122 Chapter 17 Part 1

Chapter 17: Kronus: Endgame

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Part 1

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Blighted Mansion of Misery and Mirth

Nurgle Domain

The Warp

In the heart of his domain, stood the Plague-lord's humble home. The twisted light of the Warp itself crept through the jagged edges of cracked and jagged windows, broken and splattered with filth. Half-rotted through shutters sang dirges of joy while toxic winds hammered them in maggot-infested walls. Shattered drains burst open, releasing their rotten contents, maggots, and flies inside, staining carpets and turning wood into little more than twisted offal. Mold crept up the walls, blistering the paint, which eternally flaked away, yet kept its poisonous glow.

Crooked chimneys merrily billowed poison and pestilence, while daemonic birds sang dirges to their father and his beloved. Bone trees ripened with decaying fruit, which rotted on their branches, while flies buzzed around, gorging themselves on the rich offerings.

Deep inside the mason, Grandfather Nurgle's great bulk towered over a bubbling cauldron. He stirred it carefully, adding spices as appropriate. His beloved deserved only the best! The Plague-lord kept glancing at Isha, while she glared at the cauldron.

She had a point, the last few brews didn't turn well. He was going to outdo himself this time, wait and see!

Besides, it wasn't his fault. Khorne's temper-tantrum ruined a delicious blood-fever that would slowly boil you from inside, so you could properly appreciate the gift! It was that feathered and beaked freak's fault that a new take on the classic plague fizzled out. It has been screaming about everything going to plan, you see, for days now. As if anyone would buy that now.

Nurgle bobbed his horned head and let some snot and hissing sweat fall into the cauldron, before waiting for three heartbeats and stirring counter-clockwise. His work was as much an art as a science.

It was almost time. The brew needed a few more minutes, by his reckoning, and just a couple more ingredients. He was sure it would be ready in time too!

The Father of Plagues raised his massive head and looked in the distance. The odds were even, and the coin fell tails. His imprisoned child stirred, irritated by all those cleansing oils, and stung by the Anathema's light. It might be for the best this way. While otherwise he could have extracted the Unclean One and retained it for later use, now he had an opportunity to salvage something from Khorne's great failure. It was either that or lose it in a way that benefited the other side. Damn Khorne!

Because, really, was it so hard to show some patience and temperance? Ten thousand years ago, the four of them made sure the war was theirs to win and the Anathema's to lose! Ever since then, the Imperium and humanity, had been slowly, painfully, and so deliciously decaying and rotting from the inside! It had been only a matter of time before they collapsed. Every victory was a mere holding action, prolonging the time they had to enjoy Nurgle's gift, so he naturally approved. Every setback brought them to the inevitable end and rebirth. That was all right too!

Until now, when Khorne's foolish impatience offered the Anathema a chance for a real victory! Nurgle grimaced, bile rising in his gorge at the thought of a galaxy covered by despicable Necron machines, denying his blessed gifts!

The God of Decay paused his stirring to pick up a glowing jar. He removed a pair of writhing parasites. The little dears nipped happily at his fingers, and he scratched them, before letting them fall into the brew. It hissed merrily and turned blood red. Nurgle closed the jar before the other dears could escape and put it back on the top shelf while humming to himself.

Nurgle had a decision to make. His first option was to do nothing. He was the most patient being in the Warp. He could wait. Sooner or later, entropy would have its due. Everything will decay. That much was inevitable. He was inevitable.

Even the Necron and their technology couldn't resist the ravages of time indefinitely. How could they, when it was the Necrontyr tumors, ravaged bodies, and fear of death that gave birth to his essence? Well, to a part of it, but that didn't matter. Nurgle loved everything that made him up, and he represented those essences equally!

He was a generous and loving grandfather like that, not like his counterparts! Those were either insane, outright barbaric, or simply sick and depraved in a way he would never tolerate in his domain!

Why, he shuddered at the thought of what that pervert might have done to his sweet, innocent Isha!

Three more stirs and now all he had to do was led the brew bubble for a bit. And make a choice.

Nurgle's second option was a direct intervention. His little Unclean One was tired and weak after so long without proper food and care. Left to its own devices, it would lose, and that loss would strengthen the Anathema's hand.

However, if Nurgle intervened, if he fought and empowered his Unclean One, then he might just resolve the problem once and for all. An outright victory would do. Either that or deceiving the humans that they had to purge Kronus because of his blessing. That despicable alliance would die on that cursed planet, and he would hold his success over the fools' heads.

