Prologue

Death of a lingering nightmare

"Let the seas boil let the stars fall! From Terra to the Galactic Rim! Let the galaxy burn!" 

Attributed to Horus Lupercal The Arch Traitor circa 005 M 31

417 M 42 Terra Sol system

The skies of Terra burned. The wreckage of tens of thousands of ships littered the upper atmosphere of the home world, raining down the hardened metals of the once mighty fleets of mankind onto the ecumenopolis that was the cradle of humanity. But the heated metal shards were not the only things falling onto the planet. The bodies of the planet's defenders fell planet side by the tens of millions out of the void ships that continued to rain death onto the planet's remaining inhabitants. It had been a hopeless situation for the remaining rulers of mankind's once galaxy-spanning empire the defeat of the green tide of the Octavius sector had signaled the first death note of the song that had doomed the species of the galaxy.

The song rose its discordant notes every time another sector fell to the swarm its people, animals, plants down to the very microorganisms. Turned into the material of war that continued unabated through the galaxy. From multiple directions this threat came one from the galactic east, one from the galactic south and west, and finally from beneath the galactic plane itself. The swarm marched on undaunted and unstoppable a mouth ready to devour all biomass it could find leaving nothing but barren and dead worlds in its wake. The song was reaching its end now as the hive mind made its final move against the last bastion of the Imperium of Man. The imperial defenders fought to the bitter end destroying bio ship after bio ship, but the swarm kept advancing absorbing the dead husks of their fallen ships returning the biomass to the hive fleets that surrounded Terra.

But Terra's ills continued to mount as two colossal objects entered the planet's atmosphere drifting to places that people in the far distant past would refer to as Africa and South America. The first of the continent killers was the remains of a once proud world that had produced a knight of legend, one of the Master of Mankind's sons, a returned primarch.

The remnants of the First Legion had rushed to Terra with their many successor chapters as Lion was forced to choose between one of the few other remaining systems that Terra had contact with and the throne world, so it had been with a heart long beset with grief that the First came bringing with them a large number of surviving Militarum regiments and ships from many near destroyed sector fleets.

The astates, regiments, and void ships had bought Terra only a small sliver of time though it had been much less than what had been projected by the Lord Commander sending the morale of the remaining defenders further into the ground in the outer reaches of the sol system selling their lives on Pluto and Neptune allowing the priests of Mars to build more defense systems around Mars, Luna, and Terra along with the time for repairs to be made to the battered forces of the imperial navy representing the battered vessels of Battle-Fleet Solar.

Those efforts had been for naught.

The Rock descended through the atmosphere pulled by the planet's gravity ever downward and in the blink of an eye the asteroid slammed into the city surface untold billions disappeared in an instant as the planet's surface shook down to its very core sending metal shards up into the upper atmosphere and into the void. The second sphere of metal was a massive gothic fortress containing the legacy of its astates, and their father dropped unceremoniously onto what was the central hive of Rio taking more of the dirty masses of humanity screaming into the warp as they disintegrated from the heat wave that spat out from both landing sites.

The downward spiral continued when the first mysetic spores started falling from the sky and landing in the devastated zones.

425 M 42 Terra Imperial Palace

The corpses of the swarm were stacked as high as the once beautifully grandiose walls of the outer palace of the Emperor of Mankind. No part was left unstained by the teeth claws and poisonous munitions the swarm wielded as a part of their disgusting chitinous body. The fight was hopeless yet the forces remaining to the Master of Mankind fought. The remnants of the proud Militarum regiments from over a hundred destroyed worlds fought onwards with not one step back willingly. Even when forced out of a courtyard or hall they fought until their swords, knives or even the ever humble shovel dulled before using the last of their grenades to slam into the swarm and detonate the corpses of the fallen to deny the swarm their meal.

The unwavering and ever-faithful Soroitas of the Ecclesiarchy rained holy fire on the swarm from their flamers and meltas, purging the foul Xenos that dared to defile Holy Terra. Every death from their ranks was a new martyr fueling the zeal of these warrior women to ever greater heights.

The noble and ancient Astartes chapters whose numbers were now so greatly reduced that the Lord-Commander had counter-manned his multi-millennial work and ordered those remnants chapters to form up on their primogenitor name sakes. To reform for however briefly the Legiones to simplify command and control of the Imperium's mass-produced transhumans. Old rivalries now lay dead and rotted among the loyal angels of death as they fought with every single technique and weapon dragged from their very long and storied service to the Emperor. Every marine fought until their twin hearts failed their corpses surrounded by many more bodies than the normal unaugmented baseline humans could believe leading charges that would retake fallen strong points for continual imperial use for hours and sometimes days at a time.

Fighting often at the back of the legions were the few yet unbowed tech priest of Mars who had kept the manufactoriums of the palace churning out the material of war for as long as possible.

The priesthood of Mars's few remaining skitarii maniples were assisting the other forces of the Imperium with the now beyond rare and pricelessly valuable weapons of war such as the radium carbine that would cause the vanquished enemy to spill hyper-deadly radiation onto its surrounding comrades The plasma guns that continued to score kills against the creatures of the swarm and the now hopelessly reduced titans and knights who would destroy whole sections of the always increasing swarm often winning precious gasps of long overdue rest to its weary defenders.

And finally, there were the golden walking behemoths that were the golden-clad heralds of the Master of Mankind. The awe-inspiring custodians where whenever found by the forces of the Imperium would witness the devastation of the custodies as they would hold strong points in the palace with just a single member of their immortal brotherhood never falling back until even, they would be finally overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the swarm and the incredibly disheartening ever-increasing number of specialized bioforms that would choke the halls of the palace.

