High above the ruined world, the Tachyon unleashed its forbidden arsenal. Beams of raw, disintegrating energy rained down from orbit, vaporizing traitor strongholds into subatomic ash before the Word Bearers or Alpha Legion could even begin to form a defensive line.
"Kill those traitors!" Little Amapola roared, opening fire. Her acidic ammunition hit its marks, melting the traitor Astartes from the inside out in agonizing seconds.
"Kill them all!" a veteran Thunder Warrior shouted beside her, his heavy bolter barking rhythmically as he sent mass-reactive shells ripping through the Traitor Space Marines.
Meanwhile, a short distance away on the ash-choked battlefield...
Fulgrim sat on his knees in the dirt just feet away, staring blankly at his own hands—hands stained deep with Agnes's blood. The silver-haired Primarch was weeping hysterically, utterly broken by what he had done.
"Brother! Tell your Legion to stand down! No more blood shall spill today!" Ferrus Manus demanded, grabbing Fulgrim by the collar and shaking him violently.
"I... I am sorry! I didn't mean to!" Fulgrim sobbed, tears cutting clean tracks through the grime on his face.
"Tell your Legion to surrender!" Ferrus barked. He threw the Phoenician to the ground just as a Phoenix Guard lunged forward to defend his Primarch. With a swift, brutal strike, Ferrus cut the guard down without breaking stride.
Meanwhile, deep within Fulgrim's shattering mind...
What have I done? I don't deserve to live... Fulgrim thought in despair. He reached out, taking hold of a fell blade, and pressed its razor edge against his own throat.
"Oh, Fulgrim... You don't deserve a noble suicide after what you did," a sinister voice echoed in the darkness of his psyche.
"You! You did this! You made me kill Mother!" Fulgrim screamed into the void.
"Me? No, no, no... You did it with your own hands. You killed her." The voice purred maliciously. "You don't deserve to die."
"Then what?!" Fulgrim demanded, trembling.
"Oblivion. The sweet cravings of emptiness. I will grant it to you... if you just open yourself to me."
"Yes, do it—" Fulgrim began.
Snap.
A figure manifested directly in front of him, cutting the daemon off.
"Mother?" Fulgrim gasped.
"Oh, Fulgrim... didn't I tell you to think before you act?" I said softly, looking at him.
"Well... let's get rid of that daemon."
I snapped my fingers. Instantly, the suffocating presence and the daemon's insidious voice vanished into nothingness.
"Why can I hear you...?" Fulgrim whispered, horrified. "I killed you."
"Well, you did. But my soul is still anchored in my body," I explained calmly. "I reverse engineered the Eldar soul stones or whatever they call them and my body is being preserved with the technology inside me. But... just to be on the safe side, I need you to bring my body to the Tachyon, my ship, and place me in a stasis pod."
I offered him a gentle smile.
"And I don't hate you, Fulgrim, for killing me. Just... do this for me. And do me proud, Fulgrim."
Before he could answer, my spirit faded back into the dark.
Fulgrim snapped back to reality. Tears still wet on his face, a sudden, absolute clarity washed over him.
"Your will be done, Mother," he whispered.
He stood up, knelt down, and carefully lifted my lifeless body into his arms.
Turning to his warriors, his voice boomed across the Vox-channels: "My sons! Attack the Alpha Legion and Word Bearers! We stand with the Emperor!"
Without hesitation, the Emperor's Children turned their weapons upon the Word Bearers and Alpha Legion standing right beside them,
"Fulgrim! What are you doing?!" Ferrus yelled, stunned as he saw his brother running toward a freshly landed transport ship while cradling my corpse.
"Fixing my faults!" Fulgrim shouted back over the sound of gunfire, not slowing down for a second.
"Fulgrim, come back!" Ferrus roared, but before he could give chase, a desperate Word Bearer counter-attack slammed into his line, forcing him back into the fight.
Fulgrim sprinted across the blood-soaked battlefield, flanked by a handful of his remaining guard. Suddenly, a squad of my own Space Marines cut off his path.
