Cutting through the air and sparkling with warp sparks, the cursed sword of Moiran rushed towards the Lion. This two-handed sword of Moiran was forged to the same dimensions as the sword Wyrd. The huge weapon was as long as the height of the primarch, the thickness of the blade was also striking, which made the weapon extremely cumbersome and heavy. However, if with Wyrd Moiran was inferior to the enemies in speed, compensating for this with the force of blows, then with the cursed sword... the warp gave the primarch extraordinary strength and it might seem that the weapon had no downsides.
The Lion gave a clear order not to interfere, because he did not want to cause a massacre. It would hurt the Crusade too much. This conflict had to remain personal or the Emperor would be let down by the Lion himself, which he, as a loyal son, did not want. The sons of Moiran did the same, remaining rooted to the spot and hoping that their father would win.
However, Lev was an excellent swordsman and a skilled warrior in general. He combined both the fury of a beast and the cold-bloodedness of a predator, and the crown of this combination was the mastery of fencing. Lev developed his own style, just as cruel and merciless, where each blow was aimed not at beauty, but at the extermination of the enemy. And he easily took a step towards Moiran's lunge, sharply raising his blade up and parrying the attack, simultaneously transferring the momentum of the blade for the next attack.
Both primarchs were giants, clad in power armor, but each moved so easily that even words could not describe. These mountains of muscle and metal were completely unnoticeable, as if two demigods had come together in a deadly waltz. Each blow shook the air and gusts of wind could knock down a mere mortal. The roar at the moment of the clash of blades was ear-splitting, and the primarchs themselves calculated everything so perfectly that they were not afraid to take tangential blows to the armor. And no one said a word.
In a grim silence, Moiran lowered his blade again and the two-handed swords clashed. The Fatebringer Primarch took another step, beginning to press all his weight and the power of the warp onto the Lion. The Dark Angels Primarch's teeth clenched with tension and he was forced to take a step back. But even so, he could not completely stop the attack and the cursed sword clanged down on his shoulder pad, trying to bite into the metal.
A deep scratch remained on the armor, but the next moment Lev showed that despite all the external rudeness he remained extremely agile. Bending his legs at the knees, he slipped under the blade and, with a pirouette, delivered a sweeping blow aiming at Moiran's stomach. Like a primeval predator, he seemed to be playing with his prey.
But what was his surprise when the seemingly defeated Moiran did not even try to dodge and with a roar escaping from the speakers struck the blade with his elbow, pushing it aside. And then at that very moment Moiran turned around, raising a cloud of dust and in the light of the native star of Zervana the tip of the blade raised above his head flashed, reflecting all the perfection of the warp.
Fate was decided in this fight, but the Primarchs' duel of wills changed it every second. This was not just a duel of swordsmen who did not share something, it was a battle of ideas and principles that reflected the orders. The Lion was ready to die for his ideals, just as Moiran could doubt many things, but not the protection of what was truly important.
- THIS SWORD HAS CHANGED YOU!!! - Lev shouted condemningly, forced to take a crushing blow with a hard block.
And with a crash, the Lion's knees fell, breaking the concrete with a sharp fall. But not even a chip remained on the Lion's Sword, as the cursed sword only vibrated slightly, dissipating the excess power that could break even such a weapon.
"You are blinded by pride, brother! This will be your undoing!" Moiran replied and then kicked Leo, sending him flying backwards.
But even in flight, the Lion regrouped and began to strike preemptively, not allowing Moiran to come closer. And then, having risen to his full height, he rushed into a new attack. Now the Lion was going to fight seriously, because the damned sword clearly endowed Moiran with enormous strength, because how else could this be explained? A lousy and unremarkable primarch could not overthrow the primarch of the first legion in any other way. How telling... The Lion, like many other primarchs, was ready to invent anything to pass off wishful thinking as reality.
"They have to be stopped," I said quietly. "This is madness."
Meanwhile, tensions were growing among the Astartes and the allied forces. The Primarchs were still undecided about who would win, and increasingly dangerous thoughts were creeping into their minds. Lancelot, who had been watching the battle from afar with the other Knights, was beginning to hum louder and louder. Although I had little good to say about Lancelot, I had to give him credit for being the first to decide to go on a Crusade with Moiran to repay him for saving Camelot. Lancelot felt he had the right to do so, and he was not tormented by the choice, ready to begin the battle at any moment. The other Knights shared the same opinion.
Tyukhe slowly began to get up from his seat.
- SIT DOWN!!! - the dark angel roared and slammed the barrel of the bolter right into Tyukhe's face, after which he began to push him back to the ground.
The dark angel did not want to shoot, but Tyche did not want to just watch what was happening. All the hostages, who were not very afraid of death, began to show activity, because death had become commonplace and a natural result of their participation in the Great Crusade. They understood that they would be shot then, but not all of them would be killed.
— Don't shoot!
— Don't move!