There was only one problem with that plan. The Anathema's light still illuminated Kronus, cleansing it. It was so clean and bright. That was utterly and contemptuously terrible!

In the end, Nurgle decided to act. It was the best option he had, all thanks to his duplicitous colleagues. If this went wrong, he would know who he would have to blame!

Grandfather Nurgle focused his immense power. His whole domain stirred sensing his intent and for a single moment stood still. A tremendous beam of energy shot into the Warp, covering the distance between Nurgle's Domain and Kronus in an instant. It slammed into the Anathema's light and punched through, lancing into the heart of Victory Bay and slamming into the Hellstorm cannon.

The Anathema reacted as soon as the attack began, and for a brief moment, the rage that met him made Nurgle stagger back. His bulk shook, and he spilled his cauldron. The bubbling contents went everywhere – dousing him, splashing over Isha, who squealed in delight, and finally falling into the drains to find their way to a planet to bless.

This wasn't a defensive action like the one Anathema fought for ten thousand years to keep his throne room secure. It wasn't a sucker punch against an arrogant ass like Khorne.

Grandfather Nurgle was ready for such tricks.

The Anathema making a stand, and spending the necessary energy to fight him here and now, that the Plague-father didn't quite see. Such a conflict was dangerous. It could weaken him too much if he persisted, giving an opening to the other three. However, at the same time, the sheer strain would reduce the time Anathema had. The Golden Throne was fraying, falling apart, and decaying. It was never to survive the energies now writhing within the Anathema.

Two titans clashed above Kronus, all the while, their Champions waged war on the surface.

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The Golden Throne

Imperial Palace

Holy Terra

The fragment of the Emperor bound to the Golden Throne writhed in agony. The combined energy fed to him by humanity as a whole was both rapture and the greatest possible torture. His wounded body and ravaged couldn't properly contain that much power without ascending and dooming his people. The soul shattered into a thousand fragments. Many of them scattered across the galaxy, and some of them even did some good over the ages. The body turned into little more than a tortured husk, barely maintained by dying machinery and countless sacrifices.

For ten thousand years, the Emperor maintained his vigil. For ten thousand years, he suffered for humanity. He didn't stop even as his people turned away from the Imperial Truth, from the light of science and understanding. He kept fighting for the Imperium, even as it became a corrupted and bloated monster. Even as the Imperium's current existence mocked his efforts and the sacrifices of all those who fought to bring forth a golden age, the Emperor kept protecting it.

For ten thousand years, he watched humanity slowly die, while struggling to find a solution that might make it all worth it in the end.

Countless contingencies and desperate gambits carried over the gulf of time did little more than keep the Imperium from collapse. In the end, the truth was painful and obvious. The Imperium as it was, was its own greatest enemy. It was less than an empire than a loose collection of a thousand and one petty kingdoms vying for power and influence, while humanity died around them.

It didn't matter. The Emperor kept suffering, kept sacrificing all he had to in order to give his people more time, to find a way to bring forth a miracle, because nothing less could offer salvation in this dark age.

Now, finally, when everything raced towards the end, he could see clearly. Chaos had played him. For ten thousand years, he had been losing the war that mattered. His contingencies weren't enough. His desperate measures would at best prolong humanity's final death throes. Cadia would fall, Chaos would rend the galaxy asunder, while countless enemies picked up humanity's decaying carcass, while the Tyranid swarms came to devour them all.

They had forty, perhaps sixty years before Chaos would be able to launch their final crusade. It wasn't enough time to prepare. There were too many other threats to deal with, both internal and external.

Despite that, the Emperor was going to fight… and when the time came, he would give humanity an end, one at their own terms. At his terms.

The time for desperate measures and contingencies was over. They weren't going to be enough. They weren't the last time.

At that point, Chaos made a mistake. It happened a time when the Emperor had little left to lose. It no longer mattered if the Astronomicon could last for much longer. Khorne mis-stepped, and the Emperor struck.

Fate shifted. A Herald of Khorne died on Kronus, struck down by an unlikely alliance between humans and aliens. One of the Emperor's shards was there, observing his handiwork. It wasn't much, yet there was a small and vulnerable hope blossoming on that distant world. By itself, those events wouldn't be enough to avert humanity's fall.

