40 House Thal'kyr

When Angronius returned to the Freelands, and the Stygians once again laid eyes upon him, all knew then that he was no longer the gladiator king they once declared ruler over all freedmen. He arrived upon the Imperial Stormbird, adorned in the Twelfth Legion's brass-colored armor, with a hundred demigod sons marching at his back. As it was with the people of Nuceria, the Stygians beheld the armies of the Imperium with awe and were terrified. Some who had long believed him dead, retreated from his sight in shame.

But Angronius did not come to force them into compliance. He had already earned their loyalty, he did not forget that they helped him get that far, and his reward for that loyalty was their freedom. Stygia would remain a free land, a place under his protection. There will be things of this world that would remain unchanged, things that the Imperium of Man he would never allow to claim. This was his will, as King of Nuceria. He will help them rebuild, to rise as a parallel civilization to the one he was tasked to oversee.

But first, he would tend to the matter concerning Minerva and her treachery.

"Angron." Polgara said to him as they stepped off the platform, "What will you do when you find her?"

Angronius scowled, "I will do what is just. That is all you ever need to know, woman."

"The time for sympathy is long past, Polgara." Sonjita declared, as ever the vengeful firebrand. "The dead cry out for vengeance. Only blood will balance the scales."

The Primarch stormed into the war camp that stretched all across the shores of what was once known as Landfall. His spacemarines went before him, securing a wide path through the tents and bungalows while others searched for the Warmother among the Stygians. When he reached the middle of the camp, where the command tent was perched atop a hill, Angronius found to his annoyance that Minerva was nowhere to be found.

"Find her and bring her here." He said, and the War Hounds obeyed.

Angronius sat down on a large stone throne set up at the foot of the hill and considered carefully the words he would speak. Like always, his every action would have the eyes of many watching. Their ears would hang on every word, and his decisions would resonate for many generations to come. A fool would tread about carelessly, but not he.

He turned to look at his wives, and he considered the words spoken to him by Ionos earlier that week. Indeed, it was by his mother's hand that Polgara remained alive, and by her aid his daughter was born. It was a small thing to warrant mercy, in comparison to the weight of the hundreds of dead freedmen she betrayed. Although he was a man of wrath, Angronius was not too far gone to ignore the innate righteous tenets instilled in him. He would at least hear what she had to say.

And when the War Hounds finally dragged Minerva out to face judgement, fury would not guide the Primarch's thoughts that day.

The Warmother fell before the gladiator king when the astartes threw her at his feet, and refused to lift her head from the ground. She trembled with fear as she felt Angronius' cold gaze upon her. The War Hounds formed a circle around their Primarch and stood guard while the crowd of Stygian onlookers gathered around the scene, anxious to see what fate would befall this unfortunate soul. To some, they had known Minerva as a steadfast and trustworthy follower of the gladiator king. To see her become subject to his judgement was an unexpected surprise.

That is, until Angronius revealed her treachery.

"Behold, people of Stygia! Behold Minerva, a disgraced warmother whom I saw fit to redeem. I have offered her the same as I have offered each and every one of you- freedom and vengeance. I have returned, with my promise fulfilled. But what should have been a flawless victory proved so heavy a cost- for this woman betrayed us and chose to abandon us to the Nucerians! Hundreds of freedmen lie dead beneath the earth from the shores of Hyrkan to the foothills and ridges of the Desh'ea Plateau, and they all cry out for justice!"

A murmur traveled along the sea of bodies surrounding the gladiator king and his former lieutenant, a murmur that gradually changed into a great outcry, for many of the freedmen who died from Minerva's betrayal had become close to the Stygians. Some had become blood-brothers and blood-sisters with them. To hear the news of them having to suffer such an unnecessary and ignoble end ignited the flames of hatred they once had for the Warmother.

"Your silence is enough to confirm your guilt." Angronius leaned forward, struggling to make himself heard above the roar of the enraged crowd. "But I will hear of your side of the story, for I know that you could not have betrayed me so easily without a reason."

At first, Minerva remained silent, forehead firmly touching the earth at Angronius' feet. When the gladiator king rose up in disgust, as if to pronounce judgement, only then did she find her tongue and lifted her welling eyes to meet his gaze.

"I betrayed you... because I was afraid."

Angronius raised a hand to call for silence, and the crowd obeyed.

Slowly, the ugly truth was revealed. Minerva wept as she confessed, "Acraesius came to me, threatened to... to let history repeat itself a hundredfold. Unless I withhold my forces and allow you to perish in the foreign lands of Nuceria, he would come to the Freelands and destroy everything we've built. There will be no slaves. The men, the women, the children... all dead. He would leave nothing standing. In my moment of weakness, I agreed to his terms. Your life for the life of Stygia..."

