Chapter Twenty One: Gold, Silver, and Steel (Part I)

Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna

Date: 813.M30 (Thirteen hours since the battle for Luna began)

It was Evil Incarnate. That was the only way Abaddon could describe the nightmarish being before him. Nearly every human civilization had some myth or concept of the Adversary. Satan, Lucifer, Apophis, Set, Erllig, Iblis, Angra Mainyu, Be'lakor, Ba'al, Azura, Nyarlathotep, and many many more. This idea, the idea of the primordial enemy, evil given form and purpose, it had gained sentience and power within the Warp. The thoughts of all of those thinking creatures had coalesced into a single being of malice and horror. It formed into the Dark Master.

Now Be'lakor, the First Damned of Chaos, had entered the material universe. Empowered and given body by the Creed of Four Phases, the Daemon Prince's fanged maw split into a grin as it noticed the fallen Primarch. Moving ponderously, as it grew used to the rapidly fading laws of physics. It moved with an almost apathetic gait. The universe seemed to ripple and contort as it walked towards the Astartes, as if space/time itself fought to move from his infernal presence.

The Daemon Prince spoke in a deep and eloquent tone. "I had hoped to claim the XVI as my host" the creature said with a rueful glance at the fallen hero. "He would have made a perfect body. The Dark Gods would never possess a mightier Agent. Alas, this sorcerer will do."

Shadowy warp-fire coalesced around Be'lakor 's claws. Approaching Horus, it let out a mirthless laugh. "Still, a body such as that has so many uses."

Abaddon was quick to realize the monster's intent. It wished to desecrate his father's body. He would not allow the fiend to do as it pleased. To Abbadon, the honor of the entire XVI Legion was at stake. Standing between Primarch and Prince, Abaddon intended to die stopping the monster. Some part of the young Astartes knew this is exactly where he belonged, standing before Evil Incarnate and guarding mankind's destiny. He had done so aboard the Tiber-Prince, and he would continue to do so until his last breath.

Be'lakor stood twice the height of a Primarch and peered down at the Astartes before him. "Oh? Another Warmaster approaches me. The First failed to embrace the gods. Will you fail yet again Despoiler?"

Roaring with fury Abaddon charged the Daemon Prince. He knew he could not best the horror, but he could delay it. Be'lakor deflected the Astartes' blows with casual ease, laughing at the Space Marine's futile attempts as he did so. Soon, the other Battle-Brothers within the Chamber charged the Daemon as well. It laughed and summoned another blade to meet their desperate charge. Dozens of Astartes threw themselves at the monster, but Be'lakor shredded them to bits, dodging bolt shells and bisecting Astartes with supernatural skill the whole time. Screaming with righteous fury as another one of his brother was killed by the daemon, the Redeemer fought on. Abaddon was too slow on his next parry and was sent flying with a lash of Be'lakor's draconian tail.

Abaddon landed in a crumpled heap near his father's body. As he lay next to Horus' corpse, a faint flicker of Light caught his attention. Jolts and sparks of psionic electricity emanated from the Speartip buried in Horus, faint golden energy glowing from it. Eyes locked on the spear-tip Abaddon stumbled to his feet and felt a presence brush up against his mind. His father's voice blasted through Abaddon's head at a volume akin to a thunderclap. "Take up me up and strike down the evil" it commanded. "Purge this unholy daemon, Abbadon the Redeemer."

Slightly concussed and mad with grief, Abaddon did not even question the reality or sanity of what he was about to do. Scrambling over to the Primarch's body, he gripped the speartip, pulling it free from his father's corpse, its psychic energy crystalizing into a longsword of purifying light. A corona of gold rippled out and through Luna. Every psychic on Terra's moon felt it and instinctively knew the source. This golden beacon called out to three in particular: The Angel, Marcus, and Kalib. It called them to the place of their sibling's death.

The XI and XIII Primarch immediately discharged their duties to subordinates and rushed towards the Lunar North. They could not reach their brother Horus through the psychic bond shared by the Twenty. The beacon carried a simple message to them. Something horrible had happened to the XVI. Fear, desperation and frantic worry that only the kin of the lost can feel coursed through the brothers. To the Angel of Vengeance, it simply acted as more blood in the proverbial water, helping to guide it towards the source of corruption.

Abaddon the Redeemer felt his body and soul shake from the energy coursing through him. His gauntlets started to glow from the heat, and he could feel the burning power of the Speartip in his very bones. Power only a Primarch could possess coursed through him. Abaddon did not know how long he could survive such an experience, and he did not care. He simply hoped he would last long enough to avenge Horus Lupercali.

Raising the blade high, Abaddon charged the Daemon Prince. The power coursing through him caught Be'lakor's attention. With a wave of shadowy force, the Dark Master smashed away the hoard of Astartes trying to gain his attention. Summoning a single jagged blade of tainted metal, the Daemon prepared to match swords with Abaddon.

