Chapter Nineteen: The Fall of Luna (Part III)

Location: The Deck of the Bucephalus

Date: 813.M30 (36 seconds since the Chaos wave struck the fleet.)

Reality trembled as the veil between Material and Immaterial was ripped. Thousands of warp-rifts dotted the Solar System. With entire fleets of the Lost and the Damned spewing forth from the largest cracks. Blood-Borne madness infects the Legions and sought to cripple them. The laughter of thirsting gods echoed through the minds of every citizen of the Imperium. The forces of Chaos struck.

Chaotic power and Anathema light dueled around the rifts. Hordes of Daemons tried to squirm through into the Materium. Only to be driven screaming back into the pit by the Emperor's light. Only the mightiest shards of the gods could join their insane servants in this attack. Daemon Princes and dark Heralds leading the charge of twisted worshippers. Countless species and cultures had fallen during the Long Night. Consciously or not they had become servants of ruin. Seeking to loot Terra and cast down the Emperor and any threat he posed. While ramshackle and cursed, their fleet was massive. Entire battle fleets poured from the Warp-Rifts. Each seeking to despoil the Solar system.

As this madness unfolded the Master of Mankind witnessed it from aboard his Flagship. The Dark Gods expected him to feel fear or disappointment. The single thought that crossed the Emperor's mind was: "It seems they are early"

The Emperor had known what the Dark Gods intended to unleash upon the young Imperium. It was a clever ploy. To corrupt the Astartes and burn the Solar system in Warp-Fyre. The Emperor and his inner circle had prepared for this day. Many contingencies had been set in place. The Astartes were mightier and wiser than the God-Emperors Angels. Knowledge gained from the Dark timeline and the Emperor's own genius had ensured that only the foulest dredges of the Legions fell.

This was early. The Emperor had assumed the strike would occur once the Legions had left Sol. Crippling the supply lines of the Great Crusade and butchering the Imperiums Throneworld. That would have been the strategic move. Instead, they struck when the full might of the Great Crusade still dwelled within Sol. This was not arrogance or a tactical misstep. It simply made a better story. For the Gods to strike down the Anathema at the eve of his retaliation against the Cosmos.

The Solar System was not quite repaired enough to stand against the Chaotic hordes like The Emperor originally intended. The might of the Legions would make up for this. Even so, there had already been tragic losses. The Emperor felt the deaths of millions as orbital stations and Void-Habitats were devoured by feral swarms of cultists. Even his old friend Zamora had fallen in a Dark Ritual. That had not been expected, and tranquil fury rose in the Emperor's breast at the thought. Zamora would be avenged and his legacy would be honored.

Feeling the sinister attentions of the Gods upon him the Emperor's face was marred by a snarl. Rising from his command throne he contacted the Primarchs and other elite of the Imperium. Orders were given for mortal Admirals to confront the oncoming Black Crusade. The Alarm was raised and Auxilia regiments prepared for invasion across Sol. Already word of a tunnel war beneath Luna was reaching the fleet. An emergency psychic pulse was sent to Malcador to ready the weapon that would win this first battle.

Before that, the immediate danger must be dealt with. Mustering the god-like power that dwelt within him the Emperor prepared to seal the cracks in reality. The rituals used were powerful, capable of ripping open the veil despite the Astronomicon's proximity. That needed to be rectified. Psychically reaching out to the Primarchs the Emperor asked for his son's assistance. Which they gladly gave, even as their own sons faced torment. The Primarchs were indeed warriors but also Generals. They understood the necessity of harsh actions. Bolstered by his sons and using them to better direct the Astronomicon and the Imperial Military. The Emperor started to weld the tears shut.

Psychic flames hotter than a Supernova, empowered by trillions of righteous souls burned away the wounds in the universe. As their sons fought for their sanity the Primarchs fought the only war that mattered. Through force of will, the Emperor and Primarchs pushed the taint of Chaos back into the Immaterial. Fighting against the great Psi-Engines of Luna and the will of the Dark Gods themselves. A war was being fought on three fronts. The Imperial Auxillia and allies dueled against the Chaos Rebellion. The Astartes fought the corruption within them and the Primarchs struggled to seal the rifts. The Emperor lead his forces on all three fronts in some shape or form.

Steadily headway was being made on two of the three fronts. Abaddon himself broke free of the madness and was soon followed by the Azhek brothers, Nathaniel Garro and other Astartes of a unique destiny. With a few words of comfort, he left the Astartes to their struggle. The Legions would ascend or plummet on their own merit. The rifts were proving difficult but possible to close. The Emperor provided the raw power and his sons the concentration to put it to use. A metaphor for many of the relationships between the Primarch and their father. The smaller rifts were already starting to be burned away. The larger ones were shrinking, slowing the flow of enemy ships. Through the Astronomicon the Emperor could see the entire battle. Psychically directing his generals and admirals like pieces on a regicide board.

