39 The Emperor's Due

One Week Later

The Shores of Hyrkan

A ship approached the harbor of the once great city of Hyrkan. Onboard were a hundred warriors from Stygia, led by none other than Ionos, son of Minerva. The man was eager, ready for war, as he stepped off the boarding clamp and onto the wharf. His sword was unsheathed, his shield poised to deflect any incoming missiles. His warriors, promptly falling in behind their leader, did the same. They expected to find traces, some sign of the gladiator king's bloody handiwork.

Their preparation was unnecessary.

Nuceria had at last fallen. The great empire that had kept the world in its iron grip was struck down by the demigod Angronius.

Reksia, the capital city, had been wiped off the map. News of the terrible fate suffered by those who resisted against King Angronius and his legion of superhuman space marines was enough to shatter any resolve the beleaguered Nucerians had. All the technologies, all the cruel and powerful weapons they had in their arsenal, all for naught. Not even the mighty 1st Legion could stop them. How could they, how could any of them, hope to stand against the harbinger of destruction? There was only one path left for them to take, and that was submission.

A new emperor had come to claim their world- the Emperor of Mankind. The godlike man from the stars demanded only one thing- total surrender. All would swear allegiance to the Imperium of Man, and to their new ruler who would act as steward to the Emperor. Angronius, his son and Primarch of the War Hounds, would take his rightful place and shape the future of Nuceria as its lord and master. Resistance and rebellion would not be tolerated, and would be met with swift and brutal action.

Ionos and his men were greeted by giants wearing power-armor painted with bone-white and faded blue. They were not Nucerians, this fact became rather clear when they surrounded the Stygians from seemingly out of nowhere. Among the ruins of Hyrkan, they emerged with all their strange and powerful weapons bared. Though Ionos carried out the sweep with utmost caution, the giants were better versed in the art of war.

The only thing that spared them from a quick a brutal death was Angronius' word. The gladiator king still held true to the faith in his friends from beyond the Sodian Sea, disregarding the doubts his followers had for Minerva's loyalty. He anticipated the arrival of Stygian reinforcements, and so described in full detail to his legion who would come from the shores of Hyrkan- who they would spare and bring before him. The tribal markings, the ceremonial scarification, even the unique pigmentation of their skin. The gladiator king's memory was long, and it wasn't at all easy to forget the people who stood by him when Coriolanus came for him at the foot of Mount Khyaltuwa.

"You are of Stygia." The leader of the giants, distinguished by the arrowhead markings on his right pauldron, addressed Ionos. "You'll be coming with us, the Primarch awaits."

The giants did not relieve them of their weapons. It was a gesture of good faith, as far as the War Hounds were concerned. The visitors from across the sea were to be granted passage, as per the orders of their gene-father, and so they shall stand before him as he addressed the subjugated nation of Nuceria. Although they were brought aboard gunships that throttled across the skies faster than anything they've witnessed, the trip across the face of the conquered provinces took a few days. It was as though the giants wanted them to see their work, the marks of their wrath against those who persecuted their Primarch.

They saw the scorched earth of the Desh'elikan Plateau, where the legions of Acraesius were struck down by the deadly rays of the mighty Bucephalus. They saw the mass graves of slaughtered civilians, butchered in the purge of Desh'ea. It was a gruesome sight, a dream imagined only by the most vengeful Stygian minds. It was a dream that had now become a reality.

And who was this Primarch they so revere, he who made this dream come true? His name was not spoken, held with utmost reverence as though it was sacred to the War Hounds. Ionos could only speculate on who it was. He had a semblance of an idea, he was Stygian not an idiot. There could only be one, a god among men, who could do the impossible.

Seeing the faces of the giants was evidence enough to confirm it. He could see Angronius in each and every one of them. The hair may be different, or perhaps the eye color, but it was all there. The intense, predatory eyes of a lion on the prowl. The hard, statuesque cheekbones. The regal, supremacist bearing of a demigod overlooking a bunch of lesser, mortal men.

They were Angronius' men. Or rather, his children.

"Angron did it. What has taken my people generations to even come close to, he did it all within a few months." Ionos said in disbelief on the third day when they finally reached the hell-blasted patch of earth that used to be Reksia. His eyes took in the great multitude that had gathered at the ruins of the Exalted Palace. They were Nucerians, come to bow before their conqueror who stood beside the great and magnificent golden being at the helm of an army of golden-clad warriors. They met with what served as a semblance of government that the Nucerians had left. Even as the noblemen presented themselves, they were adorned in their brightest, most regal attire. But there, the pomp and vanity of the Nucerians ended. They came before their new gods, humbled, alone and without their coterie of bodyguards and slaves.

