0-001-001-M42
This is the final log of Captain-General Imorta of the Adeptus Custodes. I have failed, and deserve this end.
Only this morning, a beast of such horrifying size and power that I can not in confidence say it was not a Greater Daemon appeared in the Hall of the Golden Throne. From whence it came, I can but guess that the long-ruined Webway portal in the base of what used to be the Golden Throne must have finally given out completely. The monstrosity moved at a speed I would not credit to any being of secular origins.
I was returning from a meeting of the Senate of the High Lords when I entered the Hall, and Emperor forgive me, at the sight of the beast I could but scream for the Titans which flanked the Golden Gates to attack, despite the fact that they were not cleared to do so. Bless them, they leapt at my order. The beast bounded forward, across the mammoth hall, and leaped at the Emperor atop his throne. I, and the Companions, sprinted forth, with the blasts of the Titans impacting – to no use! – against the daemon’s flank. As the beast reached one massive claw forward to swipe at His divine self, there was a brilliant, purple flash of light from its eyes. For a moment, I dared hope that the monstrosity had been slain by the Emperor’s Divine power, but I saw it was not to be. The monster vanished, taking the Emperor with it.
What have I permitted? What have I allowed? I can never be forgiven as long as I live. I can seek only absolution in death.

ORK HIJACK

FUACK SQUEREEEEEEEEEEEEEE

4-002-001-M42
From the personal journals of Astrofacilitrix Adepta Argyle of the Imperial Navy Falchion Frigate Iron Will

What the FUCK?
I was in the middle of a delicate conversation with the Fleet Master Telepath when a psychic wave enveloped the entire convoy. Immersed in the warp as we are, I can only bless the Navigator that we did not immediately fly into a sun or each other. All I or any other psychic in the fleet can do is remember a presence, as brilliant and awe-inspiring as the Astronomican itself, roaring past us in the immaterium with horrifying speed and power, reminding me quite a bit of the summoning of an Eldar Shard of Khaine on a world I was orbiting at the time. It passed us so quickly I couldn’t even tell exactly where it was.

I could hear a most horrifying call in the warp, rageful and joyous and anticipatory: “IT’S ABOUT BLOODY TIME!” as loud as if six thousand men were screaming it in my ear. We were heading to Cadia at the time, perhaps this…thing will be there? I rather hope not.

fascinating...please...continue...

4-004-001-M42
Transcript of the holopict recording of the Daily Strategy Meeting, Kasr Vortiga, Cadia, Lord Castellan Creed presiding
Activus Personae:
Lord Castellan Ursarkar E. Creed, Supreme Commander Munitorum, Cadia
Harald Deathwolf, Wolf Lord, Space Wolves
Lord Commissar Blenkach, senior Commissarial representative to the Cadian Joint Task Force
Lord Admiral Clenden, Supreme Commander Cadian Naval Task Group
Mardeus, Cadia Master telepath, Adepta Astra Telepathica
Jarran Kell, Colour Sergeant, Kasr Force

*Castellan Creed summons order. Various sounds come in through the open window to the parade ground, [dogs, firing rounds, wake-up drill noises, engines]*
Creed: Gentlemen, I’m afraid we must abandon our usual pleasantries. Something unexpected has occurred. I need to fill you all in as rapidly as possible.
Deathwolf: Did Abbadon wake up cranky, or is it something genuinely unusual?
*Several seconds pause, Sergeant Kell suppresses laughter*
Creed: We – by which I mean Mardeus – have detected a Warp emanation approaching the Cadian gate. It’s not a ship, we can tell, but it does seem to be moving fast, directly for the planet. Its point of origin is Terra.
Deathwolf: Then what’s the problem? *Clenden looks astonished*
*Creed sighs angrily*
Creed: The problem, Astartes, is that we have absolutely no idea what it’s doing. We don’t even know what it is.
Clenden: Are there any Warp Storms between here and Terra, Sieur Mardeus?
Mardeus: No. The Eye does not extend beyond us, and the Lady Navigatrix of your own fleet assures me that there are no distorting daemon worlds between us and Holy Terra.
Clenden: Then we should account for the possibility that whatever it is, it may not be a servant of the Great Enemy. *Blenkach starts*

Blenkach: And by what stretch of the imagination do you make that assumption? A warp entity this close to the Eye isn’t going to be safe to approach, and I don’t care if it’s Cypher himself, nothing that the Warp spits out lacks an agenda.
Clenden: I said nothing about its trustworthiness, Lord Commissar. All I said was that it may not serve the Dark Gods.
Creed: Whatever it is, its approach puts it on the surface in *checks watch* five minutes. *table dissolves into incoherent babbling for several seconds*
Deathwolf: And we’re learning about it NOW?
Mardeus: I learned of it myself less than fifteen minutes ago, Lord Deathwolf. I assure you, even seeing it at the speed it’s moving was nearly impossible. It’s moving faster than anything that isn’t in the Webway should be, and emitting a warp displacement the likes of which a Blackstone Fortress couldn’t match. A Tyranid Hive ship has a smaller presence in the immaterium.
*Clenden stands* Clenden: The full force of Battlefleets Obscura, Gothic, Carredius, and fully one third of Solar stand ready to intercept this thing. And who knows, if it’s as dangerous as it sounds, and truly isn’t here to interfere with us, those Eldar of Ulthwé might even have a hand in it. *Clenden turns to Mardeus* Is there a possibility that this thing might be an Eldar craftworld that got sucked into the Warp?
Mardeus: No chance. Craftworlds are harder to see at these distances, and they can not move that fast through the Warp. They aren’t even supposed to be able to enter it all, you’ll recall.
*A shriek of terror, followed by a very loud THUD sound from the outside of the window. Creed and Kell leap to the window and Mardeus collapses. The light from outside visibly turns purple*
Deathwolf: WHAT IN THE NAME OF LEMAN RUSS IS THAT THING?!
Creed: I…I have no idea. *Inhuman roar sounds from beyond window. A cacophony of dogs barking and human screams begin from the parade grounds*

keep it up OP!

*Mardeus yells in shock and passes into a coma. Blenkach draws his vox-caster*
Blenkach: Artillery command! Fire control, active! Immediate effect, danger close! Target parade grounds and-*Creed grabs the vox-caster from Blenkach*
Creed: Belay prior commands, artillery command. Target has departed.
Blenkach: Departed?! It’s…gone?!
Deathwolf: It’s gone, Lord Commissar.
*Mardeus begins shivering, still comatose*
Kell: Lord Creed, sir, shall I summon a medicae?
Creed: Immediately, Kell. *Creeds sits down at the table and begins shaking his head* I never thought I see THAT. *the light from the window returns to the normal color of morning sunlight*
Clenden: Why was it glowing? Why was it laughing? *Clenden pulls out his own vox-caster* Fleet Command, this is Admiral Clenden. Track the object that emerged from the warp rift in the kasr parade ground at once. Where is it going? *several seconds pass* What the living hell do you mean, TOWARDS the Plaguemaster base?

Any chance we'll be seeing some new content tonight or will you start out with reposting the "old" stuff?
Either way, I love it.

FUCK I HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW BUT I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! POST OP! POST AS IF YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT!

4-004-001-M42
Plaguebearer Glubtil was not a complex daemon. He loved Papa Nurgle, and Papa Nurgle loved him. He loved Glubtil so much, he had given Glubtil the title of Plaguemaster, the first Plaguebearer ever to have that name!
Glubtil was out on the hills of Cadia one morning, doing what he always did: watching that angry young Abbadon order people around. Glubtil sighed. He knew Papa loved Abbadon, but it never made sense to Glubtil why the Ascendant One was always so MAD! He got the chance to spread Papa’s love, along with those other powerful people in the warp, so why was he always going on about “vindication” this, and “vengeance” that, and “undying conquest” the other thing? Wasn’t it enough to just spread the virulent delights of the Deathgarden?
Just as Glubtil made up his mind to go have a chat with young Abbadon and ask him that very thing, something changed. Glubtil didn’t like change much, unless it was showing people how much Papa loved them, but he couldn’t tell at first what was going on. A big yellow thing, larger than even old Uncle Bubonicus, jumped over the hill he was standing on! It looked like a big yellow dog, really, and Glubtil stared at it happily. He loved dogs.
The dog didn’t stop to roll around in the Fetid Grounds, though, he jumped right over them and went straight for that rascal Abbadon’s HQ. Glubtil watched, mesmerized, as the big yellow doggie jumped on top of the building and started yelling a whole lot. If Glubtil had still had his ears, it might have hurt!

>>14859606
I'll dump the whole thing tonight, I've done some revision.

Abbadon the Despoiler, Lord of the Chaos Ascendants, Leader of Twelve Black Crusades (he still resented Doombreed stealing that fifth one from him), Disciple of the Eight-Pointed Star, and unquestioned leader of the Black Legions, was the nightmare of the High Lords of Terra. His was a name mentioned by parents to terrify their children. He was the only man to have ever refused daemonhood, and no human in the galaxy controlled the hosts of the Ruinous Mark as he did. At the moment, however, little of that mattered.
For at that moment, Abbadon the Despoiler, First Captain of the Black, was getting his shit wrecked by a monster.
“DESTROY THAT THING!” he screamed at the Black Legionnaires surrounding him. Several opened up on the four-legged monstrosity, and sheets of bolts, demonic fireballs, and even a few rockets poured at its flanks.
As they approached its sides, the missiles seemed to freeze in midair. The demonic fire bounced off its hide, if they reached it at all, with many slamming into the frozen bolts and detonating them. Abbadon roared with hatred and frustration. “I’LL KILL THE BLOODY THING MYSELF!” He flourished the Talon of Horus, firing its macro-storm Bolter as he charged. The Sword of Drach’nyen gleamed in his other hand as he sprinted at the beast, with all the strength his ancient artificer armor could lend him.
Abruptly, the monster pivoted its massive body to face him, staring down at the Warmaster with beady, purple eyes. Abbadon leaped at the creature, screaming his defiance.

The monster reached one huge leg up and almost casually slapped the flying Marine aside. He slammed into the ranks of his own troops, bowling them down like flower stems in a tornado. Dazed, Abbadon scrambled for his sword, and his hand closed around the grip. He rolled to his feet and hefted the blade high, with both hands clenched tight. Before he could charge at the thing anew, however, it reared back on two legs and roared. “WHAT THE FLYING BUGGERANCE IS THIS?”
Abbadon nearly dropped his daemonsword in shock. “W…what?”
“YOU HEARD ME, YOU DISGUSTING TRAITOR. HOW DARE YOU FOLLOW MY FAVORED SON INTO DAMNATION?”

Abbadon shook his head. “You’ll not fool me, daemon! I know you to be a beast of the warp, trying to usurp me! I shall be the one to lead the Host of the Taint to Terra! I’ll carve your eyes from your skull!” He charged forward, as fast as his legs could take him.
“YOU’LL DO NO SUCH THING, YOU PISSANT FAILURE,” the monstrosity roared, and slammed its forelegs into the ground. 130 tons of muscle and bone crashed into the ground, and Abbadon stumbled to a halt, mere meters from the colossal beast. It swept its head down to ground level and tossed the power-armored Chaos Champion aside like a ragdoll.
“SIT DOWN WHILE YOUR BETTERS ARE SPEAKING, ABBADON,” it roared. Abbadon crashed into the ground with a sound like a krak grenade going off in a piano store. “I’VE NO INTEREST IN YOUR WEAKNESS. BUT IF YOU’RE SURE YOU WANT TO HOLD MY ATTENTION…” it jumped forward, clear over the crumbling HQ building, and landed with its massive feet together, square on Abbadon’s shoulders. Abbadon screamed in sudden, terrorized agony as his limbs tore from their sockets with a sickening CRUNCH.
The huge creature took a few steps backward, scraping Abbadon’s arms off on the rockcrete. “DO YOU SEE NOW YOUR WEAKNESS? YOU TURNED FROM MY PATH, AND FOLLOW HORUS INTO FAILURE. NOW, YOU HAVE NO ARMS TO LIFT IN DEFIANCE OF MY WILL.”

4-004-001-M42
Sergeant Lustig stared at the plateau before him with unconcealed confusion. It might have been embarrassing if anyone could have seen him, but he was secured under his ghillie blanket well. A distant nephew of the Captain Lustig who had served under the near-mythical Ciaphas Cain, he had been raised with his uncle’s stories about the mad things they had done in the Emperor’s service, like confronting a daemonette of Slaanesh with nothing but lasrifles, or running a Brood Lord over with a Salamander. Nothing his uncle had ever told him, however, prepared him for this.
A creature, so huge it could have passed for a Titan if it were chrome-coated and bipedal, was jumping around on a group of Chaos Marines in the valley below. A few cultists were scrambling to escape it, but the Marines themselves seemed to be either transfixed at the sight of it, bleeding to death where the monster had crushed them, or carrying one of their fellows with the silliest-looking topknot Lustig had ever seen off to a waiting Rhino. The creature was easily shrugging off the few pitiful shots that were aimed at it, and Lustig had to remind himself that he was looking at anti-tank missiles.
The monster finished off the few Marines and cultists that were left quickly, and stared at the departing Rhino as if contemplating chasing it. It seemed to decide against it, and swept its malevolent gaze across the landscape, pausing for a moment on the spot where Lustig had noticed a Nurglite daemon watching the carnage. The daemon waved at the huge beast and wandered off, and the colossal creature continued to sweep the valley.

The vast creature’s gaze fell upon Lustig’s position, and Lustig opened his mouth in a silent gasp of terror. The creature seemed to grin from its bizarre, many-fanged mouth, and threw itself forward into a running lope that devoured the distance between them as fast as it had devoured the cultist that had tried to jump on it, moments after it had jumped on the topknot marine’s shoulders. Lustig screamed in pure, gut-wrenching horror, throwing off his ghillie blanket and sprinting for the monocycle he had left at the base of the hill behind him.
The thunderous sound of gigantic feet behind him informed him that he wasn’t going to make it. The vast creature leaped over the hill and landed mere inches behind the luckless Sergeant, who was launched through the air by the impact, and tumbled to the grass, knocking the wind right out of him. He rolled to his back and gasped for air as the horrible beast leaned over him, not even winded. It opened its mouth with a blast of foul air, and the part of Lustig that wasn’t scrambled by the landing resigned himself to his imminent digestion.

POST FASTER, DAMN YOU

“DO NOT RUN FROM ME, MORTAL.” Lustig blinked, his panicked mind wondering if the Munitorum had dispatched a sanctionite to rescue him. Certainly the voice echoed in his mind as well as his ears. “YOU HAVE THE HONOR OF WITNESSING MY FIRST BATTLE ACTION IN ELEVEN THOUSAND YEARS. STOP LOOKING LIKE A FISH.”
Lustig could only gape. “What? Are…aren’t you a demon?”
“WHAT?” the creature roared. Lustig clapped his hands to his ears in pain. “ME? A DEMON? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I’M CLEARLY THE EMPEROR OF ALL…OH.” The thing looked down at its body in bemusement. “I GUESS I CAN’T BLAME YOU FOR THAT, HUH?” The thing took a few steps back. “GET UP.”
Lustig scrambled to his feet, his legs understandably wobbly. The creature continued. “I HADN’T REALIZED I WOULD LOOK LIKE THIS FOREVER. THIS WILL MAKE THE JOB A BIT HARDER, WON’T IT?”
I’m consorting with a demon, Lustig told himself, giddy with fear still. “What do you mean?” he asked aloud, waiting for sanity to reassert itself. It didn’t.
“WELL, FIRST THINGS FIRST, I’M GOING TO GO TELL THAT CREW-CUT WALKING RECRUITMENT POSTER WHO CALLS HIMSELF ROBUTE GUILLIMAN TO MAN THE FUCK UP AND GROW HIS NECK BACK. I SURVIVED NINE THOUSAND YEARS WITHOUT RUNNING WATER, HE CAN REGROW HIS JUGULAR. HONESTLY.”
There really didn’t seem to be too much to say, Lustig thought, so he kept silent. He just stared at the creature, and eventually it spoke again to break up the awkward silence. “TELL CREED…I LIKE WHAT HE’S DONE WITH THE PLACE.” Then, with a crack of displaced air that nearly sucked Lustig back off his feet, the thing vanished in a purple cloud of mist.
Lustig collapsed again, staring at the rapidly dissipating cloud as if it would spit his wits back out. Well, he thought to himself, at least I can finally one-up my uncle’s stories.

4-006-001-M42
The observation void platforms of Macragge are, by necessity, among the best left in the galaxy. It was that world, the home of the Ultramarines, the second birthplace of Robute Guilliman, that drove Hive Fleet Behemoth to pieces, and houses the mortal remains of the second greatest leader the Imperium has ever known. The void platforms, named Calgar, Tigurius, and Cassius, for the three leaders of the Ultramarines, were the templates used to design the great Void Stations of Armageddon, which helped prevent the loss of that world to the Orks.
It was these stations that first detected something approaching the planet from the direction of Segmentum Obscurus. The return of a splinter fleet could not be discounted, and so the full force of the first, second, fifth, and ninth companies of the Ultramrines, the finest warriors of the Astartes, were assembled at the northern polar fortress, which had managed to hold off even the Dominatrix of Behemoth. Librarian Tigurius, perhaps the most potent human psyker in the galaxy barring the Emperor Himself, joined Chapter Master Calgar before the stasis-locked form of Primarch Gulliman in the Shrine of the Temple of Correction, seeking one final prayer of guidance from Chaplain Cassius. The black-clad old Marine slowly raised his hands in prayer before the frozen body of his genetic predecessor.
“We seek your beneficence, Lord Guilliman, and the guidance of the Emperor on Earth, blessed be the Golden Throne. May the defense of the innocents of Macragge be steadfast, and the protection of the honor of the Chapter never falter.”

Suddenly, Chief Librarian Tigurius rose to his feet, disrupting the sermon. He spun to gape at the ceiling. Calgar looked up at him is surprise. “What is it, old friend?”
Tigurius cradled his head in his hands. “I…I feel a great, terrible, divine power. It approaches us, Marneus, with the winds of the Warp at its back.”
Cassius joined Calgar and the rest of the assembled Ultramarines, and the thousands of pilgrims, Ecclesiarchal drones, and PDF honor guards in staring at the ceiling, as if they would suddenly develop the same psychic powers as the Librarian, and see what he saw. Calgar grimaced. “A divine power…is it one of those accursed Eldar Warp entities, Avatars?”
Tigurius shook his head, nearly weeping tears of joy. “No, Lord battle-brother, it is nothing so profane…such a presence…it can only be our Emperor himself!” Calgar felt his jaw drop.
“Impossible!” he proclaimed without thinking. Realizing his mistake, he continued. “The Emperor sits the Golden Throne, never to march alongside mortal Man again.”
“Apparently not, brother,” the wizened psyker whispered. “He comes to us.” Cassius turned to the frozen body of Guilliman and bowed his head, grinning.
“It seems,” he said faintly, “that my prayers are to be answered.”
The pilgrims scattered throughout the vast sepulcher started gibbling to themselves, several taking a reverent knee, others fainting from the shock. The PDF honor guard were little better, milling about uncertainly, and the Ecclesiarchs around the room clustered before the body of Robute Guilliman, locked in its eternal rictus of pain, the poisoned wounds at its neck clear to see.

Abruptly, the sky beyond the adamantium sepulcher turned a vivid purple, as the warp being flashed into existence outside. The faithful fell to their knees and sobbed, the Ultramarines stood true and proud, and the Ecclesiarchy minions called out His most Divine name in rapturous joy.
For several seconds, there was nothing but a howling wind beyond the walls of the vast, mountainous temple. Then, with a suddenness that shocked the assembled mass of humanity, a loud WHAM sounded from the ceiling above the marble throne. The Ultramarine contingent visibly tensed, and the gray-haired Tigurius nearly toppled. Calgar caught his arm, baffled. “What is it, brother? What just happened?”
Tigurius shook his head. “The…the God-Emperor, he can’t…this can’t be…”
Before Calgar could ask him what he meant, a deafening roar sounded from above the building. “DEAREST ROBUTE, WHY DID YOU ALLOW YOURSELF SUCH TASTE IN ARCHITECTURE? I MEAN, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ECONOMICALLY-MINDED ONE.”
The ceiling shook visibly, the ancient marble and adamantium buckling under a vast impact that threw the standing gathering to the ground, save only the most sure-footed of the Space Marines. The voice continued. “JAGHATAI NEVER NEEDED A TEMPLE THE SIZE OF AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER. HE HAD A HORSE AND A GUY WITH LIGHTNING IN HIS ASS AND A MOTORCYCLE THE SIZE OF A BUS. WHAT MORE DID HE NEED?”
The whole building, walls of armor and all, shook with the force of the next slam. Everyone left standing toppled to the ground. “AND RATHER MORE TO THE POINT, WHO BUILDS A TEMPLE OUT OF FUCKING ARMOR? WERE YOU THAT AFRAID OF DORN STICKING HIS BOOT UP YOUR ASS? DID THOSE WOLVES RUSS USED TO HAVE SCARE YOU THAT BADLY?”

Finally, the ceiling gave way, and a hole big enough to fly a Marauder through appeared in the abused roof. Vast chunks of the building fell inward around the hole, sending the pilgrims scrambling for their lives. Tigurius overcame his stupor to dazedly knock the bigger chunks harmlessly aside, as an enormous orange animal fell through the hole. It landed with an earth-shaking THUD at the foot of the throne, knocking Cassius aside like a bowling pin. The enormous creature stared at the figure of Robute Guilliman on the throne, and in a rather more reasonable tone, continued. “SHIT, SON, THAT GLITTERY TRAITOR FULGRIM REALLY FUCKED YOU UP, DIDN’T HE? GOOD THING SLAANESH USED HIM FOR TOILET PAPER.” The creature padded up the flight of stairs leading to the throne, with the Ultramarines at its feet gazing on in astonishment. The monster looked at the man with…what? Pity? Sorrow? Regret?
At length, it spoke again. It was still gazing at the blue-armored man on the marble chair, but its words were directed at the Ultramarines. “HEY, YOU GUYS. LISTEN, GO GET IN TOUCH WITH WHOEVER’S RUNNING THE RAVEN GUARD, THESE DAYS, HUH? I HAVE A DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT TO BE AT.” With no more talking, and no pomp or bombast at all, the colossal monster vanished with a thunderclap of displaced air, taking the stasis-protected Primarch with him.
Marneus Calgar, the man who punched Khaine to death, the Space Marine who broke Behemoth over his knee, stared at the empty space his bestial Emperor and spiritual liege had just vacated. All he could manage, with his centuries of oratorical skill, was a single “What the FUCK?”

4-006-001-M42
Not all races came into psychic power as humans did. Some races had it far before the advent of the Dark Gods rendered it unusable. The Eldar possess a very refined form of it, and are able to shape it into many forms, from divination to pyrokinesis. The Orks have a very simple form of it, binding their Wyrds to the primal force of the WAAAAAAGH. The Slaan are even more in tune than the Eldar they helped create, though they have withdrawn from the universe to meditate and taunt the lesser races. The Glasians have a peculiar form of it that forced their actions into rhythmic, 100-year cycles. Rumors abound regarding the Tau Etherials.
But one thing is for certain: there are few psyker forces more potent than ten Eldar Craftworld Farseers in one place.
It was Farseer Macha of Biel-tan who called the meeting to order. Her voice cut through the low hum of the other assembled path-lost Seers with all the authority she could muster. “I need hardly tell you all why we’re here. The Mon-keigh Emperor is back, and he’s merged with a Warp Beast. It’s a type we’ve never seen before, with all the psychic, physical, and mental capacity that both have wielded at their peaks combined. The question is: do we attack, watch from a distance, or help out?”