Faster and stronger than his body and mind had any right to be, Abaddon dueled the horror from beyond the material world, his shining sword clashing with Be'lakor's. Letting loose a shower of sparks with each blow, Abaddon felt his body scream in protest from the exertions he was placing upon it. Muscle ripped and bone cracked, psychic light healing the injuries as quickly as they came. Abaddon was faster and stronger than ever before. But even with his new powers, he was barely fit to trade blows with Be'lakor. The Daemon Prince laughed maniacally as it its blade flashed a mesmorizing pattern of murder. The monster seemed to be enjoying the duel. The Battle-Brothers of the XVI fought at Abaddon's side, hoping to distract the Daemon even a bit.

Even fighting dozens of Astartes and the empowered Abaddon, Be'lakor was holding his own. Seeing no other options the XVI Astartes had all activated the Legions unique Twenty Fourth organ. It was an augment to their revitalizer gland, a gift from their Primarch to his sons. In moments of extreme stress, a flood of neuro-enhancers and pseudo-organic war-chems explode from the gland, allowing the Astartes to think, move and react faster than should be physically possible. Combining this gift with the latent psionic blessing each Astartes possessed resulted in short bursts of incredible power. It was a secret weapon reserved for the most dire of moments. If there was ever a time for such a thing, it was now. Supercharged by the Speartip's psychic effects and his father's biological gift, the elite of Horus' sons fought at a level unmatched by any other Astartes in all twenty legions, desperate to avenge their fallen and send the fiend screaming back to the abyss. To the Astartes time seemed to stand still and incomparable power coursed through them. To the Daemon Prince this was just further entertainment.

Unknown to all but Be'lakor, another threat hid within the chamber. Cloaked in etheric shadows, the monster once known as Argel Tal stalked. Korban the Eversacrified clambered along the Daemonic Cathedrals ceiling, careful to avoid the battle down below. The Possessed Champion dropped down to the Warp Rift, scanning for what he needed to complete his mission. Hidden from the Astartes, Korban claimed his objective: The twin artifacts of Luna, namely the obsidian knife, still caked in Zamora's blood, and the chalice Sagitari-17 had drained to become the Daemons host. Plucking them from the warp-tainted stone, Korban retreated into the Shadows. His minions had escaped through the Warp Rift, and he would in time. For now, the Gods still required him on Luna.

Be'lakor felt the Eversacrificed complete his mission and let out a snort of annoyance. Another rival for the god's attention was never welcome. Even if they were forced to work together, the Dark Master felt contempt and hatred for all others who curried the undivided attention of the unholy patrons.

The duel between the elite of the XVI Legion and Be'lakor continued unabated. The Astartes had yet to land a single blow on the monster, only distracting his blade. Every few minutes, a Battle-Brother would falter. Through bad-luck, exhaustion of the 24th organ, or simply not matching the Daemon Prince, they would fall. The lucky ones were left broken, the unlucky ones died and were spiritually devoured by the monster. Still, the Astartes held. Abaddon knew at this point he could not slay Be'lakor, and he knew his only hope was to delay until someone who could arrived.

Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna

Date: 814.M30 (124 Terran Minutes since the duel started)

Everything was pain. Abaddon felt like he was being ripped apart. Mind, body, and soul pushed past any sane limit and all were failing him. Even as his Battle-Brothers were cut down, he fought on. For over two hours, Abbadon had fought with valor against the daemon, matching its world breaking blows each time it sought to end his life. By the seventeenth minute, he stood alone. All his fellow Astartes lay dead or dying around him. Even as sanity and rationality left him, carried away by pain, Abaddon knew the responsibility that was now his. He and he alone stood between the daemon and its goals.

A sudden shift rippled through the tainted chamber. Something grabbed the attention of the Daemon Prince. Be'lakor sensed the twin forces making their way towards the chamber. Marcus Augustio and his sons were traveling the root Horus had taken. Kalib, in turn, lead the XI through the opposite entrance, the one consecrated to the Dark Prince. The Daemon Prince could feel the XI Primarch dueling the Keeper of Secrets bound to that gate. They would be here soon, and the true battle would start.

"Amusing as this spar is, your betters have come. I shall finish this distraction before devouring more of the Anathema's spawn." growled Be'lakor.

Moving at speeds the Materium struggled to translate, Be'lakor lashed out at Abaddon. Lunging forward, Be'lakor sought to rip Abaddon's head from his shoulders. Bracing for the traumatic impact, Abaddon used the Sword of Longinus as a pike. Letting the Daemon's momentum impale its taloned hand on the shining blade. Pulling back, Be'lakor looked at its hand. The greatsword of psychic fire was stuck through his palm. Golden flames licked at Be'lakor's hand and seared his flesh. The Daemon Prince examined it with an expression of amused surprise on his face.

"A potent weapon, wielded by weak children. An apt metaphor for the power you and your father possess. Abaddon and Horus, both weak fools. Undeserving of divine anointment."

