Chapter 4: Damn, I Want to Ascend the Throne!
On Prospero, several Astartes of the Space Wolves Legion transmitted their message to the surface below.
"By the order of the Emperor, Primarch Magnus the Red of the Thousand Sons Legion and all Librarians are commanded to return to Terra immediately."
The transmission descended through Prospero's atmosphere toward Tizca, the City of Light. Silver spires and towering pyramids housed the accumulated knowledge of countless worlds.
At the city's heart stood the Golden Pyramid - the seat of the Crimson King himself.
Magnus the Red emerged from deep meditation. As he stepped from his chambers, his gene-sons waited - warriors whose devotion burned as bright as the psychic power behind their eyes.
"My sons," Magnus began, his voice carrying unusual weight, "you have heard the Emperor's command."
"Primarch, we cannot return!" Ahriman stepped forward, his face showing the strain of this situation.
The Chief Librarian cut an imposing figure in his crimson power armour, gold trim and emerald scarabs catching the pyramid's inner light. A ceremonial headdress reminiscent of ancient Prosperine pharaohs rested on his head.
Ahzek Ahriman, Captain of the First Fellowship, whose mastery of the Great Ocean's currents was exceeded only by his gene-father's power.
"My lord, have you considered what awaits us should we comply with this summon?" Ahriman's words carried bitter understanding. "Our warriors bear the scars of prolonged psychic practice, mutations of flesh, instabilities in our gene-seed. We all know what fate fell on the Second and Eleventh Legions when they suffered similar afflictions?"
Magnus closed his single eye, jaw tightening. He knew. He was one of the few who had witnessed the purges firsthand, had watched as the Space Wolves Legion, led by Leman Russ, executed the Emperor's will upon his brother Legions.
The presence of Space Wolves ships in Prospero's orbital space carried meaning as clear as daylight.
But still, Magnus hoped, he was unwilling to believe his father would order the destruction of his sons. His love for the Emperor burned as bright as his devotion to the warriors under his command.
To save his Legion from the flesh-change that had once threatened to consume them entirely, Magnus had sacrificed his own eye to the dark powers of the Warp. Such was the depth of his devotion.
"Therefore, my lord, you cannot return to Terra," Ahriman pressed on.
"But this is the Emperor's direct command," Magnus replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "We cannot be seen as disobedient. To do so would brand us as traitors."
Magnus understood the impossible position they faced. He could neither defy his father's will nor abandon his children to certain destruction.
"The Emperor's edict names both the Primarch and the Librarians," Ahriman said, his voice gaining strength. "I will lead them to Terra. But you, my lord, must remain on Prospero."
It was the only solution the Chief Librarian could envision, a compromise that might satisfy Imperial decree while preserving his gene-father.
"Let us go in your stead, Primarch!"
"Allow us this honour, my lord!"
Magnus gazed upon the determined faces of his warriors, his remaining eye glistening with emotion. His lips trembled as he struggled with words that felt like betrayal of everything he held dear.
"So... so be it."
Ahriman and his brothers offered the salute of the Thousand Sons before turning toward the pyramid's exit. As they reached the threshold, Magnus could not restrain himself.
"No matter what happens... return to me safely."
The departing Librarians paused at their father's words, then continued their march into an uncertain future.
With their departure, half of the Thousand Sons Legion's most potent psykers abandoned Prospero for Terra. This represented not merely a tactical loss, but the severing of the Legion's very soul.
"So basically, Magnus and the other half of his heavy hitters didn't show up?" Francis summarised after listening to Leman Russ's account.
"Precisely," Leman Russ confirmed, still in surprise by his brother's improved comprehension. "No matter what assurances I gave them, they insisted that only the Librarians would make the journey."
Francis rubbed his chin thoughtfully. While the situation wasn't ideal, it was better than the hell Magnus made by blowing a hole in the Webway. Plus, it seemed like Magnus hadn't yet received his visions of Horus's betrayal.
That gave him plenty of room to work with.