It had been an ever-slow retreat for the forces of the Imperium. Halls and strong points in the continent-spanning palace made in ancient times by the Pretorian of Terra fell slowly one by one in an ever-growing sign of the despair building in the hearts of the palace's defenders. Now 25 solar years after the first spores landed on Terra the swarm was at the gold-clad gates of the innermost sanctum of the palace. Eternity Gate the massive hallway leading to the gate hallway which held the last memories of nearly five million standards of the proud Astra Militarum regiments who had earned the utmost honor of being on those hallowed walls. Those flags now lay on the floor of the hall, toxin holes littering their synth cloth with no way to even tell what home world the regiment had come from. The remaining defenders had established a defensive line that held back the swarm as even now the remaining Titans continue laying down fire upon the swarm at the far end of the hall along with artillery from the Militarum and Soroitas. This song of death continued to play signaling the death of a species.

427 M 42 Terra Imperial Palace seat of the Golden Throne

The singing in the room was intolerable. It was nonstop building in its crescendo withe the disturbing singing rising from the thousand pods that held the power sources for the greatest technological monstrosity that humanity had ever forged. The singular thing that kept the Master of Mankind "alive" and able to do the necessary task of keeping the Astronomican running for the ships of the species to continue their track through the hellscape that was the warp.

The power sources were one thousand human psykers that were trapped inside the pods each connected to the throne feeding their life essence to him continuing a tradition that was established in the now mythological days of the great heresy ten thousand years ago. A thousand psykers a day had been the horrific price humanity had willingly paid to keep the Imperium going.

The singing of the psykers always made Roboute's Guilliman incredibly uneasy. The Lord-Commander and regent of the Imperium continued to count as each shot from the Titans and the artillery rang out its song. He quickly made a mental note that the weapon crews were being extra conservative today with the ordinance something he had not mentioned to his subordinates. That had taken a single unconscious thought while his eyes remained on the many giant vid screen layouts where all the information about the assault of the swarm. The data coming from the few sensor servo skulls that remained hidden in the palace. Another screen held information for the casualty rate of the remaining imperial forces which forces needed what valuable war material and or which needed precious reinforcements.

He would have to speak with the commanders and tell them to step up the bombardment and not be stingy. The singing was getting louder and more colorful which was the signal to the surviving adepts that psykers were getting ready to expire which would mean that more would be needed to be inserted into the pods. Thank Terra that there was a massive room hidden near the throne that solely contained the cryo status forms of the Imperium's psykers specifically used for this task. Another note was made by the primarch to have a census of the remaining stock taken in an hour by one of his seneschals to make sure that there was enough power for the hungering monstrosity of a throne. A third screen pinged with a message from the tech adepts saying that another of the palace's forges had surpassed the production quotas for the day. A rare but welcome surprise that made a small hint of a smile cross the regent's face.

A fourth screen pinged a moment later informing that another stronghold on Terra was about to be overwhelmed by the swarm. He checked the ident tag for the message, it was from the fabled Terran Military Academy in the massive hive city located in Frank.

A sigh involuntarily made it past the primarch lips; the mood was now ruined. A fifth screen ping reported that the Captain-General of the custodes had repealed another burrowing attempt that the swarm had initiated two hours ago, and the casualty report was not the worst the regent had seen so far today.

Two dozen Militarum troopers and a single squad of sisters of battle. Regrettably, the worst part of the report was the loss of the Sister Superior who had survived most of the siege and was well-versed in fighting in the bowels of the palace. What was her name again? It was Giselle, his mind supplied after a half second. It was a terrible loss one he would have to report to Celestine who would no doubt be saddened to hear of their passing. There were too few truly reasonable warriors from the orders of those fanatics a true loss.

A sixth screen ping was now focused on, and it was a simple message sent personally to him through the noosphere.

"Brother, I require your attention at your earliest convenience. L"

Guilliman tabbed out of the data feed and began to sit up from the cogitator throne feeling the muscles in his transhuman body ache for a moment before they returned to their normal readiness. He gestured over to a servitor to catalog the reports for the next half hour and slowly moved out of the throne room.

A last glance over his shoulder saw the end of the psychic song from the batteries finally giving out. The song plateauing into an uncomfortable silence which would be restarted again in an hour that meant that the Imperium had for now seen the light of another solar day.

Lion El Johnson Master of the Order, Lion of Caliban, The First, the almost Warmaster sat quietly meditating in a storage room that had once contained numerous scrolls of the far distant past though few of them now remained in a barely readable condition where even a hint of the now long dead languages. It had been an off-chance discovery for the Lion made in the months leading up to the current time. An echo of psychic energy had caught the Lion's attention for all the sons of the Emperor contained within them hints of their creator's psychic might. Some like the Angel, the Cyclops, and the Night Haunter had received significant portions of it others like Lion would only get the ghost of a sensation now and then.

Lion had been in the room for 15 minutes now remembering the past and the sins he had committed. Against both the regular humans he had been tasked with to help save from the terrors of Old Night and the sins committed against his sons. How he longed to go back and speak to his adopted father Luthor once more to throw himself at his feet and hang his head in uncourtly shame. For both his actions during the Great Crusade which had led to the ostracism of Luthor and half his legion to depart from the crusade back to Caliban and their showdown on the dying world that they both had called home.

He had forgiven Luthor and those who had followed him long ago yet he still wished for their verbal forgiveness. Luthor had redeemed himself in the end. He was the reason a large chunk of the Lion and a great many of the Unforgiven's successor chapters, their Militarum hangers-on and many hundreds of ships had reached Terra half a year before the swarm had arrived.