Her brusque manner caused a few hackles to rise among the more conservative, older Farseers, but nobody said anything. Finally, Spiritseer Iyanna Arienal of Iyanden spoke. “What choice have we? This was something literally none of us saw. We have no choice but to let the events play out and hope that we can direct the re-emerging Imperium in a favorable direction. After all, we are only at war because of actions of Eldrad, who is gone, and Fulgrim, who betrayed the humans. This…new Emperor may be amenable to common sense.”
“Perhaps, Iyanna, but the return of an entity such as their Emperor, bound to a Warp Beast of nearly indestructible strength, is not a force we can hope to direct. Frankly, Maugan Ra himself would be ill-equipped to battle such a monster if ever it would attack us,” Farseer Dra’aniel of Alaitoc replied. “I think that quietly letting it…him…know that we know it exists would be wise, if only to drive it to caution. It can not withstand the might of the Eldar Assembled.”
“No,” Arienal said tightly, “but neither can we afford to direct our full might against it. We are already at war with no fewer than two entire Imperial Battlegroups. How many of our Craftworlds harbor our enemies at the moment? Two? How many more have we lost? Nine?”
“Your point?” Macha replied icily. “We can hardly wait to FUCK!” She spun around as every head in the room twisted to gaze at the distant Wraithub of Ulthwé, where the vast Webway Gates that ferried her troops into battle stood. A horrible, sickly, green glow was emanating from one of the largest gates, and Macha reeled. Her half-sister, Taldeer of Ulthwé, clasped her shoulder for a moment, and Macha shook her head free of inborn superstition. “Those accursed Necron…they are at the gates! Prepare for immediate combat!”

On the streets below, Guardians in their thousands mustered. The vast, enclosed skies of the Craftworld seemed to come alive as small fliers darted out from innumerable towers and hangars, bringing the citizen soldiers of the Craftworld to battle. Ulthwé was not one of the more populous Craftworlds, but it still could field a chilling force in its own defense. Before the gates themselves, the Aspect warriors of Ulthwé, and the guards of the Seers that had convened for this phenomenally poorly-timed meeting took positions. A wraithlord rumbled forth from a nearby shrine, and several dozen Warp Spiders took cover behind the structure of the Gates themselves.
And a single human in a ski mask carefully coiled the right sleeve of his shirt up to the shoulder, to prevent the passage of blood from interrupting his aim.
Taldeer, as the ranking Farseer present at the meeting, was first to arrive, her face grim behind her mask. Her “partner’s” total absence from sight didn’t surprise her; the human was remarkably good at remaining concealed.
The gates were starting to look downright necrotic now, with the deeply unnerving greenish glow starting to shimmer from invisible points in the air, rather than just emanating from the frame of the gates themselves. Several Wave Serpents settled to the ground before the gate complex, and over fifty more Banshees piled out, brandishing their glittering weapons. Taldeer sighed to herself as the light from the gates grew brighter and brighter, the security they had put in place to prevent the Webway from ever being used against them in their own homes clearly failing. “I wonder…” she asked herself aloud, pulling a few small blue runestones from her pocket. She knelt, casting them to the ground and watching their movements. Her brow wrinkled as one seemed to hover in midair, then gasped as it shot towards the ceiling.

“That’s…not supposed to happen…” she managed to say, just before the shimmering green glow broke out of the gates. A Necron Pariah stepped forth from the webway, brandishing its gauss stave. A Warp Spider, hiding behind the arch of the webway gate, pressed its weapon to the machine’s back and pulled the trigger. The Pariah flew apart with a horrid screech, but was quickly replaced by two more, who body-slammed the Warp Spider into the gate arch with a sickening CRACK. One of the two Pariahs lurched backward with a sizzling crater in its chest, and half a second later, an unmistakable *click* noise echoed from the top of a nearby tower. Taldeen smirked. The assassin was clearly not in poor form from his time in traction. The final Pariah fell to a sheet of shuriken from the Guardian phalanx protecting her, and her eyes were drawn back to the runestone, now lost high in the air. Despite the chaos caused by the sudden emergence of the Necrons, she couldn’t help but wonder what could have caused it.

Abruptly, a Tomb Spyder shot out of the gate. The Dark Reaper bodyguard accompanying Taldeer opened up on the base of machine’s hover-pads, dropping it like a stone. Taldeer noted with a start that it had already been damaged before it arrived, trailing sparks from its necrodermis shell. The green glow from the gates suddenly shut off, and the Webway node slowly started to shut down. Taldeer blinked in confusion. “Wait, that’s it? They only sent four units?”
Iyanna’s Wraithlord clanked up to rest alongside her, with the Spiritseer herself looking over the (limited) carnage in confusion. “Did we not see a much larger force approaching?”
Taldeer nodded and doffed her helm. “We saw a whole battalion.”
One of the Pariahs lurched back up suddenly. Taldeer gasped and drew her sidearm, but another distinctive *click* sounded from the tower, and the Pariah flew apart at the seams. “I’m the ghost in their machine,” the Vindicare’s voice intoned in her ear. Taldeer tried to suppress a smirk.
The Webway gates flared up, this time in their usual light blue. The cleanup team that had been securing the necrodermis shrapnel for disposal froze, and the Eldar troops who had been deployed around the gates snapped back to readiness. Iyanna smiled grimly. “Perhaps we spoke too soon…”

so are you gonna be writing more today, or just posting stuff from the previous threads?

Taldeer nodded and put her helm back on, but before she could do anything else, a sudden burst of pain wracked her head. She gasped and stumbled, pitching forward. She clamped her hands over her ears, not that it helps in a helmet. Her assassin partner’s voice spoke in her ear, sounding uncharacteristically worried. “Taldeer? What’s wrong?”
The Farseer straightened up, wincing. “Someone’s…coming, something that shouldn’t be in the Webway at all…I can’t even-“
CRACK. The central gate sprung to life, the eldritch energies within spilling forth. A colossal creature jumped forth, crushing the remnants of the Tomb Spyder. A streak of shimmering blue fell past it with a loud CLANG, scattering the clean-up crew. The assembled guardians collectively gasped and raised their shuriken launchers. The vast monster opened its fanged jaws and spoke. “SO WHO REPLACED ELDRAD THESE DAYS? I’M CALLING IN A FAVOR.”

>>14859757
see the end of
>>14859624

4-007-001-M42
Farseer Sen’tiar of the Lugganath massaged his temples wearily. They had been in conference with the…thing that had emerged from their gates for nearly an hour, and the psychic pressure of being roared at by the most potent entity in the galaxy was getting to him. “So…you truly didn’t have a choice, then? You saw your true death as inevitable, and merged with this warp beast to escape death?”
“HELL NO, I WOULD HAVE RETURNED AS MY OLD SELF, IN A NEW HUMAN BODY, BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED? NINE MONTHS I’D BE CARRIED BY A HUMAN WOMAN, UNABLE TO DIRECT THE LIGHT OF THE ASTRONOMICAN. PURE ANARCHY. EARTH WOULD STARVE, EVERY FORGE WORLD WOULD REBEL, AND YOU CAN BET YOUR ASS YOUR DARK COUSINS WOULD HAVE CARTED OFF HALF THE IMPERIUM FOR USE AS SLAVES,” the Emperor-critter roared derisively. “CAN’T HAVE THAT.” Macha stared.
“This seems a bit…drastic, though, doesn’t it? It’s not becoming.”
“TELL ME SOMETHING I DON’T BLOODY KNOW,” the Emperor said. “I CAN’T EVEN CONTROL HOW LOUD THIS THING IS.”
“We noticed,” Taldeer muttered. Louder, she added “The fact that you are under the false impression that Fathe…Farseer Eldrad owes you a personal favor is rather more distressing, frankly. He said nothing of that.”
“IT’S NOTHING PERSONAL, ACTUALLY,” the colossal orange being replied, “BUT HE SAVED THE LIVES OF FOUR ENTIRE IMPERIAL SECTOR, RAPID REACTION, AND SEGMENTUM FLEETS A FEW YEARS BACK, AND I REPAY MY FAVORS. ALSO, EVEN THOUGH IT TOTALLY WASN’T MY FAULT, I KINDA FEEL BAD ABOUT WHAT FULGRIM DID TO HIM.”
“But…that would be you owing HIM a favor,” Macha replied, totally non-plussed.
“RIGHT. AND THEN, LESS THAN TWO WHOLE WEEKS AGO, I SAVED HIS ASS FROM BEING EATEN ALIVE BY SLAANESH, BY DISTRACTING THAT FRILLY FUCK. TWICE. SO NOW HE OWES ME ONE. WE AGREED ON THIS,” the Emperor roared back.

Taldeer and Macha looked at each other, stunned into silence. How could that have even been?
It was LIVII, of all people, who found his voice first. “My Lord God, how do you mean?”
The Emperor glared down at the Vindicare with what was probably a mildly irritated expression on his massive, scaly face. “FIRST OF ALL, THAT’S BETWEEN ME AND HIS DAUGHTERS, AND SECOND, WHY IS ONE OF MY ASSASSINS ON ULTHWE IF IT ISN’T FOR STRATEGIC TARGET REMOVAL?”
LIVII bowed his head respectfully, trying very, very hard not to let his knees turn to jelly. “It is a phenomenally complicated story, my Lord God, but rest assured that this is probably where I belong,” he said, even his Vindicare training failing to keep his emotions from welling up.
The Emperor was silent for a few seconds, then shrugged his orange shoulders. “EH. I’LL TAKE YOUR WORD FOR IT. I HAVE MORE URGENT TASKS TO ATTEND TO THAN KILLING YOU FOR DESERTION.”

“Those being?” Taldeer asked curtly, trying to change the subject. Macha grinned at her knowingly.
“CASHING IN A FAVOR, REMEMBER?” the Emperor sighed. “I WANT YOU TO RESTORE MY SON HERE TO FULL HEALTH. MY OWN POWER DOES NOT EXTEND TO THIS, BUT YOUR TECHNOLOGY AND WARP-BENDING MIGHT.”
“Er, about that,” Farseer Yriic Blueflame of Yme-Loc spoke up. “Why us? And for that matter, why should we believe you when you say Eldrad owes you a favor?”
For a few long, terrible, gut-churning seconds, the bestial God-Emperor stared at the Faarseer, until finally he made a noise that was probably a sigh of frustration. “FINE. FUCK. I’LL GO GET HIM AND SHOW YOU. YOU’LL OWE ME TWO NOW, THOUGH.” And with a crack of displaced air and purple flash of light he was gone, with a final comment of “TAKE CARE OF MY PAPERWEIGHT SON HERE, I’LL BE BACK SOON ENOUGH.”
The Farseer council looked at one another and the still stasis-locked form of Guilliman, lying on his side as if still on a throne. Macha spoke first. “This has been, bar none, the weirdest day of my life.”

4-008-001-M42
The Harlequins of the Eldar tell tales of a pocket of the Webway where the walls grow thin, and the Old Ones and the Slann did not make the wards properly. The realms of Tzeench exist beyond them, where the Webtunnels bend and twist impossibly, and time doesn’t work. For at the outer edges of the galaxy, the Webway and the Immaterium do not cross, and the grasp of Chaos grows faint, for there are no living things beyond the galaxy save the Outsider and the Tyranids, who are hardly on speaking terms with the Dark Gods.
But in the center of the galaxy, where Tzeench once ruled all Chaos before he was thrown down by the other three, the Warp is present and strong; the Webway tunnels that were built in the primordial times stray dangerously close to the Warp, there are places where time halts, or flows backward, and nothing is as it should be. Some Solitaires seek this place with a morbid desperation, trying to find these chronovortices to fling themselves back in time and prevent the Fall.
The denizens of Commorragh avoid these places with terror, sensing the Thirst grow deeper in their proximity to the Warp, and even what few Slann remain do not remember it.
It is in these dark places of the Webway where Jaghatai Khan found himself eternally, lost and alone, chasing the Dark Eldar who had so skillfully eluded him. All time and logic had left this realm, and a single step could take a lifetime.
He didn’t even bother keeping track of time, for he knew it to be pointless. All he could do was wander, and hope he wasn’t going backwards.
Then, one day, something changed.

As Jaghatai retraced his steps for what could very well have been the millionth time, he felt something. Not in the endless tunnels of the Webway, but beyond, in the mad realm of Chaos. The eternally twisting patterns of entropy and creation splint and bent aside, allowing something to pass by. Jaghatai stopped and stared, horrified and awed. What could be powerful enough to bend the Warp so much it could alter time itself? He snapped out of his shock, and bolted for the nearest side-tunnel, one too far away to reach while trapped in the chronovortex. Just as the being passed his position, he could almost hear the creature, which seemed to be talking to itself, but words eluded him.
As the creature passed, he could feel the tug of time at his mind, pulling him back into the chronovortex. He screamed in frustration and doubled his effort, sprinting for the edge of the tunnel. With a massive, final effort, he leapt through, as the creature, whatever it was, passed by completely. He lay on the floor of the infinite tunnel, panting roughly, before clutching his arms to his sides and laughing, tears of relief streaming down his face. Finally, he was free! Now…how to escape fully?

Two dimensions and ten to the seventeenth meters away, Slaanesh was having the day of his life. For over ten thousand years, he had been feasting on the souls of the Eldar, and the infinite pleasures of the Immaterium were his to share. Surely, his oldest foe, the one who had escaped his birth, would delight in their bounty together?
Slaanesh was wise enough to know that he could never properly entertain Eldrad Ultran in his own palace, not if he was to enjoy this fully. So, he had had his dearest, closest Princelings drag the gibbering Eldar to the Pit of Lust, for their mutual enjoyment. Eldrad had realized what was happening in the disastrous Battle of the Blackstone, naturally, and had used his power to clip his own optic nerve cleanly in two in his last moments before being dragged screaming into the Warp. It irritated Slaanesh just a bit that Eldrad wanted to avoid his gifts so much, but it couldn’t be helped.
Slaanesh’s many sensuous claws ripped the mask off the Eldar’s face, before pushing him bodily into the Pit. He stood at the edge and giggled at the incoherent scream that emanated from below, reveling in the delightful noise. It was all he could do not to throw the Slick One in after him, seeing as how she did so enjoy the Pit, but no…he wanted this luxury for himself.

Eldrad clamped his hands over his ears and whimpered pitifully as the hundreds of severed hands in the Pit slowly passed him down the walls, caressing him even through his solid wraithbone armor. He clamped his teeth around his tongue and prayed. “Isha, lady of healing, please, oh please help me, your eldest child, now, in my time of direst temptation, Ashurra and Khaine, lend me your strength, protect me from the foulness of the Warp…”
“They can’t hear you now, dearest,” Slaanesh giggled to himself. He paused for a moment. “Well, Isha, perhaps, but I broke Khaine over my knee, and Ashurra died with the Old Ones…you know that, silly!” Eldrad ignored him.
“Asuryan, father of the Pure, protect me from the depredations of evil and madness…”
Slaanesh laughed, loud and happy. “Asuryan! Wow, I haven’t heard that name since I ate him alive!”
Eldrad wept through blind eyes. “Taldeer, Macha, please, please forgive me my weakness and my absence, I can not love you more than I do right now…protect our families, and-“
“Oh, enough,” Slaanesh sighed, “this is getting just downright maudlin.” He slunk down the spiral walls of flesh that lined the Pit, his form shifting and flowing, at once to beautiful to ignore and repulsive to behold. “Your daughters will service my Lust Lords and Keepers of Secrets as I flood you with my gifts.”
Eldrad could FEEL his mind breaking…no mortal, no Eldar, no being with a soul was meant to be here. “Oh, please, Gods, grant me swift death or deliverance as I fall into darkness…” he cut off as he finally reached the bottom of the Pit. Slaanesh took the last few steps at a jump, landing scant few meters from the Eldar, who had curled into the fetal position and locked his hands over his nose and mouth, whispering “never…never…never…” over and over.

Slaanesh took a moment to enjoy it…his oldest Eldar foe, ready to break and serve him. He slid his hands over the velvet floor of the Pit, towards his ancient enemy. “You escaped me at the Birthing, lover, you escaped me at the Direst Purge, you TRIED to escape me at the Battle of the Blackstone…but that clever lad Abbadon fooled you, dear, and you learned…you can NEVER escape me a third time.”
Eldrad went limp, his hands falling from his nose and mouth as he shook convulsively. The power of the Chaos God of Pleasure was too much, even for him, this close, in his own realm. He felt a manic grin creep across his face as he felt the Dark God’s toxic scent flow over him…
Slaanesh sighed happily. All was as it should be. All was right in the Warp. He bade the light above dim, and it did so, turning from a hideous pink to a deep, dark red, an impossible color with no name lacing the clouds of nonexistence. “Now…serve me…” he whispered. The clouds above turned purple, as the Prince of Excess paused over his convulsing enemy.
“COMING THROUGH!” a voice suddenly yelled. Slaanesh looked up, startled. A huge shadow appeared at the rim of the Pit, staring through beady purple eyes. “I DON’T WANT TO INTERRUPT, BUT I’M KIND OF IN A HURRY HERE. HAND HIM OVER OR I WILL FUCK YOU UP SO BAD YOU’LL HAVE TO CHANGE YOUR TITLE TO PRINCE OF EUNUCHS.”

Slaanesh gaped. What the fuck was this? A Khornate daemon, here to rob him of his prize? “You’ll not seize me for your master, foul rage beast!” he snarled, his good mood interrupted. “I’ll rip you to ribbons and return you to Khorne!”
“LIKE BUGGERY YOU WILL,” the being retorted. A massive wave of blue light flooded the Pit, and Eldrad was suddenly gone. His body appeared at the foot of the colossal creature, and Slaanesh howled with rage and disappointment. The Prince of Excess hurtled himself up the wall of the Pit, landing opposite the massive beast.
“I know not how you face me without turning to my service, creature, but you have no hope of victory. No entity in any realm may overcome the power of-“
“SHUT YOUR NASTY LITTLE FACE BEFORE I HACK THE OTHER BREAST OFF,” the monster roared in irritation. “I’LL BE BACK TO SCHOOL YOU SOON ENOUGH.” With a brilliant purple flash of light, the beast and the Eldar were gone, leaving the Chaos God to stand there, baffled.
Far away, as much as the words have a meaning in the realms of the warp, Tzeench gazed at the vast Sight Crystal before him and chuckled. “He sure didn’t see that coming.”

Farseer Taldeer, daughter of the mightiest psyker the Eldar race had ever birthed, knelt at the side of the stasis-locked body of Robute Guilliman. His face was stopped in time, and Taldeer could see, with her Eldar eyes, small pockmarks on either side of his mouth, a grimace of pain. A nasty, green-tinged cut crossed his neck, and an empty, sad look filled his eyes.
With his mind as frozen as the rest of him, it was all she could to look. She couldn’t read his mind, even if she tried: even the Eldar can’t reverse or unfreeze time. Liivi sat down in a chair next to her and looked at the Primarch pensively. “So…that’s what he looks like. We were always told that he was the one who held the Imperium together in the aftermath of the Heresy.”
She shook her head slowly. It was unnerving to be next to someone with a mind frozen in time. Such an empty blankness where thought should be. She straightened up, slowly. “I have no idea. That was before I was born.” Livii looked at the shimmering yellow field of energy that surrounded him, maintained by the tiny black box the Emperor had brought with him from Macragge. Taldeer looked at him sideways and let a smile quirk the corners of her mouth. She gently stretched her mind to Livii’s, and his lips twitched in the approximation of a smile he saved for her.
“I can feel that, you know. Aren’t I as blank as he is?” She shook her head emphatically.
“No, you’re just free of clutter. Waste. His mind is just…not there. A dead man has more of a mind than he does.” She grinned and sat beside him, letting her head rest against his. When she spoke again, it was almost silent. “I have to wonder what he meant…if Father’s all right.” Livii didn’t answer.

Neither of them could see it, but the air around the base of the Webway Assembly Gates was suddenly filled with a suffuse, purple haze. The Guardians posted nearby pointed and backed off, uneasily. The monstrous new body of the Emperor of Mankind appeared in the midst of the clutter of Gates and landing pads. “FINALLY. I HATE RAW WARP TRAVEL.”
Taldeer, several buildings away, leapt to her feet when she sensed the Emperor return…with someone else in tow. “It…it can’t be…”
With the characteristic CRACK of displaced air that always accompanied a teleportation, the Emperor’s monstrous new form arrived in the conference room. “GOT HIM.”
Taldeer gasped and ran to her prostrate father, who was clearly comatose, with a rictus of impossible ecstasy on his face. “Father! No…was he too late?”
“HE’S RIGHT HERE, FARSEER, AND NO, YOUR FATHER WILL RECOVER. MIGHT TAKE A WHILE, THOUGH, I’D TIE HIM TO A BED SO HE DOESN’T HURT HIMSELF IN WITHDRAWAL.” The seventy foot long Emperor did something with his shoulders that was probably a shrug. “SATISFIED NOW?”
Taldeer was in no condition to answer, bent over her father clutching his chest, heaving sobs inconsolably. Livii squeezed her shoulder, which he was pretty sure was what someone with a sense of empathy would have done. Macha tore into the room from where she had been waiting with the rest of the council, in the next room over. She saw her father’s form on the floor and screamed. “Father! You…” she broke off when she saw his condition, and rounded on the gigantic Emperor. “Is he…is he dead?”
“NOPE, I WAS JUST IN TIME,” the quadrupedal God of Man replied, with a sense of smugness that didn’t really make it through his alien mouth.

Yrric and the others filed in more sedately, gazing at the tableau before them in awe. The gigantic Emperor turned and stared at them, his footfalls shaking the floor with every step. “SO, DO WE HAVE A DEAL? YOU HEAL MY SON BACK UP?”
Iyanna glanced at the others, catching a few nods. “The Council of the Farseers are in your debt, make no mistake of it. Robute Guilliman will live.”
“FANTASTIC. NOW, I HAVE SOMEONE ELSE TO FIND, BUT I WON’T BRING HIM HERE. I CAN THINK OF A MUCH MORE SUITABLE PLACE FOR HIM TO WIND UP…” the Emperor trailed off, distracted, before teleporting off into the Warp once more. Macha knelt beside her sister and traced her hand over the soulstone Eldrad had bound to his armor.
“You’re not the only one who pays their debts, friend…” she whispered to the empty air.

4-010-001-M42
An ork is a fascinating person, most of the time. They don’t really suffer from angst or stress, they love what they do, and they never run out of people to fight. As long as there’s enemies to fight, they’re just as happy as clams, if Orks even have clams.
Not that they view every single enemy through the same lens, oh no. They don’t really like the Tau, they’re too boring to fight fair, so they cheat with those big dakka-shooting armor suits that look like what those humie gits call Titans. They love fighting the humies, there’s always so many of them! They even fight other orks, all the time in fact.
The little orks, though, they’re usually not so lucky. They might have to lug the ammo if there’s no burna-grot around, and they’re nothing more than squig-herders on the more boring worlds.
So when Grix, the chief gretchin-minder of the Bluddroks clan, found a funny-looking humie all alone, in the middle of the forests of Zargh 3, he was over the moon! Finally, an enemy to fight. He ran towards the funny humie, waving his choppa and shouting WAAAAAAAGH!
The humie didn’t even seem to notice, though, he just sat there on his knees, holding his own shoulders and laughing, with tears on his face. Grix didn’t even slow down, charging straight at the humie.
With a movement so fast it looked like a bolt of lightning striking a tree, the weird humie spun his arm out at Grix. Before Grix could even block with his choppa, suddenly the world was upside down! He blinked in confusion, his tiny brain trying to register what was going on, when his head hit the ground, and the rest of him bounced off a rock.
The “humie,” Jaghatai Khan, Primarch of the White Scars Legion, loyal son of the God-Emperor of Mankind, stood up, still chuckling, wiping his tears from his eye with his clean hand.

He faced the open, blue sky and smirked. “Father!” he called aloud. “I bet you can’t hear me, but I saw what you did! I felt you pass, father! I’m back!”

/tg/ has forced memes now? interesting.

