Chapter Twenty: The Lunar Crusade (Part I)

Location: The Tri-Legion Fleet in Luna Orbit

Date: 813.M30 ( Nine hours since the battle for Luna beguin)

The XI, XIII and XVI Legions had smashed through the pseudo-blockade of Chaos vessels and charged to Luna. The VII Legion had helped them punch through the enemy fleet, and were now busy keeping it from attacking the three legions rear and defending Terran Void-space. Safe from tainted raiders. Luckily for the Imperial Invaders, the civil war within the Moon prevented any meaningful orbital defense. Once separated from the Chaos Hordes the full might of three Astartes Legions could be easily unleashed upon the traitors.

While they had directed their fleet, the Primarchs telepathically communicated in order to create a strategy. The psionic-link connecting their souls did not simply protect them from Chaos, but allowed the Brothers to mentally communicate over vast distances easily. A powerful boon in Void-Warfare.

Each Legion would play to their speciality in the battle. The XIII would form the main bulk of the offence, their numbers and tactical flexibility would allow them to wage war across the entire Moon. This offense would be complimented by XI Legion strike forces inserted into the XIII battle lines, providing the main force a powerful sword and shield against Maleficarum. Horus had subdivided his legion for two similar roles. Half would deep strike into loyalist held territory and assist the defenders until the main force arrived, then add their numbers to the pacification. The other half would engage in decapitation strike against the Enemy leadership, splitting off from each other the Legion vessels entered orbit all across the Moon. Lacking any atmosphere to speak of, the Ships could safely anchor only a few kilometers above the Lunar surface. By now, a few Cultists had managed to scramble together Void-Defenses. Opening fire with powerful batteries, and even launching into Space within stolen imperial transports. They barely had time to launch the first volleys before their doom arrived.

As one the three fleets opened fire upon the Lunar surface, Kinetic and Energy projectiles obliterated weapon emplacements. The stolen transports barely left Lunar ground before shot-cannon blasts of Flak pulped both them and their occupants. This thunderous display of firepower was a small percentage of the Fleets destructive potential. They wanted Luna intact once the battle was over after all. So the second barrage was of a far more precise and deadly variety.

Almost a million Astartes rained down upon Luna. The combined might of three Astartes Legions arrived in a rain of fire and iron. Drop Pods and Stormbirds descended in wave after wave of Imperial Fury. The sheer number and intensity of the Assault was not strictly necessary, yet the images recorded by lunar loyalists and fleet remembrancer would echo for generations. Propaganda can be as effective as bolter or blade if used correctly.

Among the Stormbirds was a unique vessel. A custom made stead for a demigod. The Quadriga-Maxius was the personal Dropship of Marcus Augustio: The XIII Primarch. Backed by his Praetor Guards and Four Hundred Thousand Astartes, he marched to War. Arriving at the gates of Port Luna the XIII Legion had come and nothing could stop them.

The first goal of the Lunar offense was taking control of Port Luna. The massive naval base took up most of Kepler Crater. If conquered the Rebels would lose total Void control. The Docks and fortifications would provide the Loyalists the ultimate beachhead if they could take it. Under normal circumstances the idea of sieging something like Port Luna would be an absurd idea. These were not normal circumstances. Demi-Gods clothed in transhuman flesh battled the forces of insanity.

The XIII Legion stood before the Gates. Thousands of Astartes and accompanying vehicles stood ready for the order to attack. Their sinister equivalents stood atop the Ports battlements and Fort-Spires. Legions of Flesh-Beasts, Daemonhosts and Lunar Cultists baying for blood. The maddest and most violent warriors of Luna had been sent to the Port. The elite of the Four Phases had expected the Assault and herded their most vicious members here. The turrets and fortifications would exhaust the Emperors thralls. Then once they broke into the fortress the feral Chaos hordes contained within would butcher them.