"And you believed him?" The Primarch said quietly, "You believed a serpent over me, your god of war? Were you truly so lacking in faith, after all we've been through?"

Minerva could only hang her head in shame.

"Acraesius is dead, Minerva." Angronius said, "And now... I am left with you."

Minerva's lips trembled as she declared her sentence, "Then... kill me, if that is your will."

The woman gasped as Angronius' hand clamped onto her throat, "You would like that, wouldn't you? An eternal reprieve from your sins, to face your gods and be severed from the sufferings of this world? No, Minerva... You have denied the freedmen their hard-earned victory, so I will deny you the death you seek."

"W-What?"

Angronius rose up from his throne, hand still firmly closed upon her neck. He felt her throat move beneath his armored fingers as she swallowed nervously, awaiting with baited breath the sentence he would give. In that moment, the words of a son pleading for his mother's life echoed in his head.

"I exile you to the wastes of Costigane. You will carry nothing but the steel in your hands and the clothes on your back. None will open their doors to you, none will give you food nor water. Whatever must sustain you, by the sweat of your brow and the blisters of your hands shall you work for it. You will dwell in that wasteland for all your days, and if you ever stray and attempt to return to civilization- your life will be forfeit! So must it be, now begone!"

Stunned, Minerva stumbled out of the war camp. She was given a sword, and nothing else. Clothed in her armor and furs, with only steel to protect her against the many dangers of the Freelands, the disgraced exile began her long journey towards Costigane. All eyes were upon her until she was nothing but a speck in the horizon.

Angronius glanced at his wives. He did not know why he did it, was it perhaps to find some form of approval? If so, he found none on either of them. Polgara shed a tear for Minerva, while Sonjita frowned upon her husband's light-handed punishment. It was her men who died at the Desh'elikan Plateau, and if anyone felt their passing more keenly, it would be her. Still, exile was tantamount to a death sentence in these lands.

Angronius decided he didn't care anymore, the deed was done. Now, he must rule Nuceria and make good use of the time he was granted. Ruling an empire was a heavy task, to rule one that spanned a whole system was even heavier. But if anyone could get the job done right, it was this Primarch.

Thirty Years Later

Time passed quickly, even for a seemingly eternal being as a Primarch. But the years he spent building, shaping, and leading a world into greatness were well spent.

Under his rule, Nuceria grew even more prosperous and climbed steadily to the heights befitting of that of an interstellar empire, though hardly one to eclipse the Imperium of Man. It took less than one generation for him to change the ways of his homeworld, for Nuceria was built upon the backs of slaves and had not known any other recourse. He taught them, through lash or steel, and they learned quickly. The Nuceria he would create would find its strength on proper foundations- by their own hands.

To rely on slaves made empires dependent on them, made them weak. Gone were the days when the people fattened themselves on excesses and drank deep from blood games. By his hand, King Angronius remade the milk-skinned and frail Nucerians, transforming them from brittle wood into sturdy iron. When they finally reached the stars and joined the rest of the Imperium in its never-ending quest to conquer the universe in the name of Mankind, Nuceria established itself upon the galaxy map. Some say, with the way its quick rise to prominence, it mirrored Terra itself.

Great cities spanned each world in what was now known as Sector Nuceria Primus, a tiny speck in Segmentum Ultima but a notable tiny speck nonetheless. These cities knew no boundaries, for they were designed by the Primarch himself. Whether through the stubborn rock shells, or depths of the seas, or even the orbital stations hovering above the spheres, there was nothing the dominion of Nuceria could not reach. Their influence spread across neighboring systems, marrying their cultural distinctiveness with that of distant worlds as interplanetary trade routes were established.

Nuceria Primus became known as a vibrant hub of commerce, and an industrial juggernaut on par with the forge-worlds of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Although superficially submissive to the will of the Machine Cult, Nuceria retained some level of autonomy regarding the use and development of their technologies, thanks in no small part to the stance of its ruling Primarch.

In those thirty years, Angronius grew in strength and stature, reaching the peak of his power and unlocking the nascent psychic powers previously denied to him. And although the practice of sorcery was technically forbidden after Nuceria had joined the Imperium, it continued in certain circles. The Emperor was not opposed to the discovery of new weapons, new tools for his battles. But he was cautious, and the sanction of the circles was heavily policed. One of these was led by Polgara, who was now both Queen and Sorceress Supreme of Nuceria. Though progress was difficult, due in no small part to the restrictions emplaced by the Imperium, the secrets of Warp were slowly unlocked and archived within the great arcane libraries of Nuceria Prime.