4-011-001-M42
It’s mighty hard to keep a secret on a planet with a population of seventeen trillion. Try as you might, words pass around, and as the old adage goes, NOTHING travels faster than bad news.
And somehow, the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes throwing open the Eternity Gate and ordering two Titans to kill whatever’s inside draws attention.
11/1000s of the year had passed, and even the most adroit Administratum Adept had given up trying to contain the damage. Hundreds of pilgrims had noticed the commotion as they traveled the Path of the Sacred Pilgrimage to the Gate, and even the Custodes quietly imprisoning or liquefying the witnesses hadn’t contained the information fully. The entire planet was abuzz with the knowledge that something had gone UTTERLY wrong in the Hall of the Golden Throne. The Captain-General himself had already committed suicide by disembowelment, much to the horror of the rest of the High Lords. Now, they gathered to try and contain the situation before the entire Imperium collapsed.

>>14859866
Go back to /b/.

>>14859866

*BLAM*

>>14859866
...where have you been the last weeks?

TRANSCRIPT APPENDED: SESSION OF THE HIGH LORDS, EMERGENCY GATHERING
DATE EXPUNGED BY ARBITES REPRESENTATIVE
ATTENDING (all representatives referred to by title):
Administratum Master
Lord High Inquisitor
Ecclesiarch
Fabricator-General
Grand Provost Marshal
Astronomican Master
Paternoval Envoy
Grand Master Assassinorum
Grand Master Telepath
Lord Commander Militant, Guard
Lord High Admiral, Navy
SUBSTITUTION: CHARTIST CAPTAIN for CAPTAIN-GENERAL OF CUSTODES

Ecclesiarch: Were the news not delivered by one of our own, and confirmed by his colleague, I would not believe it. Our Emperor is taken from us.
Grand Master Telepath: Master [of the Astronomican], is the holy light disturbed?
Master of the Astronomican: No. We are guided by His hand even in His absence. He must persist elsewhere.
Paternoval Envoy: Agreed. I am told my fellow Navigators can still see and hear the Astronomican.
Grand Master Telepath: One of my astropaths has informed me that he sensed an impossibly powerful Warp presence streaming for Cadia mere hours after the beast appeared in the Hall of the Throne. Mere hours after that, in turn, I am informed by a panicked astropath on Cadia itself that a massive Warp beast appeared in the parade ground of the kasr where the Lord Castellan was holding an emergency meeting. Then, less than a day later, a Force Recon sergeant sights Abbadon being crushed by an angry beast, who then spoke to the Sergeant as the Emperor.
Lord Commander Militant: I received an identical report. The Sergeant is in custody, while one of Creed’s sanctionites watches him for Warp contamination.
Fabricator-General: And this…beast. Did it fit the description of the one that appeared before the Custodes?
Grand Master Telepath: Perfectly. *Mass consternation*
Inquisitor *faintly*: Why should it be true?
Chartist Captain: Pardon?
Inquisitor: Why should it be true? Why would our Holy Emperor bind himself to that…thing? *Silence for several seconds*
Grand Master Assassinorum: How does it matter? The more important question is not yet answered. Where is he?

In the final, waning hours of the life of the Horus Heresy, no legion escaped damage. All eighteen of the surviving twenty legions had either gone over to Chaos or broken, save the Ultramarines. By the time of the Thirteenth Black Crusade, none of the loyal Primarchs remained, unscathed. Three were dead, in fact: Dorn, Sanguinius, and Manus. The others vanished or fell in battle after the fact: Gulliman, his throat cut; Corax, Vulkan, and Russ entered the Eye, and Jaghatai and The Lion simply disappeared.
Disappeared, however, does not mean died.
In the tumbling rocks of Caliban, overseen by the Watchers in the Dark, lay Lion El’Jonson, still comatose, but fully healed, after his climactic battle with Luther. Only Luther himself and the Watchers knew of this secret…aside from the Emperor.
The empty caverns below the citadel of the Dark Angels bent, folded, and popped as the massive Emperor stepped forth. The purple flash illuminated dark corners of the chamber that had probably not seen daylight since the planet was sundered thousands of years ago. The Emperor looked around and sighed. “LOOKS LIKE I HAVE SOME WORK TO DO.”
Above, in the fortress-monastery, the Angels were thrown into a panic. “What do you MEAN there’s a psyker signal from the Rock?” Sammael roared at the hapless Librarian.
“I…mean what I said, brother, there is someone down there. Someone with a psychic power that is horrifyingly vast,” the Librarian answered contritely.
Azrael, master of the Truth, leader of the Dark Angels, strode into the room in fury. “What in the name of the Golden Throne,” he began without a trace of irony, “is going on in MY monastery?”

Sammael spun to face him. “Brother, there is a psychic signal emanating from the places where the Watchers in the Dark go to die. Something is down there.”
Azrael buried his face in his hands. “I gathered that. I have ordered what few elements of the Deathwing remain here to gather, and prepare for an excursion into the Rock.”
“Let me save you the trouble,” a rasping voice said.
Azrael and the other two men in the room spun about –a sight to see in power armor – to face a ragged old man, leaning on the wall, nursing his head. He was surrounded by a rapidly dispersing purple mist, and his free hand was blocking out the light in the room. Azrael gaped.
“…Master El’Jonson?”
The old man nodded slowly, and then winced at the evident pain that caused him. “Yes…yes, brother Azrael, it is I. I confess I have been away for a time. I recall this world having trees when last I was here.”
The Librarian sank to knees, overcome with emotion. Sammael slowly raised his gauntleted hands to cover his gaping mouth. Azrael, however, recovered his composure, looking grim. “Ah…Master El’Jonson…the Vault…it is not refilled.”
The Lion sighed and gingerly stood upright once more. “I can not tell you how much of a fuck I do not give, brother.” Azrael gasped aloud.
“But…Master, it was ever the duty of the Keeper of the Truth to fill the Vault-”
“-In the event that I did not return, brother,” El’Jonson said, keeping his voice level and free of censorship with a grand effort. “I quite clearly have.” He grinned faintly. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

Sammael slowly turned to face his Chapter Master. Azrael looked utterly crushed, certainly not how he should have looked upon finding out that his Master had returned. El’Jonson must have grasped Sammael’s confusion, for he sank down the steel chair fitted to the wall behind him, and stared at the floor below him, as if seeing where he had nearly had his head caved in by Luther ten thousand years prior. Before he could explain however, a massive noise from beyond the chamber walls heralded the Deathwing. The first of the Terminator-clad giants entered the room in a rush, already speaking. “Lord Azrael, we have drawn together what lingers here of the First Compa…who the hell is that guy?”
Sammael turned to the Terminators, suppressing a smirk. “Can you not see that he is Lion El’Jonson himself, returned to us?”
The Terminator Captain glanced at the withered old man, the still-prostrate Librarian, Azrael, who looked to be on the verge of tears, and finally Sammael, who had failed entirely to suppress the smirk. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you? You’re so full of shit, your eyes are brown.”

“As I was saying,” El’Jonson said loudly, then immediately looked to regret it, placing a hand on his forehead, “ah, blast, that stings like a mother’s bitch…Azrael, you have executed your task ably, but the time for further adherence to the Truth is concluded. I have returned to complete the role I abandoned when I lost to Luther.”
Azrael, among the most feared Space Marines in all the galaxy, slowly slumped his shoulders and nodded. “…Okay.”
The Lion shook his head again, and managed to keep from wincing. “The Emperor already filled me in on what has transpired. Not all of your…actions thus far have been…meritus, brother. Believe me, though, I would rather return from the vast sleeping death of the Rock to find you darkened than dead.”
He turned to Sammael, who was looking rather startled at that pronouncement, hastened to explain. “The Truth, brother, the fact the position of Truth Keeper was created to protect, was that I swore to the Emperor, as I lay dying in the Rock, to fill the Vault of the Watchers with the geneseed of The Fallen, and should I awake before the last of the Fallen are killed, then my oath has been broken.”
The Terminator Captain visibly stiffened at those words, and Azrael shuddered. El’Jonson let the mood hang in the air for a few seconds before smiling. “That said, I have been released from the Oath by our new Emperor. Actually,” he said offhandedly, ignoring the horrified gasps of the assembled Deathwing, “I guess he’s the same Emperor with a new body. Ah well, same thing, really. The teeth will take some getting used to.”

4-011-001-M42
*The meeting of the High Lords of Terra continued unabated, with twelve of the nineteen most powerful humans in the galaxy debating long into the night. Finally, the chair [presently the Grand Marshal Provost] calls the meeting to final order*
Provost: Gentlemen, under the circumstances I see no further value in lingering here. We have decided. We shall appear before the commoners and let them know a select slice of the truth: the Emperor lives on, but has journeyed to fight the Great Enemy with their own weapons.
Ecclesiarch: This is madness, I tell you! There will be riots in the streets!
Charter Captain: He’s not wrong. Perhaps we shouldn’t mention the part about “their own weapons.” I mean, the commoner hears “Great Enemy,” they hear “weapons,” they’re going to think “demons.” Do we want them to think the Emperor is consorting with demons? No matter how factual?
Provost *angry grunt*: Your solution is no better, Captain.
Lord High Admiral: Then it is decided. We should perform the address, promptly.
*horrible shriek, Paternoval Envoy, Grand Master Astropath, and Astronomican Master double over, bellowing in agony*
Lord Commander Militant: What?! What is going on?!
Assassinorum Grand Master: ARGH! My…my head…something is coming…something terrifying! Something UNHOLY!...Gaaah, my head…
*purple flash of light from center of conference table*
UNKNOWN: BEHOLD, SENATORS. I RETURN.
*crunching noise as conference table breaks under the unknown beings’ weight, catching Charter Captain’s augmetic leg in the process. Captain shrieks and begins throwing sparks*
UNKNOWN: OH. SORRY. GUESS I DON’T KNOW MY OWN STRENGTH.

>>14859923
wrong thread mebbe?

>>14859923
Wrong thread?
>>14854044

*All four psykers cease feeling pain now that the apparition is in the room and not approaching*
Grand Master Assassinorum: My Emperor? It…Is that you?
UNKNOWN: YES, IT IS I, LORD OF MANKIND. I’VE GAINED WEIGHT, BUT YEAH, IT’S ME.
Lord Commander Militant: How…oh, most divine one, tell us, how have you returned to us, your most loyal servants?
UNKNOWN: IF YOU THINK YOURSELVES MY MOST LOYAL SERVANTS, YOU’VE NEVER MET THIS FELLOW I’VE HEARD OF NAMED FERIK JURGEN. BUT TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, I LEARNED OF THE PLANS OF THE ONES CALLED THE ILLUMINATI TO KILL MY CHILDREN AND SACRIFICE THEIR SOULS TO ME. I KNEW OF THEIR PLAN, AND KNEW THAT IT WAS GUARANTEED TO FAIL, SINCE TWO OF THE…WHAT DID THEY CALL THEM, SENSEI? YEAH, THOSE GUYS. THREE DIED BEFORE THE ILLUMINATI GOT TO THEM, AND ONE MORE TURNED TO CHAOS AND GOT EATEN ALIVE BY TZEENCH, SO THEY COULD NEVER FORM CRITICAL MASS.
Lord Inquisitor *sweating profusely* : Shall we round up and purge these heretics, my Lord God?
UNKNOWN *turns to face the Inquisitor, who changes colors several times*: ‘WE’ SHALL DO NOTHING OF THE KIND. THE SENSEI ARE MY BLOOD, AND THE ILLUMINATI, WHILE CRUEL, ACTUALLY HAD A PLAN FOR MY RETURN, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR ANY OF YOU. *turns to Fabricator-General* THOUGH I CAN’T GET MAD AT YOU, REALLY, AT LEAST YOU HELPED REPAIR THE GOLDEN THRONE THAT ONE TIME. OUT OF CURIOSITY, WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT NOW THAT IT’S VACANT?
Fabricator-General: Now that it is no longer in use, Omnissiah, we have deactivated it and are attempting to repair it. It should be…easier, now that it is not…active.

*UNKNOWN steps off conference table, Charter Captain grabs leg, attempts to reattach it unsuccessfully. Fabricator-General leans over to repair it*
UNKNOWN: GOOD, GOOD. LISTEN, I GUESS I SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR NOT COMING TO YOU FELLOWS SOONER…
Grand Marshal Provost: I’m certain you had more pressing needs, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: YEAH, I SENSED THAT ABBADON THE DESPOILER WAS ABOUT TO USE A NURGLITE VIRAL BOMB ON CADIA, WHICH WOULD HAVE ALLOWED HIM TO TAKE THE GATE. CAN’T HAVE THAT. ALSO, MY SONS, ROBUTE AND LION NEEDED MY HELP WITH…THINGS. I SHOULD GO FIND JAGHATAI, TOO, THOUGH HELL IF I KNOW WHERE HE IS. AND WHOEVER THE FUCK EVEN KNOWS WHAT VULKAN AND LEMAN ARE DOING OFF THE ASS END OF THE EYE.
Lord High Admiral *hesitantly*: And…Corax as well, my Lord God?
UNKNOWN *nods vigorously, dust falls from ceiling*: YEAH, BUT I ALREADY KNOW WHERE HE IS. ANYWAY. I WANT YOU ALL TO LISTEN VERY CLOSELY.
Administratum Master: I assure you that will be very easy, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: YEAH, SORRY, THIS BODY’S A BIT LOUD. ANYWAY. I WANT YOU TWELVE TO GO GET ON THE HOLOPICT CASTS, THE ASTROPATHY RELAYS, ALL OF IT, AND START TELLING THE PEOPLE THAT I WON A GREAT BATTLE AGAINST A DAEMON OF KHORNE AND CONSUMED ITS VERY ESSENCE, AND THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL OF MY GUARD DIED IN THE HEROIC STRUGGLE. A LITTLE WHITE LIE. ALSO, I WANT EVERY SINGLE EVERSOR ASSASSIN IN ALL OF THE IMPERIUM READY TO GO ON MY ORDER ASAP. I HAVE…PLANS FOR THEM.

Grand Master Assassinorum: You honor us, my Lord God! I shall assemble them at once!
*UNKNOWN turns to face him, plaster board falls from ceiling*
UNKNOWN: MAYBE YOU DIDN’T HEAR ME. I SAID ‘READY’ THEM, AS IN READY THEM FOR ACTION, NOT ‘GATHER THEM ALL IN ONCE PLACE LIKE I NEED THEM TO MOVE FURNITURE.’
Grand Master Assassinorum: As ordered, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: FANTASTIC. THANKS. MEANWHILE, I HAVE BUSINESS ON ORCICIA. I’LL BE BACK LATER.
*UNKNOWN teleports out in burst of purple light. The doors give in as the guards pressing against them tumble in, having been restrained by UNKNOWN’s psychic power. Fabricator-General steps back from Charter Captain*
Fabricator-General: … I gave you rocket knees.
Charter Captain:…Thanks.

4-015-001-M42
“WAAAAAAAAUUUUGH!” roared Warboss Vogurk Hedbreakuh, Warboss of Zargh 3, as he charged forward.
“WAAAAAAAAAAUGH!” answered his mob, as they chased after him. There were humies to stomp!
Several hundred meters away, Jaghatai Khan grinned wickedly. These greenskins hadn’t gained bigger brains in the nine thousand years since he had fought them last, it seemed. Still, there were an awful lot of them.
He had been trapped on this vile ball of offal for nearly two days now, and his luck had returned to him. He had found a vast series of craters, where it seemed two Warbosses had met in ancient times, killing each other over control of their hordes. A new Warboss had risen in the interim and conquered both, and now ruled the planet with an iron Power Fist.
Still, he was not without advantages. He had had two whole days to plan. For a Primarch, that was more than enough. His gaze drifted over the vehicles at the back of the convoy of orks that were streaming away from him, towards the firecracker and human-shaped dummy he had built on the far side of the ravine. Finding nothing of interest, he kept searching, his eyes turning to the ramshackle buildings the Warboss had vacated. Then, he saw it. A Gargant! Perfect for him…but too big. He would need a crew. Forcing a sudden rush of dejection down, he searched the camp for something more appropriate…and found it. He gaped for a moment, then stifled a most un-Primarch giggle. This…this would be suitable.

4-015-001-M42
“Adrach, Ishana, heliawé…” the Warlock droned, hands splayed over the stasis-locked body of Robute Guilliman. Taldeer didn’t even spare a glance, her own eyes locked on her father, tied to the surgical table. Macha was slowly rubbing the back of his hand, looking for a sign of life.
Another Warlock ambled up to them, gazing down at the resting Farseer. “He will recover, Lady Macha, Lady Taldeer. His mind was clouded by the taint of She Who Thirsts, but the…I don’t even know what to call him, the Human Emperor managed to purge his mind of the ravishing of She Who Thirsts. Also, it seems that he managed to keep Lord Eldrad’s mind clean of the dark Craving that infests our brethren of Commorragh.”
Macha tried to smile, and couldn’t quite do it. “I…know that, Warlock. I can feel his mind intact. But why does he still slumber?”
“Your father was dropped into the Pit of Lust, Lady Macha. He’s lucky he still has a soul at all.” Taldeer shuddered at the terse, clinical pronouncement.
“When shall he awaken?” she asked, not taking her eyes off of her father’s face.
“A day, perhaps more, Lady. The damage to his eyes and ears was reparable, though it will be months before his sight returns fully. Optic nerves are delicate things.”
“Avaang, Tolettima…” the Warlock administering the warp-guided healing to the still stasis-locked Guilliman stopped abruptly. The other Warlock glanced over.
“Is something wrong, Sister?”
The first Warlock was silent for a long moment before looking up reverently. “No…Sister, there is nothing wrong. The mon…human is almost healed! I just started!”

“Perhaps there was some truth to the rumor that he could heal himself in stasis,” Livii mused. Both Warlocks jumped. He had been sitting in a chair by the wall the entire time, and neither had noticed. One spoke up quickly to cover her embarrassment.
“What? Heal naturally in stasis? That is impossible.”
“’Many things are impossible, for those who choose not to try’,” Livii quoted. “He’s a Primarch. What can’t he do?”
Eldrad emitted a tiny whimper at that point, saving the Warlock further inconvenience. Macha’s head snapped back to her father. “Father? Can you hear me?”
His motions stilled, and his hands slackened. Macha looked up at the Warlock in silent disappointment. The Warlock shrugged. “At least a day, Lady Macha. Perhaps you should rest.”
She stared at the masked Warlock for a second longer before turning back to Eldrad. “Yes…I’m no good bone-weary.”

6-017-001-M42
Farthest of the realms of the Imperium from Holy Terra is the Eastern Fringe. These regions of space are technically beyond the Choir of the Holy Astronomican, so only the greatest and most potent Navigators can even tell where they are. These are the realms that caused the armies of Macharius to shy away, that no fewer than three chapters of Astartes were founded to warden, and that not even Rogue Traders could safely explore. Grand Master Helbrecht, of the Black Templars, was one of VERY few men daring enough to try. He and Lord Commissar Yarrick had pursued a fleeing Ork Warboss here after said Warboss’s abandonment of the WAAAGH he had lead on Armageddon, his second. Now, he and the redoubtable Commissar, joined by fully five hundred Black Templars, eight Grey Knights (including a Dreadknight), and three full-strength regiments of Imperial Guard chased the Ork to here, the very edge of space.
What a picture they must have made, Helbrecht reflected, he in his Mark Seven Artificer Armor, and a five foot ten inch, two hundred year old cyborg Commissar, standing aside one another on the bridge of the Undying Crusade, his flagship.
“Look, Master Helbrecht,” Yarrick said casually, “the edge of the world.” Helbrecht’s perennial frown smoothed out a few degrees.
“Indeed. Thracka can’t run much farther than this.” He turned to Yarrick and tilted his head back. “I must say, I am impressed with you, Commissar. After your opposition to my refusal to ignore Thracka’s roks in the second war for Armageddon, I didn’t think you’d accompany me here.”
Yarrick was silent for nearly thirty seconds. When he spoke, it was with tightly controlled inflections. “Your refusal to help the civilians I was guarding grated, Master Helbrecht. But I would give the hand Thraka DIDN’T steal to kill him here.”

Helbrecht returned his gaze to the front viewport. “Well put, Lord Commissar.”
The vox-speaker in Helbrecht’s neckpiece chimed. “Master Helbrecht and Lord Commissar Yarrick, please report to the Titan bay IMMEDIATELY.”
Helbrecht sighed and tapped the vox. “What is the meaning of this? We are nearing orbit above the target world, we-”
“Lord Commissar Yarrick and Master Helbrecht to the Titan bay NOW.”
Helbrecht set his teeth, cutting the vox channel. “There will be hell to pay for summoning me like this…”
“I’m curious and annoyed,” Yarrick said drily, “but more curious than annoyed. Shall we?”
The two made their way down through the innumerable chambers and hallways of the Undying Crusade to the Titan bay, where the single Warhound assigned to the Templar detachment that hadn’t stayed to finish cleaning off Armageddon was repaired, and where Helbrecht had politely allowed Yarrick to park the Fortress of Arrogance. Helbrecht marshaled his thoughts before passing through the ceramite hatch. Before he could proclaim his displeasure with the one who had so rudely summoned him, he froze at a halt, mere inches into the room. Yarrick barely managed to avoid slamming into the back of him.
“Helbrecht? What’s the matter? Why did you…” he trailed off as he craned his head back to take in the view before him.
A monstrous beast, easily fifteen meters tall, loomed over the small cluster of prostrate Techmarines and Enginseers that were always scuttling around the bay. Upon sighting the pair of warriors, it raised one colossal claw in what looked like a wave.
“OH, THERE YOU BOTH ARE.”

Helbrecht found his voice. “Foul entity of the Warp! How did you get through the Gellar Field?”
“GELLAR FIELDS KEEP OUT WARP EMANATIONS AND APPARITIONS, HELBRECHT, NOT THAT WHICH IS DIVINE.” The creature glanced over its scaly shoulder. “ALSO, SORRY FOR KNOCKING OVER YOUR TITAN.” Indeed, the Warhound was clearly splayed against one bulkhead, leaking something viscous.
“I’ll hear no blasphemy, monster! I shall take off your head!” Yarrick charged forward, across the nearly one hundred meters of bare steel between the hatch and the monster, brandishing his Killy Klaw.
“OH, KNOCK IT OFF, COMMISSAR,” the thing said disdainfully, his voice echoing both from his massive maw and Yarrick’s mind. The elderly Commissar skidded to a halt before even making it a few meters in.
“W…what? I don’t-”
“MEANWHILE,” the monster continued, “YOU LADS CAN GET UP NOW. REALLY. THIS IS A LITTLE EMBARRASSING.”
“We are completely unworthy of your presence, my Lord God,” the most heavily modified Techmarine intoned.
“COME NOW, IF I THOUGHT THAT I’D HAVE COME IN THROUGH THE DOOR AND VENTED YOU ALL,” the huge thing said wearily, pointing one colossal leg at the exterior drop shuttle door. “I CAME IN THROUGH THE HARD WAY BECAUSE I DIDN’T THINK YOU NEEDED TO DIE. NOW GET UP WHEN TOLD.”
“As you will, blessed Omnissiah,” one of the enginseers said, scrambling to his augmetic feet and dusting his white and red robe off.
“OKAY. NOW, HELBRECHT, YARRICK, I CALLED YOU HERE BECAUSE I NEED YOUR HELP AND AUTHORITY TO CONVINCE THE ASTARTES AND COMMISSARIAT THAT I…WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Helbrecht had taken a few shaky steps forward, his hands visibly shaking through his power armor, his face glowing red as a dying star. “Hear this, foul daemon,” he managed to snarl, “I will send you back to your masters MYSELF!” He lifted his Storm Bolter and charged forward, firing wildly.
“HOW DARE YOU?!” the beast roared, so loud that the assembled Techmarines and Enginseers toppled over, clasping their ears, if they still had them. Some didn’t, and threw themselves in the path of the bolts.
They needn’t have bothered. Without the daemon even moving, the bolts seemed to freeze, and both Yarrick and Helbrecht found themselves hanging in midair, dangling as if from invisible puppet strings.
The beast let the bolts drop to the floor, where they harmlessly detonated. It took four bounding leaps forward, until its beady purple eyes were level with the two old warriors, only a few feet away, hanging in midair, completely immobile.
The creature went totally silent, save its psychic voice, echoing in their minds, greater and more terrifying for the volume it lacked.
“HEAR ME, WARRIORS OF MY IMPERIUM: THOUGH I AM NOT IN THE FORM WITH WHICH I LAST ADDRESSED THE WORLD, I AM YOUR EMPEROR.”
Yarrick tried to fire his laser eye, only to find that he couldn’t, it was as frozen as the rest of him. The monster’s eyes met his and he gasped in horror. “YOUR ZEAL DOES YOU CREDIT, UNTIL YOU FORGET YOUR PLACE. DO NOT FORGET YOUR PLACE.”

