Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty: The Lunar Crusade

Location: Hazardous Specimen Storage Alpha, Mare Ingenii.

Date: 813.M30 (Shortly after the murder of Zamora and unleashing of Chaos)

With a roaring scream of agony, confusion and misery Argel Tal sucked in the stale oxygen of the vault and felt his flesh finish healing. Jerkily he rose from his casket and came to his senses. Everything was pain, his flesh was being remodeled as well as rebuilt. The Daemon Raum had melded into his body and soul. A perfected form of possession were mortal and spirit became more than the sum of their parts.

That was at least what the Chaos Gods told Tal and other followers of the False Word. In truth this form of supposed symbiosis was simply a more evolved parasitism of the Warp. The mortal would be slowly and certainly assimilated by the Daemon. Feeding and strengthening it till the last fragment of their soul was used up.

This transformation and resurrection was extraordinarily painful. As it continued, Argel Tal was blind to the world, existing in an undead state of misery. Guided by primitive instincts and the whispers of Raum he sought out sustenance to fuel the process. In the barren cryo-tomb where his remains were stored the only food to be found was his fellow Pilgrims.

The Battle-Brothers of the Serrated Suns Chapter were ripped from their caskets and messily devoured. Flickers of memories stolen from their long dead minds added to the torment that Argel Tal was experiencing. After hours of feasting and mutation Argel Tal was reborn. Ceramite plates, mutant muscle and Daemonic energy had become one. Matching a Primarch in both bulk and size, the Possessed had become a terrifying champion of darkness. It was only when this metamorphosis ended that some level of consciousness returned to Argel Tal.

Raising himself up to his massive height Argel Tal blinked away the pain and confusion that had ensnared him. Now he sifted through the memories that drifted through him. Some were distinctly Alien, those belonging to his consumed brothers and a few filtered through from Raums own history. Yet most of these memories were familiar.

* Kneeling before a tattooed chaplain, receiving blessings as he was anointed. Becoming a more than a mortal. Becoming God's messengers. A Bearer of the Word.*

*Laughing and talking with a white armored Captain. Cousins and friends. Sons of failed sons, and leaders of men and supermen*.

* Guided by a purple eyed prophet to the womb of the Fourth. Where the once-rulers had violated existence and rebirthed another aspect of Madness. His soul sold to the Warp-Gods, destiny to die in shadow set in stone.*

* Man and Daemon became one. Daubed in bloody crimson. Leading his damned brothers to betray and savage their cousins. Making the fields of Istvaan run red with offerings to the Four true gods.*

* Being torn to pieces by the vengeful claws of the Deliverer. Dying in the shadow of Korvidine Pinions*

* Impaled by Destiny's hand upon the burning fields of a Slave Kingdom. An adamantium Aquilia forged onto a walking cathedral marked his demise. *

* Into the breach! Leading the charge into the Anathema's lair. Butchering the Sons of Dorn. Before the Angel of Vengeance cast him down with a bloody Spear. The light of battle and fury hidden behind angelic feathers.*

* Dragged into the Shadows where a monster made of grief, vengeance and what was once a Primarch sunk its claws into him. Torn to ribbons by a murder of crow-spirits. His head, delivered to the XVII. A taste of things to come*

*Accompanying the Warmaster himself to Mackan. Reaping a grim toll among the cursed sons of the Angel. Until he was brought low by a bloody Warrior-Priest leading an army of fallen heroes. The Reclusiarch's Crozius crushed his skull as the ornamental wings of his killers Jump-pack flickered through Tal's sight *

Familiar, yet jumbled. The memories of every single Argel Tal to fall under the Dark God's spell were crammed into the mutant Astartes mind. Part twisted joke, meant to mock their servant. Part warning and lesson for him to do better. Destiny decreed Argel Tal would fall under the shadow of Great Pinions. Until then the Gods would not let him rest.

Twisted in body and mind the Astartes tore itself out of the Specimen storage. Desperately trying to make sense of the contradictory and foul memories. Argel Tal was all at once, an Idealistic Bearer of the Word, a Daemonhost Pilgrim, Traitor to the Anathema, Veteran of the Long War, and a lost soul, consumed by thirsting Gods. He did not know who or what he truly was until he was greeted outside his tomb.