Luthor had sacrificed his fleet to delay the swarm over a gas giant in the Coracan system. The sound of footsteps coming from armored feet interrupted these thoughts and Guilliman entered the room. The first looked up to the face of the thirteenth.

Lion had been dismayed by how young his brother had looked upon their reunion. The ravages of time were nowhere to be seen on his transhuman face at the time. Now Gulliman had aged rapidly as the Imperium had crumbled. His hair once a glorious blonde now had nearly as many specs of grey as Lion's own. The worry lines were deep and numerous his eyes held the weight of the Imperium's worries in his blue eyes. Lion thought that he probably had a similar look in his own grey eyes.

"Brother, what is it you require?"

Lion paused for a brief second considering how he wanted to breach the topic that had been suppressed for far too long.

"Brother, Eternity Gate has held for the night?"

Roboute merely shrugged.

"The gate has held. Was that doubt I hear in your voice?"

Lion shook his head.

"No brother twas not doubt I am voicing, rather it would be to ask if our nightmare is over."

Roboute's frown was now longer than before.

"I never thought I would hear of the day that Lion El Johnson would turn into a defeatist."

Lion's face had joined his brother's own.

"Not defeatism. No, I ask because even with my strategic mind. I see no way out of this fight in any way that does not lead to our final damnation. When was the last time we heard from a planet that was not from within the confines of Sol?"

Roboute did not meet the Lion's eyes. Not willing to answer for that was the beginning of the path of true hopelessness. However, the silence was all the answer that they both knew needed to be voiced at some point.

"Truly. it was 3 months before the swarm arrived in Sol brother."

Roboute's face truly showed the pain of that admission. Something imperceptible changed in the fetid air that had been recycled hundreds of millions of times that the two breathed. The silence continued for but a moment before Lion acknowledged that confession.

"Then you can see brother why I have come to ask that question, we can never go on the offensive, we cannot retake many if any strong points as our numbers continue to dwindle along with our munition stockpiles. We can't succeed brother."

Roboute fired back in righteous anger that was not uncommon for him nowadays. The burden of being surrounded by those who had placed him on a pedestal of a saint-like point had worn down the once calm and collected person he had been.

"Mayhaps if we had more of our brothers and their legions, we..."

Lion cut in.

"What would it change? We might last for a few more years at worst and a decade at best. It grows closer to the end brother as much as it pains me to admit that. Our dream is dead and gone just like father. I now try to think of what we can do with the remaining time that we have been afforded. To try and consider which can be fixed even if it is the slightest of chances"?

Roboute face shadowed the discomfort that he felt welling up in his humors.

"Fabricator-General Cawl still has plans brother. Yes, many of them are outlandish and mayhaps touched with a bit of his eccentricities but…."

Lion snorted.

"Your pet tech-priest's plans are impractical more often than not and even you cannot turn his theocraticals into practicals. Nothing will change, brother. Was not his latest scheme to dig deeper into the crust of Terra and hide a gene-vault with the remaining genetic stock of our current defenders and hope against hope that the swarm does not find it? Was it not another of these schemes of his that brought more of the swarm to Sol when at the time we had contained them to the furthest reaches of the system?"

Roboute grimaced at that question. It was true that the plan Cawl had enacted had cost the Imperium dearly that day. Only he, the Lion, Celestine, Cawl, and the High Lords had known the results of that plan. And it would be another secret that he would take to his grave. Lion sighed.

"I would say Roboute that I would rather the traitors return in full force to Terra than ever even consider another of Cawl's plans. They have cost us enough time, resources, and manpower that could have helped us last for longer. In truth Roboute you know we would have been destroyed one hundred times over here if Ultramar still stood and you had not been able to be here."

That comment hurt Roboute more than he cared to admit. A vision of Macragge appeared in the thirteenth's mind's eye a world of un-equaled beauty for those who had hailed from it. Its hive cities had been some of the most fully functional and well-kept in the Imperium. A mark of pride for those who had called it home. It had been a world that had somehow managed to keep most of its ecology intact throughout the many millennia and it was well mourned by all the sons of Roboute. Lion noticed the silence that his comment had stirred in his brother's heart. Where once during the crusade the Lion had been an emotionless rock of a man sometimes compared to Rogal and his less-than-stellar emotional range now Lion saw the pain he had instilled in his brother.

"I am sorry. For what I said. I am still not truly used to….."

Roboute shook off the words but a moment after the words left his brother's mouth.

"Its. It is all right Lion; I know that you are trying. I see the true meaning of your words. I just."

In a small voice that Roboute would never let his sons or those outside of his most trusted brothers.

"I just miss home. I miss them."

Those words struck Lion for he knew who they were. Their brothers, both those who had stayed loyal to their father's dream and those who had turned their back on the light of the Crusade. And Roboute's adoptive family. His father Konor and his mother in all but name. Lion rose from his meditation position and put a hand on his brother's shoulder as a sign of support.

"I understand brother. I understand."

It was a quiet moment that many would have doubted would ever have occurred given the history of the two but here it was happening though few would ever know or see that this happened. The moment passed when a data slate hooked to the thirteenth's belt chimed. The lord regent removed the magnetized slate and peered at the message.

"Duty calls brother."

Roboute sighed.

"As it always does."

The thirteen turned from the first. Lion

"I will continue this discussion with you the next moment that you are free brother. Please look after yourself, you look like you have not had decent sleep-in years."

Roboute paused as he had been moving towards the door to the office space.