SOMEONE
ARCHIVE THIS
MAKE A THREAD ON 1D4CHAN
DO SOMETHING!!!!!

Yarrick snarled and tried to move his Killy Klaw, but was as frozen as before. Helbrecht was staring at the creature with an ashen face.
“My…my Lord God? You…it’s really you?”
“FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT, DID YOU?”
“Why…why are you in the form of a daemon, my Lord God?”
“LONG STORY.” The monster…Emperor…thing turned back to Yarrick. “YOU LOOK UNCONVINCED, SEBASTIAN.”
Yarrick gritted his teeth. “I have no reason to believe you.”
“OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD…FINE. WATCH.” With a loud CLANG, the doors to the void flew open. The Techpriests and enginseers gasped and tried to flee, but the air in the bay did not stir, as the void shield the Emperor projected kept it in place. “THERE’S SOME KIND OF ORK WARBOSS DOWN THERE, RIGHT? ONE YOU TWO MORONS HATE?”
“More than anything in the galaxy,” Yarrick ground out. “What of it?”
“BEHOLD.” No sooner had the word entered Yarrick’s mind than the atmosphere of the world below seemed to twist and fly apart. Stormclouds huge enough to dwarf a continent appeared, and the polar ice caps vanished. Water tore across the surface of the world, so quickly that chunks of the crust were lifted in their wake. In a matter of two minutes, the world drowned.
“SEE NOW, THE DIVINE POWER I WIELD? YOUR LACK OF FAITH IS IRRESPONSIBLE, LORD COMMISSAR.”

>>14860011
Search for Tarrasque on sup/tg/ or EMPERASQUE on 1d4chan.
I'm reposting an old story, not writing a new one.
Yet.

Yarrick stared at the violently twisting blue orb far below with unconcealed terror. The gates slammed shut again, and the Techpriests and Marines muttered amongst themselves in awe. When finally Yarrick managed words again, they were almost impossible to hear.
“F…ffffor….forgive me, my Lord God…forgive me my weakness…”
“NATURALLY,” the Emperor replied tiredly, lowering both black-clad men to their feet. Helbrecht immediately doubled over, trying not to be sick, while Yarrick sank to his knees.
“I can only plead your mercy, most Divine…Please…”
“QUIT YOUR BELLYACHING, SEBASTIAN, I’M ANGRIER AT HELBRECHT FOR TRYING TO SHOOT ME THAN I AM AT YOU BEING A SKEPTIC.” Helbrecht shot upright with alarm. “KIDDING, KIDDING. ANYWAY, I NEED YOU TWO CRAZY KIDS TO GO TELL THE ASTARTES AND COMMISSARIAL FORCES BACK ON ARMAGEDDON TO FINISH OFF THOSE ORKS AND GANGERS SO WE CAN GO GET SOME WORK DONE. I HAVE TO GO SEE TO ONE OF MY PRODIGAL PROGENY BEFORE I CAN TAKE MY PLACE AT THE HEAD OF THE ARMAGEDDON ARMY, THOUGH. SO, GET TO IT.” With a CRACK and a burst of purple haze, the Emperor was gone.

1-017-001-M42
Void Station Delta Sigma Octavius, orbit above Charon, Office of Inquisitorial Dispatch
Inquisitors are not trusting people. From an outsider perspective, this may make the decision of Malleus Radicals to use daemons as living weapons rather odd. If they do not even trust each other, why do they trust daemons?
The answer is thus: they believe (however inaccurately) that demons are simple beasts, with predispositions that make them easy to control and manipulate. For that reason, it was perhaps those very Radicals who had the hardest time accepting the fact the Emperor had merged with a Warp Beast.
At the front of a spartan conference room, a holo of an astropath droned on, relaying the message of the High Lords. A pair of Inquisitors sat in at the opposite end of the table, watching in silence. The High Lords’ message was well-crafted, no doubt, carefully avoiding the possibility that the Emperor Himself was a demon. Finally, the elder Inquisitor cut the transmission off with a snort and a wave of his hand.
“Pure rubbish,” he said.
The younger man stirred uncomfortably. His mentor, Averus Valentine, was perhaps the loudest voice of the Radicals, the man who was most open with his desire to use the weapons of the Warp against their foes.

There was some merit there, Jonash Haldebrandt admitted to himself, since daemons could harm one another. After all, Khorne had supposedly maimed Slaanesh in such a way that he would never heal, once. But was the Emperor of such a midset?
“Why do you say that, sir?” he asked, diplomatically.
Averus grimaced. “The Emperor is the most powerful being in this dimension. Why in the world would He need to summon a Warp beast, and then use Himself as a daemonhost?”
Jonash shifted uneasily. “Ah, it sounds more to me like the Emperor consumed the demon, rather than the other way around.”
“Is that why the High Lords are all but declaring outright that the Emperor is now a fifty foot tall, seventy foot long, two hundred sixty thousand pound beast?’ Averus retorted drily. “No, my young friend, this is a possession and no mistake. I can practically smell the High Lords lying.”

>>14860034
>Yet.
Oh sweet Emperasqe yes, he's back.

“But who’s doing the possessing?” Jonash said doggedly. “He is a living god, as you yourself said. Who’s to say that he isn’t in control? Even the Grey Knights can reject daemonic possession when tempted, and they’re mere mortals.”
Averus was silent for a long moment. “You’re not wrong, but it would be foolish to ignore the possibility that the Emperor is no longer fully in control of his faculties. Certainly the Grey Knights don’t.”
Jonash winced. “Ugh. I suppose. But do we really need to stoop to that level?”
“Of course not,” Averus replied evenly. “If I know Supreme Grand Master Draigo, he’s probably way ahead of us.”

>>14860065
...Back? I've been the only person writing this story from the beginning, and I've been the only person posting this story in the thread.

1-017-001-M42
Titan, Base of the Grey Knights.
Lord Kaldor Draigo stared at the tiny brass key in his armored palm. The air in the Tomb of the Sigilite was damp, stagnant, and dark. The responsibility entrusted to the Grey Knights ensured that their sacrifices would probably never be known to the public at large, and even the Inquisition itself viewed the Knights with a measure of quiet respect. Among their victories were the scouring of entire star systems clean of demonic filth, spearheading exploratory fleets to areas where Chaos-worshipping xenos dwelled, and even shepherding Librarians of penitent Chapters of the Space Marines, such as the Lamenters.
But those were things of the past. Those were achievements they used to be proud of, services they could admire. Those times were over.
Now, the Emperor had merged with a daemon. And there was one final task to be done.
Draigo sighed and closed his hand around the key, then took the last few steps forward to the back of the statue of Malcador, founder of the Grey Knights. After staring at the lifeless, stone eyes of the statue, he walked past it and placed the key in the unnoticeable hole beyond it. A section of the wall creaked forward, revealing a small, iron table set into the wall. On the table was a box with a strange seal set into the lid, one that Draigo had never seen before in person. The box was set with a tiny clasp, which Draigo lifted, his heart pounding. He reached to lift the lid, then froze. What if he was wrong? What if the High Lords were truthful?

I am so glad I came home when I did.

But…no. The High Lords had to have been lying. There was no way that even the Emperor could have consumed a Greater Khornate Daemon and emerged unscathed. Even noble Sanguinius had merely slain Ka’Bhanda, rather than trying to consume his power. This had to be done.
With a final breath of resentment at the universe for going so completely wrong, Draigo lifted the lid of the Terminus Decree and gazed inside.
The box was empty.
For several seconds, Draigo just stared, feeling his jaw slowly drop. How could this be? Not since Malcador the Sigilite had ordered the box be placed there immediately before ascending the Golden Throne had the room been opened! What foul trickery was this?
Kaldor felt his astonishment turn to rage. His hands shook, even through his Terminator armor. He replaced the lid of the box, his eyes clouding with anger. Whomever was responsible for this would burn in hell.
Just as he spun to the exit, where his retinue waited, however, a rattling noise caught his ears. He turned back to the box on its iron table, and saw that the lid had been replaced backwards. He turned to fix it, and the seal of the Golden Throne popped off of the lid. Draigo started, and saw to his astonishment that the seal was not inlaid in the wood, but detachable, a small plug connected it to the thin layer of wood of the lid itself. A tiny piece of paper popped out of the plug, and fell down into the box itself.
His anger sated, Draigo picked up the paper, and unfurled it gingerly. In High Gothic, twelve words were printed.
“Await the Emperor before the Throne. He knows you are coming. Malcador.”
Beneath the box, a beacon blinked once, unseen.

>>14860080
yeah but as far as I remember it's been a few days since the previous thread, I was celebrating your return, and dedication.

9-017-001-M42
The mists and tendrils if the Eye of Terror reach far beyond the abandoned Eldar crone worlds at their core. The twists and clouds of nebular gas and pure Warp energy conceal entire stars, rifts in the Warp you could lose a battleship in, and daemon worlds in the dozens.
Corax, of the Raven Guard, fled here to erase his shame after he unleashed mutagens on his own Marines, in an attempt to rebuild his numbers. He traveled to the Eye find his absolution in death, but what he found instead, was Fulgrim.
The horribly mutated Greater Daemon that had possessed his former brother was a sadistic monstrosity, who had turned the mind of the once-great Primarch into a terrified observer in his own twisted body. Corax had set his ship down on Fulgrim’s world. Much to his immediate horror, however, Fulgrim denied him an honorable death, instead tossing his ship around like a toy in tumultuous winds, killing everyone aboard except the Primarch himself.

>>14860093
ah.

Even as Corax’s Navigator died, Corax rammed the ship into one of the temples Fulgrim’s parasitic Daemon Prince had had built in his honor. Enraged, Fulgrim ripped Corax from his ship and tossed him into a pocket of the Warp, denying him eternally the pleasures of his Slaaneshi Daemon World. Every few thousand years or so, Fulgrim spared Corax a thought, lost as he was in maze of Fulgrim’s creation.
A maze of corridors, each a different color, as labyrinthine as anything Slaanesh had ever made, with no exit, the massive complex was nothing less than a daemon itself, and it took endless delight from Corax’s stumblings. When the mighty warrior wasn’t looking, the daemon would seal passages off behind him, or re-open old ones, until Corax dropped from exhaustion. When he awoke, revitalized against his will by the energies of the Warp, he could do nothing but set off again, in the nonexistent hope that somehow, he would find a way out.
As time is meaningless in the Warp, Corax couldn’t even tell himself how long he had been there. With every step, he moved nowhere. His mind made numb by the passage of time, the black-haired Primarch wandered around the endless labyrinth, praying endlessly to his father for release.
“Father-Emperor, guide mercy release absolve…” he managed in his shattered mind. “find place understand help…”

Far-off, Fulgrim smirked to himself, wrapping his four arms around the pile of quivering courtesans who held his viewing crystal aloft. They shrieked joyously and expired, their souls drained from their bodies. Fulgrim’s hideously empty pink eye sockets drank in the sights the crystal showed him. On Blekrun’s World, a Noise Marine desecrated a temple of the Omnissiah and laughed. In the depths of Terra, a Sister of Battle was overrun and sliced to ribbons by a rampaging mob. On the ruined plains of Tartarus, a Khornate daemon was drowned alive in a pool of blood by a Keeper of Secrets.
And in the depths of the Living Labyrinth, Corax the Raven was plodding forth, his mind long since gone.
Fulgrim sighed. How reassuring! Sometimes he wanted to make an alteration to the maze, but these little viewings always helped to remind him that sometimes, the most exquisite pleasures were drawn from delayed enjoyment.
Corax kept reciting his remorseful litany in his mind. “Need out…desperate repent Father leave…”
“WHAT ARE YOU EVEN ON ABOUT, CORAX?” For several seconds, the scarred Primarch continued limping forward, his eyes blank and downcast, before bumping into a wall of solid orange armor scale. His empty eyes glanced up, but he couldn’t even tell what he was seeing. The animal before him was like nothing else he’d seen in the labyrinth. It was the size of three Land Raider Spartans stacked together, with a massive, fanged jaw, and beady purple eyes. His befuddled mind couldn’t even process the possibility of someone else in the Living Labyrinth with him.
“HEY, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER. WE’RE GETTING THE HELL OUT OF HERE.” Corax’s empty eyes blinked, until he finally processed what he was seeing. His eyes rolled up and he fell to his knees, sobbing brokenly. “Forgiveness…forgiveness…”
“SURE. WE’RE OFF.” And with a brilliant flash of purple light, the Living Labyrinth was no more.

A blob of purple mist appeared in the vehicle bay of the Ravenspire. The assembled Raven Guard, what few remained, knelt reverently. The enormous form of the Emperor appeared with a burst of displaced air, and Corax collapsed on the ceramite floor, sound asleep. The chapter Chief Librarian bent his head. “My Lord God, thank you for returning our progenitor to us. I feel his mind is exhausted, though no worse for wear after a trip through the Warp here with you.”
“I ‘AM’ A GELLAR FIELD, WHEN I CHOOSE TO BE,” the Emperor said loftily. “SEE TO HIS WELLBEING, LIBRARIAN, WHILE I TEND TO ANOTHER. HIS LIFE IS IN YOUR HANDS.”
“It shall be as you say,” the Librarian intoned.
The Emperor continued. “I CONFESS SOME SURPRISE. HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS COMING?”
“The Dark Angels called ahead via astropath, my Lord God, and Lord El’Jonson himself informed us you would be visiting soon, with Lord Corax accompanying you. We shall tend to him until his mind recovers.”
“GREAT! WOW, THAT WAS RELATIVELY PAINLESS.” The colossal Emperor glanced down at the rigid body of Corax. “UH, FOR ME. UM. ANYWAY, I SHALL RETURN WHEN I HAVE FINISHED. GOOD LUCK.”

0-017-001-M42
Lord Kaldor Draigo was on the verge of losing his temper. He had flown straight to Terra as fast as he could after finding Malcador the Sigilite’s message, and raced to the Imperial Palace the second he had entered the atmosphere. The Palace was in the middle of an uproar, unabated after the transmission the High Lords had made. The Palace authority had not, of course, not refused entry to the vessel containing the Lord Grand Master of the Grey Knights, but even his name couldn’t clear the brewing riots in depths of Terra. The full company of the Adeptus Custodes had assembled within the halls of the Palace, and every one of the innumerable adepts, drones, Ecclesiarchs, and pilgrims within the massive structure had been forced out, unless they were one of those lucky few who lived within the massive, country-spanning building itself.
Draigo paced back and forth before the Eternity Gate, his every step watched with raptor-like vigilance by the gold-armored Custodes that guarded it. Under more normal circumstances, he probably would have been just a little intimidated by the pair of Warhounds tracking his every move, but he was far too irate to care.
After nearly an hour of waiting – an HOUR! To fulfill the Terminus Decree! – the doors finally swung open, and a Custodian Terminator strode forth. He spoke without preamble. “Lord Draigo. You are expected. I apologize for the wait, but things have become hectic of late.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked back into the room, with the slightly shorter Draigo hot on his heels.

“I can not wait any longer,” Draigo said icily. “I must speak with the God-Emperor at once.”
The noise level around him was higher than he ever would have guessed. The thousands of tubes and conduits that lead from the floor to the Golden Throne had been unplugged from the Throne and retracted, spooled back into hidden coils in the floor. Previously, they had ferried the souls of the sacrificed psykers in the tunnels below to the Emperor, so that His life could be sustained. Now, however, the psykers were allowed to live, and the Throne was gradually being disassembled.
“Naturally,” the Custodian replied drily. “Might I inquire as to the subject?” Draigo hesitated.
“…No. I apologize, Lord Custodian, but I am afraid I must speak to Him and Him alone.”
The Custodian whirled around. “Master Draigo, I can only assume you came here to enact the Terminus Decree. Not even we of the Household Guard were privy to its orders, but I can imagine them. The Emperor Himself informed us, the day after Malcador sealed those orders away, that they told you to come here and await Him. Well, He’s gone.” The light from thousands of luminators glinted off his jet-black helmet lenses. “Deal with it.”

Draigo, for the second time in a week and the third time in his life, felt his jaw drop. He was astonished by the Custodian’s utter disrespect, but also by his knowledge of something that should have been sealed away and forbidden for everyone in the galaxy but him and the Emperor.
“Now, you listen,” he snapped angrily. “I traveled here from Titan because I was assured that the Emperor himself would give me the command of the Decree, and so I shall wait here until he does.”
The Custodian stared impassively at the seething Gray Knight, then shrugged, with every sign of nonchalance. “Fine. Suit yourself. Try anything insipid and we’ll rip you to shreds, anyway.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of the massive banner of Sanguinius, head bowed, that hung behind the Emperor. “There’s probably still a forklift back there for you to sit on if you get bored.”
Draigo tilted his head, stunned. The Custodian was all right with his demand? He seized the opportunity. “Very well, thank you.”
“Whatever you say,” the Custodian said coolly. He turned back to the Throne and walked towards it, as the Eternity Gate slid shut with an echoing CLANG. Draigo looked out over the massive room with awe. He had been here before, naturally, but never when the room was in such a state. The Golden Throne was being slowly disassembled by a cadre of Archmagi of the Mechanicum, with a ring of several hundred techpriests around the base of the colossal structure, each holding an incense stick in one hand, and a tiny sensor package in the other, those with mechadentrites holding more of either.
The Throne was coming apart in the excruciating care of the Mechanicum, carefully detaching individual cords, boxes, and tubes, and very cautiously placing them in tiny, vacuum-rated pouches, to be carted off by servitors. The pouches were stamped with purity seals and lowered into a stasis field by another techpriest.

Beyond them, a group of nearly a thousand Custodes were busily manhandling massive crates into rows, while a colossal cargolifter, driven by another Custodian, lifted them into stacks. Some of them had layers of dust on them that looked as if they had not been disturbed in years, which surprised him greatly. Didn’t sanctionites, Inquisitors, and fresh Custodes come in here all the time?
A telepath with the markings of a Master Astropathica Adept bustled past him with a psyker-stave in his hand, mumbling to himself. “However shall we do this, oh however shall we do this…”
Draigo lifted one armored hand. “You, there, Astropath…where is the Emperor?”
The Astropath spun around and glared at the Grey Knight through sightless eyes. “Have you taken all leave of your senses, Custodian? How could you not know?” Without another word, he spun away and resumed mumbling without missing a syllable.
Draigo started after him, growing more and more irritated by the second. “Wait, I’m not…” he trailed off as the muttering psychic walked away. He stopped and turned around again, fighting a growing feeling of being sandbagged. “Does nobody here but me think that the Emperor being possessed is a matter of some urgency?” he snarled under his breath.

A pair of Inquisitors, both Ordos Malleus by the look of them, walked up behind the power-armored warrior and came to a halt. “Grand Master Draigo?” the elder one asked.
Draigo spun around. “Yes. Who might you be?”
The Inquisitor smiled. “I am Averus Valentine, of the Ordo Malleus. This is my associate, Jonash Haldebrandt. We would like your assistance.”
Draigo crossed his arms. “And how may I serve you, gentlemen?”
Haldebrandt spoke up. “Grand Master, am I to understand that you have seen the broadcast made by the High Lords?”
“Naturally,” Draigo replied. “What of it?”
“Well, Master, we’ve seen it too. We were wondering what you thought of it,” Valentine said, his face a placid, unassuming mask.
Draigo slowly uncrossed his arms. He gestured with his hands to the corner of the colossal room, and slowly walked off in that direction. Valentine allowed a small smile for his younger colleague and followed.
“I don’t know what you mean, Inquisitor,” Draigo said slowly.
“I imagine you do,” Haldebrandt said mildly. “The Emperor Himself, in His divine glory, consuming a Greater Daemon of Khorne in single combat? For that matter, a Daemon even appearing in this, the most heavily guarded building in all of human space?”

Draigo reached one vaulted wall of the room and continued along it. “It had struck me as odd.”
“Us as well, Master Draigo. Do you think that perhaps, the High Lords might have been lying?” Valentine asked.
“Lying? Probably not,” Draigo hedged. “Obscuring the truth? Probably. Emperor knows, daemons can be willfully summoned. An Inquisitor of all people should know that.”
“Touché, Master Draigo,” Valentine said, a smile tugging at his lips. Heldebrandt just looked miffed. “In fact, that is what we suspect occurred. We think that the Most Divine Emperor summoned a daemon from the Warp and bound himself to its form.”
Draigo sighed. “Under…literally any other circumstance, I imagine I would kill you both for that heresy…but I agree. That seems to be the case.”
Valentine stopped walking, all traces of levity gone from him now. “So…what do we do about it?”

There were only a few hundred Dark Angels present in the Rock when Lion El’Jonson awoke, but all were summoned to the Chapel to hear him speak. Several dozen Initiates and Neophytes were milling around in the vast auditorium, but the older Angels were all silent. When Lion slowly walked on to the stage and turned to address the crowd, the whole room seemed to hold its collective breath.
Lion winced and recoiled slightly as he looked out over the assembled Marines. “Gah…can someone turn those lights down a bit? I haven’t used my eyes in nine thousand years.”
Several Techmarines at the back of the room scrambled to obey. The lights lowered considerably, and Lion sighed. “Thanks, brothers.”
He walked slowly to the front of the stage. “I imagine that you were rather expecting this to be a bit more formal, but frankly, this alone is more than sufficient. We have always been keepers of secrets.” He turned his back to his brothers and slowly paced across the stage.
“I have awoken, by the will of the Emperor. He has risen from His Golden Throne, and visited the Rock personally.” The room erupted in a buzz of incredulous noise. El’Jonson stopped pacing and glared coolly at the rows of Power Armored Astartes, and the buzz died at once. After a moment, he grimaced.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be angry, I imagine I would be skeptical too. Still, I assure you, the God-Emperor of Mankind has arisen.”
A Techmarine stood, head bowed respectfully. “Lord El’Jonson, will He not appear before us here? So that we may resume our Grand Crusade?”
El’Jonson shook his head ruefully. “Oh, there will be a Grand Crusade, make no mistake, but He will not come here. I doubt he would fit in the room.”

The stunned silence couldn’t have been quieter in a vacuum. After very nearly a minute, in which even the Lion himself could barely suppress a laugh, one of the Terminators of First Company spoke up. “Um…Lord El’Jonson, what do you mean, he couldn’t fit in the room?”
“I meant precisely what I said, brother,” El’Jonson said with restrained mirth. “He’s huge. Zyberhuge, one would say.”
“I thought…I mean, isn’t He…He’s a divine man, but still the size of the mortal man he used to be, before He ascended the Throne, right?” the Dark Angel blustered.
“Ah, I see what you meant. No, he isn’t, not any more,” Lion said frankly. “He’s…changed. He summoned a daemon and took control of its body. His mind travels in its body now. He also allowed the beast to psychically consume his old body, as well, so he has retained all of his old abilities, while acquiring the beasts’.”
The room erupted in confused yelling, prayer, and questions. After nearly a minute, Lion raised his hands for silence. “Brothers, I know you’re skeptical, but I assure you, it’s the truth.”