It was a simple but effective strategy that relied on two factors: The durability of Port Luna's defenses, and a powerful Champion of the Gods. The Champion would through fear, fury and charisma keep the feral servants from diving into the battle to early. Some of the more vicious and insane Chaos-Berserkers would have happily dived off the mountain sized battlements, chasing foul glory.

The Champion selected for this honor stood above the massive gate. Peering down at the invaders like so many Warlords and Tyrant-Kings before him. He was a Daemon Prince of power and pedigree. Known to his foes and allies as Zaubernox. Chosen of all Four Gods of the Warp. He had ended his entire species to walk the path of glory. Summoned forth into the body of an eager servant he had corralled the chaos hordes and was eager to test his mettle against the Primarch.

Unfortunately for Zaubernox the Demigod he faced was not one for glorious duels. Marcus Augistio was a practical man who understood that a siege would be costly. While he was confident the Daemon Prince would fall to his Power-Gladius, he felt it was unnecessary and a waste of precious time and resources. So, when the Warp-traitor howled psychic challenge and curses down from the battlements, he simply contacted his flagship. After a few moments of calculation and assessment he settled on a course of action.

Horus and his Legion teleported deep into Luna and was rapidly drawing much of the defenders attention. XI Legion pilots from their Eighth Formation were busy distracting the orbital and anti-void defenses so the rest of their Legion could make their move. This gave Marcus an opportunity to complete his objective efficiently. Arrangements were made and he approached the Super-Titan sized gate. Neither side opened fire as the Primarch raised his hands and mustered his psychic power. Being an average Psyker among the Primarchs, he knew what he was about to do would be rather draining. Ironically, the thinning of realspace allowed him to draw additional power from the Warp. Further proving his father's teachings that the Warp belonged to mankind, not the False-Gods.

Glancing up to Zaubernox Marcus responded to the Daemon Prince for the first time. "The Gate can be Replaced"

Before the infernal lord upon the battlements could understand the messages meaning, his doom struck. A single Lunar Class Cruiser of the XIII Legion fleet had positioned itself above Port Luna's main gate. It fired a super-charged Lance Beam upon the Gate. In the exact moment it struck, the XIII Primarch used his incredible power to evaporate the Void-Shield protecting the Gate. Like the wrath of the Emperor himself, the Lance beam seared the Gate into nothingness. Its metal and stone structure became ash, then atoms. Zaubernox was cast screaming back into the Warp before he could even register what happened. Where once a mighty Bastion-gate stood was now an dusty crater.

Panic, confusion and blood-rage filled the minds of the Ports defenders. Their master was gone in a blast of searing fire. Where once the gate stood was now a pillar of lunar dust. They had little time to gather themselves when judgement arrived. Through the rapidly cooling breach the XIII Legion charged. With their Primarch at their head they were unstoppable. They flooded into Port-Luna in a tide of blue armor. A that fought with transhuman efficiency. The chaos defenders were smashed apart with ruthless precision.

Gene-Bulked beings that had once being kin to Ogryns leapt at the Thirteenth Legion's phalanxes and were cut down by bolter fire. Swarms of cultists in stolen void-suits were eviscerated beams of volkite energy and some met their fate when they were sucked into the freezing, unforgiving void. Factory farmed Chaos Spawn mobbed Mech-Suit wearing Astartes and were pummeled by thunder hammers. At every turn the XIII Legion smashed aside the corrupted defenders.

Even through the dust filled chaos that was becoming the battle of the Gate Marcus Augistio noticed a peculiar pattern. A scant number of enemy combatants were scurrying from the fight. This was not outside the Primarch's theoreticals. Servants of Chaos were cowardly by nature. What worried the Primarch were the pattern of mutation and markings the cowards shared. Even while dueling multiple Flesh-golems simultaneously, Marcus assessed the situation and realized what was about to occur. The runaways were Tzeentch Cultists preparing a ritual.