A troop of tainted Cultists of high pedigree awaited his arrival, their gods had told them of the coming of a Champion from this forbidden vault. Even at their most brazen, the Creed of Four Phases had avoided these chambers. The Anathema's touch lay heavy upon them and rousing his attention would spell their doom. Now that the rebellion had reached its full terrible magnitude. Such concerns were pointless. So a group of the most devout and skilled servants of the Four had been selected to guide the risen Warrior.

Peering down at the kneeling Mortals before him the being that had once been Argel Tal asked: "Who are you, where are we and…. Who am I?"

Religious rapture filled the face of the lead cultist as she stared up at him. He was an icon of her faith. Fusion of spirit and sacred flesh. Standing three meters tall and cloaked in blood-crimson plates of armor-bone. Beautifully inscribe with scripture and occult imagery. His head was a mix of battle-helm, and a snarling Daemon. Where ceramite gauntlets had once been were now mighty talons. The dark majesty of Chaos itself poured off of him in phantom waves. Drinking in the sight of the champion, the leader of the cabal spoke first.

Lady Gienah-154 had been born for this duty. Sculpted from the finest genestock to fulfill this divine order. Guide and serve the fallen chosen who was locked away in the Tyrant-Emperor's vault. Superhumanly beautiful, with skin paler than ancient Luna-stone, and long black hair streaked with silver. A living embodiment of Selenar ideals of feminine perfection. This lovely and seductive shell held a mind and soul that matched Luna's dark side in shadowy intensity. Sinister and utterly devoted to her warp-born masters, a fitting replacement for the half forgotten blind-confessor that Tal had once cared for.

Her silken voice lilted with a Lunar accent answered her new masters questions: "We are the Scions of Sacrifice. A sect of the Creed of Four Phases born to serve you, The Eversacrifice of Chaos."

The Eversacrifice, a title as dark and sinister as any given to the Gods Champions. This new identity suited the man once known as Argel Tal. The mutilated state of his soul, allowed the gods to mold their servant into something new. Just as Raum's influence had twisted his body the words of Gienah-154 finished the process of transforming his mind. The memories and madness that formed his mind latched on to this title and molded themselves to it. Finally, the Astartes known as Argel Tal was gone. In his place was Korban the Eversacrifce.

Looking into Gienah-154's eyes The Everscarfice asked: "What do the Gods require of me?"

A twisted smile marred Gienah-154's perfect face as she responded and set a saga of horror into motion. "What you have always done, illuminate the Galaxy to their wonder. Reveal the Primordial Truth to mankind and save the Anathema's spawn from him."

Nodding in agreement the Korban the Eversacrifce mustered his dark power and prepared to make his way to Luna's now corrupted heart. Destiny called, and he would answer. Yet the Eversacrifce did not know he was not the only warp-infused demigod heading to Luna's core.

Location: High Altar of the Four Phases.

Date: 813.M30 (Ten hours since the battle for Luna beguin)

The combined attacks of the XI and XIII Legions were making brutal headway across Luna, sweeping away the forces of Chaos like a tide of fire. Port Luna and most of the surrounding habitats and subsurface zone had been reclaimed, letting next phase of the Imperial Assault beguin. Regiments of Solar Auxilia, Martian Knights, and a few of the more tame specimens of the Titan Legions had arrived. Even so, the Cultists put up a vicious. mass-produced Daemon-Hosts and fell psi-weaponry backed by seemingly infinite hordes of maddened cultists proved a vicious combination.

Though the Astartes who fought on the surface of Luna had won a great victory over the corruption fighting to consume their soul, they had not emerged from the conflict unscathed. In purging the taint of Chaos from their bodies and souls, their organs and bone were marred and would take time to recover. Subconscious fears and stresses had been brought to the fore. The effects of the geneblight would have crippled mortals, but the Emperor's genius would not be bested by such foulness easily. The Legionaries fought on, through pain and damage. Luna would be redeemed, and the enemies of Mankind would fall.

Even with the higher than calculated casualty rate and the level of preparation by the Creed of Four phases, the dual assault of the XI and XIII Legion would succeed. The XIII's number, flexibility and adaptiveness was perfectly complemented by the vicious intensity of the XI Legion. Chapters of Marcus' sons formed the frontline while companies of Kailb's children acted as shock-troopers. Combining their natural ferocity and psychic boons to overwhelm the foe. So far both Primarchs leading the surface assault had personally killed three Greater Neverborn (or Second Born) each. Kalib lightheartedly mocked his brother that the one on top of the gate did not count to the tally.

