Reunion

Five Days Later

Nucerian Coastland, Ruins of Hyrkan

After the heavens rained hell upon the Desh'elika Plateau, the legions of Nuceria sent by Emperor Acraesius to destroy Angronius and his followers were all but destroyed. Seizing this opportunity to relocate and gather strength, the Eaters of Cities moved to the coast, towards Hyrkan. With so little left to oppose them, the freedmen made good time trekking across the Nucerian countryside.

Hyrkan, after the devastation wrought in the wake of Angronius' previous exodus, did not weather the years well.

With its populace slaughtered, and the legendary imperial harbor decimated, there wasn't much left of Hyrkan to be considered of any value. Thus, the city was left to wither, serving as a gigantic graveyard to the thousands dead. All that remained at the ghost city were the criminal elements; smugglers, cutthroats and slavers, who sought to plunder the rotting carcass of the ruined city and utilize its meager defenses as a bulwark against the law.

The once glorious gem of the coast had been reduced to a shadow of its former self, becoming a haven for the unscrupulous and the reviled. Thick green sprouted over the towering marble spires and ivory towers, which cracked under the fearsome storms swept up by the winds of the Sodian Sea. Black smoke belched from crude thermo-nuclear generators filled the air, while the noise of frequent gunfire from active gang warzones could be heard above the din of pit fighters fighting in the ramshackle arenas below Hyrkan proper. Slaves, kidnapped from distant or local lands, were led in chains through the underground cistern tunnels to the black market that sprung up from within the subterranean heart of the city.

The overall atmosphere was violent, coarse, savage. It was as if Nuceria finally revealed its truest form there, discarding the thin guise of nobility and sophistication.

And Hyrkan would know of greater savagery still, for Angronius and his freedmen followers had come for the city. With little regard for the new denizens making their home within the ruined city, the Eaters of Cities were there now, and they were there to stay. When they arrived at the outskirts of the city, they were met with fierce resistance. After destroying the weaker and most impulsive gangs, the stronger and smarter lot quickly set aside whatever grievances they had for each other and attacked the approaching freedmen. It wasn't much of a battle, for Angronius' followers had years of combat experience, both in and out of the arena.

They made quick work of the gangs, dismantled the underground operations, freed the slaves and salvaged whatever items of value they could. Afterwards, they worked on fortifying the ruined city. Under the leadership of Angronius, it was fairly easy to close all the gaps in the city defenses and install new ones.

And so, Hyrkan became the freedmen's citadel, the first they've conquered in the months they've spent on Nucerian soil.

While there, the freedmen gathered strength by nursing their wounded back to health and recruiting from the slaves retrieved from the tunnels. Replacements were hard to come by, and none of the slaves could hope to compare to the freedmen gladiators who lost their lives in the war against Nuceria. Still, every soul was worth something to Angronius. And while most were as green as the grass overtaking the ruined citadel, the gladiator king had just the spark of courage for each one to fan to flame.

As the day wore on, the freedmen stumbled across someone from Angronius' past. A man whose life he had ruined by seeing all those slaves across the Sodian Sea.

Ohn, Champion of Hyrkan, was found drinking alone in a dilapidated tavern. All the previous patrons, along with the proprietor, have fled the establishment. From the looks of it, he hadn't moved from there since the freedmen overtook the ruins. His whole world was the bottle he now nursed in his hands, and he could care less about the fighting that took place around him. However, as he sat hunched over the table pouring himself another drink, the freedmen who found him tried to disarm him by taking away his quindent. The weapon was the only thing he had left, and he would not let a bunch of rebellious former slaves take it away from him.

So Ohn fought and disarmed them, literally. With the quindent's sharp edges, he clawed away both limb and head from anyone foolish enough to approach him. Although remaining very much drunk, the champion was still a threat, and soon the tavern was surrounded by freedmen warriors. They were reluctant to enter and potentially share the fates of those he'd slain, for Ohn was considered a legendary fighter in the arena. Eventually, the problem caught the attention of the gladiator king himself, and Angronius made his way to the building to personally deal with Ohn.

Five freedmen gladiators lay dead where they had fallen, their blood seeping into the cracks of the wooden floor. Angronius eyed their mutilated corpses with regret, then boldly strode towards the hunched figure casually turning over an empty shot glass in his hands. The golden quindent, its four prongs still slick with red, leaned close to where Ohn was sitting. If he had need of it, he merely had to snatch it up and he would be upon the gladiator king in seconds.

"I heard they call you king now." Ohn drawled, his expression darkening with mocking contempt.

"That." Angronius acknowledged, keeping his distance from the man should he move to attack him. "Among other things."

Ohn snorted and hurled the glass, reducing it to pieces when it struck the wall in front of him. Angronius didn't flinch, but he looked upon the anguished gladiator with pity. Although he could not ignore the freedmen lives he took earlier that day, he knew that he had a hand in Ohn's suffering.

