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Chapter 76: Implanting Gene Engines into Primarchs
"Let us call this engagement a draw, Brother," Horus declared, his voice carrying the measured authority of a Warmaster.
His amber eyes fixed upon the Lion with genuine respect.
"This outcome serves both our honours well. After all, neither of us succeeded in breaching the spire's defences first."
Lion El'Jonson inclined his head with characteristic stoicism. The First Primarch's features remained impassive as he weighed his brother's words.
"Since you speak thus, Brother Horus, then a draw it shall be."
The wager they had struck now seemed a distant folly. Sanguinius had claimed the primary glory through his own magnificent assault, rendering their competition moot.
To dispute this matter further would invite mockery from their other brothers. Their Father would undoubtedly view such petty rivalry with profound disappointment.
Both Primarchs felt the sting of wounded pride, though neither would voice it. They had been so focused on their rivalry that another had claimed the victory they both sought.
After their brief council concluded, the Lion and Horus parted once more. Each led their respective forces back into the fray, their movements sharp with barely contained frustration.
Imperial wrath continued to fall upon the Dark Eldar like the hammer of divine justice. The spire's defenders fought with the desperate fury of cornered predators.
These elite assassins and warriors represented the finest killers of the ancient houses of Commorragh. They extracted a heavy toll in Imperial blood for every meter surrendered.
Yet their resistance proved ultimately futile against the Emperor's finest.
The spire's defences finally collapsed under sustained assault. When the fighting ended, the battlefield resembled a charnel house.
Countless corpses littered the Dark City's twisted architecture. Severed limbs and broken bodies created a tableau of absolute carnage.
The patriarchs and power brokers of the great houses lay dead or shackled. Those who survived the Blood Angels' methodical slaughter now faced a far worse fate.
By the time the Emperor arrived with his Custodian Guard, the battle's outcome was assured. Corvus Corax walked at His side, his pale features grim beneath his raven-black hair.
The prisoners were being marshalled into ordered ranks by the Ninth Legion warriors.
"Rakarth, you miserable traitor," one captive snarled. Hatred dripped from every syllable like venom. "Your reckoning will come, wretch."
The sight of the turncoat following in the Emperor's wake drove the prisoners to fury. Their curses filled the air with murderous intent.
"For the remainder of your worthless existence, you shall know no peace, Rakarth. Commorragh will hunt you across the stars. Even death will not grant you sanctuary from our vengeance."
The speaker was the Archon of the Hesperax Family, his aristocratic features twisted with rage. Rakarth's betrayal had doomed his house above all others.
The port he had revealed, the districts first struck by Imperial forces, all belonged to the Hesperax. Thousands of his kinsmen had perished in the opening moments of the assault. Their ancient bloodline now faced extinction, regardless of the fate of Commorragh.
Rakarth surveyed his former peers with undisguised satisfaction. A chilling smile spread across his scarred features as he approached.
From his surgical kit, he withdrew vials of concentrated neurotoxin. Each prisoner received their dose with clinical precision; those who had cursed him most vehemently earned double portions.
Agonised screams erupted as the toxins took hold.
Rakarth threw back his head and laughed with genuine delight. His terrifying bionic limbs unfolded like the wings of some mechanical predator.
The sight inspired both terror and loathing in equal measure.
"Have you fools still not comprehended the hierarchy?" he sneered. "Who among us is the master, and who the slave?"
"From this moment forward, you are no longer the aristocrats of Commorragh. You are my property. My experimental subjects. My entertainment."
"I shall savour every scream you offer for cycles uncounted."
The pre-battle negotiations had granted Rakarth dominion over all captured nobles. The terror in their eyes confirmed they understood their fate perfectly. Each knew intimately what horrors awaited in Rakarth's laboratories.
"The primary objectives are secured," the Emperor commanded. "Initiate withdrawal protocols."
Corvus nodded his agreement, adding, "Once the cultists complete their sacrificial ritual, eliminate them."
The initial assault's overwhelming success had achieved its strategic purpose. Imperial forces had established a viable beachhead within Commorragh itself. Their foothold in the Dark City remained secure despite fierce resistance.
However, the expeditionary force's limited numbers presented growing challenges.
Reinforcements poured in from the outlying districts of Commorragh. They came like predators drawn by the scent of blood and violence.
Swarms of Hellions descended from the twisted spires above. Scourge skiffs darted between the ruins, seeking targets of opportunity. Wychs and arena gladiators launched ambushes from every shadow.
For each enemy slain, two more seemed to take their place.
As the conflict spread, Imperial casualties mounted steadily. The various factions of Commorragh were setting aside ancient grudges. A united purpose drove them to resist the Human Empire's intrusion.
Meanwhile, the Imperial Navy fleet found itself increasingly outnumbered. Extended engagement would inevitably result in complete encirclement.
Commorragh resembled nothing so much as a wounded beast. Attempting to deliver a killing blow would only provoke devastating retaliation.
The Dark City required careful bleeding until its strength finally failed. Only then could its head be severed with certainty.
Commorragh lacked any single supreme ruler. Even destroying the captured nobles would merely sow chaos rather than victory.
Understanding this tactical reality, Imperial forces began a systematic withdrawal. The massive Titan and Knight war machines were evacuated first. Astartes formations assumed rearguard positions with discipline.
Other units retreated in sequence, methodically contracting their defensive perimeter.
The leaders of Commorragh's myriad factions raged at this humiliating end of the battle.