“But then won’t the Astronimican become invisible?” one of the Deathwing Lieutenants asked in horror.
“No, no, Brother-Lieutenant,” Lion hasted to assure them. “He kept the beacon lit even while battling Horus, and while nearly dead on the Throne. He can guide its light even easier now, since he isn’t bound to a failing Throne.”
The Lieutenant hesitantly spoke up. “So…where is he now?”
Lion nodded. “A very reasonable question. I have no idea. He’ll contact us when the need arises, though, I’m sure.
“In the meantime,” the Primarch said, raising his gaze to take in the entire room, “we must prepare. Six of our Companies are in the field on assignment or recruiting, so we should make ready what forces remain here. He may return at any time.” The assembled Marines rose to their feet, sensing the dismissal in the phrase. They saluted their Primarch as one, and made for the doors of the great hall, still muttering to themselves.
Lion sighed. Azrael, the Chapter Master, remained in his seat, in the middle of the front row. When the other Angels were gone, he spoke up. “Lord El’Jonson, will you be joining us in the field when called?”
El’Jonson looked away for a few seconds. “If my strength returns fully, yes, I will. Until then…I am in need of recuperation.”
“I understand, my Lord,” Azrael said, masking his disappointment. He stood and saluted as well, then walked out with the others. Lion stood staring at the empty room for several seconds before letting out the sigh he had been holding.
“It would have been easier to lie,” he said under his breath.

9-017-001-M42
The Daemon Prince Fulgrim lashed around his many arms in a blinding rage. “Who DARES to steal my toy from me? My own BROTHER was MINE! He was MINE! MINE, to do with as I SAW FIT!” He tilted back his head and let out a scream of frustration and disappointment.
All about him, his lesser daemonettes shook and waved, trying to distract him from his anger, but he lashed out, whipping his scimitars at the nearest ones. The daemon-blades swept them aside, and they shrieked and bolted. “OUT! OUT! OUT!”
They fled with indecent haste, as Fulgrim slumped to the floor. “He was mine…” he whispered. “…and he will be AGAIN!” he suddenly sprung up, and strode to the balcony of his private quarters. He stared out over the twisted ground of the Daemonworld he commanded, at the legions of tiny warp sprites and daemons that cavorted on his endless lawns, and at the Emperor’s Children and Noise Marines that guarded his walls.
He tilted his warped head back and roared, the sound of his voice cutting through the noise. “Arise, my children! Arise, legions of Slaanesh! WE MARCH TO WAR!”

9-018-001-M42
“Just shoot it, ya gitz!” Warboss Vogurk Hedbreakuh yelled at the squad of boyz behind him. They started milling around in confusion, and he raised his Power Klaw to the sky. “Iz da biggest and da’ strongest, so do as I says! Shoot that Squiggoth or I’ll feed ya to it!”
Now, THAT they understood. The boyz raised their shootas and opened up on the rampaging squiggoth that had just rammed the Gargant at the back of their base. It ran forward, charging in a blind panic, caroming off a parked wartrukk and stampeding through a pack of gretchins, knocking them aside.
Hedbreakuh snarled and raised his own Kustom Shoota. “I’ll do it myself!” he roared, charging forward. “WAAAAAGH-OW!”
He suddenly veered off and slammed into the ground, green ichor leaking from his shoulder. “Who’s the bright git who just shot me?!” he roared at the pack of boyz who had been following him. They looked at each other uncertainly.
“Uh, it wasn’t any of us, boss,” the Nob leading them hedged. Hedbreakuh snarled.
“Well, it was one of you bloody gitz, and when I figure out which of youz it was, I-”
He didn’t have time to finish the threat, as the Gargant abruptly exploded, casting chunks of metal the size of wartracks high into the air, and the Orks in the camp scampered around to avoid being crushed.
The Big Mek stared. “ME BLOODY GARGANT! It’z done exploded!”
Hiding in a pile of rubble at the back of the camp, Jaghatai grinned cruelly. “Ohhh, yeeeaaah…I can see why Konrad preferred to fight this way…” he whispered to himself. “But…now, I need a ride…”

3-018-001-M42
The Emperor’s imminent arrival on Cadia – as announced by a member of the Ordo Telepathica – was greeting with an odd mixture of joy, terror, and apprehension. Joy, for what loyal son of the Imperium wouldn’t be happy to hear that their Emperor had returned to them? Terror, for those of the Cadians who had turned to Chaos for personal greed were now afraid for their souls. Apprehension, because the leaders of the Cadian Task Force were all too familiar with how the previous visit to Cadia had turned out.
Lord Castellan Creed stood on the landing pad of Kasr Vortiga and chewed his cigar. Externally, he was placid, but internally, his gut was churning. Colour Segeant Kell, as always, was stadning beside him, and, as always, noticed his Lord’s unease. “Anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked politely.
Creed shook his head slowly. “No, Sergeant, I’ll be all right.”
“Not what I asked, sir,” Kell pointed out. Creed was silent for a moment.
“No, Kell, I don’t need anything, but I am wondering where the hell Deathwolf and Blenkach got off to,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, where Clenden and Mardeus stood at attention, Mardeus nursing his head.
“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” Kell said diffidently, “they always do.” Creed snorted. “True enough.”
“The Emperor will arrive in about two minutes,” Mardeus spoke up suddenly. Creed nodded curtly.
“Acknowledged. How’s your head this time?” he asked.
“Better,” the telepath said. “It’s far less painful when I know he’s passing by. Maybe I won’t go into a coma, this time,” he added drily.

“Right. That would be preferable,” Creed chuckled. Senior Princeps Pace, leader of the Titan legion Legio Vixut II, stationed on Cadia until the Black Crusade was deemed no longer a threat, walked up to him and nodded respectfully.
“Lord Castellan,” the impossibly pale man said, clearly as nervous as Creed was.
“Princeps,” Creed nodded in reply. Before he could add anything to the conversation, however, the air gained a familiar purple tint. All those in attendance stood to parade-ground attention, as the air rushed back, nearly blowing Pace’s uniform hat off, and the Emperor appeared in the middle of the parade ground.
“GENTLEMEN, IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK,” the Emperor began without preamble. The various military personnel dropped to one knee in reverence.
“Most divine, you honor us with your holy presence,” Mardeus spoke for them all.
“YES…WELL. I’M GLAD YOU COULD ASSEMBLE ON SUCH SHORT NOTICE,” the Emperor said, changing the subject. As if they would have done anything other than show up when He commanded, Creed thought to himself.
“In fact, my Lord God, the Astartes and Commissariat representatives could not be here,” he said aloud.
The Emperor shifted his gigantic bulk in surprise. “OH? AND WHERE MIGHT THEY BE, LORD CASTELLAN?” he asked. Creed felt sweat appear under his collar.
“Forgive me, my Lord God, but I have no idea. They were supposed to be here.” Just in time, the Lord Commissar and Astartes appeared in the door to the open parade ground, with Blenkcach panting in the Marine’s long footsteps.

They both skidded to a halt when they saw that the gigantic Emperor was present, then both men did their best to reach the others and take their places in line. Before they could get even half-way, however, the Emperor’s psychic voice spoke. “SO GLAD YOU COULD JOIN US, GENTLEMEN.”
“A thousand pardons, my Lord God,” the Commissar managed. “We were in the command center. It seems that a massive Warp Rift has opened to the north.
“OH? WELL, NO HARM DONE THEN,” the Emperor thought/spoke, to Blenkach’s immense relief. “PERHAPS I’LL SEE TO IT PERSONALLY WHEN I’M DONE HERE. IN THE MEANTIME,” he said, turning his beady gaze on Deathwolf, “I UNDERSTAND THAT HERE, OF ALL PLACES, IS WHERE LEMAN RUSS WAS LAST SPOTTED?”
Deathwolf’s heart leapt. “Ah…no, my Lord God,” he said cautiously, as he and Blenkach took their places in line with the others. “It is suspected that the lost Thirteenth Great Company was part of the fighting to the north a few weeks ago, and there was a rumor that Lord Russ was involved, but it was only a rumor.”
“NEVERTHELESS,” the Emperor roared reprovingly, “THERE ARE IMPERIAL TROOPS UP THERE, AND THEY NEED TO BE SUPPORTED.

Two hundred miles north of the Kasr, a tear in reality stood open. The cackling hordes of Chaos spilled forth, eager to shed the blood of the four Space Marines and single Dreadnought that reached the rift in time. An apothecary, two techmarines, and the Chapter Master of the Blood Ravens stood defiant, casting down the hordes that spilled towards them, as the Dreadnought stood behind them, providing cover fire. Seven construction servitors worked feverishly to reload and repair seven auto-bolter turrets that had been hastily dropped to cover the rift.
“Chapter Master Angelos, I have received word from the Kasr that reinforcements are incoming!” one of the Techmarines voxed, sounding distracted as he covered a servitor. The former Ogryn lumbered forward, a crate of bolts in its hands.
“Finally! What did they decide to do instead of helping us?” Angleos yelled, hefting a krak grenade towards a roaring cultist that had made it past the hail of bolts. The grenade detonated inches from the screaming cultist, casting his entrails in the air.
“Meeting somebody from Terra, I gathered,” the Techmarine replied tersely, then pivoted to crush the face of a giggling Slaaneshi cultist in with his mechadendrite.
“I must say, Brother Chapter Master Angleos, this is preferable to endlessly retelling stories,” the armored form of Bjorn rumbled from his speakers. He pivoted at the waist and fired a stream of bolter shells at the flapping, winged form of a Nurglite daemon, which splattered messily at the base of the sandbags the small cluster of Marines were hiding behind.

A Lesser Bloodletter charged from the rift next, running straight through the bolter shells like they weren’t even there. It leapt the barrier and slammed into the Apothecary, who yelled in surprise and pain. Angelos hefted his Daemonhammer and slammed it into the daemons’s leg, trying carefully not to hit the prostrate Apothecary. The Khornate monster screamed, flying apart at the waist, as the Apothecary slammed his blade into the daemon’s face with every sign of relish.
“Well met, Lord Angelos,” Bjorn rumbled. “There’s another coming out now…they’re laying on the fucking pressure.” Without another word, he fired another salvo of bolter shells into the creature, which had chosen that unfortunate time to leap up into the air. It caught the bolts square in the midsection, and tumbled directly into Bjorn’s Lightning Claw. Bjorn laughed.
“Ah, the memories…”
“I thought you didn’t want to tell stories,” Angleos said with grim humor. A cultist with more bloodlust and enthusiasm, in World Eaters colors, leap over the sandbags, creaming.
“Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for his-GURK” he cut off as the apothecary grasped his head and squeezed, the unfortunate cultist’s head bursting like an overripe tomato.

“As delightful as this is,” Bjorn continued, slicing a warp sprite to ribbons which quickly evaporated, “our ammunition supply can only hold out – HOLD STILL GOD-EMPEROR DAMN YOU – so long. Brother Techmarines, when are those reinforcements arriving?”
“Under two minutes!” the nearest Techmarine yelled, seconds before catching a plate full of shrapnel from an impossibly lucky cultist with a grenade. His massive body pitched backward, colliding with the ammo servitor he had been guarding, which detonated with a crackling fireball that temporarily knocked everyone but Bjorn off their feet. Bjorn quickly hosed down the sprawling daemons with his bolter, but he only managed to kill two before the other four leapt back up, charging forward.
“Blood for the Blood God!” one roared, leaping at the dreadnought.
“HE’LL DRINK YOURS!” a terrifying psychic voice roared, stunning the assembled pack of fighters into silence. A huge shadow engulfed the battlefield as a vast daemon speared above the tableau, landing on the daemons with an echoing THUD.
The bolter turrets rotated to destroy the new thread, but with a single roar that left Angelos’s ears ringing, their machine spirits were either deactivated or terrified into submission. The creature turned its attention back to the rift, and with a horrifying flash of light, the rift started to knit itself shut.
Angleos found his mouth hanging open. He snapped himself out of his shock and gestured to his comrades. “Wait a moment, brothers, this…abomination is sealing the rift. Wait until it finishes.”

The enormous orange daemon glowed an eerie purple light, which seemed to make the lesser daemons and cultists wither away in its very presence. The rift slowly knitted itself back together, spilling out daemons that boiled into vapor from the creature’s presence. Before the it sealed completely, however, a chilling laugh echoed out of the hole, heralding the arrival of a Bloodthirster of Khorne.
The monstrous orange daemon that had come to Angelos’ aid abandoned its rift-sealing sorcery and hurtled itself forward, catching the winged Khornate daemon in the midsection. It sprawled back onto the ground, but recovered quickly, beating its wings to regain its balance. It hefted a blood-drenched sword and charged the huge orange creature.
Angleos watched in awe as the two monstrous creatures grappled, with the orange interloper seemingly holding the advantage. It swept one massive hand at the Bloodthirster’s knees, catching it off guard, and grabbed its torso with the other clawed hand, then, with a sickening rip, tore the monster in half, discarding it like a candy wrapper. It turned back to the rift, and roared so loudly that Angleos was fervently glad he had elected to wear a helmet that day.
Finally, with a horrid ripping noise, the rift sealed itself up, the eldritch light faded, and the air settled down. The creature twisted, nonchalantly, to face the Marines. Angelos felt a strange sense of finality wash over him, as he stared certain death in the face.
The orange daemon turned to Bjorn, who was busily scraping daemon ichor off its carapace with a pile of clothes ripped from a dead cultist. “BJORN, YOU OLD FART, I ALMOST DIDN’T RECOGNIZE YOU IN THAT COLOR.”
Bjorn’s optics glanced at the beast. “Boss. Have you gained weight?”

“DOES IT SHOW?” the creature asked idly, making a show of glancing over himself. Bjorn laughed uproariously. “SINCE WHEN ARE YOU WITH THE BLOOD RAVENS?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” Bjorn asked coyly, an instant before Angelos could make a panicked statement. “I’ve always been with the Blood Ravens.”
The massive creature stared at Bjorn with its horrible eyes for a moment, before shrugging. “EH. YOU SAY SO. NONE OF MY BUSINESS.” He turned to Angelos, who was staring at the exchange with a look on his face that could modestly be described as ‘stupefied.’ “YOU MUST BE GABRIEL ANGELOS. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION. I WAS BRIEFLY CONCERNED THAT I WOULD HAVE TO DECLARE YOUR ENTIRE CHAPTER EXCOMMUNICATE TRAITORIS.”
Angelos finally found his wits. Sort of. “Um…who are you?”
“WHAT, ARE YOU DENSE?” the creature replied. After a few awkward seconds, it laughed. “I JEST. I AM THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND, REBORN IN A NEW BODY.”
If the word ‘stupefied’ had described Angelos before, ‘flabbergasted’ would work now. The huge creature turned back to Bjorn, who had discarded the cultist’s rags, apparently satisfied with his cleaning job. “SO, HOW DID YOU KNOW WHO I WAS?”

The elder dreadnought shrugged his artificer adamatium shoulders. “We fought under the same sky, once. Leman Russ and I battled at your will on Ildrave III, and I met you in person after the battle, if you’ll recall.”
“WELL, YEAH, BUT I WAS HUMAN THEN.”
“You’re the memorable sort, Sire,” Bjorn said, using the honorific that probably hadn’t been used to describe the Emperor in eight thousand years. “Besides, I could…sense it. I’m no psyker, thankfully, but I remembered that you used a similar ability to seal a rift on Klenda Prime. I only heard about it in the after-action report, but…”
“YEAH, THAT WAS ME. GOOD MEMORY.” The Emperor turned to the apothecary, who had fallen to his knees. “SO, ARE YOU GOING TO SEE TO THE BROTHER TECHMARINE?”
“What? Oh…” the apothecary turned to the techmarine who had been flung into the explosion, who was twitching feebly, the back layer of his armor shattered. The apothecary struggled to his knees and hurried over to the marine, slipping a probe into the downed techmarine’s armor. The other techpriest knelt reverently before the Emperor, who sighed.
“HONESTLY, YOU DON’T NEED TO DO THAT.”
The Techpriest looked up at him, his mask hiding his confusion. “But…my Lord God, I am simply offering you a sign of my devotion.”
“YOU’RE AN ASTARTES, YOUR GENE-SEED DISTILLED FROM MY OWN ESSENCE. YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOW ME DEVOTION THROUGH ANYTHING BUT ACTION. NOW GET UP, REALLY.”
The techmarine (and Angelos) scrambled to their feet, while the Emperor looked back to Bjorn. “SO, BJORN, IS THERE ANY TRUTH TO THE RUMOR THAT LEMAN RUSS HIMSELF IS LEADING YOUR THIRTEENTH GREAT COMPANY INTO BATTLE, HERE, RIGHT NOW?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea, Boss,” the dreadnought said. “He disappeared into the Eye of Terror over nine thousand years ago. If he’s here, then it must be…”

“THE WOLFING TIME, YEAH, I GATHERED. YOU GUYS PICKED THE WEIRDEST NAME FOR IT, THOUGH.”
“I loathed it, Sire, always have,” Bjorn said disgustedly. “Back in my day, we used wolves as mounts, maybe, icons, symbols. We were never literal wolves, but now…fuck, the lead Space Wolf on this planet is named Deathwolf, Wolf Lord of the Wolf Pack. Fuck. That’s just perpetuating a stereotype.”
“HAHAHAH, YEAH. WELL, HEY, LISTEN, IT WAS GREAT TALKING TO YOU AGAIN, BUT I SHOULD REALLY GO BACK AND CHECK IN WITH CREED. I’LL KEEP MY EARS OPEN REGARDING THE RUMOR THAT RUSS HIMSELF IS SOMEWHERE ON THIS ROCK.”
“Oh, no hurry, Sire,” Bjorn said hastily. “He’ll turn up if we really need him.”
“SUUUURE,” the Emperor drawled, not buying it for a moment. “I’LL TELL HIM YOU SAID HI.” With a flash of purple light, the huge Emperor disappeared. Bjorn glanced up momentarily, the dreadnought equivalent of a shake of the head.
“What a kidder.” He turned to Angelos, who was looking seriously stunned. “You okay, Chapter Master Angelos?”
Angelos turned to look Bjorn in the optics, looking stunned. “How…you…is it true? You walked under the same sky as the Emperor Himself?”
“Sure did,” Bjorn said, wandering around the sandbags to the piles of discarded clothes and weapons where the evaporated daemons and cultists had once lain. “Really, are you okay? You’re looking kind of wobbly. Here,” he said, lifting a discarded combi-bolter with his lightning claw. “Take this. A little looting after a battle always cheers you up.”

Two hundred miles south, Logan Grimnir, the Great Wolf of the Space Wolves, stood uneasily alongside Deathwolf and Creed. The rest of the council of war Creed had gathered had dispersed back to their commands, with orders to seize as much territory back from the Black Legion that they could, now that Abbadon was safely neutralized. The Titans under Pace were advancing into the vanguard, where the second company of the Dark Angels and seventy five Blue Daggers were pinning the rearguard of the Legion down. True to their orders, Deathwolf and Creed had assembled their forces to help seal the rift, but when the Emperor had seen how small it was, he simply told them to stand by, so that he could seal it himself.
Now, Grimnir, who had been aboard his vessel in orbit both when the Emperor first arrived and when he had returned, had used a drop pod to deliver both himself and three other First Great Company veterans to the surface, to meet the Emperor in person. The other three had found excuses to linger, for the chance of seeing the Emperor Himself, and Grimnir hadn’t objected.
With a brilliant flash of purple, the Emperor appeared before them, once more in the middle of the courtyard. Grimnir knelt, as did Creed and Deathwolf. “My Lord God, it is a true honor to stand before you now,” he began.
“SO STAND. DON’T KNEEL LIKE YOU’RE TYING YOUR SHOES. REVERENCE FROM AN ASTARTES OF ALL PEOPLE IS NEEDLESS. YOU TOO, LORD CASTELLAN CREED,” he added. “IF ANY MORTAL MAN HAS EARNED THE RIGHT TO STAND BEFORE ME UNBOWED, IT IS YOU.”
“My thanks, Your Divinity,” Creed said, creaking to his feet once more. Deathwolf and Grimnir stood as well. “Might I ask how the battle went?”

“ONE TECHMARINE WOUNDED, NO OTHER LOSSES,” the Emperor roared. “CHAPTER MASTER GABRIEL ANGELOS OF THE BLOOD RAVENS LEAD A FORCE OF FOUR, AND I ARRIVED JUST IN TIME TO KILL A BLOODTHIRSTER AND SEAL THE RIFT.”
“A Bloodthirster, my Lord God? A worthy foe indeed,” Grimnir said. “By any chance, did you see a dreadnought with the Blood Ravens?”
“…NO,” the Emperor said evasively. “ANYWAY, GRIMNIR, I’M GLAD YOU’RE HERE. I WAS WONDERING IF YOU HAD HEARD THE RUMOR THAT LEMAN RUSS HIMSELF IS LEADING THE THIRTEENTH GREAT COMPANY HERE, ON CADIA.”
“It is true, my Lord God,” the Space Wolf said, apparently taking the Emperor’s word for Bjorn’s absence. “The Father of the Pack leads the Lost Great Company. I have no idea where they are right now, but I’m sure they could be found with sufficient resources.”
“NO NEED FOR EXPENDITURE, GRIMNIR,” the Emperor replied. “THEY ARE HERE TO BATTLE THE FORCES OF THE TRAITOR PRIMARCHS, AS RUSS HIMSELF COMMANDED THEM TO DO. NOW THAT HE’S HERE, THEY’LL KEEP DOING IT, I’M SURE, BUT HE’LL BE LEADING THEM HIMSELF. I WILL MERELY NEED TO FIND THEM…AND I’LL FIND HIM.”

Clear on the other side of the planet, where the rifts of Chaos grew the largest, and where Abbadon had landed his forces first, a small band of Space Wolves were carving a path. They had started two hundred strong, but they had now been whittled down to a mere fifty. Their numbers didn’t translate to success or failure in battle, however.
For they were led by a Primarch.
Leman Russ himself had emerged from a warp rift at the onset of the Black Crusade, leading his Lost Thirteenth Great Company against the armies of Abbadon. He was cut off from the Imperial command, but still he had two hundred Space Marines at his back. That was more than enough.
Fully a month had passed since he had reappeared, and he had cut a swathe through the forces of Chaos Undivided. Now, however, he was pinned, with two Chaos Warhounds pouring energy blasts into the surrounding structures. A collapsed agricultural station was providing them with limited cover, but it could never have been enough to block that much fire continually.
Most of the Wolves were down to melee weapons, or improvised explosives. A few men had salvaged equipment from fallen enemies, but most could only hope for a chance at hand-to-hand.
Russ leaned back against a collapsed brick wall, flinching at the pain from a seeping wound on the back of his hand. Their few living gunners were hammering away at the spotters for the Warhounds’ guns, but the incoming barrage was undiminished.

Russ felt a patter of brick chips land on him from a near miss and grimaced. If he had a single grenade left, he reflected, he would make those spotters acutely regret getting so close…
He glanced from side to side, taking stock of the rest of the people huddled in the expansive building. A few Wolves with ranged weapons – what little they had – were hiding at the windows, taking potshots at the enemies who were guiding the Warhounds. Those without were picking up chunks of building or furniture, barricading the doors. As if it would matter when the enemy came in through the roof with Titans.
A few of his wounded men were stretched out on the floor, some comatose, some just staring blankly, not seeing anything, and a few howling with pain. A PDF medicae had been lucky enough to stumble onto the Wolves when they were charging through the ruined city, and was tending to the gigantic Marines as best he could. The lack of proper medical equipment, the Marines’ modified genetic structure, and their wolf mutations were not helping. Russ’ eyes fell on the meager pile of food in the middle of the room, under an iron table for cover. It wouldn’t last them a day. If they hadn’t collapsed the buildings around them to slow down the Titans, or if the Titans were larger than Warhounds, they probably would have arrived already, but they had been blessed enough to avoid that.
The last thing to catch his eye was a small group of civilians who had been hiding in the building prior to his arrival. They had been desperate and scared, defended only by a brave squad of Kasrkin who had been protecting them until their numbers had gotten too low, then drawn the fire of the nearest Chaos forces and made a break for it, drawing the daemons off the civilian’s scent.