This suspicion was quickly confirmed as the Primarch felt a swelling of dark power. 99 Sorcerers all around the battlefield that was once the Ports antichamber and gate were calling upon their patrons might. Marcus did not know what hex they intended to cast and did not care to find out. His sons had been selected for this duty thanks to their purity and numbers. Even so they had suffered from the Chaotic attack and were fighting at sub-standard levels. Marcus was not going to risk his gene-sons or victory. The Sorcerers must be stopped.

Kalib and his Legion had not arrived yet and the XIII Librarius could not handle what was coming. This left Marcus with a singular option. He was loathe to enact his trump card this early in the battle, but it was the most practical option. Sending a telepathic warning to all allied Psykers he prepared to use The Hand of Dominion.

Executing the golems with efficient thrusts of his Gladius Marcus gained a scant amount of precious breathing room and lifted his free hand up into the air. The power-fist encased hand spread its fingers and he brought it down onto the cracked stone of Luna, like he was swatting an annoying insect. As he did this the Primarchs psychic power rippled out from him. Forming a massive field of warp-energy that extended kilometers in diameter. It was not noticed at first, for its nature was not of the kind many know exist. Instead of twisting the rules of the material or ripping open the veil it strengthened the barrier between material and immaterial.

Marcus's Hand of Dominion nullified or weakened all but the mightiest psychic power within its radius. As a youth the Primarch had found Warp-craft messy and unpredictable. It was not reliable or efficient enough for his taste. After an encounter with a Blank in Malcador's employ an idea struck the young demigod. If psykers use their emotions and willpower to harness warp-energy to bend reality, could it also be used to enforce reality? Consulting with his father provided the information needed and Marcus Augisto set to work enforcing sanity upon the universe. His brother Tengri Khagan once remarked to Marcus "I guess you are obsessive for all rules, even cosmic ones."

Tengri did not know the half of it. Marcus had witnessed the horrors of the warp even from a young age. He had seen what the monsters hiding in the immaterium had done to his brother Konrad. Watching a friend and a brother who similar to him slowly go mad and almost be damned had a major effect on the young Marcus. Law, justice and unity kept mankind from becoming playthings for the false-gods. It was only logical for Marcus to apply his mental skill set to his psychic one. Enforcing righteous order upon a chaotic universe.

Once enveloped in the Hand of Dominion, the Tzeentch Cultists found their ritual rapidly collapsing. Like an inferno starving for oxygen the dark power sputtered and died. Confusion filled the Dark-Sorcerers hearts. They only had moments to savor the emotion before the second wave of the Imperial assault arrived.

From the void the XI Legion arrived. Not in drop pods but through gravity. They had jumped from their vessels and drop-ships into Luna's skies. The Eight Formation assault on Lunar void space was to distract the Cultists from this Assault. Like a gentle snowfall of Ceramite they had arrived all across Port Luna. This process took longer than the bombastic arrival of the XIII Legion but started at the same time.

With the attention of the Port Luna defenders on the massive army marshaling at their front gate. It was rather easy for the XI Legion to burrow into the massive fortress and conquer it piece by piece. By the time the XIII Legion had entered the Port and Marcus used the Hand of Dominion the majority of important systems within Port Luna were under Imperial Control.

Kalib Kraad the XI Primarch had lead this phantom-blitz himself. Using his own psionic abilities to muffle any psychic or material distress calls. The traitors and Daemons were locked in their fortress with a being designed to be their ultimate foe. Kalib lived up to this. He was a storm of blades, psychic fire and vicious instinct. Zaubervox was not the only Daemon Prince within Port Luna. The other one was considerably less lucky than him. Where Zaubervox was cast back into the warp and soundly humiliated, the other was not so lucky.