"I have not. Hard to with everything at stake."

Lion nodded.

"Try to sleep for a bit sometimes this cycle brother, I'll take charge of the defenses. I might not be the master logistician you are, but I am sure I would not be too awful at it."

The ghost of a smile crossed Roboute's face.

"Here I thought I'd never see the day that you would make such a terrible joke brother."

Lion smiled himself.

"This is an age of the unknown brother, most of it for ill but some buried in all the muck grime, and shit in this still rotting corpse of an empire is perhaps something of a wonder."

"Becoming a philosopher are we."

"Mayhaps brother mayhaps."

431 M 42 Terra throne room

The throne hummed and creaked with exertion as the current batch of psykers continued the song. The music could be heard in the rooms surrounding the throne room and it always left a disturbing impression on both the transhumans and the baselines. Including in the room the remnants of the once most powerful officials of the known human galaxy had been reduced to using.

Roboute sat at the head of the circular table a commandeered throne that had yet to be melted down to make munitions for the imperial defenders held the regent of Terra. To his right sat Lion El Johnson looking over the others seated at the table with a hawk-like certainty. On his right sat the Lord Commander of the Astra Militarum. A young woman who had once been one of the millions of refugees that had flooded the imperial palace as the swarm continued its march. Her hair was dirty black and short done up in a style that was once a stable of the lower classes of Terra's under hives was contained in a rough commissars peak cap. Her clothing was also roughly made from the reused cloth from some probably long-ignored room in the palace.

To her right sat the ever-devoted and patient living saint Celestine. Her eyes however showed a woman who was dragged down to the lowest of lows more so than the Lord Regent and the Knight.

Next to her was the chosen speaker for the remainder of the Astartes. The first captain from the White Scars in one of the now incredibly rare first-born marines. The captain's face was set into a slight scowl, his brown eyes looking at the remainder of the baseline humans with the disdain that was typical of the transhuman warriors.

The next individual was the Captain-General of the Ten Thousand Trajan Valorous, his face also set into a more deepened scowl. His golden baroque armor had countless scratches from claws, dents from bio munitions, and the general wear and tear of armor that had little time with the repair servitors.

The final two members of the much-reduced High Lords of Terra were the Fabricator-General Belisarius Cawl currently in a much smaller body than previous models. His blood-red robes covered the many mechidenrites that snaked there out from his elongated back. He was the only member of the lords with what could be called a positive expression on the bare hints of a mortal face that peered around the respirator attached to his mouth.

Finally, was the master of the Astra-Telepathica the adepta responsible for keeping the Golden Throne supplied with its grim vessels. It was he who spoke, starting the daily meeting.

"Lord Regent. After the latest census of the stock, I regret to inform you that we are nearing the bottom of our supply of psykers. Unless we get more from within our current population the throne will not have the needed stock to continue functioning."

The shock that statement should have generated did not manifest itself in the rest of the high lords. They had long been aware that the current supply of psykers was dwindling, and it seemed that the despair that had permeated through all ranks of the defenders had now reached a new all-time low. Roboute asked the question.

"How much longer will our current supply last Lord Telepath?"

The Master telepath sighed.

"My Lord Regent we have enough psykers in cold storage that we can supply the throne for another 3 days 4 if we sacrifice the rest of austropathic choirs."

It was the Astartes who spoke before the regent.

"My lord I recommend that we immediately gather up the choirs and get them ready for processing it's not like they serve any other purpose now that we no longer receive communications from outside Sol. They are a drain on resources and with their liquidation, we can use the rooms that they occupy to give more of our battle line warriors a chance of rest."

It was a typical response from a logistician's point of view. It would free up more resources besides rooms. The cloth of their robes could make more bandages, the metal of the rooms could make more shells for the artillery pieces that survived thus far into the siege and the excess food that the choirs had consumed would go to the soldiers and warriors. It was cold hard pragmatism.

Celestine spoke up showing that she still maintained some of the humanity that many of the defenders had long since abandoned even more so than before.

"I object to this plan milord what if by implementing this we miss a communication that could signal….."

The Captain General rudely interrupted her.

"The Astarte is correct in their assessment of the situation Saint."

The barely concealed disgust for the woman who had become all but in name leader of the Ecclesiarchy showed on his near-perfect face.

"The choirs have taken up too many resources that could have been used earlier in the siege. Maybe that would have given us the slightest edge to have."

Celestine however continued.

"You know in your heart Captain-General that it would have made little difference if we had done that."

It was rare for the living saint to raise their voice above that of a normal conversational tone. The bite in her normally good-natured voice showed her own very well-hidden disdain.

"We should consider the souls of these psykers they have been loyal servants of the God-Emperor and their dignity should be respected!"

The fire and clear zeal in her voice showed why the remaining faithful of the Imperium flocked to her sermons both on the field of battle and off the field in the make-shift chapels that were constructed in the numerous rooms that were spaced around the throne room that spiritually fed the defenders. The two transhuman representatives who were not primarchs did not look impressed at the display from the living saint.

The Astartes and the Ten Thousand were very rarely in agreement on pretty much anything the multi-millennium of mistrust between the two adepta had made sure of that.

"The order should be implemented immediately, Lord Regent. I can spare a couple of my warriors to your command, and we can process these filthy mutants quickly and perhaps we can…."

Celestine interrupted again.

"Lord Regent we..."

The table descended into a fierce argument about the course they should take. With neither the transhumans nor the saint backing down from their positions. Cawl looked on amused while the Lord commander of the guard looked away from the storm that had been unleashed. The master of the Telepathica did not contribute to either side though it was obvious that he was inclining in agreement with the Ten Thousand and the astartes.