They were ready to pledge their undying fealty to Angronius Thal'kyr.

This, of course, was far from a true expression of loyalty. Seldom did any conquered people willingly submit, even under duress. However, the Eaters of Cities, and the Imperium of Man with them, were both terrible forces to be reckoned with. It didn't take long for the Nucerians to figure out that subjugation was a preferable alternative to death, which led them to this moment.

Five lords, former members of the senate that had long been dissolved, prostrated themselves before Angronius as they once did before Marsus Acraesius. They were very careful with their words as they begged for the Emperor's mercy, for they feared the gladiator king's wrathful gaze as he stared at each and every one of them. Their smooth and milky-white hands grasped the ashes and broken glass that covered the ruined citadel

He looked quite the sight, towering over those cowering lords- a lion among quivering sheep.

Angronius wore a new suit of armor, one crafted just for him by the finest smiths in the Twelfth Legion, to replace the moldering strips of steel and leather that once adorned his body. Its crafting began long ago when the War Hounds first ventured out of Terra on their quest to find their Primarch. Every year, the smiths added and removed according to their shared inspirations. Its metallic hide shone with the rays of the golden sun, walking the fine line between pure gold and dark brass. The red cloak that fluttered behind his back was made from the hairs of a xenos firedrake, soft as mere cloth but harder than ceramite, and was among many gifts bestowed by the generous Salamanders to the War Hounds when the occurrence of the legions meeting perchance allowed it.

The armor was named The War God's Hide. With this new suit adorning his body, Angronius truly looked like a Primarch, a worthy figure to stand so close to the Emperor of Mankind. He needed no crown, for one had already been hammered into his skull long ago.

Angronius gave no speech. He had no words for Nuceria, not this time, so he let his father do all the talking.

The Emperor had much to say, especially regarding the case of faith and religion. His demands were heavy. As it was with every world he had forced into compliance, the Nucerians were to abandon their gods. Now and forever, only science and logic would become their new gods. Though considered backward by Imperium standards, Nuceria Prime was full of potential. In a few short generations, under the governance of a Primarch, it could become something more.

As it was now part of the Imperium, Nuceria was expected to offer up some form of tithe. It would not be as heavy as other worlds, for Nuceria Prime was Angronius' homeworld. All its resources, all its riches, would be used to provide and maintain a steady supply of new spacemarines for the Twelfth Legion. No, the Emperor had a different tithe in mind. It was one he planned to discuss at length with his newly discovered son.

Angronius seethed in silence as he heard over and over again the name of the world entrusted to him. Nuceria, the hated empire responsible for all his misfortunes, would live on in its name. It was the Emperor's will that it remained so, for he enjoyed the bitter taste of irony it brought. Angronius would seize the fates of all his former enemies and direct them unto the path he so desired. He didn't care if the Primarch chafed at the decree, he only cared if he would hold up his end of the bargain and submit to his authority.

Angronius realized then, after all was said and done, that the Red Goddess' prophecy had come true. And he wasn't the only one who thought of the same.

As Polgara stood beside her husband, adorned once more in golden ornaments and red silks, clothed in what was more fitting for the queen that she was, she remembered what that old priest said to her in what felt like ages ago. A great tragedy would humble her, then she would become queen of all Nuceria. It all came to pass, word for word, yet it gave her little comfort.

She remembered all that she lost in order to get where she was now, and that made her sad.

Lotara squirmed in her arms and hugged her neck, bringing her thoughts back to the present. She turned her gaze to Sonjita, who stood proud and gloating on the opposite side of the gladiator king. She was the only one among them who hadn't dressed up for the occasion, defying both the Nucerian customs as well as Imperial etiquette. She was, as always, adorned in her scale-mail wraps with her bare skin as the only armor she'll ever need. The astartes legionnaires were cheering a loud and triumphant roar that shook what little foundations were left in that ashen wasteland. A new capital would be built, far from this cursed patch of earth. Angronius wanted to keep the ruination of Reksia where it was, lest the Nucerians forget the price of resistance.

Polgara thought less of what she lost and more of what she gained. She married a god, had the whole world at her feet and a beautiful daughter at her side.

And yet, the Emperor of Mankind would see himself fit to rob her and Sonjita of their beloved Angronius as well.

"So..." The sorceress said wistfully when they had a moment to themselves, when all others have departed to begin the great work that was rebuilding Nuceria. "It is done. We have won."

"Why do you despair?" Sonjita chided her sister-wife, "This is a day of rejoicing, not of lamentation!"