"Drop her, traitor!" a Space Marine yelled, raising his botler directly at the Primarch.
"Let me through! I need to—"
Before the standoff could turn lethal, the heavy, mechanical footsteps of a Dreadnought shook the earth. Recognizing they lacked the anti-armor weaponry to halt the hulking war machine, the space Marines were forced to fall back.
"Fulgrim..." the Dreadnought rumbled, its voice deep and metallic.
"Rylanor! Quickly, help me! I need to get her to stasis!" Fulgrim pleaded.
The Dreadnought remained silent for a long, heavy moment, gazing down at the broken Primarch and the body in his arms.
"Please!" Fulgrim begged.
"I will help you," Rylanor finally spoken, his armaments powering up. "But not for you. For the Lady."
Rylanor stepped forward, clearing a violent path through the chaos toward the shuttle.
"Kick them out of the ship! But do not kill them!" Fulgrim ordered his guard as they boarded, throwing the original pilots out onto the tarmac.
"Go! Do what you must!" Rylanor bellowed, turning his assault cannons toward the surrounding enemies to secure their departure.
"Thank you, my son!" Fulgrim called out.
The transport's thrusters roared to life, lifting off into the smoke-choked sky and racing straight toward the Tachyon waiting in orbit.
--
Meanwhile...
"I see what you're selling, weird elf," I said, leaning back. "But I'm not buying."
"Aww, come on," Slaanesh purred, leaning in with an alluring smile. "You won't regret it."
"Selling my soul for... pleasure? Nope. Plus, it's not really my style," I replied dryly, taking a calm sip of tea. I turned my head to glare at the other towering, monstrous shapes lurking in the warp. "And I will be saying no to all of you!"
"Heck, we would give you all of our powers to trade for your soul!" Khorne bellowed, his voice shaking the realm.
"Can't you take no for an answer?" I sighed, setting my teacup down.
"Nope," the Chaos Gods replied in unison.
"I ain't selling my soul!"
"But what if... we can cure your legs, hmm?" Nurgle offered slyly, leaning his decaying form closer.
"Fat chance. Big E can cure them, I trust the guy."
"Oh, really?" Slaanesh mocked with a light laugh. "You would trust a man who separated you from your daughter? You think he would actually cure you?"
"You won't trick me," I snapped, standing up to leave the realm.
Just as I turned my back, Tzeentch whispered a single sentence into my mind.
I froze. I spun around, my chest heaving. "...You're lying!" I screamed.
"You think I would lie?" Tzeentch cackled, his gaze shifting endlessly.
"No... this is just a trick! Heh, you won't fool me!" I yelled, having completely had enough of their psychological games.
"Do think it over, little horse..." Tzeentch laughed, the sound echoing endlessly as the vision began to fade.
--
Back on Holy Terra...
"Are you sure this is wise?" Malcador asked softly, walking alongside the Master of Mankind.
"Yes..." the Emperor replied, his gaze fixed on the distant stars.
"Sending the Night Lords and Dark Angels to Isstvan III... and recalling all the other Legions back to Terra? Is that truly wise?" Malcador pressed.
"Yes... The Dark Gods have been growing in power. Even with Agnes and her Legion, alongside the others, I do not think it would have been enough. Sending them is the correct decision."
"You didn't answer my question yet," Malcador said.
"I will answer it in due time, my old friend."
Malcador paused, taking a heavy breath. "On another matter... I know, and you know, that Agnes has already died."
"Yes. I am aware her soul is still anchored to her body," the Emperor said, his tone unreadable. "And the Dark Gods are... tempting her. But I know she will refuse them all."
"Yes, yes, I know that," Malcador said, rubbing his brow. "But what happens if her body gets corrupted?"
"It won't happen," the Emperor said with absolute certainty. "I have blessed her. The technology within her body will protect her for ten thousand years if it must."
Malcador sighed, letting out a small, tired laugh. "Sometimes... even I don't get you."