"Enough!"

The voice of the Master of Macragge snapped. The strength of the rage in his voice intimidated the guard commander into a shivering mess while the Astarte and the Custodian merely shook ever so slightly. Not in fear for, they had been gene-crafted and biologically made to know no fear but in deference for the primarch and his father the Emperor Beloved by All. Celestine merely bowed her head in submission, her normally pale face still flustered with clear anger. The silence that the voice had brought hung heavy in the air.

"Enough. We have enemies at our gate and instead of turning our fury on them we turn it on each other."

The words Lion had uttered six years ago came to the forefront of Roboute's mind.

"Our dream is dead and gone just like father."

What use was there now to resist the death of this ever-lingering nightmare that had been his reality for the past four hundred years? Another day was nothing to the cold hard end that was approaching them. The abyss of extinction that he and his brothers had fought so hard against during the Great Crusade. The abyss that had been so close to finishing off the dream when Cadia had fallen, and the great rift had sundered the galaxy in two. What was there left to lose? The was no hope left for any species left in the Milky Way.

The Tau had been swallowed whole by the swarm in less than a decade.

The Aeldari had scattered to the four corners of the galaxy desperate to keep their race from the same abyss. The last he had heard from Yvraine was shortly before the shadow in the warp had completely cut off communications for Sol.

Next to nothing was known about the green skins and only the barest hints of rumors had been heard of for the Necrons.

The traitors had not been seen in large numbers at all since shortly after Lion had made his first communication to Roboute. The swarm had pushed just as hard against them as they had against the Imperium. The last confirmed sighting of any organized traitor army or navel presences had been before all communication from Imperium Nihilus had completely shut down and stopped just weeks after Lion had crossed the Nachmund gauntlet trying to get to Imperium Sanctus.

The many tens of thousands of hidden cults dedicated to the ruinous powers had caused significant trouble for the retreating imperial forces hampering the withdrawal of tens of thousands of regiments of the Militarum and the ever-desperately needed naval assets that had been locked down fighting the cults many uprisings. Holding them in place often enough for the swarm to come in and slaughter wholesale the forces of the Imperium and the cults themselves. The words he had uttered on Ultramar in the temple of Hera after his resurrection had always haunted him.

''Why do I still live? What more do you want from me? I gave everything I had to you, to them, look what they have made of our dream, this bloated rotting carcass of an empire is driven not by reason and hope but by fear, hate, and ignorance. Better we had all burned in the fires of Horus's ambition than to live to see this.

"Our Dream is dead just like Father."

The Lord Regent looked to the still silent room.

"Leave me. I will pass a decision in an hour I must consider the options."

The order was given.

"Yes, Lord Regent."

All the members of the high lords responded. They got up from their chairs some more gracefully than others. They moved to the door to the room with haste. All except Lion. The first stood still in his place to Roboute right unmoving with a face that spoke nothing of his thoughts.

"Lion."

"I won't leave brother."

The unsaid words of support for whatever decision that Roboute would make calmed the primarch.

"Thank you, brother."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment before Roboute spoke, his voice no longer containing his anger and frustration.

"They are right."

Lion tilted his head.

"Who is right the Captain-General or the Saint."

A pause.

"They both are right. For different reasons but both are still right."

Lion looked at his brother.

"They are."

He agreed.

"But what side of the throne do you fall on brother?"

Roboute sighed.

"The warrior in me sides with the Captain-General. The human in me with Celestine though I wonder why she is so fierce in her protection of the mutants. Her religious creed decries their very existence."

Lion eyes him.

"Mayhaps it's because she too can see our end and wishes to preserve her dignity?"

Roboute took that counsel.

"Possible but unlikely, the decision means nothing in the end. You were right six years ago, brother. The dream is truly and utterly dead."

The last of those words were spoken in a whisper. Lion was about to open his mouth when a sudden drop in temperature hit them in full force. Both primarchs jerked upwards going for their swords. When another voice one that had not been heard by one for four hundred years for one and ten thousand years by the other.

"The dream has truly been dead for a long time my sons."

The two primarchs looked forward to where the shadows that engulfed the room were strongest and out of the shadows stepped a pale translucent figure. He was at a glance an ordinary man one you could look at and see on every hive world that the Imperium had possessed and not spared a second thought of. The next moment he was a mighty warlord of the long bygone ages of Terra's long and storied past. Dressed in mighty armor some so ancient and strange looking that it would look downright primitive for those of the far future.

"Father."

Lion breathed letting out a long breath he had not known he had been holding in. Roboute, however, did not look impressed or taken back by the display simply asking with frustration leaking back into his voice.

"What aspect are we conversing with?"

The figure seemed to shift its form uncomfortable for a few more moments before answering.

"Regret."

The specter moved more out of the shadows so that the light fully illuminated it.

"Regret."

Roboute echoed the answer.

"The last time we spoke you didn't seem to have any regrets father."

The words were spat with such anger, hatred, and resentment that they surprised Lion. Instead of looking at his creations fully, the specter appeared to be looking directly at the wall behind them.

"Yes, regret."

The words seemed to hurt the specter physically.

"There are many things that I have looked back on over the millennium and I regret not doing the correct thing. Such as when we last conversed with each other."

Roboute spat at this warp spawn.

"You made yourself and your opinions on us and our situation truly clear the last time we spoke Father. We were just lab rats to you! All of us were designed to fulfill just our purpose and to never question you in any way shape or form! We were to be things that were not ourselves! No free will no real choices that were our own!"