A few were just too old to have fought, one or two were PDF who were too badly wounded to be of any help, some were just ordinary citizens of Cadia who had mustered out of the PDF when they were old enough and had something to protect...and then there was her.
A small girl, most easily discernable from the others because she wasn’t moving at all. She was sitting against a wall, her face utterly blank. She was just holding her arms to her sides, shuddering when a particularly loud explosion rocked the walls.
Russ had no idea how long she had been in this hellhole, but she was clearly shocked beyond normal medical aid. All Cadians receive medical and combat training when they come of age, but she couldn’t have been more than fourteen.
One of his Marines let his replacement relieve him at the window, and jumped the two stories down from the catwalk below the window to the floor. He landed with a loud CLANG, and several civilians shuddered or started. The girl didn’t even flinch. Russ shot the Marine a reproving glare, but didn’t wait to see if he caught it.
The girl had been alone when the Marines found her in an adjacent building, sitting alone in a wrecked apartment, her family smeared over the walls, and a Chaos cultist brandishing a weapon, jumping at the girl. She had just stood there, her face utterly blank, either not seeing or not comprehending what was going on. Russ had shot the cultist neatly in the back in mid-jump. The poor thing didn’t even flinch, just walked out of the apartment after Russ with all the emotion of a servitor.

Russ had seen civilians in shock before, of course, and even a few of his more disappointing Blood Claws. He wasn’t really aware of why this one poor girl had elicited such a response from him, on reflection. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent literally thousands of years in the warp, only to see such despair on his return. Ultimately, it didn’t matter.
A shrill whistle announced that a shell from the Warhounds was incoming. His Marines – the ones who could still move – leapt to cover, sheltering themselves with agricultural equipment. The civilians followed suit a moment later, and the medicae lay down between two injured Space Wolves, allowing their heavy armor to shield him from debris.
The shell slammed into the roof of the building, bringing down huge chunks of the walls, and shattering another chunk of the abused roof. One vast piece of masonry fell directly for the huddled civilians, and Russ launched himself without conscious thought towards them, bracing just in time to catch the stone block before it dropped on the innocents below.
Russ couldn’t suppress a groan of pain feeling the thousand pound block of rock slam into his back, and the civilians beneath scrambled out from beneath him. All except the girl, who just sat there, unflinching, even as the Primarch tottered over her.
Russ gritted his teeth. “Run, girl, if you want to live!” he managed to snarl. She slowly shook her head.
“No. Nothing hurts me now.” With a gasp of agony, Russ finally let the thousands of years lost in the warp, month of constant combat, and days of malnourishment take their toll, and the block slipped from his grasp.

He fully expected to see the girl crushed to death under the rock, but by some Emperor-blessed miracle, she was just far enough away to avoid being crushed. He slipped down on his haunches, panting for air and feeling his abused muscles screaming. The civilians clustered around him, offering thanks, but he heard none of it. He stared at the girl angrily.
“Did you not see, girl?! Why did you not move?!”
“I saw it was going to miss,” she said blankly, to his surprise. He had been expecting her to say she didn’t matter enough, or that she would have welcomed death.
“What do you mean?” he asked, still pissed off. She shrugged, a more human reaction than he had seen from her thus far.
“The ceiling piece wasn’t big enough, and your back is sloped at an angle that would have permitted it to miss me.”
Russ stared at her again, his anger fading. Before he could ask another question, a horrifying CRACK announced that the barricades had failed somewhere. A pack of screaming Chaos cultists flowed into the room at the far side of the vast building, firing laspistols with their tradition lack of accuracy. Several Wolves popped out of the cover they had been sheltering in while the masonry fell and sniped the cultists, their sudden appearance taking the cultists completely by surprise. Several fell at once, only to be trampled under the feet of the next dozen. They streamed into the room, vaulting equipment and bodies, firing wildly.
Inevitably, the volume of fire took its toll. One Space Marine collapsed, his ragged armor unable to block the dozens of lasbolts that had impacted it. Ignoring his pain, Russ sprinted the few dozen meters between him and the cultists, leaping into their midst, howling like a man possessed.

The cultists swarmed over him, roaring their hate or delirious joy, stabbing and kicking, too close for guns. Russ grabbed one tall cultist and swung him about like a club, smashing rows of the cultists aside.
One of his men seized the opportunity to get behind a huge truck that had been parked in the building, and threw himself against it with all the might his power armor could lend him. The machine bucked and slammed into the wall next to the door that had been breached by the cultists, knocking several off their feet. With another titanic effort, the marine slammed into the truck again, blocking the door off. A few quick shots with the laspistol he scooped up from a dead cultist set the promethium tanks ablaze, the conflagration spreading out into the streets, eliciting some rewarding shrieks as the cultists beyond burned alive.
Russ threw his improvised weapon into the burning truck, and wearily plodded back to the medicae. The medicae had been fortunate enough not to have acquired more than the one new patient in the collapse of the roof and the cultist attack, the Marine who had taken too many hits. He propped the wounded Marine up against the wall and glanced him over, shaking his head wearily.
Russ sat down heavily next to the medicae, allowing a slight moan of pain from the many cuts he had accumulated in the fight to escape his lips.

To his surprise, the civilians who had run back into cover during the fighting clustered around him. One fellow who looked old enough to have fought in the Twelfth Black Crusade nodded respectfully, making the sign of the aquila with his hand. “Thank you, Lord Russ, we’d be dead without you.”
Russ nodded wearily, trying to smile. “You’re welcome, sir, but I must ask that you stand back. My blood is very acidic.” The civilians scrambled back, save for the medicae, who daubed a small patch of gauze on the marine who had been shot. Russ sighed and tilted his back, letting his weariness show completely. He shucked his gauntlets, letting them fall to the ground, and let his hands fall to the ground. His weariness overcame him, and he shut his eyes for a moment, trying to find a moment’s peace.

A sudden warmth on his hand snapped him back. He started and stared down at the girl, who had decided to ignore the tainted blood, and was sitting next to him, still staring straight ahead. She lifted his hand and set in her lap with visible effort, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Tainted blood doesn’t scare you, eh, girl?”
“Nothing does,” she said simply, without a trace of irony or deceit. “I don’t really feel much at all at times like this.
Russ nodded knowingly. “Ah, lass, that’s not always a bad thing.” He balled his hand into a fist and she placed both of her own hands over it, gazing listlessly over the chaotic room. “Take now. I don’t feel afraid either.”
“You’re a living Primarch, the Emperor’s will and blood,” she said matter-of-factly. “What should scare me is not what should scare me.”
“Oh? And why do you say that?” Russ asked in surprise. “Why do you think I’m not just another Space Wolf?”
“Because your image is recorded alongside the Emperor’s and Sanguinious’s images in the Hall of the Council,” the girl said, “and it was taken live on Terra at a meeting of the War Council.”
Russ stared at her, an eerie feeling of trickling ice in his spine. The War Council has disbanded almost eleven thousand years ago. The Hall of the Council had burned to the ground during his brother Horus’s betrayal shortly thereafter. A picture of the Hall would have to have been just as old. She had identified him as being more than a Marine from a picture of a picture of him eleven thousand years ago?

I love you so much.
Did you send your work to the black library and have you got a response yet?

“The Hall of the Council, eh? You’ve visited Terra?”
“I could never do that, it would be too much,” she said softly, a flicker of discomfort crossing her face. “It would be home.” Russ looked around, confused. A planet full of daemons and a butchered family, and she thought somewhere else was a bad place to be?
The medicae caught his eye, and mouthed something. Russ blinked, and the medicae did it again slower: M P D
Russ caught on. The girl was mentally unstable before he even arrived?
“Well, lass, stick with us, and we’ll get you out of here,” he said, with all the false sincerity he could muster.
“I know what you can do, Lord,” she said flatly. “I was a Sister once.”
“You read about those Sororitas a lot, then, lass?” Russ hazarded. The Sororitas were a recent addition to the Imperium, but he had seen some fighting earlier in the campaign, and a member of the PDF had explained what they were.
The girl shook her head, tossing her ragged black hair in front of her face. “No. I was quiet once.”
“Quiet…what do you mean?” Russ asked in confusion.
“I don’t have a soul.”

Russ felt his skin crawl as he stared at the teenaged scamp. What the hell did she mean? If she were a Paraiah, he would have been able to sense it, even if he had no psyker talent, just from her proximity.
Unless…
“Do you mean had? You didn’t used to have a soul, but you do now?” he asked, inspiration striking. She shook her head.
“Yes, Lord.”
“Did you used to live on Terra?” he asked, unnerved.
“Yes. I was one with the Sisterhood.”
Russ tried to hide his shock. She hadn’t meant the Sisters of Battle…she meant the Sisters of Silence?! “You…you were one of the Sisters of Silence who was sucked into the void between dimensions when the Webway Father built collapsed, weren’t you? And your mind was sucked into this…this girl’s body when Abbadon opened his warp rift?”
She nodded, emotion flickering across her face. Russ looked at her in wonder. “You…you’re saying you were alive that whole time…trapped between the worlds?”
She suddenly squeezed her hands around his fist so tightly he thought she was trying to hurt herself. Her eyes watered up a bit, and her voice cracked with strain. “I am very old, my Lord.”
Russ leaned back, his mind churning. The girl was a blank, born with a soul but without any presence in the Warp, but when she was exposed to the raw stuff of Chaos, a Sister of Silence who had been torn apart in the Webvoid had been sucked into her. Sisters were all Pariahs, no soul to begin with, so there would have been no problem. The original girl was long since dead.

>>14860458
Nope, and I don't plan to. They'd laugh this off as cheap fanwank.
Which it is.

Before Russ could ask another question, a brilliant purple light flashed in the windows and the holes in the roof. The firing of the Warhounds paused for a moment, then redoubled. A horrible roar sounded in the minds of everyone in the room, and rang in their ears. “GET THE FUCK BACK IN THE WARP WHERE YOU BELONG, FOUL CHAOS! AND TAKE YOUR WORTHLESS TITAN KNOCKOFFS WITH YOU!” An echoing CRACK noise sounded from where one of the Titans had been, and one of its legs flew past the window. The other Titan scrambled to evade whatever was causing the destruction of its partner, but apparently fared no better. The sky turned white for a moment, and a shockwave slammed into the battered walls of the building, knocking some more debris loose, though fortunately it didn’t seem to hit anyone. The Space Wolf gunners, though confused, recognized the opportunity, and picked off the Black Legion spotters who had so kindly revealed their positions for them.
A few seconds of absolute silence passed. Russ slowly stood, pulling his hand from the girls’. A purple haze started to fill the middle of the room, then rushed aside as a colossal animal appeared.
Russ gaped. A daemon? Why did it slay the Titans if they were all beings of Chaos?
He shook his head, baring his fangs. No matter. He would kill it himself if he had to. Before he could take a single step, however, the girl spoke.
“Master. It is good to see you again.”
The creature turned around, shaking the room with each massive step. “OH? AND WHO MIGHT YOU BE…OH! CARANA! WOW. NO OFFENSE, BUT I HAD ALL BUT WRITTEN YOU OFF.” It turned to face Russ, who was standing next to the girl, bewildered. “LEMAN! WONDERFUL TO SEE YOU ALIVE AND WELL. LET’S WENT, SHALL WE? THIS PLACE ISN’T SAFE.”

Russ felt his jaw drop. “Father? What…what have you become?”
The civilians who weren’t busy panicking and screaming looked at Russ or the monster, confused and terrified. It nodded. “YEAH, LEMAN, IT IS ME, THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND. I GUESS YOU DON’T GET THE NEWS OUT HERE, BUT I DEFEATED A DAEMON AND TOOK CONTROL OF ITS BODY. IT’S REALLY ME, THOUGH.”
The Marines either stared at the Emperor, blankly, or dropped to their knees, making the sign of the aquila. Russ took a hesitant step forward. “Father…I have so many questions, but first…my brothers, these civilians, we can’t travel. Some are gravely wounded.”
“NOT A PROBLEM, LEMAN. I CAN BRING YOU ALL WITH ME. CARANA, I’D LOVE TO HEAR WHERE YOU’VE BEEN, BUT WE CAN DISCUSS IT LATER.”
The girl, or more precisely the Sister of Silence named Carana who lived inside her, struggled to her feet and awkwardly bowed. “I’ll tell you everything, Sire, but we have to escape.”
“YEP. EVERYONE GATHER UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM.” Slowly, uncertainly, the various Marines and civilians walked over to where the Medicae and Russ dragged the wounded. The Emperor stood beside them, and despite Russ’s joy at rescue and at seeing his father again, he couldn’t fully suppress a shudder. His new form was…utterly monstrous.
With a loud rushing sound and flash of purple light, the strange collection of people were suddenly gone. They appeared in a burst of purple mist in the middle of Kasr Vortiga, where a small cluster of medicae and a pair of Wolf Priests waited. Several civilians fell to their knees or vomited at the strain of being dragged through the warp, even protected by the Emperor’s powers, but most simply staggered towards the medicae, gasping or praying aloud. Russ tilted his head back and grinned at the Emperor. “Well, Father, that was an impressive trick.”

Fuck, I shouldn't have written about the Sister of silence.
People were banging on and on about how I should make Leman Russ into Horo or something, and I gave in, realized how fucking dumb it was after I started, tried to fix it, and now I have this fucking mess.

“GEE, THANKS,” the enormous Emperor said drily. “YOU GO GET SOME REST ON DEATHWOLF’S SHIP, YOU NEED IT. WE CAN TALK LATER.” Russ blinked in confusion.
“Deathwolf? What’s that?”
“That would be me, Lord Russ,” Harald Deathwolf said, coming to a halt behind Russ and bowing reverently. “It is the honor of my life to see you and the Emperor standing together before me.” He straightened up, beaming, until he caught sight of the look on Russ’ face. “Oh, forgive me. I am the Twelfth Wolf Lord, of the Space Wolves. This is Logan Grimnir, the Great Wolf.”
Grimnir slammed his fist into his chest and bowed in respect, a wide grin on his face. “Though, I imagine, Lord, you’ll want that title back for yourself, as before,” Grimnir continued where Deathwolf left off.”
Russ shook his maned head. “No, Sir Grimnir, the title is yours to keep. I’ve been out of touch for millennia, and I am in dire need of rest and recuperation. I may one day resume my role as Primarch, but until I feel ready for the responsibility again, I must recuperate.”
Grimnir nodded in acquiescence. “As you say, Lord Russ.” Behind them, the medicae and Wolf Priests were checking over the wounded, earning some disparaging looks from the medicae and the PDF medic who had come with the Emperor, since the Wolf Priests were using nothing but runes, balms, and potions to treat their wounded comrades. The Emperor meandered over, shaking the ground slightly with each massive footfall.
“GRIMNIR, RUSS, WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH THESE MARINES WHO WERE LOST IN THE WARP FOR SO LONG?”
Grimnir turned to face the Emperor, craning his head back. “Well…my Lord God, I expect that they will return to Fenris, where they can be properly cared for and reequipped, retrained, and can catch up on the history they’ve missed. The Inquisition will be furious, but…”
“WAIT, WHAT? WHAT ABOUT THE INQUISITION?” the Emperor interjected in surprise.

“My Lord God, until very recently, the Inquisition rounded up all persons who had come into contact with daemons, our own Grey Knights, or warp entities, sterilized them, and worked them to death in labor camps or mining worlds,” Grimnnir said with unconcealed distaste.
The Emperor was silent for several long seconds. Then, without a word, he teleported himself and Grimnir outside the kasr walls, leaving Grimnir feeling a sense of whiplash at the suddenness of it. Before he could ask what was going on, however, the Emperor spoke, his voice growling and dangerous. More so, anyway.
“THE INQUISITION IS WORKING OUR LOYAL CITIZENS TO DEATH FOR SEEING DAEMONS?” he snarled.
“Y…Yes, my Lord God,” Grimnir said. “In fact, even the PDF and Guard stationed on Armageddon were killed, along with the populations of two entire worlds they tried to flee to, when the First War of Armageddon unleashed knowledge of daemons among the populace. Recently, they reversed their policy, since times of Black Crusade mean that more or less everybody hears of daemons, but they work hard to maintain the image that the Imperium isn’t at constant war with Chaos between them.”
The Emperor teleported Grimnir back to the parade ground, seconds before an inhuman roar, so loud it shattered windows, echoed over the parade ground. Russ and the other Marines looked over to the source of the sound in shock, with several citizens gasping and bolting for cover before sense reasserted itself. Seconds later, The Emperor’s voice spoke in their minds. “RUSS, I WILL RETURN TO SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN LATER. CARANA, GOOD TO SEE YOU. I HAVE BUSINESS TO ATTEND TO ON HIGH TERRA.”

0-019-001-M42
The two Inquisitors and the Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights had been in conference with one another for hours, wandering the massive throne room of Terra deep in conversation.
They agreed on little, despite their official ties, Draigo thinking that it would be wiser to confront the Emperor before doing anything drastic, Haldebrandt and Valentine claiming that it would be wiser to leave before the Emperor returned, to present their case to the Inquisition. Finally, after almost eight hours of debate, in which the two were constantly surrounded by working, bickering, bustling techpriests and Custodes, who tried not to look like they were eavesdropping, Valentine called for a decision.
“Brothers, the Emperor has clearly been in concert with a daemon, and whether or not we know for a fact that He’s been possessed, it seems we can at least agree that he was dabbling in a power that he couldn’t fully control. Why else would he use the creature’s form instead of his own?” Valentine asked reasonably.
Haldebrandt nodded. “Master Draigo, your experience with battling beasts of the Warp exceeds my own, but my station as a member of Ordo Malleus affords me some insight into the workings of the warp. Do you not agree that the possibility exists that the Emperor is no longer in control?”
“Of course I do, Inquisitor,” Draigo growled, his patience worn thin. “What of it?”
“Well, then, let us agree.” Valentine leaned forward conspiratorially. “Master, would you be willing to accompany us to our void station so that we may decide what to do next?”
“LET ME SAVE YOU THE TROUBLE,” a psychic voice said. The Custodians in the room took a knee at once, ten thousand gold-clad warriors kneeling as one. The Techpriests followed suit, as Draigo and the Inquisitors looked around, confused.

>>14860517
you can always retcon it, after all this is a GW inspired story.

>>14860517

Dude, you just said three posts beforehand this is cheap fanwank. Roll with it, quit yer worryin'.

Golden Throne was being disassembled. The massive form of the Emperor strode forth. “CUSTODES, MY LOYAL GUARD, STAND DOWN. MAGI, AS YOU WERE.” The gold and red-coated workers scurried back to their tasks, some with sly grins to one another. The Emperor stopped mere meters from the two awestruck Inquisitors, and the incredibly unnerved Draigo.
“GENTLEMEN. WHAT WERE YOU DISCUSSING MY THRONE ROOM?”
Valentine was the only one who managed to keep a straight face. “My Lord God, we were discussing Lord Draigo’s errand.” Draigo shot Valentine a stunned look, but said nothing.
“OH? DO TELL, MASTER GREY KNIGHT.” Draigo licked his lips.
“Ah…my Lord God, as I’m sure you’re aware, Malcador the Sigilite enacted something called the Term-”
“THE TERMINUS DECREE. YES. WHICH I’M ALL BUT CERTAIN MALCADOR DIDN’T WANT YOU TO INVOKE UNLESS THE IMPERIUM IS LITERALLY FALLING TO CHAOS AT THAT VERY MOMENT.”
Draigo felt a bead of sweat run down his neck. “That is correct, my Lord God.”
“SO, WHAT BRINGS YOU HERE?” the Emperor asked flatly. The Custodes nearby smirked, but went about their myriad tasks.
“My…my Lord God, I was told by the High Lords that you had absorbed a daemon. I had to avoid risk,” Draigo said, trying to regain his nerves.
The Emperor would have none of it. “YOU AVOIDED RISK BY INVOKING THE TERMINUS DECREE. LET ME LET YOU IN ON A LITTLE SECRET, KALDOR; THE TERMINUS DECREE WOULD HAVE LED YOU TO COME BEFORE ME SO THAT I COULD HAVE USED YOUR NEMESIS PIKE TO KILL MYSELF AND TAKE MY CHANCES WITH BEING REBORN. CAN YOU PERHAPS UNDERSTAND MY DISAPPROVAL THAT YOU TOOK SUCH A STEP WHEN THE IMPERIUM WASN’T IN ANY ACTUAL DANGER OF COLLAPSE?”

Much to Draigo’s relief, Haldebrandt spoke up. “My Lord God, the High Lords are not a particularly truthful bunch, and when they said that you had defeated a daemon that had appeared in the Throne room, it beggared the imagination. How could a daemon appear here, in the most heavily guarded place in the Imperium?”
“BECAUSE I SPECIFICALLY SUMMONED IT, YOU TWIT,” the Emperor roared disdainfully. “AND AN INQUISITOR SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN TO SUBVERT MY WILL.”
Valentine’s jar dropped. “Subvert? My Lord God, what are you talking about?”
“YOU AND THE OTHER RADICALS OF ORDO MALLEUS AND EVEN HERETICUS SUMMON DAEMONS ALL THE TIME, DESPITE MY ORDER AGAINST THE PRACTICE OF SORCERY STILL STANDING. I SUMMONED A DAEMON ONCE IN FIFTY THOUSAND YEARS, YOU, SIEUR VALENTINE, HAVE DONE IT FOUR TIMES IN THE LAST CENTURY. AT WHAT POINT DID YOU DECIDE THAT MY LAWS WERE TO BE SO EASILY CAST ASIDE?”
Valentine was openly sweating now, and unconsciously rubbed his hands together. “Ah…my Lord God, I assure you, all we have done is for the betterment of the Imperium, of mankind.”
“WHAT I DO IS FOR THE BETTERMENT OF MANKIND, AS ITS LEADER. AS ITS SERVANTS, YOUR PLACE IS NOT TO DECIDE THAT THE LAWS I ENACT ARE TO BE DISCARDED WHEN THEY BECOME INCONVENIENT.”

Draigo slowly crossed his arms. “Why was I not informed of this?”
Valentine turned to Draigo, his face beading with sweat. “Lord Draigo, we can discuss that later.”
“THEY DIDN’T TELL YOU BECAUSE YOU WOULD HAVE OBJECTED, LORD DRAIGO.”
Valentine took a desperate step forward. “My Lord God, I beg of you, do not-”
The Emperor turned his attention back to the Grey Knight, who was changing colors at an impressive pace. “DRAIGO, YOUR ACTIONS WERE INAPPROPRIATE, BUT I DO NOT THINK THEY MERIT PUNISHMENT. WHAT VERY WELL MAY, HOWEVER, IS THE STORY LOGAN GRIMNIR TELLS ME ABOUT YOUR AND THE INQUISITION’S ACTIONS ON ARMAGEDDON. STERILIZING THREE PLANETS BECAUSE THEY MIGHT HAVE LEARNED YOU EXIST? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? WE ARE HUMANITY’S GUIDES AND LEADERS, NOT THAT WHICH THEY FIGHT.”
“That policy is abandoned, my Lord God,” Draigo hastened to explain, “and if it was Grimnir telling you, he probably neglected to mention that. He’s held a grudge against us ever since then.”
“WHICH HE WAS WELL WITHIN HIS RIGHTS TO DO,” the Emperor roared, angrily, his psychic and auditory voice rising. “YOU KILLED HONEST, UNTAINTED CITIZENS AND SOLDIERS OF MY IMPERIUM BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT PRESERVING YOUR OWN SECRECY WAS MORE IMPORTANT. YOUR ARROGANCE AT ASSUMING THAT THE GREY KNIGHTS SHOULD REMAIN A SECRET AFTER NINE THOUSAND YEARS OF COMBAT ACTIONS IS APPALLING. I CREATED THE INQUISITION TO ACT AS THE PUBLIC FACE OF MY WILL. I CREATED THE GREY KNIGHTS TO ACT AS THE CLOSED FIST OF THE IMPERIUM, TO STAVE OFF CHAOS AND WYRDS.”