With Port Luna claimed and Luna Voidspace under Imperial control the final stage of the assault could beguin. The XVI Legion would deepstrike into Luna's innards. Striking the traitors off guard. A combination of teleportation beacons and burrowing drop-pods would allow Horus Lupercali to lead a vicious decapitation strike.

Unlike the XI and XIII Legions that started the campaign unified the XVI Legion has been scattered across Luna. Positioned to attack command centers and assist surviving loyalists. Orbital scans allowed for efficient deployment. The more Warp-Taint and energy discharge the more Astartes were deployed. So fittingly the XVI Primarch struck the foulest and most entrenched citadel of the Creed of Four Phases.

This High Altar as its creators called it was a massive complex burrowed into Luna's flesh. Located near the Moon's north pole the citadel of Chaos now occupied what had once been the Emperor's Luna Laboratories. Sealed away at the Eternal Tyrant's orders, the massive complex had gathered dust and shadow until the Creed scavenged it. Once they cracked open the gate hidden at the Laboratories heart. The now barren structure was hidden from the Emperor's eye by Belakor's power. Forming a perfect sanctuary for the Creed to grow.

The symbolic value also enhanced the Cult's standing. By occupying what had once been the Emperor's and declared forbidden without repercussion. The Creed of Four Phases showed their power and influence. In their ignorance and insanity, they assumed the Emperor was blind and impotent. Willful ignorance blinded them to the terrible truth. They had not succeeded in defying the Imperium. Instead, they had been cultivated like prized livestock, fattened up for the slaughter. Now, just as the Emperor planned, the harvest had beguin.

Horus Lupercali and an elite cadre of First Formation Astartes struck the High Altar from Lunar Orbit. Adamantium rain of Drop Pods punched through the Lunar Surface. The experimental Kharybdis Assault Claw could punch through meters of bedrock and steel. Depositing the Astartes directly into the outer halls of the High Altar. Here the XVI Legion's war began.

The High Altar's defenses were congregated at various choke-points throughout the temple. Expecting the Emperor's Angels to smash through the main gate and be easy prey to their weapon emplacements. So when a storm of adamantium and plasma broke through the first three levels of the complex, turning the frontline defenders into a slurry of ash and paste, the Cultists were caught completely guard. Before the soldiers of the Creed could rally, the Drop Pods opened up. Armed with the best wargear the Lunar Elite could acquire and blessed by the Gods themselves. The army that dwelled within the High Altar could have matched any Solar Auxilia regiment. The Astartes ripped through them with practiced ease.

Leading from the front, the Primarch smashed apart enemy formations with each swing of his mighty Power-Mace. With god-like precision, Horus Lupercali blew apart enemy commanders with careful bolter fire. Abaddon stood at his side, fighting through his injuries to assist the Primarch. Although Sigismund of the VII was a better duelist and Blood-Jarl Önundr of the VI was certainly more ferocious, Abaddon combined a level of grit and righteous fury that let him fight on a similar level. That was on full display as he hacked through Cultists and roared oaths of vengeance. Inspiring his battle brothers and setting a glorious example.

After almost an hour of steady offense, the XVI Legion strike force reached their first real challenge. A massive gate that blocked entrance to the inner sanctum of the Altar. The titanic structure was inscribed with thousands of sigils and runes that hurt the eyes to gaze upon. It was one of the four entrances into the Inner Sanctum. Each gate lead to a temple to one of the Four Gods. Which in turn held entrance to the High Altar itself. The theology being one must prove their worthiness to one or all of the Gods before they could enter the holy of holies.

This Gate lead to the Warrior Temple, where the Blood God was worshipped in rituals of combat and gore. As they approached the gate, its defenders charged, hulking berserkers that matched Astartes in both size and might. Armed with savage tools of butchery and blessed with the madness of Khorne, they collided with the Astartes frontline in a wave of carnage. The enemy was mighty, and the Astartes were tired from their experiences. The curse inflicted by the Lunar Cultists and the damage accumulated during the battle was taking a toll. Berserkers and Angels died in droves. Soon the stone floor was slick with shed blood. A befitting offering to Khorne.