The anger and rage spilling from Roboute was beyond the point of even Mortarion's bitterness. The words the thirteenth spat at his creator/father were filled with the resentment that the primarch had felt for those past four centuries. The shade took the words snarled at him with surprising dignity. Once Roboute's rant had ended. The specter of the Emperor of Mankind 'Beloved' by All sighed. The Emperor accepted the rightly accused abuse without a word. When the rage had been spent and no more word flowed from the Lord Regent's lips. Only then did the Master of Mankind speak.

"You are right."

A pause before the shade repeated to the shocked two.

"You are right."

The shade was quiet for a moment before it spoke again. This time it was full of many somber emotions.

"I did say those things. That is without question, however, the delivery of said answers left a nugget of regret that has over the last four centuries hardened and grown from the scattered remnants of my psyche leading to my creation. I, as you know, am but an aspect of him and I speak the truth when I truly say I am the aspect of regret. I was so certain of myself and my vision of what our species should be that I never sat and considered what effects would be spawned from my many careless actions. Yes, I was on a time limit that was nearing the unavoidable during the crusade. But it is not an excuse for actions that led to this end we now face. I deeply regret what was said, my son."

The shade looked into the eyes of the avenging son and Roboute could see that the words the aspect had spoken were indeed spoken in a moment of unfiltered truth.

"I cannot forgive you shade. Your actions are many and monstrous. They reek of the inhumane. We looked to you, many of us, with genuine affection and admiration. You spat on that affection too many times to count in actions both big and small. I can forgive many things and people. Even that warp spawn of a fanatic Lorgar but you I cannot forgive."

The aspect merely seemed to take the verbal hits not showing any emotions on its face. It was after a few moments that the shade spoke.

"I understand and accept that son. "I am here to tell you both that you do not have to worry much longer about the end and the death. A plan has been chosen and the pieces are set ready for the moment to be unleashed. Do not be worried."

The shade paused before continuing.

"Make the right choice my son. The one that we all should have made many times over."

The translucent figure began to fade from the primarch's vision, but the face of the shade looked again at his sons before bowing his head and disappearing for sight. The room would be silent for the remainder of the hour.

When the lord regent recalled the high lords, they entered the room with faces made of stone. When the lord regent gave his order it was in support of Celestine, and it was followed without question by the transhumans.

The look that Trajan gave was pointed and his eyes showed his disappointment with the thirteenth. The living saint instead of gloating or any other behavior that would have been seen in any human instead gave the smallest of smiles to the lord regent. Cawl looked on still amused with the whole exchange. The master of the Telepathica and the lord commander militant did not show their thoughts. It was an unceremonious end to another long and painful day.

The next two days saw as many of the faithful as could be spare from the front line before Eternity Gate both the many common soldiers and the few Astartes that had embraced the imperial cult flood the makeshift chapels praying in all-consuming silence to the God Emperor for any number of reasons. Forgiveness for sins and failures committed in their lives. The wish to be reunited with their fallen loved ones or honored comrades or battle brothers.

The remaining marines in an unexpected move gathered in a large amphitheater and took on an old and storied tradition that had been created in the days of the crusade. An Oath of Moment. A solemn oath that summed up the feelings of all those who were present at the moment of its creation.

Instead of the anger bitterness and hopelessness that one would expect the marines had in a brief spark of light that belied the fact the marines that were present predominantly primaris with an occasional firstborn had come from many extremely different gene lines, lineages, and cultures that had been a strength of the Imperium. They made this Oath of Moment out to their many fallen comrades. The storied histories of their many chapters, the honor that they had fought, killed, and in some cases such as those stuck in the few dreadnoughts remaining died for. It was a sight that had humbled the few baseline humans that saw it and had even moved some in the Ten Thousand if only the hint of a second.

The two primarchs watched as the moment came to its end and the marines as they left the theater, they bowed lower than was normal for an Astartes to two of the sons of their grandfather.

The small numbers of the Adeptus Mechanicus had sequestered themselves into one of the manufactiums that continued to spit out munitions and basic weapons and armor repairs to the imperial defenders' wargear. And a haunting hymn had been sung in binaric to the few cogitators and pieces of technology left to them. Like the marines, the tech-adepts had been from many different forge worlds, so the hymn had carried many strange and confusing pieces reminders of that history that was now lost to the darkness of the abyss. The only one of the priesthood of Mars that had not been seen at the concert had been the Fabricator-General. Yet none had noticed his absence so wrapped up in the grief the adepts were now expressing. The third day passed as similar to nearly every other day of the siege of claws bio munitions and roars of chittering mandibles. The line in front of the Eternity Gate continued to hold with not one step back.

The psychic singing of the batteries continued all that time unabated until the nearing end. Near the top of the pyramid structure that was centered in the dead center of the throne room was the throne proper. On it sat the husk of the Master of Mankind hooked up to the throne with a multitude of wires attached to the every decaying corpse linking his neural system to the archeotech that allowed the Emperor to project his psychic essence to the Astronomican.

The psychic lighthouse that projected the light that had guided the once uncounted numbers of void craft across the galaxy. That lighthouse was now vastly reduced in function for the shadow in the warp from the hive fleets had blotted out its light in the warp to only the tiniest of candlelight only visible to the void craft that may have survived the battle that had taken place in Terra's orbit.

As one descended the pyramid the pods that contained the power source of the throne were evenly spaced on terraces that were watched by a member of the Ten Thousand their watch never ceasing in their duty to their lord. Here and there a tech adept that had been specifically trained their entire elongated centuries of life for the honor of working on this last bit of archeo technology from the Dark Age of Technology. The adepts had somehow over the last four centuries managed to somehow continue the operation of the throne even though increasingly more of its parts were finally succumbing to the rust and entropy that was the end of all things. The end that not even the Master of Mankind could escape.

