for a moment. "Craft, experiment, and then craft again. Yes, that will be your axiom, you, and the rest of the Techmarines."
In the coming weeks, Diago found precious little time for anything but his duties. The other Techmarines in the Legion were more difficult to convince than he had been. Things were different when not in the radiant presence of their Primarch. He worked tirelessly on schematics, fabrication structures, and attempts to reverse engineer the Archeotech Pistol. Demands on his time even prevented him from regularly attending the lodge meetings he found so helpful.
After being on Mars for three decades, he had felt displaced from his fellow brothers. His longtime friend, before Diago was selected to become a Techmarine, had introduced him to them. Jato Ransal was a file member of the 3rd Chapter, 8th Company, but the lifeline he extended through the lodges had been a welcome one. The lodges were a fraternal organization, a group first picked up by association with their brother Legions. A place where Astartes of all ranks could congregate and relax without the specter of rank between them.
Since the Raven Guard would soon be leaving the Throneworld, Diago carved out time for what might be the lodge's final conclave before their exodus. Who knew when he would behold some of their faces again?
"Ah, Lord Commander Diago, you finally show yourself!" Jato was glib as he handed him a sweetened drink. It was hard for Astartes to feel the effects of alcohol, but sometimes a fine taste was enough.
"You know rank is of no importance within this gathering," Diago replied.
Jato shrugged. "True, but you haven't had a proper congratulations from me. You caught the eye of Lady Corax. Well deserved, we all think so."
The two talked of the changes in the Legion. There had been some grumbling regarding assignment and structure, but they were all more than willing to continue with the Great Crusade under their Primarch's leadership. There was a sense of anticipation. Purpose had filled them; they were to take their place on their own two feet, rather than the supporting roles they had previously known.
Lord Lupercal had called upon them often, but outside of that, the Emperor had used them to deal with those instances when rebellion sparked on worlds that had already reached Compliance. Often, it was not the entire world in open rebellion, but only sections of it. Unleashing other Legions would have been a blunt instrument, but the Raven Guard were adept at preparing the ground and then striking in one fell swoop against the traitors.
It was necessary work, but it drew few honors and accolades.
"Have you seen the neophytes?" Jato asked him.
"No, I have been far too busy."
"A good lot so far, but the ones with Lady Corax's new gene-seed are a bit obvious. All of them are blond. They'll stick out like a sore thumb compared to the rest of us." There was something uneasy in his voice. "You don't think she'll favor them over us, do you?"
Diago clapped him on the shoulder. "Lady Corax will favor them if they perform better. I can't claim to know her too well just yet, but in the dozen meetings I've had with her, the one thing that she focuses on is results. You outdo these newcomers, you will be honored above them. Should they get the better of you instead, they will be exalted. Steady, brother. Perform and all will be well."