“But…my Lord God, were the Knights not to remain a secret?” Draigo asked in mounting horror.
“OF COURSE THEY WERE, DRAIGO, BUT NOT AT THE COST OF OVER ONE HUNDRED BILLION INNOCENT LIVES!” the Emperor roared. “WE SEEK TO PRESERVE HUMANITY WITHOUT COSTING IT ITS SOUL, AND YOUR FOOLISH POLICIES DEFEATED THAT PURPOSE.” He turned to the pair of Inquisitors, who immediately stiffened under his disapproving glare. “YOU TWO SUMMONING DAEMONS, THE KNIGHTS MURDERING BILLIONS…ORDO MALLEUS HAS DISAPPOINTED ME IMMENSELY. I THINK, PERHAPS, THE WORST PART IS THAT BOTH THE INQUISITION AND THE GREY KNIGHTS DID NOT TELL ME THIS, EVEN THOUGH SOMETHING OF SUCH IMPORTANCE SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD TO ME LONG AGO. THAT STRONGLY SUGGESTS THAT YOU KNEW I WOULD DISAPPROVE IF I HAD KNOWN. YOU CONCEALED THIS FROM ME.”
Valentine formally took a knee, his stomach churning. “My Lord God, please, forgive us our trespass.”
“NO. RETURN TO YOUR VOID STATION. NOW.” The Emperor turned from them, skewering Draigo with his malevolent stare. “DRAIGO, YOUR ACTIVATION OF THE TERMINUS DECREE IS SUSPENDED INDEFINITELY. RETURN TO TITAN. I WILL VISIT YOU ALL LATER. IN THE INTERIM, ONE OF MY SONS REQUIRES MY ATTENTION.” With a CRACK and a burst of purple mist, He was gone.

Emprahsque should meet up with Magnus and have a little heart-to-heart chat.

On the balcony of the Medical Temple of Craftworld Ulthwe, Robute Guilliman stood, his hands on the railing, feeling the artificial breeze on his face. The wind stung his still-bruised neck, but he reveled in it. His experience had been bizarre; one moment, he had been sitting on the throne of Macragge, surrounded by worried Ultramarines, the next, he had been tied to a table, his armor removed, and an Eldar Warlock with her hands on his throat. After a few seconds of wacky misunderstandings, a Farseer and a Vindicare Assassin, of all people, had approached him and explained what was going on, and that Emperor Himself had brought him here.
Now, he was alive again, free, his traitorous brother’s poison gone from him, while his father was on the way to see him again. The Vindicare had respectfully taken him aside and informed him of the Emperor’s monstrous appearance, which the Eldar had confirmed. Robute foind it difficult to believe that the Emperor he had fought beside so many times would have stooped to such a level, but there was a part of him that loved the idea of His return…even if there would be a few changes.
The Vindicare’s presence had been a shock, but the Eldar had hastened to explain that he was on an extended, informal loan. They were obviously lying, but he was still grateful enough not to press the matter.
The Farseer, Taldeer, had told him that the Emperor was coming back to see him in person, and would arrive within an hour. She was off with the other Farseers, in fact, preparing for his arrival.

OK, that's as much as I've ever posted. Now I'll write some more.

>>14860617

>>14860617
Hopefully we'll see some sisters of battle soon

Waiting on Someone Else

>>14860617
HUZZAH. ALL HAIL THE GIGANTIC WRITEFAGGOT! FOR HIS WORDS ARE MIGHTILY JAWSOME!

>>14860668

Dude, it's only been a few minutes. Someone will get to the wonderful writing soon enough.

Glad to see you back, Someone. I hope things have improved for you since you last put finger to key for our entertainment.

Okay guys...

Enough time has passed since this album appealed to the angsty teen.
Enough time has passed since the media circus...

What is your opinion of anti-christ superstar now?

I only ask because when the album came out I loved it (as a teenager), then I started to hate Marilyn Manson and everything "shock rock". Recently however I listened to the album beginning to end and fell back in love with it.

Really - it's was an album before "shock rock".
Really - it's a decent concept album
Really - it's original and for better or worse highly influential.


So, even though Marilyn Manson is a joke these days let's go back a hundred million years and look at this album with fresh eyes.
(you can't see the forest from the trees, you can't smell your own shit from on your knees)

>>14860713
You sir, are very, very lost.

Fun science fact: Word 2010 thinks Roboute Guilliman is spelled Robusta Billigan

awww yeah
sounds like a shitty rapper fom like, toronto
NORTH SIDE MAH NIGGAS

>>14860713
Wow guys whoops....

That's what I get for having different 4chan threads up in different tabs.

At least OP can feel flattered knowing that I've kept this up while trolling other channels.

:-)


(P.S.) I love you fa/TG/uys. Your the only channel I would never troll.

"[...]An an extended, informal loan." And by 'Loan' we mean 'Shacked Up'. I applaud you, sir.

Anyway, I can't wait to read more! I hope some of the Primarchs can get there act together and throw off the yoke of Chaos. That, and seeing the Emperor's Nightmares and whatever other chapters appear in this.

Hell, if Rachnus Rageous screams 'Surprise fuckers' as he kicks open the Warp to rejoin MonsterDad then...then everything is good in this world will have been in a single place.

>>14860766
Say hi to /mu/ for me.

>>14860713
nigga what?

OK, we're gonna check up on Roboute real quick-like, then we're gonna go see what those crazy Salamanders are up to.

We gunna get this archived, or what?

>>14860731
he was the brother who was responsible for splitting up the 'Hoods into Gangs, only a few Brothers stood against him, but he accused them all of being pussy-bitches so they regretfully split their niggas into smaller Gangs in hope that the great Block War would never repeat itself.

>>14860731
TRUELY, IS THIS THE WAY OF THE ULTRAMARINE! HALLA BACK, BATTLEBROTHER!

>>14860817
I want to read this so much. 'Lo, Did the pussyass bitch Horus strike down the most rightous Pimp-Emperor of da Street'

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html
here
So, Salamanders players, get in here!
What do they say about the chapter that i WON'T find on 1d4chan, Lexicanum, or wherever on the net? Old canon, awesome stories, favorite tactics, etc.

>>14860873
yeah right after he sold out his brothers by joining the pigs, and annihilating a load of them at the great drive-by of Isstvan aVenue, where Fullgrin of the Pimperors Kidz 'Hood shanked his brother Fearus Manners of the brass knuckles 'Hood.

some say that the only reason he was able to beat the Pimp-Emperor was because of the gear that the pigs gave him.

>>14860878
not sure about the salamanders, but if he doesn't greet them with "MAH NIGGAZ" then I'll be a little disappointed.

So Leeman Russ isn't Horo? I sad.

>>14860731
>mfw

I too has sad

>>14861005
No, Horo is the Sister that came with him.

Wow, no Salamanders here tonight? Disappointing, usually you guys are crawling out of the woodworks.

Naturally enough, the story had rung false to him at first, but the Eldar had been fervent in their claims, and the Assassin, Livii (Roboute didn’t even know they had names) had sworn them to be true. They had even shown him, in their own smug way, an intercepted Astropath communiqué from Terra alerting the Imperium to remain calm and, essentially, roll with the punches.
Roboute had been stunned that even the aristocracy seemed to believe that the Emperor was a living God. Hadn’t that been a facet of the Imperial Truth? That there were no gods at all, and the Emperor was simply a very powerful human?
It seemed times had not changed for the better since his laceration from Fulgrim. Fulgrim…the Ultramarine tightened his grip on the bannister. That traitorous son of a bitch had damn near killed him last time they had met. When his strength returned…he would make Fulgrim pay dearly.

>>14861118
MOAR

4-021-001-M42
Forgefather He’stan of the Salamanders stood at the edge of his chambers, gazing out at the planet below. The Chalice of Fire, which he had made his home once he had been relieved of command of 4th Company, was slowly orbiting Prometheus. The planet was unusually settled, for once. The moon of Nocturne was at its farthest from the earthquake-wracked planet, and the weather was such that vast crops could be planted and harvested quickly in the rich, volcanic soil.
The world had received, naturally, the news of the Emperor’s return. Emotions had ranged from horror to ecstasy, but He’stan knew that only secondhand. He had been off in another ship, trying to track down one of the lost Artefacts of Vulkan when the news hit.
The planet below had been in an uproar when he returned, much like the rest of the galaxy. Chapter Master Tu’Shan had greeted him, urgently requesting that he remove himself to the Chalice of Fire to prepare for the Emperor’s personal arrival. Indeed, it seemed that the Raven Guard, Black Templars, and Dark Angels had already been visited by the Emperor in person, and to a lesser and more perplexing extent, so had the Ultramarines.

>paffed Tecree
captcha is horny
halp

>>14861222

If Tu’Shan had been expecting an argument from He’Stan on that point, he was quickly surprised: He’Stan had been thrilled at the chance. His return was not coincidental: he had found an Artefact.
He turned from the viewport and reverently lifted the Song of Entropy from its cradle, slowly turning it in his hands. There was no risk of damaging it, of course, made as it was of adamantium, but even he was overcome a bit by the awe of being the Forgefather who recovered an Artefact.
The Song of Entropy was a fitting name for it. It looked at first to be a normal Power Fist, but it clearly wasn’t. Its impact hand had been removed, leaving only the powered portion of the gauntlet. In the place of the actual hand itself, a pair of tiny sonic disruptors had been placed, much like those mounted on the Titan Killer Ordinatus Mars.
The device was as heavy as a Power First, but could blast apart the hull of a tank with a single shot, though He’Stan suspected that its tight focus would make it useless against groups of infantry in good cover and dispersal.

>>14861118

i was wondering when you were going to adress that topic.

>>14861222
FFFFUUUUUU CHAOS IN MY EMPRASQUE THREAD?

>>14861499
Stay your hand, Brother Fumbles! Even Cultist-Chan knows the grace of the EMPERASQUE. She may be saved yet!

>>14861489
Do you think that you could double space the story? This format makes it easy to get lost.

>>14861622
It is doublespaced in Word, but copy-pasting it makes it single spaced. If I drop a paragraph between each line, 4chan says the post is too long. Sorry.

>>14861572
I see your point! i think i might try and speed the prosses on;

hey cultist chan, do you want some candy?

Gonna try and make an Emperaque Badge for Dawn of War 2 now.

>>14861797
how do import emblems in DoW2?

He had informed the rest of the Chapter, and even in the tumult of the Emperor’s bizarre means of return, they had rejoiced as one, though each and every one was freshly returned from Armageddon. The chapter had taken heinous losses fighting off the Orks, though the planet was still in Imperial hands, and Tu’Shan had told He’Stan quietly that the whole planet held them now in the same regard that they had held Commander Dante in the second War for Armageddon: reverence and awe. The Salamanders were wise enough not to exploit this, of course.
The Chapter Master’s voice spoke from He’Stan’s personal vox. “Forgefather, are you there? There is news.” He’Stan hurriedly placed the Song back in its ceramite cradle and replied.
“Yes, Brother-Captain, I am here. What’s the word?”
“The Telepaths stationed aboard the outermost void platform tell me that a ship approaches at great speed, brother, and they suspect it to be an Eldar Aurora.”
He’Stan paused for a moment before replying. “An Eldar ship? What could they possibly want here?”
“I can not fathom their alien minds, brother, but I strongly recommend that you make ready the Chalice’s defenses. Our own fleet is docked for repairs on Nocturne’s drydocks, and only the Eye of Vulkan, a few escort ships, the SDF, and the Chalice stand guard right now..”
“Acknowledged,” He’Stan said wearily. “I will ready the Chalice for battle. When do the Eldar arrive?”
“Two hours,” Tu’Shan said with quiet relief. “Best of luck. Our teleportoriae stand ready to teleport boarders into their vessel if it gets close enough.”

bumping with heresy

WOOOOO EMPRAHSQUE

I remember back when I still wrote shit for /tg/....

bump

>>14861872
HWEE WHANTS THO HEER MOAR OF YOUR HWORDS!

The fleets of the Salamanders, for their relative lack of Battle Brothers, are impressive. Skilled forgers all, the Salamanders know the importance of proper materiel.
As such, though the three Battle Barges of the Salamanders fleet were all occupied when the Eldar ship arrived, the fleet was not unprepared. Master of the Ships Ir’Shal was quick to mobilize what assets remained in orbit above Prometheus, and array them around the Eye of Vulkan. The Eldar would not find the Salamanders defenseless.
Ir’Shal himself teleported to the flag vessel of the small fleet, the Chalice. Though it was a Forge Ship, and thus unsuitable for actual, ship-to-ship combat, its origins as Vulkan’s own craft were obvious. Its shocking array of lance batteries were sufficient to tear a Great Cruiser in half, though it was no match for a Battle Barge or Battleship.
Ir’Shal strode onto the bridge of the vessel, where he found He’Stan pacing, glancing out over the bulk of the ship occasionally. Gasses from the many manufactoria aboard were vented from the ship occasionally, so it looked like sections of the hull were aflame when the light caught the gas at the right angle. Ir’Shal wondered if the view was prophetic.

>>14862177

please don't stop.

>>14862177
yay theres moar!

>>14861863

Retribution only, friend, but you go into My Documents/my games/Dawn of War II - Retribution/Badges and just paste it there.

I'll let you know when I'm done for the night.
OH FUCk
I just realized I spelled Guilliman's name as Robute instead of Roboute in every single post.
Fuck.
Eh, I'll just change it in Word, no need to change it here.

>>14862211
People are using my artwork for DoW badges?
Sweet.
Make sure to use it with Alpha Legion colored marines.

i'm out of 40k pics to bump with.

“Never have I seen you so excited, Forgefather Vulkan He’Stan,” Ir’Shal said drily at the look on He’Stan’s face. The old Salamander started and glanced at the relatively youthful Ir’Shal with a sheepish grin.
“The moment is not lost on me, friend, but I am still in awe at the recent tide of events.” Ir’Shal nodded knowingly, cutting a path through the serfs and servitors on the bridge to his battle-brother.
“Yes…these are interesting times. The Emperor returns to us as a daemon…I find another of the Artefacts…Lord Corax and Lord Russ return to their chapters, and so does Lord El’Jonson…I have to wonder.”
“Wonder…if Lord Vulkan will return to us?” Ir’Shal finished, shrugging his mechadendrites. Like many Salamanders who served aboard warships, he had received Techmarine training on a Forge World after become a Battle-Brother, and it served him well among the fleet’s Enginseers that he was capable of shouldering his fair share of the grunt work of repairs.
He’Stan nodded slowly. “Lord Russ made it clear that he would return when the needs were most dire, in the End Times. Lord Vulkan said the same…even if I have not yet found the missing three Artefacts, surely the rest of the prophecies in the Book of Fire ring true?”
“I wonder what Lord Commander Dante would say to that,” Ir’Shal asked quietly, joining Vulkan at the armourcris window.

I wonder, the Mentor Legion seem pretty interesting, and they fight more like the Reasonable Marines than any other canon chapter...their founders are unknown, so would anyone mind if I said they were Salamander successors? Make it /tg/ canon?

>>14862444
Why not? If the 40kids complain, the Emprahsque will eat their houses.

>>14862444
Go right ahead.
You've produced so much sheer awesome that you should be writing real cannon. Might as well write /tg/'s.

>>14862444
Mentors sound more like Imperial Fist successors.

>>14862342
I got you man.

/b/lackup engaged.

>>14862444
IT SHALL BE SO!

2

>>14862480
Sort of, but their articles in White Dwarf and Lexicanum say they put HUGE focus on field-testing brand-new weapons tech and place reverence on learning from mistakes and scientific discoveries, which sounds like Salamanders to me.

3

4

5

6

7

8

You don't need to bump so damn fast.

9

>>14862581
Oh, I thought this image-dump was in celebration. Once every ten minutes or so from now on, ok?

>>14862602
Thanks, but we're nowhere near the bump limit. Just post occasionally, if possible this thread should remain afloat until tomorrow.
If not, go ahead and vote for it in the sup/tg/ archive.

>>14862649
Ok, I'll just bump it before I sleep in about 2 or 3 hours then.

“I imagine he would have his own opinion,” He’Stan said politely. He respected Dante more than any other Marine not of the Salamanders, Black Dragons, or Mentor Legion, but the fact that Dante interpreted an eleven thousand year old prophecy to mean that he was going to be the last Marine to defend the Emperor rankled a bit.
“Surely,” Ir’Shal said in the same voice. He glanced around the bridge to see if any new messages had been posted by the Astropaths.
“Let me save you the trouble, Brother,” He’Stan put in. He tapped a blank wall segment between two panels of armourcris and a hololith of the void station where the Astropathic relay had first detected the ship. “No messages.”
“Nice toy,” Ir’Shal said with no audible sarcasm. He’Stan smirked.
“I like it, yeah.” Before he could twist the knife, a blip appeared next to the icon of the void station in the holofield. He’Stan poked at it with an armored finger, and it expanded into a scrolling block of text. He’Stan looked it over and set his face. “The Eldar will arrive in ten minutes. Is the Eye prepared, Brother?”
“Naturally,” Ir’Shal said, “it’s the focus of our entire defense system.”

>>14862288

Done and done, if you see someone with Hetzer in their name playing as Space Marines, you'll see the glorious form of our lord upon their shoulder.

waz up in har?

>>14862869
gonna put this here too.

DERP >>14862922

The Eldar ship screamed out of the Warp in usual Eldar fashion, as fast as possible. Eldar vessels are quite reasonably designed to spend as little time in the Warp as possible, as it’s far from good for them. The Webway is their preferred means of travel, but even the Eldar recognize the necessity of a means of travel in the Warp. The Adeptus Mechanicus would pay dearly to gain access to a fully operational Eldar Dragon Ship’s warp drive. Rendering the Navis Nobilite obsolete would be in the interests of the Mechanicum, though they would never have admitted it.
The Chalice of Fire maneuvered alongside the Eye of Vulkan, powering up its lance arrays. The Eye’s laser batteries whined inaudibly as they sought out targets in the inky void of space.
Finally, the Eldar vessel streamed out of the Warp, holding fast just beyond the range of the defenses mustered by the Salamanders. He’Stan snorted derisively.
“Fine. It’s one ship. We’ll just draw it back and hit it.” Ir’Shal, however, narrowed his eyes speculatively.
“A moment, Brother…that ship is not powering weapons, and its disguising device is inactive.” After a moment, he turned to the communications officer, a fellow Techmarine. “Brother Far’turath, see if they’re trying to hail us.”
“They are, Master,” the Techmarine said in a completely unsurprised voice. “They demand to speak to…the Hero of Armageddon?”
Ir’Shal stared. “The…is the dialogous translator operational?”
“Naturally, sir, it is,” the Techmarine replied coolly. “They are repeating their request.”
He’Stan shrugged, an oddly surreal feeling washing over him. “Might as well. Put the Chapter Master on.”
Ir’Shal spun to face him. “Brother?”
“They want to speak to Tu’Shan, Brother,” He’Stan pointed out. “We may as well let them. At that range they could escape if we refuse and move to attack.”

and this too.

does any one else have more?

After a moment of unspoken dialogue between the Forgefather and Master of the Ships, Ir’Shal relented. “Very well, Brother He’Stan. Far’turath, relay the message to the Monastery.”
“Yes, sir,” the Techmarine said, tapping a few buttons on his console and muttering the Litany of Communication. A few seconds later, the console beeped, and Tu’Shan’s face, glinting red from his eyes, appeared.
“Brothers, what is this about? Are we under attack or not?” he asked tersely.
“No, Brother Commander,” He’Stan said quickly. “The Eldar vessel is hailing you. Specifically.”
“Consorting with xenos forces is heresy, Brother,” Tu’Shan said stiffly.
“Yet they are here, and will simply leave if we do-” He’Stan started to say, before a shockingly real hologram appeared in the space between the Eye and the Eldar Aurora. A huge symbol of the Ultramarines appeared. Ir’Shal gaped.
“What in the living hell am I looking at? Is there an Ultramarine aboard?”
After several seconds confused murmuring in the background of Tu’Shan’s holopict, which seemed to distract him, the Chapter Master turned his gaze back to the pict caster. “I have no idea, but it seems that they truly do wish to parley.”
Ir’Shal nodded, and gestured to the Comm officer. He tapped the appropriate rune, and the image of an Eldar in the colors of Ulthwe appeared.
“Do I address Tu’Shan?” the helmetless woman said without preamble, in the melodious voice of the Eldar. Oddly, her Low Gothic was flawless, with none of the high inflections that usually accompanied Eldar speech.

Cultist chan approves of Emperasque.

ALL approves of Emperasque. Bump.

“I would know to whom I speak, alien,” Tu’Shan said flatly. The Eldar cocked her head a few degrees to the side, expressionless.
“I take that as a yes, then,” she said. “I am Eagle Pilot En’kris, of Ulthwe. I bear an urgent message for the one known to the Imperium of Man as the Hero of Armageddon. I assume that to be you?”
“Well, the Marines Malevolent wouldn’t agree,” Tu’Shan said with the ghost of a grin, “but yes. I am. What do you want?”
“To tell you that Roboute Guilliman has awoken, and that your master, the one named Vulkan,” she said, ignoring the sudden consternation her remark had created, “will return to you very soon. Your Emperor himself has told us this, as he does not want the information to be spread via your…crude astropathy. Vulkan’s position is…precarious.”
Tu’Shan, to his credit, only let his jaw hang open for a moment. “You…you are certain of this? Why are you telling us?”
“I’m telling you because Ulthwe owed your Emperor a debt, and because two…what are they called? Primarches?”
“Primarchs,” Ir’Shal corrected, his mind reeling.
“Yeah, Primarchs. Two of them together would ward off the armies of Chaos well, and Ulthwe will do anything to damage the ancient foe.”
She nodded with sardonic respect. “Also, I know it because your Emperor himself told us. Personally. He has visited Ulthwe twice in the last several days.”

>>14863369
The noise on the bridge of the Chalice couldn’t have been louder if someone were setting off fireworks. Several Marines were openly arguing with each other at the proclamation. He’Stan turned to glare at the offending parties until the talking quieted down. As the noise died, he turned back to the now openly smirking Eldar.
“And why has he come to you?” he asked with a voice that could have frozen the lava on the planet below.
En’kris seemed not to care. “Tight discipline. He visited us because each needed the other. We needed him to rescue one of our Farseers from She Who Thirsts, he needed us to resurrect Guilliman. I guess he thought you couldn’t do it?” she asked, lording it up.
Tu’Shan nodded slowly. “Good call,” he said calmly, refusing to let his satisfaction at the surprised look on her face show. “We haven’t the facilities to heal someone in stasis.”
“Well, Guilliman’s awake now,” the alien woman said, trying to regain the verbal advantage. “He is recuperating from his ordeal, and wanted to let you know that Vulkan has been found by your Emperor. He just can’t get to him yet, or something. Who knows?”

brb doing a thing

>>14863682
NO! NO THINGS ALLOWED!

GET BACK TO WORK.

>>14863715
Chill dude, bump for Emperasque.

Ir’Shal seemed on the brink of ordering the Eye to fire on the Eldar ship despite its being out of range when Tu’Shan spoke. “Thank you for informing us. Now you may leave us.”
The Eldar pilot seemed about to say something else when He’Stan cut the channel. The ship hovered in space for a few more seconds before finally disappearing, its Warp drive sucking it back into the immaterium. He’Stan turned to the hologram of the Chapter Master, his mind racing.
“Lord Vulkan…he returns. It seems my hunch was right.”
“Indeed,” Ir’Shal said, his voice contemplative. He slowly rubbed his finger across his chin, lost in thought. “I wonder what obstacle could slow even our reborn Emperor from aiding Lord Vulkan?”
“I’d rather know where exactly Lord Vulkan is, frankly,” He’Stan said, apparently arriving at the same point as Tu’Shan. “If he is lost to the Warp, such that the Emperor can not even tell us, his children, his location, he must be on a daemon world, or something similar.”

my little broseph is all blazed up dudes and cats
man i'mma sleep so fukin hard
be here tomorrow and vote for the thread here:
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html

>>14863855
>he must be on a daemon world, or something similar.