The fighting primarchs responded almost in unison, but Moiran's allies were used to taking the initiative and deciding their own fate. The word of their primarch in this case was perceived as a forced recommendation. The Dark Angels understood that even though they would not be the first to shoot, they would have to respond.
"Right now," I whispered quietly, giving a signal to Birdie.
And at that fateful moment, one word of mine changed the fate of everyone. One word and all the obvious paths changed, becoming a completely new future and unfortunately not the best, because my word was heard not only by the Bird.
A rainbow light flashed in the air and the instant reaction of the dark angels turned into shooting at the target. But the bird quickly dispersed, having already distracted the dark angels for an instant. I managed to rush forward and, under the rather surprised looks of the company of terminators, found myself right between two primarchs, who at that moment parted after another exchange of blows.
- ENOUGH!!! - I screamed, realizing that I was alive only because the Terminators simply did not perceive me as a threat. - WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MADMEN!!! YOU ARE BROTHERS!!! DO YOU THINK THAT HIS SWORD IS CURSED AND HAS TAKEN THE UPPER OF HIM?! THEN ASK HIM TO THROW DOWN THE SWORD!!! IN A HUMAN WAY, WITHOUT ARROGANCE OR INSULTS!!! IS IT REALLY THAT DIFFICULT TO JUST SAY A FEW WORDS?! I DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT'S EASIER FOR YOU TO KILL EACH OTHER THAN TO TALK!!!
And a dark pause fell. I continued to stand between the Primarchs, looking from one to the other, and behind me panicked cries were heard. The irreparable had already happened, but only the spilled blood sobered the Primarchs, whose personal conflict had resulted in the sacrifice of those who followed them. All of Moiran's anger was washed away by the loss, and even the Lion began to understand that he had probably done something wrong.
"I was a slave, but I will never be one again," Moiran said sadly, no longer looking at Lev. "Take it if you think it's a problem and get out. You're dead to me now, Lev."
And without hesitation, Moiran easily threw his cursed sword under Lev's feet, which, although it had great power, was indeed unable to subdue Moiran. As did a dozen of the chosen ones, repeating the same gesture. But looking at the sword under his feet, Lev said nothing and did not order it to be picked up. What was he thinking about at that moment? Clearly not about what he had originally come here for. Silently, he left and led his warriors away, who were also not happy with what they had gotten dirty in.
I just now turned around and looked back. There on the ground, next to the overturned table, lay Tyukhe with his head torn apart by a bolter shot. When he heard my "now", he took it as a signal to act. Maybe if it weren't for his injuries, he would have had time to do something, but as it was... the dark angel simply followed orders, reacting on reflexes alone, eliminating the threat.
The same fate befell several others who could not be neutralized without bloodshed. We are talking about two mortals who were simply thrown back by the Astartes, but when you are simply thrown back by a two-meter giant in power armor... it is easy to break your head, because the human body is extremely fragile. They were not a threat, they simply tried to brush them off.
And Moiran had seen many losses, many times he had seen his sons die in battles of the Great Crusade. But looking at Tyche... a Space Marine should die in battle for the Imperium, and not from a shot from those he considered a brother. Moiran really wanted revenge, anger burned his heart and hatred tore his soul, but perhaps it was Moiran who had the greatest endurance of all the primarchs.
He had been through a lot, these events could have broken him, as they had broken Curze, but in the end Moiran had hardened. The blood had already been spilled, but to start a fratricidal war with the Dark Angels because of it... no, in this case, revenge would not be justice, it would remain only a selfish and childish impulse. Let everyone again think that the Arbiters of Fate allowed themselves to be walked all over again, let the Lion invent another feat, let them say whatever they want.
But this time the wounds were not inflicted by words. And Moiran and his legion will never forget this, just as they will never forgive their brother. The time will come and everyone will pay in full for everything.
"Every step changes our destiny, but the less careful we are, the more we hurt others in our aspirations," Moiran said, looking blankly at Tyche's body. "And in our desire to do as much as possible, we forget that sometimes we should start with not making things worse."
Another victim was a great loss for the legion. The 2nd company knew Tyche as a reliable comrade and a brave commander, other officers knew Tyche as an experienced tactician and an obedient soldier. For Moiran he was a loyal son, and for someone Tyche was a mentor and friend. Maybe just a rival in regicide. But everyone understood that what happened was an incredible precedent.
The war with Rangda was breaking the Primarchs, accustomed to winning and moving forward. Faced with difficulties and the inefficiency of their own strategies and methods of war, they began to argue, get angry and act unpredictably. The incredible war machine began to bog down and fail one after another. The Primarchs had their strengths, but few of them were able to adapt and adjust to the situation.
The Lion was a terrible leader and hated every day in the role of a general, dreaming of personally wielding a sword. Rogal Dorn was a master of defense, but because of his stubbornness, sometimes dozens of times more allies died than they should have. Angor was capable of breaking down any obstacle with his furious onslaught, but every battle he fought, he threw himself head-on into pikes, which is why battles turned into meaningless meat grinders. Jaghatai lacked the heavy equipment of Ferrus, Ferrus lacked the mobility of Jaghatai. And when they ran into trouble, when their strategies stopped working... most of the primarchs simply did not know what to do. They did not know how to do anything else.