Roboute Guilliman and Lion EL Johnson stood near the peak of the towering obelisk looking at their creator. Lion was the first to speak.

"The end and the death. A proper title don't you think brother?"

Rouboute considers that title and nods his head.

"I believe that. This is our end. I. I am happy that these last few centuries I was able to at least be in your presence again. The knowledge that I was no longer alone forced to pretend to the hordes of humanity that the vile religion they practiced was acceptable and holding my tongue so much that there were times that I could feel the disgust I felt for the things they did in their fanaticism. It was old by the end of the first week."

Lion nodded his reawaking had also been a shock to his transhuman core countless times over as he had seen, heard, and witnessed what humanity had become so far fallen from the tentative hope that had been the center of the crusade. Knowledge had been lost never to be rediscovered. Reason and logic had been replaced by fear and dogmatic religious zealotry. The people of the Imperium had become nothing but lost sheep. A hand moved to the shoulder of the Lord-Regent.

"I understand brother."

Three simple words but the effect it made was noticeable. The sagging of a shoulder.

Both primarchs looked at the husk of their father and were contented in the comfort of each other. Two brothers stared at the ever-growing abyss lying before them. The clock was about to hit midnight. The End and the Death was now here.

It started just an hour after the last of the psykers had expired. A low rumbling groan came from the throne. It shook the room slowly but with increasing strength. The scale of the shakes kept growing and growing. Outside at the battleline of Eternity Gate. A shout rose from the throats of all the defenders of the Palace.

"For The Master of Mankind! God-Emperor Beloved by All. We stand here unbeaten and unbowed! For Terra in Excelsior!"

A sister of the sorites sprang forward out of their cover with her chain sword revved and roaring. The zeal was clear for all to see in her tired sea-green eyes.

"I Know no fear!"

Her declaration sent a shiver through those around her into action of their own.

"We know no fear!"

The cry was picked up quickly across the line as Militarum, Astartes, and even the ever-stoic warriors of the Ten Thousand. Celestine, Valorous, the Astates speaker and the lord commander of the guard. Standing to their full unbowed height a charge was initiated and followed up on by the masses of the defenders. better to die fighting on your feet than to see what would happen soon. The charge was supported by the artillery and tanks that had continued their service with many showing their wear and tear that could not be hidden.

A single knight walker riddled by dents and scorch marks from the swarm from a lone house that few if any had heard the name of charged forward with its mounted chain sword ready to spill the blood of the foul Xenos that had come to the throne world in its every ravenous hunger. The swarm roared back at the defenders. Finally, the prey had made its move. The rumbling from the throne continued increasing its powerful shock waves to where most of the palace was now trembling in. A light came from first the glass eye of the master of mankind. The light then began appearing from every nook and crevice of the husk building its blinding aura. The trembling increased again now shaking another of Terra's continents, then another. Then another until finally the whole planet with all its destroyed hives with their unnumbered destroyed and ruined skyscrapers, shook with the fury of the throne's end. As the defenders of Terra sacrificed their lives. The star that had given life to the species that now neared the abyss withered and died from the psychic backlash of humanity's final moments. A single foot stepped off the dais of the throne and then stepped forward.

The warp M 42

The Emperor stepped forward. His presence was so powerful and awe-inspiring that it would have left even his sons both loyal, traitor, and forgotten weeping in admiration. He looked back at the newest hole in the fabric of reality. Where once had been the core worlds of Segmentum Solar was now a warp rift that equaled the famed Eye of Terror in size and ferocity. The Emperor sighed a sigh that spoke of the failures that had led to this. He looked around where he had entered the warp. But he was not alone on this final battlefield at the end. Across the way, there were the four.

The disgusting tumors of unreality stood their legions of daemons and their armies of traitor Astartes, cultists, and others unnumbered. The first of the four was the lord of murder who stood proudly with his legions of brass and skulls eagerly ready to lay their serrated blades into the Anathema. To the lord of skulls side was the grandfather of pestilence, the rot master, he who conjures the most disgusting of plagues. Their daemons were prancing around many cauldrons of rot and decay. Then was the ever-shifting changer of ways. The schemer, the manipulator of hopes and unmade dreams. His hordes were chanting in unknown and known languages that had graced humanity and the many Xenos of the galaxy from the beginning. And finally rounding out the four was the lord/lady of excess and horrifying pleasure. The masquerade of its never-born was dancing in unfiltered provocative possess trapped in their rapture of excess.

"Anathema. You have finally arrived."

The four voices boomed across the barren and empty place of the warp that had been chosen in the past present and future for exactly this moment.

"We were growing tired of waiting for you betrayer. Let us finish our dance. What were your flawed loyal lapdogs of sons' words? Oh yes, the End and the Death."

The Emperor looked at the four unamused.

"Yes, it is the end and the death alright. The end and the death of you four. The blights of all life that would ever exist. I had long prepared for this moment just as you have."

The Master of Mankind raised a fiery sword from his side before setting it down on the ground.

"Just like you, I am not without my own followers."

From the ground rose the spirits of the slain the untold quadrillions that had died in his service over the eleven millennium he had sat immobile preparing for this end of time. They were the Astartes of old and new. The Ten Thousand come again. The masses of the guard who had perished in known and unknown theaters of eternal war and the following of the sisters of battle. The two sides glared at each other, both ready to finally settle this fight once and for all. No words of any kind were spoken or unspoken between the two camps. They remained that way. Was it for a moment or a million years?