Kalib had impaled the Tzeentch-Slave on a spire of Iron. Before vivisecting it spiritually. Peeling away layers of corruption and dark magic to find the last bits of mortal within the Daemon Prince. Kalib Kraad allowed himself a vicious grin as the creature's tiny shred of soul was plucked from its Daemonic self and locked away. Adding to his growing collection of damned souls. The husk of warp-energy that had once been a Mortal bound to Tzeentch was then burned away with silver fire. True Death was merciful compared to what was in store for this fallen Daemon Prince. Cut off from his patron god its identity and name were erased. The remnant of this once proud "ascendant" champion of chaos was now locked away within the the XI Primarchs gift from the Emperor.

An obsidian cube, carved with countless glyphs of sealing and protection on even the microscopic level. This "Rubi-Carceron" as Kalib's father called it was an ancient relic that in his hands could imprison souls, Daemons, and worse. The lost Daemon Prince would spend the rest of time within the cube. If Kalib did not find a use for the soul scrap as test subject or ritual fodder.

So when the XIII Legion pushed the Chaos berserkers and fanatics back to the Ports interior they did not find allies and security but another force of Astartes. Then as a final nail in the cultists resistance another mass of XI Legion warriors arrived from the void. Surrounded by Transhuman warriors and neutered of their dark blessings and stolen fortress-port the defenders of Port Luna were exterminated.

With the beachhead claimed, Imperial Auxilia could be ferried to the surface. They would support and hold the territory claimed by the Imperial offense. Regrouping the XI and XIII Legion prepared to set out. The Lunar Crusade would purge any and all remnants of Chaos from Sol. Spreading out the twin Legions formed up into multiple hundred thousand strong armies to march across and within Luna. Nothing would or could stop this. With the number and adaptiveness of the XIII, supported by the XI's viciousness and psionic expertise, the Creed of the Four Phases was doomed. Even so their foul patrons had a few other strings to pull. Fate is a funny thing and some puppets of the Dark Gods are doomed to dance to a familiar tune no matter what. Even if death had already claimed them.

Location: Hazardous Specimen Storage Alpha, Mare Ingenii.

Date: 813.M30 (Shortly after the murder of Zamora and unleashing of Chaos)

The walls of existence became dangerously thin throughout Luna. Warp Energy crackled and roiled through the natural satellite. Rifts were constantly splitting open. Leaking Daemons and lesser warp-vermin into the tunnels that criss crossed Luna. Blasphemous rituals and dark wards protected them from most of the Astronomicon's light. Creating a domain of shadows and corruption. Here, the elite of the Lunar Cult drank deep the power of the Warp. Growing swollen with the Gods favor, and becoming ever madder.

The beings that had once been the Creed of the Four Phases would have been horrified and disgusted by what had become of them and Sacred Luna. Now they revelled in damnation. Protected from sanity and decency by the first boon of Chaos. All who walk the path of glory are slowly stripped of what is Anathema to Chaos: control. They became literal lunatics, seeking greater and greater heights of insanity to earn the Gods favor. An eternal cycle of self-destruction that fed the Gods and let them affect the Materium.

This feeding frenzy of Chaos attracted the attention of countless Daemons. All seeking to enter the warp-soaked materium of Luna through the various gateways created by the cults. The warps power was becoming a part of Luna and if the gods had their way it would join the celestial family of Daemon Worlds. Teetering on the edge of material and immaterial Luna could host some of the elder fiends of the Warp. One of these ancients of cursed Pedigree slithered through Luna on the hunt for an old friend. This Daemon took the form of a crow, or rather the idea of something a crow symbolizes. It had once been bound to a true-son of the Anathema. A wise Sorcerer who bound 72 Daemons to him in ancient times.

Now it scutteled/flew/swam towards a hidden Vault within Luna. A place where the most dangerous artifacts and specimens on Luna were stored. This facility was were the Imperium dissected creatures and horrors it encountered. Most of these specimens had been slowly siphoned to the growing Imperial Palace. Where they met their fate in the Emperor's lab or the Dark Cells. Only a few items remained, those the most difficult to transport. Zamora the Squat had actually been sent on a mission to retrieve them when the Creed of the Four Phases had ambushed him.