Through Herculean effort, the Emperor and Primarchs stabilized the rifts. Only the largest was still open, and enemy ships could barely squeeze through them one at a time. A smile crossed the Emperor's face as he watched the Lost and the Damned learn this while leaving a rift near Mercury. A Khornate vessel had tried to rush the rift as a flock of Slaaneshi Asp-Barges jostled to exit the warp. The ensuing mess of warp-stuff adamantium and rapidly mutating crew-beings was spat into the Immaterium. Another space-hulk to pollute the galaxy.

For the tears, in reality, to be fully shut the source of them must be destroyed. The Lunar Cult would be purged with fire and steel. Their blasphemous technology ruined and a warning to those who would delve too deep made of the survivors. The Auxilia and Navy were doing their best to stem the tide of Chaos invasion forces. They would not win this battle, that role fell to his Angels of Death.

The Astartes had recovered from the infection quite well. Fabius and the other elite Genewrights had predicted 5-10% would fall. Only 2% had fallen to the psychological effects and maybe another 1% would be too mutated to be salvaged. The rest would be tempered by War and strong enough to face the darkness. Now the Legio Astartes would face the forces of Chaos and defend Sol. With the rifts shutting down the Primarchs could lead their legions into the fray. The majority would be required to win the Void-War. Three would be sent to Luna. The XI, XIII and XVI Legions were chosen for this task. Due to their specialties and the below average casualties suffered from the Chaos corruption.

Word was sent to the three Primarchs and their fleets split ahead from the rest of the assembled force. The other seventeen legions and accompanying forces would fan out and take on the Invasion. While allowing the selected three to run the blockade. The Bucephalus would follow them. Traveling a highly visible route assisting the Imperium with its guns and Custodes borders. The Bucephalus being a virtually indestructible Capital-Ship guarded by fleets of Custodes escorts would make itself a very large target. Focusing the invaders, and destroying any cohesion they possessed. The opportunity to strike at the Anathema would entrap the servants of Chaos. This would allow the Imperium to know the Master of Mankind lived and lead the fight.

The XI, XIII and XVI Legions would strike Luna hard and fast. Purging the cult and destroying the Psi-Engines keeping the rifts open. Then once the Bucephalus reached Luna, the Emperor would re-seal the wound in space/time that had almost stolen the Primarchs. Giving his orders the Emperor peered into the Immaterium and looked into the nightmarish abyss that was the Gods. As the Great Crusade Fleet opened fire and atomized thousands of blood-crazed zealots he spoke to the Four in the Warp. "Your time is at an end"

Location: Neologian Reeducation Camp (Lacus Spei, Luna)

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

War is Hell. An ancient and ever accurate adage. When matters of the Warp are concerned the saying becomes far too literal. As the defenders of Luna were quick discovering. The madness of unreality had surged across the Sol system and was centered around Terra's moon. Neverborn seeped into the Materium. Saved from the Astronomicons fire by blasphemous wards. They joined the ecstatic cultists of the Four Phases in open warfare against Imperial Authority. The Luna Auxillia and Arbites quickly found themselves vastly outnumbered before they discovered nearly a quarter of them were traitors. Loyal Lunar clans and other civilians were captured and fed into grotesque engines of extermination. Sacrifices to summon and bind Neverborn to nightmarish flesh-beasts sculpted for their inhabitation.

These warp-weapons of horrific nature were in a way a double-edged sword. It provided the rebellion soldiers and tools only the Astartes and Priests of Mars could match. Yet the very presence of the Daemons and Daemonhosts ripped away any semblance of order or control the rebellion once held. Strategy was cast aside and the Four Phase cultists fought each other almost as much as they did the Loyalists. The dark-gods twisting their minds stripped them of self-control and turned the smallest disagreements into paranoid blood feuds. The sheer evil and foulness of their practices inspired the loyalists to fight harder than thought possible and some collaborators to switch sides. It was one thing to hear Imperial Propaganda about the evils of the universe, quite another to watch it disembowel a loved one.

Even with their newfound resolve the Defenders were outnumbered and outgunned to an extreme degree. The Orbital superiority of the traitor forces prevented Terran reinforcements. So pockets of loyalists had gathered together at defensible positions. Hoping to weather the storm of Chaos. One of the larger loyal holdouts had set up shop in the Neologian Reeducation Camp. A mixture of hospital and prison where extrasolar refugees were brought into the light of the Imperial Truth.