He was not apologetic about it, but he understood his pain. The arena was Ohn's life, and the adulation of the crowd that came with it. The bounty of flesh and gold, the thrill of the fight and the glories reaped from every kill.

"So why come back? Hm?" The champion whirled around unsteadily, "Why are you here, when you clearly hated this place?"

"Nuceria would not leave me be." Angronius replied, seeing no point in withholding the truth. "They attacked me, they attacked my people and they came after my wife. They started this war with me, and so I brought it here to their shores."

"And now you've come to visit your wrath on her cities. Just as you have with mine." Ohn swayed in his seat, "Tell me, king of slaves, do you not find the results of your handiwork to your liking?"

"Oh spare me, Ohn." Angronius said, "You never held any true loyalty to the people of Nuceria. You were loyal to their coin, to their accolades."

"If that is true, then why have you found me here instead of the arena?" The champion gestured to the walls of the tavern, upon which the paint started to fall off. "There are many coliseums in Nuceria, but why does noble Ohn choose the ghost city where he would languish in for all his days? I'll tell you why. I loved this city. It was beautiful, filled with centuries of history and culture. You killed all of that, Angronius. How many more cities must you and your savage brethren destroy before your thirst for blood is sated?"

Ohn knew the answer even before Angronius said it. "All of them. For as long as Nuceria remains a purveyor of oppression and slavery, there can be no peace."

"Not all Nucerians are as you so indiscriminately judge. There are men, women and children in this empire you hate that do not deserve the bite of your chainaxes."

"They are party to it through their inaction. For a hundred years, maybe more, they've allowed themselves to fester like a tumor. They've gorged themselves on the blood of the innocent, and so they all deserve to die. The men, the women and the children too."

Ohn reached for his quindent and rose up.

"Stand yourself down, Ohn." Angronius warned. "I will not say it a second time."

"Then be silent." The drunkard answered, "If the fate of Hyrkan will be shared by the empire itself, I do not wish to live to see it happen. However, if I can kill you… here and now, perhaps I can save Nuceria from destruction."

"You are making a mistake. Nothing will stop us. Nothing will stop me."

"We will see."

Angronius readied himself for battle, as did Ohn. They fought as they did back on the sands of the Colosseum Primus, and just as it was before, it ended quickly. Ohn was heavily inebriated, and Angronius was at his prime. The champion wasn't facing a mere former gladiator, he was fighting a god of war, responsible for the destruction of the Nucerian 5th Legion.

He never stood a chance.

Ohn fell, cut down by Angronius' chainaxes. But in his last moments, the champion was happy. He had long been content with just drowning himself in liquor. At the very least, in this manner, he would die fighting.

"You fool! You damned fool!" Angronius roared angrily as he caught him before he touched the floor. "Why did you do that?"

Ohn gave no answer, and he died in Angronius' arms.

The gladiator king held sorrow for the man. Misguided though his sympathies could be, Angronius admired Ohn's loyalty, one that extended far beyond the rewards of the arena. In this, and only in this, they were the same.

He carried the corpse out of the tavern and was met with Sonjita and the anxious freedmen, all of them waiting on him with expectant eyes. The Red Maiden inquired of his success, "Ah, so the Nucerian dog is dead?"

"No, my dear wife." Angronius replied, intent on giving the body a proper burial. "He was certainly Nucerian, but he was no dog."

"You knew him?"

"Barely."

Angronius brought the corpse to the edge of the city, to the ruins of the harbor. Ohn was a son of the coast, so to the coast he would let his body be consumed. He allowed the former slaves of Hyrkan to perform all the necessary rites, and watched the whole process. His corpse was placed on a boat, wrapped in blue silks and doused in pitch. Moored close to the harbor, his floating coffin was set alight and allowed to burn to cinders. His ashes were allowed to be washed away by the surf, thereby removing all trace of his remains. Ohn's golden quindent, he kept for himself.

Not as a trophy, but as a reminder of the fallibility of gloryseeking.

By the time the smoke of the funeral pyre faded, the sky started to turn red with the setting sun. The vigilant freedmen kept their eyes fixed on the horizon from one end of the citadel walls to the other, ever watchful for Nucerian fighters or troop transporters. Everyone had their job to do. Watchers stood guard, while the cooks busied themselves with providing the evening meal. Polgara supervised the healing of the wounded, while Sonjita helped train the new recruits alongside Lucretia. Angronius, while drawing up plans for future battles in one of the old towers he used for an office, kept Lotara company.

She climbed onto the map laid out on the table and started grabbing the little figurines her father placed on every strategic point. The simplicity of the child's mind was oddly comforting, and Angronius smiled happily as he played with his daughter. Lotara was quickly learning her first words, although for the most part spoke the usual incoherent gibber.

It didn't bother the gladiator king so much, for the few coherent words she spoke more than made up for it. For something so seemingly inconsequential as the word 'papa', it brought a warmth to his soul unlike any other. The pride he felt over having helped create this child, to father her, not even the accomplishments of conquerors and kings could compare. And thanks to this war, Angronius had to divide himself into all three aspects.