However, they might buy precious time, might raise the price for victory just enough, that in the end, Chaos would lose as well. Perhaps, that would be the best the man once known as Revelation could hope for now. The essence of that person suffered on the Golden Throne for eternity, keeping his broken mind and soul aimed at the same general direction even when he was beyond hope.

What the Emperor didn't expect was to see the enemies of humanity make yet another mistake on Kronus. First the young Eldar Taldeer, then Khorne himself, and now, Nurgle.

Revelation could see what that pestilent abomination intended. It might very well work, erasing the faint hope blossoming on Kronus. Mere months ago, the Emperor would have contested such a blow of course. However, he couldn't have gone all out. The price to pay, in both power and time burned out of the Astronomicon would have been too high. However, here and now? The Golden Throne would last a century or two, even if the price would be an immediate and sudden failure afterward. In that time, humanity and the Imperium would either find salvation or it would be time to go out into the night, taking out as many of their enemies down as they could.

Months ago, even weeks ago, the best he could have hoped for would be yet another expensive stalemate.

Revelation let go of all the restrains binding his power. The Golden Throne blazed with energy, and the mere backslash filled the great chamber it laid within with blinding light. His companions fell to their knees and averted their eyes, which burned even behind the protection of their helmets.

The Emperor focused on the crystallized belief of all humanity, their faith, hopes, pain, and suffering. Everything they were or would be. Humanity's faith was his armor, their belief, his shield, and their hope turned into a flaming sword burning its way through the Warp.

His will made manifest above Kronus. The Immaterium around that distant world ignited. Rot and decay met cleansing fire, shaking the heavens themselves asunder.

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Victory Bay

Kronus

All pieces were finally in place, and it was beautiful! The Living Saint, his crown piece, acted first. Golden radiance enveloped him like a glove, and he charged ahead on fiery wings.

It was just in time too. Their protection exploded outwards, covering the crowds with a comforting blanket made of their power. A wave of decay slammed into the radiance, threatening to overwhelm them when Revelation acted as he knew the poor bastard would.

Gods clashed above them, giving the mortals below a fighting chance. Dozens of Mechanicus Adepts died screaming. Their flesh decayed into soup, while the mechanical parts rusted and rotted away into sludge. Pestilent winds blew away, carrying deadly plagues upon the citizens of Victory Bay.

"Fight for your lives!" The Saint bellowed even as he struggled to keep the tide of entropy at bay.

The Imperial Guard stirred. Infantry turned around and opened fire at the boiling mass of rotting flesh engulfing the Hellstorm cannon. Vehicle crews got out of their daze and hurried to button up their machines. The vehicles themselves glowed brightly while their purity seals burned with the strain to keep the power of Nurgle himself away.

All over the city, people fell to their knees, racked by pain. Their blood turned dark, and black veins bulged all over their bodies. Dark red blood flowed freely from their mouths and noses, while they shed red tears.

Yet, instead of collapsing in despair or surrendering to the enticing whispers of Nurgle, the citizens of Victory Bay prayed for salvation. They had a Living Saint among them, the Emperor's own chosen symbol made manifest to offer salvation. Those close enough to the Titan cannon could see the Saint standing tall and proud, fighting to protect them.

They didn't run. Despair could find no purchase in their hearts. Their faith burned strong. They cried to the Emperor for salvation, they prayed for aid, and for their Saint to emerge victorious!

Revelation answered, matching his might against Nurgle's. Burning embers fell all over the realm of rot and decay when the Emperor struck.

For one brief moment, an Eldar Goddess could see a glimpse of the real world after eons of captivity. She could see her captor pushed back, see and hear Nurgle's cries of pain and anger. And it was glorious.

At the same time, a handful of Eldar could perceive Isha's bound and caged form.

The moment passed. Thunderclaps shook Victory Bay when the Necrons entered the fray. Say what you will about the murderous machines, they were no cowards.

Two Necron Lords and their Crypteks marched upon the manifesting Greater Daemon of Nurgle. Lychguard phased into existence and went into the fray. And four Pylons arrived through an emergency deployment that fried dozens of unlucky people. They activated, reinforcing reality, and sending back the Eldar in the dubious safety of their minds.

"And so it begins."

The Emperor's shard rippled with satisfaction and shot into the heavens. It was eager to rejoin Revelation and become a part of the battle waged above Kronus.