Angronius' psychic power manifested itself in a form of a primordial well, which when filled with the passions of rage and hate, propelled his strength and tenacity to new heights. It was crude, when compared with the gifts of sorcerers or the Emperor himself, but to a Primarch who knew fury intimately and how to use it...

When his work upon Nuceria Primus was done, Angronius became more than a king to his people. It began long ago in the Freelands, where talk of his exploits shaped his legend and made him into a god in their eyes. This form of idolatry, if it began anywhere else, would have been eagerly stamped out by the Imperium's enforcers. But the Emperor, in his unknowable schemes, allowed it to continue. Whatever the reason, none but he could ever say, the worship of Angronius became quite popular in the sector. It was a subtle faith, shared by almost every Nucerian born after his rise to power.

But for all his accomplishments, all the glory of conquest and the opulence that came with being king, Angronius treasured something far greater.

Polgara and Sonjita both bore him many children over the course of his reign. Each one inherited their father's godlike distinctiveness, and heralded the dawn of a new race of superhumans. The phenomena was a mystery, even to the Emperor. The ruling hypothesis was that it all began with Angronius' unique gene-seed, the very essence from which all Primarchs were created from. While he continued on with the heavy task of leading the Great Crusade, the Emperor tested the theory regarding this new breed- these grandchildren of his that he took to call Primaris Progenum. In laboratories and secret testing-centers, he gathered the most fertile and healthiest Nucerian women, and with them he set to work on another grand project.

Angronius sired eight children with his two wives, four from each. Eight children who became the pride of their father's life, and the firstborn of the Emperor's primaris.

The first was Lotara Sarrin, born in the war against the Nuceria of old. Born of blood and pain, she was groomed from her youth to become a leader in the Imperium's armies. She grew up, tall in stature like an astartes with the strength to match them, but her gift did not come from the body. Early on, Lotara showed the wit and cunning of a mind far older and wiser than it should have been- a trait of a strategist than of a mere warrior.

She was Angronius' favorite, mainly because she looked just like her mother. She was also favored by the War Hounds, who were inspired by the innate psychic emanations she spread whenever she spoke. The woman could command the hills to fall flat before her, and they would. Should she scream, she could bring the heavens down if she willed it, though no one had ever witnessed thus as none wished to give her any reason to.

Polgara bore him two other daughters, twins they named Janissa and Xenobia.

Unlike their elder sister who was sun-kissed, the twins were pale of skin and dark-eyed, with darker hair to match. Their gifts, however, were darker still. For the twins were natural-born killers, and they delighted in every opportunity to master their craft. Janissa favored the blades and was swifter than the most agile aeldari xeno, a race that was known to surpass even the blinding speed of the Emperor's spacemarines, while Xenobia favored the awesome power of the stalker-bolter.

And with the War Hounds ever at their side, there was never an opportunity to pass that they would not further hone their skills in the art of war.

Polgara bore him a son, the youngest of the four, whom they later named Ichabod. Why 'later'? Later, because it was said that when the child was born, all who laid eyes upon him reeled in revulsion. Even Polgara, gentle and loving Polgara, recoiled in horror as she beheld the screaming infant she bore into the world. And yet there was nothing wrong with the boy. He was not malformed nor ugly, there was no trace of imperfection.

No, the child reeked of something immaterially...wrong.

In Nucerian culture, if a child was not named immediately after birth by its own mother, it was cursed by both gods and men. Ichabod did not receive his name from Polgara, but from Angronius. The Primarch did not care for whatever was off about the child, he was still his son and he declared that he would love him, no matter how overpowering his presence may seem.

Growing up was a challenge for the boy, cursed as he was, so he lived a relatively solitary life in the palace that was his family home. The uniqueness of his nature was a secret known only to the Emperor and his close circle of shadowy orders, albeit a barely understood secret as even he referred to it as an elusive and ephemeral topic. Ichabod was a pariah, a soulless untouchable, for he had no psychic anchor in the Realm of Immaterium, where almost all living things projected their psychic manifestations. His curse was a gift, somewhat, although it will take a long time before he could realize it.

Sonjita gave Angronius more sons than daughters, and although she was disappointed at first, her children brought more pride and joy to her life with each birth.