The most important of these artifacts was the Daemon's goal. The corpse of an impossible man. A captain in a Legion that did not exist, sent on a mission by a fallen Primarch. Along with his brothers he had been dissected and analysed by the Anathema himself. Improvements to the Astartes and their equipment could be traced to this. Now the Daemon mortals called Raum opened up the stasis coffin holding the body and poured himself into the desiccated flesh.

The dark energy that filled Luna provided the power needed to knit the broken body back together. Armor plates were welded to rapidly mutating skin. Bolt-wounds were repaired and infused with putrid muscle. Neurons were rewired and pieces of a long lost soul were plucked from the warp by Raum. Its once and future symbiotic nature with the lost soul allowing this act. Then with a howl of dark Laughter the thirsting gods breathed life into a fallen servant to-be. The revenant Astartes lurched back into life as its Daemon ally welcomed him back to the land of the living: "Hello Argel Tal."

With a roaring scream of agony, confusion and misery Argel Tal sucked in the stale oxygen of the vault and felt his flesh finish healing. Jerkily he rose from his casket and came to his senses. Everything was pain, his flesh was being remodeled as well as rebuilt. The Daemon Raum had melded into his body and soul. A perfected form of possession were mortal and spirit became more than the sum of their parts.

That was at least what the Chaos Gods told Tal and other followers of the False Word. In truth this form of supposed symbiosis was simply a more evolved parasitism of the Warp. The mortal would be slowly and certainly assimilated by the Daemon. Feeding and strengthening it till the last fragment of their soul was used up.

This transformation and resurrection was extraordinarily painful. As it continued, Argel Tal was blind to the world, existing in an undead state of misery. Guided by primitive instincts and the whispers of Raum he sought out sustenance to fuel the process. In the barren cryo-tomb where his remains were stored the only food to be found was his fellow Pilgrims.

The Battle-Brothers of the Serrated Suns Chapter were ripped from their caskets and messily devoured. Flickers of memories stolen from their long dead minds added to the torment that Argel Tal was experiencing. After hours of feasting and mutation Argel Tal was reborn. Ceramite plates, mutant muscle and Daemonic energy had become one. Matching a Primarch in both bulk and size, the Possessed had become a terrifying champion of darkness. It was only when this metamorphosis ended that some level of consciousness returned to Argel Tal.

Raising himself up to his massive height Argel Tal blinked away the pain and confusion that had ensnared him. Now he sifted through the memories that drifted through him. Some were distinctly Alien, those belonging to his consumed brothers and a few filtered through from Raums own history. Yet most of these memories were familiar.

* Kneeling before a tattooed chaplain, receiving blessings as he was anointed. Becoming a more than a mortal. Becoming God's messengers. A Bearer of the Word.*

*Laughing and talking with a white armored Captain. Cousins and friends. Sons of failed sons, and leaders of men and supermen*.

* Guided by a purple eyed prophet to the womb of the Fourth. Where the once-rulers had violated existence and rebirthed another aspect of Madness. His soul sold to the Warp-Gods, destiny to die in shadow set in stone.*

* Man and Daemon became one. Daubed in bloody crimson. Leading his damned brothers to betray and savage their cousins. Making the fields of Istvaan run red with offerings to the Four true gods.*

* Being torn to pieces by the vengeful claws of the Deliverer. Dying in the shadow of Korvidine Pinions*

* Impaled by Destiny's hand upon the burning fields of a Slave Kingdom. An adamantium Aquilia forged onto a walking cathedral marked his demise. *

* Into the breach! Leading the charge into the Anathema's lair. Butchering the Sons of Dorn. Before the Angel of Vengeance cast him down with a bloody Spear. The light of battle and fury hidden behind angelic feathers.*

* Dragged into the Shadows where a monster made of grief, vengeance and what was once a Primarch sunk its claws into him. Torn to ribbons by a murder of crow-spirits. His head, delivered to the XVII. A taste of things to come*