"Indeed. Even when I proposed that the entire Thousand Sons Legion could return to Terra, with my own Space Wolves remaining to garrison Prospero in their absence, they refused. That is why Father has commanded me to seek your counsel."
Leman Russ studied Francis with curiosity. What solution could the Eleventh offer that had earned such trust from the Emperor himself?
Francis paced around in his cell, many possibilities racing through his mind.
Finally, he stopped. A perfect solution had presented itself, one that would get him exactly what he wanted.
"Russ, you understand the Thousand Sons' core problem, right?"
Leman Russ visibly stiffened, guilt flickering across his features. "Aye. They are the Legion most gifted in psychic warfare, but their talents come at a price, mutations of the flesh, instabilities that spread through their gene-seed."
After all, he had recently overseen the destruction of Francis's own Legion for precisely these reasons.
"Exactly. Since one Legion's already been wiped out for this, they're naturally terrified of following the same path."
Francis fixed Leman Russ with a direct stare, pressing his advantage while the Wolf King remained trapped in his guilt.
"So! Wouldn't it make more sense to let me handle the invitation?"
"Think about it - Magnus will see me and think, 'Oh, look at that. The Eleventh was just brought back to Terra by the Emperor for medical treatment, and only his most severely mutated warriors were purged.'"
"Tell me, wouldn't that lower his guard significantly?"
"And if I could bring along some survivors from my own Legion, wouldn't that make success even more likely?"
Leman Russ, still wrestling with his guilt over acting against a brother Primarch, found Francis's logic disturbingly sound. "That... that does make sense."
Suddenly, the Wolf King's eyes sharpened as clarity returned. "This decision is not mine to make. Only Father can authorise such action."
"Tsk. So close." Francis felt a twinge of disappointment at almost pulling off the con.
However, at that moment, the familiar benevolent voice resonated within his mind.
"There remains no method to safely separate you from the unknown substance within your genetic structure. However, you will not travel alone."
Francis raised an eyebrow. The Emperor could have just said "you're getting a babysitter" instead of dancing around the subject.
"Father, leaving me just by myself seems—"
Before Francis could finish his objection, the Emperor's mental voice continued.
"The Soul Drinkers Legion still retains loyal warriors among their ranks. They will accompany your mission."
'YES!! .'
Francis felt like ten thousand Gretchin were stampeding through his chest. This was absolutely perfect! After so much effort in his acting, he'd finally achieved his freedom.
Of course, he still had to maintain appearances.
"I will complete this mission, Father," Francis said solemnly.
Leman Russ's expression shifted as he too received some form of communication, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Father says you are to be released immediately. Wait here, someone will arrive shortly to disable your psychic containment field."
Francis stared at him flatly. "..."
Seeing Francis's look of disdain, Leman Russ actually blushed. "I... am not particularly gifted with psychic applications."
True enough. Among the twenty Primarchs, not all possessed mastery over the Warp's energies. The Primarch of the Space Wolves Legion stood as a prime example of this limitation.
If psykers who drew power from the Immaterium were like mages defying the very laws of physics, then Leman Russ was a walking tank, his bulging muscles so pronounced that Francis suspected his psychic resistance was just really advanced muscle enhancement.
Meanwhile, on Prospero, Magnus experienced a vision during his meditative trance.
He saw himself seated upon a massive Golden Throne, surrounded by Custodian Guards in gleaming auramite armour. The weight of absolute power pressed down upon his shoulders, while the screaming souls of a million psykers echoed through the machinery that sustained Imeprium.
Magnus jolted awake, cold sweat beading across his crimson skin. His remaining eye darted wildly around his sanctum.
"I... usurped the throne? That cannot be!"
"Could Father be... offering me succession?"
"But that makes no sense! What of Horus? He is Father's most beloved son!"
As Magnus tried to make sense of his vision, he raised his hand to channel psychic energy, intending to reach across the void and contact the Emperor directly for clarification.
The power gathered in his palm, reality bending around his will... then suddenly dispersed, leaving only empty air and unanswered questions.
[End of Chapter]