With a disdainful blow from the daemon. Abaddon crumpled. Separated from the Spear of Destiny, his body was rapidly collapsing. Be'lakor wrapped his tail around the dying Astartes. Lifting Abaddon up to face level, with the blade still burning in his hand, the Daemon Prince presented a single claw while speaking. "The power you used was not yours to wield, it is a borrowed spark of a failed demi-god. Not enough to harm me, but it will scar me. A considerable achievement, mortal. I shall return the favor to both father and son."

Slowly and methodically, Be'lakor sunk his talon into Abaddon's left eye. Puncturing and burning away the Astartes' vision. Abaddon could not even scream, his body so damaged that a rasping gasp was all he could manage. Inky black flames scoured the flesh down to the bone, the Warp-energy taking its time to burn away his nerves. When a blackened socket of bone was all that remained of the eye, Be'lakor let Abaddon crumple to the ground.

The Redeemer could only watch as the Daemon Prince turned its attention to Horus. With an ugly kick, Be'lakor moved the Primarchs fallen body over. Peering down at the rictus of pain that soured the Demigod's handsome features, Be'lakor pulled the blade from his hand, gritting his fangs in pain at the act. True to his word, a silver scar soon formed where the blade had punctured the Daemon. Putting one massive foot on the Primarchs chest, Be'lakor brought the Spear of Destiny down, driving its point into the right eye of Horus with a sickening squelch. The psychic crystal that encased it shattered as he drove it in. Soon, the only piece left was a shard of ancient metal impaled his socket.

Laughing at his own twisted joke, Be'lakor summoned his daemonic blades and prepared to butcher the Emperor's sons. On cue, the XI and XIII burst from opposing sides of the chamber. The sight of the rift and its dark influence were barely noticed by the two. What caught and held their attention was the defiled corpse of Horus Lupercali. The XVI Primarch lay at Be'lakor's feet, the daemon's posture over their brother's corpse was equal parts taunt, challenge and proclamation of malice.

Kalib was faster in recovering. Like the Angel of Death he was, the XI charged the Daemon Prince. With Power-axe and Crossbolter drawn, Primarch who was fast earning the name Keeper of Souls rushed forward, intent on breaking this monster. Whispering incantations of smiting, silver flames erupted along the Primarchs weapons and wards shimmered into being around him. He was meant to guard mankind against horrors like this. It would die screaming if it was the last thing the Primarch did.

Marcus took longer to processes the tragedy before him. He understood it, and had a fairly accurate estimate of events. Even so, he did not want to believe his brother was dead. So when that terrible terrible truth thundered through his mind, something snapped. The calm and collected aristocratic XIII howled in bloody rage. His noble features twisted into a grimace of pain and fury. With gladius aloft, he joined his brother.

The Daemon Prince crossed blades with both Primarchs, easily dueling both champions of humanity. When he dueled Abbadon, he had been sparring, enjoying the thrill of the fight. This would be the true battle, one that would take all of his terrible power to win. In the hell-domain that made up Luna's core Be'lakor was incredibly mighty. With a powerful host and a glut of warp-power to fuel him, these false-godlings stood no chance.

"I am Be'lakor! The Dark Master of the Warp. First and True Prince of Chaos! You shall die by my hand and join the trillions who I have devoured!" Proclaimed the Monster.

The Primarchs did not respond. Killing the Daemon was all they could focus on. The duel took place in both material and immaterial. Blades locked as wills clashed. Telekinetic lighting and dark curses swirled through the chamber. Two sons of the Light against the first Son of Darkness.

The Legionaries of the XI and XIII knew this was not battle for them. Instead, they hurried to assist the XVI Astartes. Most were dead, but some still clung to life. Apothecaries conducted triage as they dragged the fallen away from the battle. Beacons were activated and distress calls were sent. The clash of the Titans was not their battle, but they still had a war to win. Abaddon still clung to some semblance of consciousness, the last embers of borrowed power coursing through his ruined body. Those flickers blessed him with a momentary glimpse past the veil. For a split second, Abaddon Redeemer saw Korban the Eversacrified leaving the chamber under a cloak of shadow. He tried to warn his tending cousins of the XIII of the danger, but his slurried and broken speech came off as maddened rambling. Neuronic misfires brought on by traumatic damage would not let him give the information to his comrades. Panic filled Abaddon's mind as the drugs entering his system forced him into Sus-An coma and soon the only thing that Abbadon would be seeing would be the inky blackness of a deep sleep.

The duel between the demigods raged on. Blessed silver bolts shredded Be'lakors wings and in return, Kalib was racked by dark talons. The Primarchs fought hard and few beings in the entire cosmos could withstand dueling the two. Unfortunately, Be'lakor numbered in that handful. The Primarchs were young and inexperienced beings, not yet tempered by millennia of experience. This, and the madness of grief slowly but surely turned the battle in Be'lakor's favor. The Daemon Prince was thoroughly enjoying himself, and it was only a matter of time until he claimed the XI and XIII.

Almost as a response to the monster's glee, a shockwave of golden energy erupted across the Solar system. Passing through Luna and the rest of the system. It burned the Daemon Prince and knocked it back. It and countless of its kin across the solar warzone felt a dreaded presence and whispered its name. "Anathema."