Most of the Emperor worshipping cults originating on Terra and beyond had been quashed hear. It was also the holding ground of the most ardent group of zealots to the Astronomicon. The Bearers of the Saving Light, lead by the Psyker-Saint Petronilla Dorovna. Dorovna was in her mid-thirties now. An incredibly skilled orator and leader. Who through nearly twenty years of isolation on Luna had kept the faith alive among her nearly five thousand strong cult. In their eyes, she had saved them from the Green-skin barbarians that claimed their homeworld and shepherd them through the Warp. A generation of fairly comfortable imprisonment in order to prove their faith was something they could withstand. If Moshe could wander the deserts of Gypt for 44 years they could as well.

So when the 7th Lunar Garrison Auxilia took over the Reeducation camp they found a veritable stock of fanatically loyal reinforcements in the prisoners. They wanted to prove their devotion through strength of arms and the Garrison was happy to have the help. Now Dorovna wielding a salvaged power-sword lead her followers into the breach. Screaming mad hymns to the Emperor and Astronomicon. Righteous fury and religious zealotry made up for their lack of training. The Garrison soldiers were broken up by squad and assigned to a company of Imperial Zealots Their better gear and skill allowing them to direct their new allies. The Zealots fought with whatever was at hand. Las-Rifles from the Camps armory and repurposed mining equipment were popular options.

Saint Petronilla had not earned that title from sheer charisma alone. She was a Psyker and a powerful one at that. Part of a rare breed who could synchronize their souls to the Astronomicon and wield its power. This manifested in an aura of blinding light that invigorated the untainted and burned the Neverborn. A faint mimicry of the Astronomicons source. Moving at superhuman speeds, with her sword aflame with holy-fire she cut a trial of fire and steel through the Daemons and traitors. All throughout the battle when she was not leading a Battle-Hymn she whispered to herself the phrase that had echoed through her mind since the day the Astronomicon had toucher her soul. In a voice like golden-thunder, it told her "Have Faith"

She would, no matter what. The Emperor had guided her to Terra and now she knew why. She would fight against the horrors and lead them to victory. She could hear the mantra like a drumbeat in her head. As she fought harder and harder she swore more of it filtered into her mind. It had never occurred to her that she could only hear part of it. Desperate to hear more words of the divine she charged past the frontline. Ripping into the horde of cultists and Daemon-hosts.

Even with her psychically enhanced abilities, she was still a young woman with no experience in the art of war. She made the mistake many devout warriors do. Having too much faith in divine protection and not enough respect for military strategy. By overextending she could be easily enveloped. Her strength and speed were not enough as the clawing talons of Daemons pulled her down. Even as her presence burned them they stabbed into her. Ripping at her improvised armor, desperate to sink their fangs into the flesh of one favored by the Anathema. Such an act would earn them divine favor. Panic filled her heart as a mutated hand ripped her sword away and the weight of neverborn-inhabited flesh locked her limbs in place.

Petronilla babbled prayers as she fought against the monsters. A twisted face met her eyes and giggled as it spoke: "He can't hear you morsel! Only the true gods can hear you and they want you to scream!"

For a faint moment the fire of faith insider her flickered. She had faith, incomparable faith. Yet it seemed despoilment and damnation in this stinking tunnel would be her fate. The Emperor had told her to believe, then why then would she be forsaken? It was in that horrible moment the full message reacher Petronilla. It struck like a lightning bolt and rattled her soul.

"HAVE FAITH IN EACH OTHER!"

As it thundered into her mind Las-bolts and Promethium flames burned away the Daemons around her. With battle-cries and curses, the 7th Lunar Garrison came to her rescue. Hacking away at the Daemons and with their Colonel helping her to her feet. As she looked upon them she saw the truth. The Emperor was mighty and wise, but not a god. He nor any other being was. Faith alone was useless. Faith must be used and faith in each other could protect and bind people together.

This insight granted her new power, she could see the links of brotherhood and trust between the Soldiers. Feel the conviction they had in their cause. No, not just feel it, use it. Picking up her sword she tapped into the emotions the soldiers and her followers felt. Compassion, Strength, Hope, and Love in their purest and most righteous form empowered her. She turned to the next wave of impure filth that charged their position. Raising her battered weapon high she proclaimed: "FOR EMPEROR AND IMPERIUM!"

A wave of golden fire erupted from her as she swung her sword. An inferno fueled by all that was good in humanity. It burnt the Daemons and cultists on both planes. Cultists were atomized and their souls destroyed. Denying the Dark Gods their prize. The Daemons were sent screaming back into the abyss. Psychic-Burn scars marring them for the rest of their existence. Hundreds of fiends destroyed, it gave the next wave of attackers pause. A pause the defenders of the Reeducation camp took full advantage of. A firing line of death covered Petronilla and her rescuers retreat. With her empowered abilities and newfound understanding, the once-saint would lead the defense for nine more hours. When their faith would be rewarded and the Emperor's angels brought salvation through fire, blood, and steel.