*Accompanying the Warmaster himself to Mackan. Reaping a grim toll among the cursed sons of the Angel. Until he was brought low by a bloody Warrior-Priest leading an army of fallen heroes. The Reclusiarch's Crozius crushed his skull as the ornamental wings of his killers Jump-pack flickered through Tal's sight *

Familiar, yet jumbled. The memories of every single Argel Tal to fall under the Dark God's spell were crammed into the mutant Astartes mind. Part twisted joke, meant to mock their servant. Part warning and lesson for him to do better. Destiny decreed Argel Tal would fall under the shadow of Great Pinions. Until then the Gods would not let him rest.

Twisted in body and mind the Astartes tore itself out of the Specimen storage. Desperately trying to make sense of the contradictory and foul memories. Argel Tal was all at once, an Idealistic Bearer of the Word, a Daemonhost Pilgrim, Traitor to the Anathema, Veteran of the Long War, and a lost soul, consumed by thirsting Gods. He did not know who or what he truly was until he was greeted outside his tomb.

A troop of tainted Cultists of high pedigree awaited his arrival, their gods had told them of the coming of a Champion from this forbidden vault. Even at their most brazen, the Creed of Four Phases had avoided these chambers. The Anathema's touch lay heavy upon them and rousing his attention would spell their doom. Now that the rebellion had reached its full terrible magnitude. Such concerns were pointless. So a group of the most devout and skilled servants of the Four had been selected to guide the risen Warrior.

Peering down at the kneeling Mortals before him the being that had once been Argel Tal asked: "Who are you, where are we and…. Who am I?"

Religious rapture filled the face of the lead cultist as she stared up at him. He was an icon of her faith. Fusion of spirit and sacred flesh. Standing three meters tall and cloaked in blood-crimson plates of armor-bone. Beautifully inscribe with scripture and occult imagery. His head was a mix of battle-helm, and a snarling Daemon. Where ceramite gauntlets had once been were now mighty talons. The dark majesty of Chaos itself poured off of him in phantom waves. Drinking in the sight of the champion, the leader of the cabal spoke first.

Lady Gienah-154 had been born for this duty. Sculpted from the finest genestock to fulfill this divine order. Guide and serve the fallen chosen who was locked away in the Tyrant-Emperor's vault. Superhumanly beautiful, with skin paler than ancient Luna-stone, and long black hair streaked with silver. A living embodiment of Selenar ideals of feminine perfection. This lovely and seductive shell held a mind and soul that matched Luna's dark side in shadowy intensity. Sinister and utterly devoted to her warp-born masters, a fitting replacement for the half forgotten blind-confessor that Tal had once cared for.

Her silken voice lilted with a Lunar accent answered her new masters questions: "We are the Scions of Sacrifice. A sect of the Creed of Four Phases born to serve you, The Eversacrifice of Chaos."

The Eversacrifice, a title as dark and sinister as any given to the Gods Champions. This new identity suited the man once known as Argel Tal. The mutilated state of his soul, allowed the gods to mold their servant into something new. Just as Raum's influence had twisted his body the words of Gienah-154 finished the process of transforming his mind. The memories and madness that formed his mind latched on to this title and molded themselves to it. Finally, the Astartes known as Argel Tal was gone. In his place was Korban the Eversacrifce.

Looking into Gienah-154's eyes The Everscarfice asked: "What do the Gods require of me?"

A twisted smile marred Gienah-154's perfect face as she responded and set a saga of horror into motion. "What you have always done, illuminate the Galaxy to their wonder. Reveal the Primordial Truth to mankind and save the Anathema's spawn from him."

Nodding in agreement the Korban the Eversacrifce mustered his dark power and prepared to make his way to Luna's now corrupted heart. Destiny called, and he would answer. Yet the Eversacrifce did not know he was not the only warp-infused demigod heading to Luna's core.