All this and much more led to the Emperor being forced to turn his personal gaze to the Halo stars. Moreover, there were rumors that he not only took control of the situation, but also wished to personally arrive to solve all the problems.
But we didn't care, and I stood and looked at the bodies burning in the fire. Tyukhe was seen off separately, only surrounded by his brothers in the order, according to long-standing traditions. Mere mortals were not allowed there, largely because Moiran needed to talk to his legion and explain further actions. The war with Rangda continued, if someone from the legion began to deliberately harm the dark angels ... it would end badly for everyone. Moiran, despite all his pain, did not want to transfer the personal into the common cause. Many did not like this, but everyone will listen to their father.
I stood next to the funeral pyres of those who simply... simply got caught in the crossfire? No, they determined their own fate, if they had stood still and not moved, they would have survived. But they tried to do something and, as expected, failed in a confrontation with the Astartes. The horrifying thing was that it wasn't even a battle. They were simply pushed aside and now there were three corpses.
Such was the power of the Space Marines, who didn't care even after what had happened. One more, one less, millions and billions of people died in the Great Crusade. Like ants they ran between the Astartes, Knights, Titans... but I still didn't understand where such cruelty came from in the Dark Angels? They themselves were once people. Did the trials they went through turn them into emotionless killing machines? A strange question, because that was the purpose for which they were created.
Or was I guilty of their death? One random word that I accidentally whispered under my breath. But of course Tyche heard everything, and others followed suit. That is why Moiran was now talking to the legion, because he understood that if one decided to massacre the dark angels, then others would follow him. That was the whole danger of dictatorship and tyranny. Fortunately, Moiran understood all the responsibility and did not allow himself to make a mistake.
"Why did they have to die like that?" asked the surgeon standing next to me, the one who had operated on me and many others. "I saved them so many times, so that... so that they could live, serve the Imperium, learn about life and pursue their goals. But once again, the Astartes treated us like trash.
"Don't put everyone under the same brush," I said, grimacing, although I felt similarly. "Not everyone is as crazy as the dark angels."
"There are worse things. Much worse," the surgeon said dryly and turned around to leave.
The split was obvious. A few corpses and now everything was threatening to burn in an internal conflict. Somehow, even worse consequences were avoided.
"Not a miracle, thanks to you," Birdie said. "Such a small man stood between two giants, under the gaze of Terminators and Knights. At that moment, no one knew how to react. You caught them off guard. It sowed chaos, ruining their initial plans and then forcing them to rethink the situation. And of course, these deaths… they are not senseless. Their blood sobered the Primarchs. If they had not died, perhaps millions or billions would have died tomorrow."
"Or nothing would have changed," I noted with some fatalism, because no matter how you look at it, all life under Tzeentch's control was one continuous zugzwang, where every next move only worsens one's own position.
"Mordred," a bass voice of a space marine from the second company sounded behind me. "This is for you."
Turning around, I took in a rather heavy box, a little more than an elbow in width and half an elbow in length and height.
- What is this?
"The little that was left of Tyukhe and that, according to his will, was distributed among a narrow circle of people, among whom, for some reason, you were included," the space marine answered briefly and without emotion, clearly to the point, and immediately left, because he had completed his task and was already looking for a commander in order to receive the next one.
When I opened the box I found a board and pieces for regicide, as well as a manual for the game. Judging by the state of the pieces and the board, they were hardly used. Perfectly polished, with a unique design... On the inside of the board was the name "Tyche" and his battle nickname "Lucky". There was also a list of all the games played on this board. There were only twenty-five entries, but each was unique. Tyche even played with Moiran, although he lost in nine moves.
The Astartes were the greatest warriors, each of them did an incredible amount for victory, but the only chance to leave something behind was these things. A guardsman leaving for war left a family, perhaps even children, in whom he invested a part of himself. The best heroes could sometimes be awarded the highest awards, but these are few and far between.
Most died as unknown heroes, about whom sometimes there would not even be a report in the annals. After all, no matter how ideal they tried to create space marines, there was still a lot of humanity left in them. They were afraid of losing the understanding of their own purpose, they needed a reason to die and win, they wanted to see the ideal and be equal to the Emperor, the primarchs, the captains of their companies. Moreover, their affection could sometimes be even higher than that of humans. It is impossible to even imagine what Tyche would have felt if Moiran had died in that duel.
They were capable of feeling emotions, knew what anger and hatred were, could learn about compassion and loyalty. Just as they feared the unknown, they feared that one day they might become unnecessary and lose the opportunity to realize their potential on the anvils of war. When viewed this way, the Astartes are much more like humans than they seem at first glance.
This also applied to Tyche, who knew that he would hardly live to see the end of the Great Crusade. It is hard to argue with statistics. And although he did not tell anyone about it, he was very afraid that after his death no one would ever remember him again.
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