The Human Empire's assault was an intolerable insult to their pure dominion. To allow these invaders to withdraw safely would compound that humiliation several times over.
Their heart burned to trap this Imperial army, especially its immortal leader. Only by capturing the Master of Mankind could they salvage their tattered pride.
However, human malice exceeded even their twisted imagination.
Corvus smiled as he positioned Chaos cultists near the conquered spire. Their sacrificial ritual employed the mangled Dark Eldar corpses as offerings.
Soon, in a matter of moments, the Prince of Pleasure's servants answered their blasphemous summons.
Slaanesh daemons poured into Commorragh through the weakened veil. These entities wrought carnage far exceeding anything the humans had achieved.
The various factions faced a terrible choice. Pursue the retreating Imperials or confront the daemonic infestation threatening their city.
In the end, survival instinct overcame their wounded pride as reality pressed on them.
The expeditionary force departed Commorragh, laden with prisoners and glory, leaving behind the city in flames, destruction, death, and a daemon invasion in progress.
Asdrubael Vect stood upon a ruined tower, surveying the devastation below, caused by the damned mon'kiegh
The Archon of the Black Heart Cabal watched daemons rampage through his city. His subordinates worked systematically to purge the entities and restore order.
Vect possessed age beyond measure, having witnessed the Fall itself. His wisdom was matched only by his ruthless ambition. Through sheer cunning and brutality, he had ascended the treacherous hierarchy of the Commorragh.
The Black Heart Cabal represented his most significant achievement, a power capable of challenging even the ancient nobility.
Upon learning of the Imperial invasion, he had ordered his forces to consolidate as soon as possible. Let those damned nobles and mon'keigh bleed each other while he preserved his strength.
Now those same nobles knelt under the Imperial chain, leaving a perfect power vacuum for him.
Vect smiled coldly as the implications crystallised in his ancient mind. This was an opportunity that could come in once in several millennia, and he would use it to its fullest.
"The era of inherited privilege ends this day," he declared to the burning city. "The age of Asdrubael Vect begins."
The successfully withdrawn expeditionary force celebrated its triumph aboard the fleet.
As the warrior who first breached Commorragh's power spire, Sanguinius received the highest honours, and The Ninth Legion shared in their Primarch's glory.
The Blood Angels held their heads high as they passed through cheering crowds of mortals and Astartes alike. From this moment forward, they bore that noble title.
The shameful epithet of 'vampires' was finally laid to rest.
Each Primarch processed the victory differently. Horus and the Lion maintained cordial expressions, though both wrestled with the bitter taste of being outshone by their brother.
Guilliman observed the ceremonies with analytical interest, already composing after-action reports in his mind.
The Emperor did not attend the grand ceremony.
Upon his return to the flagship, he immediately sequestered himself within his personal laboratories; the weight of the next phase pressed upon his immortal consciousness.
More than half a month passed in absolute isolation. The ship's Mechanicus adepts whispered of strange energies emanating from the sealed chambers. Custodians stood vigil, but none knew what transpired within.
Finally, the Emperor summoned His Primarch sons.
The message was simple, yet carried profound weight: "Report to Laboratory Seven immediately. Come alone."
Each Primarch felt an electric anticipation as they made their way through the ship's corridors. Something momentous was about to unfold.
The laboratory's sterile confines hummed with barely contained energy. Ancient machinery lined the walls, their purposes known only to the Emperor. The air itself seemed charged with thick anticipation.
As the gene-sons gathered, they could sense the magnitude of what was to come. Their enhanced perception detected subtle changes in their father's bearing; something fundamental had shifted during his isolation.
The Emperor stood before them, His golden eyes reflecting depths of knowledge that mortal minds could never fathom. In His hands, He held devices that pulsed with inner light, each one crafted specifically for the warrior before Him.
"My sons," He began, His voice carrying the weight of eternity, "the time has come for your next evolution."
Raven perched on a nearby apparatus, his dark eyes gleaming with anticipation. "The Great Crusade has shown us the galaxy's scope," the corvid said. "But the universe extends far beyond even our ambitions."
The Primarchs exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their superhuman features. What lay beyond their current understanding?
"These Gene Engines represent the culmination of technologies from realms beyond this reality," the Emperor continued. "Each has been adapted to your unique physiology, designed to unlock capabilities you did not know you possessed."
Lion El'Jonson was the first to speak, his voice steady despite the momentous implications. "Father, what manner of trials await us that would require such enhancements?"
The Emperor's gaze swept across His gene-sons, each a masterwork of genetic craft, each destined for glories beyond imagination.
"The trials of infinity itself, my son. Soon, you shall witness what lies beyond the veil of stars."
The time had come to implant the Gene Engines suited to their unique physiologies.
Each would receive modifications tailored to their individual characteristics. The Emperor had spent these weeks of isolation refining the process, ensuring compatibility with their transcendent genetics.
The next phase of the Great Crusade required these enhancements.
But more than that, the multiversal expansion that Raven had spoken of would demand capabilities beyond even a Primarch's considerable gifts.
As the gene sons prepared for their transformation, none could have imagined how profoundly this moment would reshape their destinies.
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Calm down, I know you want your bonus chapter, and you will get it. Today only okay, wait a little bit.
Also, I just wanted to confirm whether these two chapters were to your liking or not, in terms of pacing, vocabulary, and all the changes you previously asked me to fix.