"Are you so quick to forget?" Polgara shot back, "The Emperor's aid did not come without a price. Tell her, Angron! Tell her what your father demands in exchange for your life- for all our lives!"

His wife was still in denial. Angronius had plenty of time to himself to roll these same thoughts over and over in his head. Now, all he could think about was the time he had left with them. Borrowed time, before the Emperor returns to claim his due.

"His price was my aid, Eanna." The gladiator king sighed, "And as much as I hate to admit it, I owe him everything. Let it not be said that I am not a man of honor. I have given him my word, and he in turn gave me thirty years."

"Would that he had demanded anything else but take you from us." Polgara replied, while Sonjita remained silent.

"Oh my dearest doves..." Angronius pulled his wives close so that he might say the words this once, and will never say again. "Thirty years is a very long time. We will have so much to share, so many memories to make. And when it is time for me to go, you will not miss me so."

"You speak as though you know what it feels like to be ripped away from one's heart." The Red Maiden said, "How else can we suffer your absence, if not to look to the stars in despair?"

Angronius reached down and touched her belly, "I will leave pieces of myself with you, and you will see me. In their eyes, in their faces, and in their voices."

Sonjita's stern face softened at his words, for now her thoughts were filled with the brood she would one day bear in her husband's name. Polgara, on the other hand, found little comfort in the knowledge that she would become the mother of many children. The news of one day giving over Angronius to the Great Crusade hit her the hardest. At the moment, the gladiator king spared both women the thought of what he saw the day when the Emperor granted him a vision of the cosmos.

The things he saw in the stars, what untold suffering the innumerable billions of slaves in the furthest reaches of the galaxy were going through. No, this vision he would keep to himself.

"My Primarch, we have brought the Stygians as you requested."

Angronius turned to see some of his War Hounds escorting a Stygian warband to gain audience with the newly crowned King of Nuceria. Leading them was Ionos, his blood-brother and son of his trusted lieutenant Minerva. Just when he was beginning to think he would never see another soul from across the Sodian, the winds of fate brought the Warmother's own son to him.

"Ionos!" The gladiator king embraced the warrior, a mirthful laugh escaping his taut lips. "Hell, what a sight you are!"

"And a tad late for the party too." Sonjita said with her arms crossed, "The war is long over. Why did you delay?"

All the light in Ionos' eyes died and the brief joy he had for reuniting with Angronius faded, for he knew now that an explanation was overdue- long overdue. "I thought you might say that."

"Well? We're all here now, spit it out."

Ionos threw his blood-brother a sidewards glance, then spoke the truth. "It began but a few months ago, when winter was ebbing and the winds were ripe for sailing. My mother instructed us, at your command, to hold Stygia and never cross the sea."

Angronius frowned, "I made no such command. You were there, you heard it with your own ears. We needed you."

Ionos nodded slowly, as though in shame. "I know this now, Angronius. But then, I had no reason to doubt my own mother's words- until she let it slip that it was she who had no intention of crossing the Sodian. It was cause enough for suspicion, and I feared that either through some bewitching spell of our enemies or by her madness returning- that she had betrayed your trust."

With every word that tumbled out of the Stygian's lips, Angronius' anger was heating up the blood in his head. Minerva had done more than betray his trust, she betrayed every single freedman who had died at the hands of the Nucerian legions.

"She forbade anyone, under pain of death, to board the vessels we constructed at Landfall. She even went as far as to scuttle them for parts, all save for the one I used to travel here. I... I had to see, even if it was too late. I had to see what happened to you."

Ionos feared for his life, but maintained a veneer of steadfast will. Angronius was furious and was barely able to restrain the storm of emotions roiling within him. A moment of uncomfortable silence reigned for a few minutes, then he finally spoke. His voice was a rumble, a lion's growl. "I will have words with Minerva."

When his fear for his own life faded, Ionos now feared for his mother's. Desperate to sway the gladiator king from a more wrathful approach to the matter, the warrior begged him to let reason guide his actions, no matter how futile it may seem. "Brother, hear me! I-"

"Do not fool yourself into thinking that you will dissuade me from what comes next... brother." Angronius pushed him aside and stomped in the direction of the nearest Stormbird. In his rage, the fine line between innocent and guilty blurred. In his eyes, Ionos was just as much a traitor to him as his mother. "I will hear the Warmother's explanation in person, before I pass judgement. My loyal War Hounds, hold these traitors until I return. Polgara, Sonjita! Come, this matter must be dealt with swiftly- for all the freedmen dead who call for justice!"

His wives, knowing better than to refuse his command, obeyed.