Gifted with his superhuman intellect and senses, Horus was the first to notice a peculiarity that affected the battlefield. The pools of blood were slowly but surely flowing towards the Gate. Droplets that formed into streams, then to rivers, and eventually into a subtle tide. This current pressed against the foot of the gate, and through occult witchery, flowed upwards. Blood pooled in runic grooves, forming a dread pattern, acting as fuel for a horrid Chaotic Ritual.

Swearing in his Assa-Matrari's Terran dialect, Horus charged the Gate, smashing aside all who tried to stop him. Holstering his Bolter and drawing upon his psychic might, the Primarch became a charging storm of pyrokinetic flames and energized Adamantium. Berserkers were burnt to ash and swatted aside by crushing blows. Laughing madly and chanting the mad battle cry of "Maim! Kill Burn!", the Berserkers threw themselves into the Primarchs path. Horus smashed aside the charging pack with a single blow. He watched in horror as the blood pouring from a pulped enemy defied gravity and flowed towards the Gate in an aerial stream.

With every drop of blood soaking into the blasphemous inscription, its magnetic draw on spilled ichor increased. The moment the battle started this outcome was inevitable. These berserkers who guarded the Gate of Blood were not simply its wardens, but a sacrifice to bring forth its true defender.

The XVI Legion's fighting pace was too slow, and had arrived too late to stop the completion of the ritual. The blood created a pattern, one that looked like a many armed horror. Soon the inscription congealed into a Daemonic outline. Like a leviathan breeching from the ocean's surface, a massive Warp-Predator pushed through the pool of blood that covered the gate. The Warden of the Bloody Gate had arrived.

The Daemon matched a Warhound titan in bulk and height. Its skin was the reddish black of clotted blood and its very being radiated a controlled psychotic fury. Its head possesed eight faces that circled all the way around its skull, each a ghastly visage born from mortal nightmares. A swarm of sixteen arms, marked with ritual tattoos and bulging with supernatural muscle jutted from its torso. Each limb held a weapon of bloodshed, wicked things of beaten brass and iron.

The moment it's clawed feet touched the chamber floor, the tide of the battle shifted. Its foul blessings empowered the surviving berserkers and filled them with a mad desire to impress the emissary of their patron god, driving any and all semblance of reason from them. The Astartes could barely hold the line and defend against the resurgent cultists. Horus knew the monster had to die, and fast. Which was easier said than done. The rift in reality the Lunar Cultists had unleashed provided a font of power for neverborn to draw upon. So in this blood soaked chamber the summoned fiend could draw upon far more of its power than it should be able to in the Materium. Let alone so close to the Astronomicon.

Marshalling himself, Horus Lupercali prepared to charge the horror. Sensing the killing intent and corona of psychic power that was the Primarch. The Daemon spoke: "I am Kha'aksha. Bloodthirster of the Third Host. You shall die by my blade, Anathema-Spawn"

All eight faces delivered there challenge in dreadful harmony. Its weapons whirled in a storm of metal, preparing to face the Primarch. The Demigod of Order and Archfiend of Chaos stared into each other's eyes. Sizing up their opponents strength and weaknesses. Taking in a deep breath, Horus gripped the pommel of his Power-Mace, and with a simple psychic pulse, he unlocked a hidden compartment. As the artifact inside was exposed, the ritual chamber was bathed in glowing white light. The daemon and its minions recoiled from the searing corona.

Horus held up what appeared to all as a miniature Sun. It was the Emperor's gift to his child. It was the tip of an ancient spear. which had pierced the Emperor's side many millennia ago. Over time, due to the potency of the blood and the adulant worship of millions, it had become infused with the Emperors psychic power. As Horus revealed more and more of the ancient weapon, its shoddy metal core slowly encased in crystalized light. Ages of reverence along with the Emperors growing power turned it into a shining blade of psychic might and a truly formidable weapon if in the right hands. This Speartip of Destiny was one of the most powerful tools against Warp-Corruption in human history. Suitably given to the Primarch whose corruption in another timeline had damned existence.

While far less harmonized with the artifact that his father's soul was, Horus began to pour his psychic power into the Spear-tip, which soon grew a shaft of white psi-crystal. Now the Primarch stood equipped with a weapon worthy of him. Testing his gift he twirled between his hands. Bolts of psychic lighting stabbed out from the spear and burned whatever they touched on both material and psychic planes.

Leveling the blade at his foe Horus Lupercali proclaimed: "In the name of the Emperor, the human soul and the Imperium. I sentence you to death."

(Edited by Klickator)

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