Little did he know he would have to devote himself to a fourth, and very soon.

"Alarm! Alarm! We have incoming!"

Angronius immediately picked up Lotara and raced out of the tower. The freedmen manning the crude anti-aircraft defense guns trained their barrels to the skies and loaded up the chain rounds. The streets were cleared, and everyone took shelter. The gladiator king could see it. Hundreds of them, burning a clear path out of the sky like falling stars. From the look of them, they did not seem at all the kind of thing one would expect to see from Nuceria.

These falling stars, these spacecraft, were not of their world.

Having met a man from the stars just recently, who called himself his father, Angronius was no longer skeptical of the possibilities of the realms beyond. He knew it was no coincidence that these spacecrafts were coming for him now. He knew that his life, and all the lives of his fellow freedmen, were saved for a reason.

The Master of Mankind was coming to collect.

"Hold fire!" Angronius ordered, much to the surprise of his followers. "Let them come! These are not our enemies."

While remaining wary of the potential dangers of allowing so many of these unknown crafts to make planetfall at their hard-won citadel, the freedmen dared not question Angronius' command. They chose to trust his judgement, and obeyed.

When the fires of atmospheric compression faded, the inbound imperial transporter gunships dove for Hyrkan's airspace and touched-down at the city outskirts. These heavy ground-attack vessels were Stormbirds, designed to be far bulkier than the average Thunderhawk to hold more personnel. It was also the Twelfth Legion's favorite transporter, owing to its old but reliable design as opposed to the Thunderhawk's newer and STC-inspired constitution. Strict adherence to tradition, these spacemarines. They were not a particular lot in that aspect, but they stood out more than most due to their supposed 'backward' culture.

Angronius and the freedmen went out of the city to meet them.

If they held any astonishment for the wrath of the heavens raining death upon their enemies at Fedan Mohr, they certainly held more for the angels of death themselves.

The War Hounds emerged from their ships, bearing the doom-spitters known as bolters in their armored hands. They were as awesome as they were terrifying, standing at two meters and wrapped in layers of master-crafted ceramite. The setting sun cast a baleful red glow upon their ashen white and pale blue armor, some of which still bore the scratches from recent battles. There were so many of them. They could easily overwhelm the defending freedmen, if that was their intent. But something told Angronius that this was not so.

They've come for some other reason entirely.

Eight of them, their armor decorated with an assortment of ceremonial chains and laurels, approached the gladiator king. These astartes were legion centurions, who held sway over the twelve captains of the twelve companies of the legion. They were led by another, the ninth, who wore a golden wreath crown around his helmet as some form of honorary title. He revealed himself as he stood before Angronius, showing his face that bore a striking resemblance to the man himself.

All of them did, in one way or another.

"You are Angronius." It was not a question, but a form of recognition. Gheer bowed his head, "I am Legion Master Gheer Charatran. We are the War Hounds, we are your sons, we are your legion. And you are our Primarch!"

All of them, all of the War Hounds including the Nine, knelt before their gene-father.

"Rise." Angronius bid them, and they obeyed. "Did the Emperor send you?"

"He gave us word of your location and we came as quickly as we could." The legion master replied, "I have led these legionnaires for more than a three decades now, searching for the world in which we could finally be reunited with our progenitor. By the right of your blood, from which all our lives are hereby bound, the War Hounds are yours to command! Tell us, father, of what you desire and we shall obey!"

In no less than a day, Angronius' forces saw their numbers swell. And the strength lent by the War Hounds, which lay beyond the threshold of mortal boundaries, would see them blazing across Nuceria and well into the capital. Angronius handed over Lotara to his wife Polgara and pointed to the province of Desh'ea, which stood between them and the City of Dreams. It would be the first among many cities to fall before they would finally march upon Reksia itself.

"I and my people have struggled to bring down the great beast that is Nuceria. Lend me your strength and see us to victory, so that this world might finally be free from its terrible power!"

"It will be done, my lord!" Gheer saluted. "This Nuceria will fall, all will be ash and ruin!"

He paused when his eyes fell upon the child in Polgara's arms. Like all spacemarines, they were attuned to the psychic emanations of their Primarch. It astonished the legion master that this child emanated the same, as though the Primarch's own blood flowed through her veins!

"What... what child is that?" Gheer asked, stepping towards the woman holding her. Polgara, ever the protective mother, held her daughter close to her breast. Instinctively, Sonjita stood between her and the towering astartes legionnaire. Angronius waved her away, assuring both his wives that the legion master meant no harm.

"She is Lotara Sarrin. My daughter, and your sister."

Heads were turning among the War Hounds, and Gheer uttered a gasp. "Then she stands among brothers! We will protect this child with our lives, and see all who wish to do her harm to the hereafter!"

"Come." Angronius said to his legion, embracing the War Hounds as his sons. He invited them on a mission to cut out Desh'ea from the Nucerian Empire. "Let me see what you can do."