Her firstborn was Mercerandres, the boy primaris who inherited his father's face and godlike strength. When he grew to manhood, he towered above his brethren, reaching up even to his father's height. His hair was black as night, his eyes were bright green like a cat's, and his skin was as dark as unpolished bronze. Mercerandres was a brooding, suspicious man with a short fuse. He was more suited for the battlefield than courtly life. Nevertheless, as he was with all his children, Angronius did not allow them to settle in to a comfortable life in the palace, for he hated the softness of a noble's life. When Mercerandres was put to the grueling task of earning his place as prince, training under the harshest and most brutal tutors his father could find, he showed promise as he grew in skill with the same godlike pace of a Primarch.

The second son was Corso, a head shorter than his brother but nonetheless struck an impressive figure. Red of hair, and equally red in temper, Titus was a known troublemaker in the house of Angronius. He picked fights when angered, he picked fights when bored, and never was there ever a child who deserved the rod and lash than Titus. When he grew to manhood, he became twice the trouble especially when loosed upon the capital city. When neither Sonjita nor Angronius' firm hand could tame the wild colt, the king finally forced him to join the newly formed Nucerian Redguard of the Astra Militarum.

And when that didn't work, he was handed over to the legion.

The third son was Titus, who later in his youth would be known by all women of Nuceria Prime as the 'Charmer' or 'Silver-Tongued'. This was not so because he was a promiscuous degenerate who flirted wantonly and slept around like the Nucerians of old. Titus was known thus because he inherited his father's commanding voice and mastered the subtle psychic benifits that came with it. With his voice, he could bring sanity to the mad as easily as invoke madness to the sane. In battle, he could turn the tide with a few simple words of encouragement. And in the courtroom, he could bring alliances between rivals or sworn enemies far easier than the most charismatic diplomat.

Of all Angronius' children, only Titus was born for the life in court.

The last child to be born was Sonjita's daughter, Morgana. Quiet and meek, Morgana dwelled in the shadow of her seemingly better-endowed brothers and sisters, and beneath the roof of the great arcane libraries of the capital. The Primarch's blood flowed through her, but attaining physical or psychic might were both difficult, even when she grew to womanhood. She was by far the most human out of all the primaris, a flaw to some but not to Angronius.

She would not find her gift this early in life, but it was there somewhere, waiting.

For thirty years, Angronius and his family ruled Nuceria. For thirty years, the king shared many adventures with his children as they conquered the local systems. And when those thirty years were finally up, Angronius knew he had to leave for the Great Crusade and wasted no time in making preparations to ensure that what he had built would not only last- it would prosper.

The day he and the War Hounds were set to depart was a momentous occasion, one that necessitated the long and boring process of a public gathering- which Angronius despised but suffered nonetheless. Great crowds, as numerous as the sands of the sea, formed in the great square of his palace. They far exceeded the number it could hold, so many watched him from the ships hovering above the capital or from the live-feed transmitting from Nuceria Prime's network. His legion had assembled there too, and were all too eager to depart as they longed to resume their great battles alongside their Primarch.

They were an awesome sight to behold, these War Hounds. Angronius changed their colors to better suit his tastes. Never again would they bear the bone-white and faded blue that resembled Terran colors. They would be adorned in dark red and crimson, with the bristling hound of gold to decorate their pauldrons.

Angronius expected the Emperor to come and claim him, as one would come for a prized stallion, but someone else did on his behalf. The Emperor was busy, far too busy to be bothered with all the formalities of taking in his long overdue Primarch son, and a stubborn rebellious one at that.

A great fleet arrived on Nuceria Prime, bearing another legion that would fight close beside Angronius' in a long campaign that would win the Imperium many more worlds.

As Nuceria had its Hounds, Terra had its Wolves.

The Luna Wolves had come to join packs with the War Hounds. And upon the assembly grounds of Angronius' grand palace, there the Primarch met the first of the Emperor's sons to be discovered.

Armored with the purest white and royal gold, adorned in the pelt of a great wolf, the gene-sire of the Wolves approached the wary Angronius. His head was bared, he carried the helm in one hand and a mighty great-mace in the other. His face shone with recognition, and a gentle smile found its way across his lips. A friendly twinkle was in his eyes, and he quickly set aside his helm and weapon so he could hold his brother.

At first, Angronius recoiled at the Primarch's actions, but relaxed when he saw that he was no threat.

"Come to me, my brother!" He said, with a voice soft with the love of one who seemed to have known him all his life. The Primarchs embraced, both the Luna Wolves and War Hounds erupted in cheers, followed by the deafening roar of the crowds who witnessed this fateful meeting. Angronius strained against the unfamiliar gesture and squirmed uncomfortably until he was freed from the entrapping grasp of the man.

"You must be Angronius." The stranger greeted him, "I am Horus Lupercal. It's good to finally meet you."