"Then remember this, Angronius!" Ionos cried, letting himself be dragged away by the towering spacemarines. He and his warriors were disarmed and taken to the nearest holding facility, a place nothing short of a kennel for captured animals, for the War Hounds were not accustomed to taking prisoners. "My mother may have turned against you now, but do not forget that it was by her hand that your wife remains among the living! By her hand, she saw your child into this world!"

"Be silent." The War Hound holding him by his right arm snarled, "Or be silenced."

Angronius' lips were a taut, thin line by the time he boarded the transporter and was on his way to the Freelands. As much as he wished to drown out Ionos' words with the feverish aura of hatred burning from within, he could not ignore them.

Two Days Later

Mt. Khyaltuwa

Saartur stood watch over the ancient temple, unmoving as a stone statue, as he always did.

Lately, the only bit of excitement the old guardian had involved the Red Maiden. Thrice, she climbed this mountain that had become his home. The first, when she came seeking the Red Goddess' healing touch for her own wounded soul. The second, to train and draw strength from Saartur's millennia-long experience in combat. The third, when she brought that peculiar man and woman.

That was no happenstance. Like all Old Ones, Saartur could feel the faint ripples in the Empyrean when the fates have shifted. And when it involved Angronius, he stirred up a tidal wave.

Saartur's ever-vigilant eyes watched as the sky opened up, and three Imperial Stormbirds breached the runic barrier surrounding the peak of Mount Khyaltuwa. He did not move from his spot at the doors of the temple, he waited for the uninvited guests to come forth and reveal their intentions.

There were eleven of them, all wearing golden armor that caught the light of the sun, driving away the shadows of the peak as they disembarked. From the conical helmets to the sabatons on their feet, the Imperial Aquila could be seen with its wings defiantly outstretched. Bright scarlet capes, tabards and pauldron-mounts fluttered like little flags in the wind. They were all armed, heavily armed, and bore ill intent.

The Old One could hear their hearts beating steadily, their faint thoughts whispered through the Warp. They had not come for him, but for the Red Goddess. He knew this, but chose to ask anyway. "Why are you here?"

Their leader, the only one without a helmet to hide his face, approached Saartur. Their eyes met, and Valdor spoke. The Shield of the Emperor held little reverence for one of the most ancient species to walk the known universe. If anything, all he held was contempt and a desire to see an end to this matter swiftly. "The Emperor demands that you surrender the xenos witch you have been tasked to protect. Compliance will see you both unharmed."

Saartur nodded and retrieved his sword from the ground, "That, I cannot do. I know who you are, oath-bound guardians all. Tell me, if you were tasked to protect someone, would you relinquish your charge because someone else said it should be so?"

Valdor and the other custodes brandished their weapons, "No."

"Then neither will I."

"Good Saartur..." Scáthach emerged from the temple for the first time in centuries and touched the old guardian's shoulder. Her presence changed the atmosphere of the would-be battlefield in an instant. It was as if a palpable aura of calm kept both sides from clashing then and there. Not even the stalwart custodes could resist the Empyreac influence of the Red Goddess, and they too stood themselves down. "...Brave Saartur, your vigilance is most appreciated."

Saartur lowered his sword reluctantly.

Scáthach turned to the Chief-Custodian, "And you, your master has come a long way seeking that which was lost to him. He has found it at last, I take it?"

Constantin Valdor nodded, in spite of himself. That damnable aura was more powerful than any spell he'd encountered, and it was prodding him to reply with all honesty. And the worst part was that the creature didn't seem to be even trying at all that hard.

"Then why now have you come for me?" Scáthach folded her hands over her thighs, as a matron would before a gang of ne'er-do-wells. Her kind and piercing purple eyes seemed to read every secret in their minds well in advance of her words. There was no doubt about it now, the Emperor warned them of her type. Powerful psykers of immeasurable strength, millions of years ahead of their own.

"I am not at liberty to say." Valdor declared, now opting for a more peaceable conclusion. "Come with us, willingly. Whatever answers you seek, the Emperor will have in abundance. Will you submit?"

It was Scáthach's turn to nod. At Valdor's orders, the custodes approached the Old Ones with restraints ready to be placed on them. Amused, the Red Goddess smiled at the Chief-Custodian. He caught on to her expression, they both knew that no man-made restraints could ever hope to fetter them. Still, the restraints were more of a measure to ease the fears of all who would later lay eyes upon the two xenos when they were brought aboard the Bucephalus.

The Emperor had plans, grand in scale and limitless in potential. And concerning Nuceria, he was just getting started.