Inb4 he's chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool, sittin' on his throne as the new prince of Bel Aeros

Love your stuff so much Someone Else, keep up the good work!

>>14864023
>Bel Aeros

I love you.

BLAMP!

Huzzah for the baked oddish!

See you next week, spacecowboy.

Also, my internet $5 says Vulkan is in a tzneechan world. If it was nurgle, slanesh, or khorne, big Emp could just barge in and wreck 'em.

Don't you 404 on me.

this needs a bump

I will continue to bump until the tales of the Emperasque continue.

I'll return after lunch and write some more.

its been easily half an hour, bump

Dis 'ere story needz more Orkz. Ya can neva 'ave enuff Orkz.

>>14868041
Give it time.
Let me give you something to tide you over.

RANDY SAVAGE - MACHO MAN WARBOSS

OHHH YEEAAAAH, BOOOYZZ!

>>14868156
Fun fact:
The Emperasque makes even the Angry Marines look like sissy girls.
The picture on the left should demonstrate this effect.

>>14868201

>>14868248
these sisters joined the angry marines on occasion because they were so god-damn angry, they weren't allowed in the sisters of battle... thingys.... I cant remember the name specificly

I'm not good at writing

>>14868201

The girls part is obvious, but I don't think the term "sissy" would apply to them.

28,888 words!

>>14868304
I would not describe anyone who could rip my dick off using her vaginal muscles alone as "sissy".

Deep in the twisting fathoms of the Warp, the realms of Chaos fade and blur. There are regions of the immaterium that even the principle Ruinous Gods don’t claim, areas where the daemons and lost souls of Chaos Undivided and the lesser Gods, like Malal, make their homes. Sprites and cackling gargoyles swoop about in the raw stuff of Chaos itself, snatching up souls that don’t enter the material of the Warp fast enough and devouring them.
Only on the rarest of occasions are these realms of the Warp taken into the materium, usually because an entity in the realm of the living opened a rift in the name of Chaos Undivided. These daemon worlds are cracked and barren, the pride and arrogance of Chaos Undivided’s daemons and sprites fiercely driving off all transgressors, usually including the hapless inhabitants of the planets themselves.
It was on one of these worlds where Vulkan, Primarch of the Salamanders, found himself trapped. Even he wasn’t sure how he had wound up here, for he remembered driving his shuttle into the Eye of Terror. When the suffuse red haze over the sky receded enough, he could see nothing beyond it but empty space.
Time was funny here, he could feel himself growing older, then younger, then older again at the whim of the daemons whose realms he invaded, endlessly fighting. He had abandoned what little armor he had brought with him as useless, rent to pieces by grasping claws. He hadn’t survived the month, after arrival, in fact, but every time he fell in battle, he was reawakened, his wounds mended, his youth restored.

>>14868354
>mvq Vulkan is playing Team Fortress 2

The endless fighting that so characterized the world was not that of the mindless bloodlust of Khorne, but something more insidious: spite. The daemons who ruled this planet battled each other as much as him, and they would at times use him as a prize, allowing him to fight his way through their realms, other times yet allowing him to act as a free agent, and simply observing him with glee.
Vulkan had long since stopped trying to do anything other than escape. When he arrived, his soul was full of conviction, sure that he would find absolution for his failure at Isstvan V here, battling until the end of days. Shortly thereafter, however, to his horror, he had realized that anything he slew here rose again shortly thereafter, including himself.
Now, he desperately struggled to find a way off of the cursed planet, to return to his own realm. He had been trapped for near to nine thousand years, and the endless monotony of the world had worn at him the entire time.
“Didn’t I kill you yesterday?” he muttered, the old joke failing to elicit a grim as it once did. He swiped the chunk of rock he had lifted at a screeching gargoyle, who crumpled to the ground, twitching feebly. Vulkan dropped a heel on the writhing monster, then walked away, ignoring it.
“What’s funny is,” he thought aloud, “if Orks ever came here, they’d love it. The bastards love a good pointless fight.” He drove the iron chisel he had made into the rockface beind him and slowly climbed up. When he reached the top, he stared out over the view and shook his head.

>elicit a grin

>>14868482
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PKIobJt7jMg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fXCVAkQ27UE&NR=1

This just fits the theme.

A rocky plain stretched out before him, as far as the eye could see. Dark clouds, like bruises in the red sky, drifted around in impossible directions, and choking swarms of tiny insects buzzed around the rotting carcasses of daemons, scattered across the plain.
Vulkan sighed and hauled himself all the way up the short cliff, then sat heavily on a rock atop the hill. He ran his tongue across parched lips. “Wonder if I’ve been here yet…” he said faintly, before deciding it didn’t really matter. He just had to keep going, despite its seeming meaninglessness.
A bolt of lightning struck the ground at the base of the hill, startling Vulkan to his feet. He hefted the iron chisel that had become his companion, as two more struck the exact same spot. Disregarding the danger of holding a chunk of iron during a lightning strike, he stared upward, his eyes narrowing. He found what he was looking for immediately.
A bloated bag of flesh hanging from tattered wing was descending towards him, casually tossing lightning around like it was going out of style. Vulkan sneered and drew back his chisel, bracing his foot on the rock he had just vacated.

The bag of flesh, a daemon of Chaos Undivided from the look of it, shrieked and dove towards him, wobbling in the air. Vulkan narrowed his eyes, timing his throw…and hurtled the block of iron with all his strength. The block of iron shot through the air like a dark, slamming into the daemon with the impact of a rifle shot. It screamed, its control lost, spiraling down towards him. Vulkan drew back his hands, waiting for the creature to come in close enough.
When the thing was nearly close enough to hit the ground, it spread its wings, the chisel still stuck in its bloated chest, swooping towards the Primarch. Vulkan waited until just the right moment…then struck.
“DIE!” he roared, thrusting his palms together so fast they seemed to blur, landing the blow squarely on the metal chisel lodged in the daemon’s body. The impact struck like a cannonball, and the being seemed to explode in mid-air, splattering the ground at Vulkan’s feet with viscera.

Vulkan looked at the splattered daemon with unconcealed satisfaction, then let himself slump back down on the rocky hillside, pausing to retrieve the gory chisel, which he cleaned reverently. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” he muttered to it, then sat back on the rock, staring out over the endless plain.
“ARE YOU TALKING TO ME OR THE CHISEL, KIDDO?” a vast psychic voice roared. Vulkan launched to his feet, his heart suddenly pounding. He clenched his hands and spun around, his eyes searching wildly for the source of the voice.
“Show yourself!” he demanded. A bright purple light flashed in the great distance, a huge blast of purple smoke roiling out from the site as something materialized in the middle of a cloud of flame demons, who were crushed or blasted aside.
“WHOA, FUCK, I WASN’T EXPECTING THAT,” the voice roared, surprised. “FUCK, I KNEW THIS WOULD BE A DIFFICULT INSERTION.”
Vulkan gaped, astonished. A Khornate daemon, here, in the realm of Chaos Undivided? “Who the hell are you?” he demanded of thin air. To his complete lack of surprise, the voice answered in his head, a loud animal roar echoing across the plain from the daemon’s position.

>check sup/tg/ for this thread
>see it's last post is barely an hour ago
>Come here

0_0 -> XD MY. FACE. WHEN.

“REALLY? YOU DON’T KNOW YOUR OWN FATHER? WELL, I GUESS WE ARE KIND OF FAR APART RIGHT NOW. HEY, GET SOME COVER, I’M GOING TO CUT LOOSE.” The creature leapt up, landing several feet away, and galloped straight for Vulkan’s position. Vulkan gasped in shock, as much at the creature’s words as his actions, and stared at the sight.
“SERIOUSLY, VULKAN, GET BEHIND SOMETHING STURDY, THIS IS GOING TO GET LOUD,” the creature said, its psychic voice maddeningly familiar. Vulkan snapped from his stupor, and deciding that it was best to do as he was told before things started making sense again, dropped down behind the rock he had been using as a seat, poking his head out to watch. The gigantic daemon was running forward at a shocking pace for something so fast, though it was slower than its huge legs suggested it could run. All around it, a purple haze spread, and as the hordes of insects and tiny daemons crossed into it, they died, dropping in its wake like rocks.
A huge winged daemon swooped down at the lumbering leviathan, its claws extended. The massive daemon didn’t even change course, just glancing up at it. A moment later, a blast of light slammed into the diving daemon, sending it tumbling from the sky as if a Hydra had hit it.
The huge orange beast didn’t slow, charging forward through the rocky plain. It stared up at the rock Vulkan was hiding behind, dumbfounded. “HEY, VULKAN, YOU MIGHT WANT TO GET BEHIND SOMETHING STURDIER. REALLY. ACTUALLY, ON SECOND THOUGHT, THAT MIGHT BE ENOUGH. HANG ON.”

>there's more

Vulkan’s jaw dropped when he saw the enormous orange monster suddenly flicker, seeming to disappear for an instant, before glowing contrails appeared behind its legs and clawed forelimbs. Its speed nearly doubled, racing forward like a Jetbike, nearly to the base of the hill, outpacing the daemons that were chasing it. When it was almost even with Vulkan’s position, it suddenly jumped, turning in midair, skidding to a halt abreast with the hill Vulkan was on, shooting up a cloud of dust.
He felt the air crackle with energy, and the beast’s eyes started glowing a blinding purple light. “COVER YOUR EARS, VULKAN, RIGHT NOW,” the daemon said, opening its mouth. Vulkan clamped his hands over his ears, mashing his thumbs into his ear canals to protect his eardrums. The creature reared back on two legs, its mouth hanging open.
“BE GONE!” it roared aloud, its psychic voice no louder than it had been, but its actual voice so loud that Vulkan’s ears rang. A wave of blinding purple arcs of electricity shot out from the thing’s eyes and mouth, rolling over the plain like a tsunami.
Daemons and sprites shrieked, their bodies charred and incinerated, their souls torn from their withering corpses and rent asunder by the sheer power of the blast. Cracks appeared in the ground where the beam had passed, black smoke pouring from bruised rocks. A path of boulders glowed red where the arcs of lightning had struck.
Vulkan’s eyes were dazzled by the flash of light, and he squeezed his eyes shut, ducking back behind the rock. After several seconds, he gingerly stood, opening his eyes and pulling his hands away from his ears.
There wasn’t much left in the path of the beam.

>>14869327
The only thing that could make this even better would be... wait...

No. Nothing could make this any better. It's already perfect.

>>14869487
I think there should be more ultramarines. And more praise of Matt Ward, that guy is awesome.

The ancient Primarch dropped to his knees, awe, terror, and shock flooding through him, competing for his attention. The huge beast turned his gaze on the few remaining daemons, and they flew off with indecent haste. It glanced over at the dark-skinned Salamander and seemed to grow smug.
“YEAH, I HAVEN’T LOST IT. YOU OK?” it asked, concern coloring its psychic voice. Vulkan slowly turned to face the daemon, nearly at eye level.
“…Father? Is it…really you? Here? Alive?” he asked, his voice and movements slow and jerky.
“YEP, IT’S ME. I’M GLAD YOU’RE OK. WE NEED TO GET YOU OUT OF HERE,” the Emperor said, turning his gaze back to the smoldering ruin of the plain. “I WONDER IF THAT WILL BE VISIBLE FROM SPACE,” he said offhandedly.
“Father,” Vulkan said, his voice breaking. He hell to his knees, tears welling up in his glowing red eyes.
“WHOA, HEY, VULKAN, IT’LL BE ALL RIGHT, LET’S JUST GET YOU OUT OF HERE. YOU NEED TO GET AROUND A WEEK’S WORTH OF SLEEP,” the huge Emperor said in concern. A diffuse purple haze surrounded the two of them, and streaks of deep red light surrounded them.
Vulkan squeezed his eyes shut, an agonized whimper escaping his lips. He was being dragged through the Warp by the Emperor!

“YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES, VULKAN, I’M KEEPING US SAFE,” the Emperor’s voice said, perhaps somewhat distractedly. Vulkan slowly opened his eyes, finding the light and movement confusing, frightening, but not threatening. Streaks of red, blue, yellow, green, flashes of horrible carnage, boiling lakes of pus floating in vacuum, rivulets of liquids pouring over flesh cups, tornadoes of infinite size twisting past empty lands…he saw it all.
“Father, I think I’d prefer to keep my eyes closed,” Vulkan said guardedly, screwing his eyes shut again.
“YOUR CALL.” The Emperor was seemingly immobile, hurtling through the Immaterium as if across the surface of a lake, but not moving at all. Vulkan experimentally moved his left hand, but found it like trying to push through tar. His movements were so slow that it seemed worthless.
“I…I shouldn’t have broken down like that, Father, but-”
“OH, SHUT UP,” the Emperor said distantly. “BELIEVE ME, AFTER WHAT YOU’VE BEEN THROUGH MOST PEOPLE WOULD HAVE GONE DAEMONIC.”
“But where were you?” Vulkan finished, his voice cracking with anger and disappointment.
“WHAT? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” the Emperor said in surprise.
“If you could have rescued me like that sooner, why didn’t you?” Vulkan said, his voice seething.
“LOOK AT ME. I’VE MERGED WITH A KHORNATE DAEMON BECAUSE I LITERALLY HAD NO CHOICE,” the Emperor roared, clearly trying to keep his tone level. “THIS ONLY HAPPENED A FEW DAYS AGO; IF I COULD HAVE RESCUED YOU SOONER, BELIEVE ME I WOULD HAVE.”

Vulkan sighed heavily, the rage leaving him as fast as it had swelled up. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry…fuck, I’m just…very tired. The only chance I had to rest when I was on that cursed rock was when I was literally dead.”
“YEAH. WELL, WE’RE HEADED TO THE NEAREST IMPERIAL WORLD FOR A BRIEF STOP BEFORE I TAKE YOU BACK TO PROMETHEUS,” the Emperor roared, his own anger fading. The poor guy had been through a lot.
“We are? Why?” Vulkan asked, weariness tugging at his eyes.
“IT’S A PARADISE GARDEN WORLD CALLED SEDRIS’S FORTUNE, AND THERE’S A CARDINAL PALACE ON ONE OF ITS MOONS. YOU’RE GOING TO RECUPERATE THERE FOR A DAY OR SO BEFORE I TAKE YOU BACK TO NOCTURNE, BECAUSE NO OFFENSE, KID, BUT YOU LOOK LIKE SOMETHING THE DOG DRAGGED IN. YOU’D NEVER SURVIVE A TRIP THROUGH THE WARP FROM HERE TO YOUR FORTRESS. WE’RE ACTUALLY OUTSIDE THE GALAXY RIGHT NOW.”
“Oh? That would explain…things,” Vulkan said, the starless sky finally making sense. “I…thought I flew into the Eye of Terror…”
“YOU DID, SPACE IS A FUNNY THING IN THE WARP. YOU GOT SUCKED INTO THE WAKE OF ONE OF THE DAEMONBIRTHS, YOU KNOW, WHEN LORGAR OR WHOEVER PROMOTES SOMEONE TO DAEMONHOOD. THE SHOCKWAVE LAUNCHED YOU OUT OF THE DARK GODS’ REALMS, INTO THE REGIONS NOBODY CLAIMED. IT’S COMPLICATED. DON’T WORRY,” the Emperor explained.

So... What about the two missing Primarchs?

>>14869845
They've been dead for twelve thousand years. Omegon, the two missing guys, Ferrus, Dorn, Sanguinius, Curze, they're out of the picture for good.

I shall return in a few hours, keep this shit afloat. Vote for it in sup/tg/!

BUMP

>>14869988
Rachnus is dead?

I guess the Angry Marines are about to get even angrier!

>>14869988
Ok, thisis old. But you called for it.
So here it comes:

Hail Satan!

bumb

Okay.

This looks like an appropriate moment for a polite bump.

Gif vaguely related.

>>14870868
I laughed so hard at that I fucked up my self-image.

Bump

For the Love of the Emprah BUMP

Back, writing resumed. I'll start a new thread soon.

bump for JUSTICE!

>>14870386
Aw. At least a eulogy from the Bossman?

“Yeah…all right…” Vulkan said, before exhaustion finally overtook him. He slid into a shallow, unpleasant sleep, his dreams haunted by the visions of Chaos that flickered beyond the tiny bubble of normalcy the Emperor was projecting. The Emperor turned his attention to his own telepathic powers.
Far away, in orbit above the Cardinal Moon of Averus Lona, an astropathic relay station was abuzz. The telepaths had heard of the return of the Emperor, just like nearly every single other human in the galaxy, but this was rather more urgent. The Master Telepath sat in his central position in the main temple, bowing his head nearly to the floor. “My Lord God, the Cardinal shall be informed at once.”
“GOOD MAN,” a distant psychic voice said. “I EXPECT THIS TO BE DISCREET. THE CARDINAL MEANS WELL, BUT MY SON IS…NOT IN ANY SHAPE TO BE SITTING THROUGH POMP AND CEREMONY.”
“You honor me, My Lord God,” the Astropath said, giddy. “I will inform the Cardinal that the arrival will be a secret. He will make sure that Lord Vulkan’s arrival will be quiet.”
“GREAT. I ARRIVE IN…MAYBE FIFTEEN MINUTES.”
The Telepaths looked at each other uncertainly with their empty eye sockets. “Ah…that’s…very short notice, my Lord God,” the Master Telepath said carefully.
“TOO SHORT? TOO BAD. VULKAN WON’T SURVIVE A LONGER TRIP SANE. IT NEARLY KILLED CORAX.”
The Master Telepath bowed so low he nearly touched his forehead to the floor. “As you say, my Lord God. They will be ready.”

Huzzah.

Massive bump. Gif quite related.

>>14871171

REJOICE

>>14871171
all glory to the EMPERASQUE!

9-022-001-M42
“They’s everywhere at once, boss!” a Nob yelled angrily, firing his shoota into the treeline. Hedbreakuh slapped him upside the head.
“I know that, ya git! Get the burnaboyz up here, we’re going ta torch ‘dis whole forest!” he hollered. The pack of boyz behind him charged up to the trees, hosing them down with napalm and promethium. One of them pitched forward, his back ablaze, a hole appearing in his tank and engulfing him in burning promethium. The others spun to face the spot in the trees where the shot had come from, blasting it with fire.
On the opposite side of the river from where the Orks were busily falling into his trap, Jaghatai Khan grinned widely. He had been wreaking havoc on the local greenskin vermin since his arrival nearly a week ago, and it was paying off. They had done more damage to themselves than he had done to them, and though their numbers were still too high to confront directly, they were on the verge of panic. They just needed one more good prod before they collapsed entirely…
Jaghatai snuck back from the trees he had been hiding in, then sprinted the ten meters to the next copse of trees. Beyond it, he could see the huge series of craters where the Warboss Hedbreakuh had made his camp, and much of it was in gratifying turmoil.

The Gargant he had damaged with his out-of-control Squiggoth was in ruins, the Warboss having blamed the Big Mek for the chaos at first. When the dust had settled, everything larger than the Squiggoth itself was wrecked, and the Orks were in a blood frenzy. Jaghatai had retreated to hunt and lay traps, and the Orks had stumbled into the traps with a regularity that was both amusing and productive.
After nearly a day of having them chase their own tails, he had snuck into the camp and butchered a Gretchin, dropping his bits into the food tanks the Orks had made. They hadn’t even noticed for several hours, but when they did, it had turned into a brawl.
More and more Orks were being drawn away from sentry duty or building things to search for him, and the smarter Gretchins were refusing to leave the camp entirely, provoking several more brawls. All the while, his actual target was sitting in the middle of the camp, awkwardly chained to a tree, its handler long since dead. Jaghatai stared at it and smirked, before redirecting his attention to the Mega Nob in the far side of the camp. It was time to sow some more anarchy…

>>14871548
MOAR.

comestables now, i'll post some more then make a new thread tonight.
voooote

bump burrito for you.

Last check of /tg/ before bed last night:
>OMG! Emperasque! Must... not... sleeep... zzzzz

Wake up: Check /tg/
>OMG! it's still up! *read*, Aww... baked oddish. Oh well. *goes to work*

Get home from work: Check /tg/
>*GASP* It's STILL UP! NEW CHAPTERS!

I love you. Seriously. Most perfect thing ever.

Bumpity.

Sorry about the delay, I'm having a shitty night. I'm almost done with the next block of 300 words or so.
Fucking 4chan and their character limits...

Perfectly alright, take as much time as you need.

*lights some incense*

Oh Omnisiah, let the OP produce his content
Roughly 300 characters
Placed in a cunning order
Such that his words are neither trite
nor cliche.
and protect his capatcha
from including any greek characters
or illegible real words
and things that look like an "n"
but might actually be an "r".
for just as the Emperasque protects
so to will you find
the OP delivers.

>>14872619
Adorable. I'm stealing that.

Meanwhile, back on the Cardinal Moon of Averus Lona, a small group of Ecclesiarchs were busily whipping themselves into a frenzy. A team of white-robed servitors were clearing furniture and people from one of the meeting halls, and the sector’s Cardinal fidgeted at the front of the room. “Do you think that the God-Emperor will arrive in person, or just drop Lord Vulkan off?” he asked his aide worriedly.
“I haven’t the foggiest, your Eminence, but the Astropaths said that the message came from the Emperor Himself,” the young man replied. “We shall see…he should arrive any second now.”
“Yes…oh, goodness me, my skin is crawling. I’ve not felt this sort of nerves since I was younger than you!” the wizened old Cardinal said, rubbing his hands together. Before the subaltern could reply, a purple mist flooded into the room. The servitors shuffled the last of the other people out just before the air in the room parted with a CRACK, and the Emperor appeared. Vulkan dropped face-down on the floor. The Cardinal slowly raised his hands over his mouth, his eyes as wide as tea cups.
“FATHER, GOOD TO SEE YOU. THANKS FOR AGREEING TO TAKE MY SON IN ON SHORT NOTICE,” the Emperor nodded, hiding his distaste for all things religious behind a veneer of gratitude. The Cardinal didn’t react, he and his younger colleague both looking a bit green around the gills. A member of the Sororitas, who had fortuitously accompanied them both to the meeting, poked the Cardinal in the ribs, jolting him from his horrified stupor. He scrambled to his knees, as did his sidekick. The Sororitas reverently took a knee as well.
“Most Divine, you bless and honor us with-”
“ENOUGH,” the Emperor said with mounting irritation. “GET UP. SISTER, PLEASE SEE TO THE WELFARE OF MY SON. VULKAN HAS A VERY TRYING…MILLENNIA OR NINE.”

“As you will, Holy One,” The Sororitas said, rising to her feet. She hurried over to the slumbering Salamander, and gingerly draped one of his arms over her shoulder. She hefted him to an upright position and effortlessly carried him to the rear entrance of the room with her power armor-enhanced muscles. She nudged the door open, and placed the comatose Primarch on a medicae cart that the Sororitas of the moon used to transport their own wounded, and started to wheel him off to the infirmary. The Emperor turned back to the two priests, who were trying very hard not to look at the bestial Emperor’s form with revulsion.
“THANKS AGAIN, SIEUR, I’LL BE BACK TO RETRIEVE HIM IN A WEEK OR SO. IF HE WANTS TO, YOU KNOW, LEAVE BEFORE THAT, JUST HAVE THE ASTROPATHICA LET ME KNOW, THEY KNOW HOW TO REACH ME,” the Emperor said casually, his demeanor all business. “I MUST ATTEND TO ANOTHER MATTER. FAREWELL.” With a CRACK of air that nearly knocked the two priests off their feet, he was gone again.
The old Cardinal turned to the subaltern, gaping. “I…oh, forgive me, Emperor, but…I hadn’t expected him to look…”
“Like something Arbitrator Foreboding would shoot?” the younger priest finished wryly. “Yes, it was quite…unnerving. Still, Lord Vulkan will be our sacred guest untl he recovers…we must make a good impression.”

>>14872789

"They dare insult his Majesty's sacred form? There is much heresy to be cleansed!"

I'm sorry, guys, I'm just too distracted to keep going right now. I'll make a new thread some day soon. Thanks for playing.