None could say on either side the flow of time in the immaterium was not in any way comparable to the flow in the material universe. It was with nods for the five gods that the newest chapter of the great game of the gods began. They battled and battled neither side giving ground. Back and forth back and forth. A tug of endless war that no one is willing to lose or give up on. Then something happened that the Master of Mankind had planned for. The slightest of chances that had been seen by the changer of ways happened. The glass shattered. A thrust of power came from within the Emperor cutting into the changer the unfathomable one gasped in shock bringing the other three's attention to the lord of change. Tzeentch fell to the ground before melting into a fine powdery dust. The effect was instantaneously significant, the forces of change slammed on the brakes looking at where the changer had fallen. The forces of order pounced upon the parts of the line held by the manipulator's host.

"How?!"

The three bellowed in raw hate fury and a hint of fear.

"That is a secret that only I will ever know tumors."

The next strike of energy slammed into the lord/lady of excess and pleasure. The blow leaves the pink one screaming its pained cries distracting the masques of pleasure allowing the forces of order to push upon them in greater strength. Slaughtering more than had been usual.

The grandfather moved forward to cover the prince of excess attacking from the right. His diseased steps left stinking rotted footprints.

The lord of murder also moved forward engaging the Anathema from the left. A smile crossed its demonic face. The mysterious energy rose again in the Emperor before it fired again, this time hitting the lord of murder. His anguished screams shake the warp in his pain. The rot maker launched his bloated form forward his pus-filled blade struck the flame sword of the Emperor the stench was unbearable and many tens of thousands of the forces of order around the Emperor fell to the ground hurling and drowning in their bodily fluids. The Emperor returned the blow with a slight grunt pushing the grandfather back towards where the prince of excess still lay kneeling in pain from the strike inflicted upon it. Its left side was burnt badly, a foul smell of burnt meat swamping the air with the smell.

The Master of Mankind pushed the advantage and shot another beam of light from his body, cutting the plague maker in his gaseous stomach a clean cut that leaked entrails and fluid from the disgusting manifestation. The Emperor then brought his sword down on the downed prince. Another scream erupted from the prince before silence started to induce dread in the masques of the prince as their master no longer made a sound.

The roar that emerged from the lord of murder was harsh and bestial in its rage his blood-crusted sword slamming into the side of the Master of Mankind's flank. Instead of the expected pain sounds that should have emerged from the god of humanity. He gritted his teeth and turned his attention to the blood god. Another beam of the unknown light sliced into the goat leg on the warrior's right bringing the being down landing on numerous daemons and forces of order crushing them into oblivion.

The Emperor spat blood onto the fallen god before bringing his blade across the throat of the master of skulls decapitating the fiend. Again, the forces of order took advantage of a god's death to move forward and push Chaos back. The Emperor, seeing that his followers had the minor details covered, grimaced, and turned to the last of the four. Godly blood flowing out of the wound that the Blood God had inflicted. The plague maker looked more afraid now that he was the last one standing. It let out a slow pained chuckle.

"Impressive Anathema. You are still undeserving of your ascension. But this scenario was projected by Tzeentch in no more than forty-five of the possible paths that they saw."

The Emperor merely looked at his final opponent with a critical eye. Not responding to the backhanded compliment. His secret weapon that had contributed to his success took a lot of energy from him each time he used it. He had one or two of the attacks left and while the rotting king was injured it was not as much as he had hoped. The two circled each other. With each step crushing their warriors underfoot. The minor pieces did not matter in this fight. The kings did. Regret flared up in the Emperor that emotion had been growing stronger and stronger overcoming the callous walls he had built for himself over the millennium. The circling continued unabated, both combatants looking at the others searching for the hint of a weakness that would be the opener for the next phase of this duel of fates. After what seemed like an eternity. The weakness was found.

The plague father moved faster than what a bloated decaying part corpse should have and slammed into the Emperor. Pushing him backward crushing many millions of the forces of order with the force of the push as the Emperor tried to regain his balance. The next blow was as from a rot-infested morningstar, the spike piercing into the Emperor's breastplate crushing one of the heads of the imperial aquila underneath with its force.

A third blow wrapped the pus chain around the left arm of the Emperor and then pulled with godly strength that snapped the arm making bone jut out of the gauntlets and skin. The Emperor suppressed a scream with the might of his willpower that was ready to come forth from his lips. He swung his sword bringing its fire down on the right arm of Nurgle, slicing through the diseased flesh sinew, and bone making rotted ichor spill forth in a flood from the wound. The first wound also sprang back joining the flood of fluid that made the ground beneath both into a wretched swamp of unguents, drowning daemon, human and transhumans in the filth. The morning star joined the fray coming down again on the chest plate destroying the other aquila and making it more difficult to breathe in oxygen in an already hazardous atmosphere from being in close contact with Nurgle. The Emperor made the next strike launching his energy into the master of plagues. The beam of holy light cut into the body of his enemy blowing a massive hole that could fit several galaxies in the wound. Nurgle groaned and fell backwards a few steps crushing more pawns underneath the unimaginable weight. Again, the Emperor pushed onwards throwing his body into motion. Multiple swings of his blade raked into his opponent's body cutting through its flesh with the flames setting alit much of the legs of the opposing god.

A flurry of blows continued the assault slicing the horn and face muscles on the right side of the rotten god's head off to the base of its skull. The roar from the plague's father deafened everyone in the area.

However, it was time to end the fight. The Emperor could taste victory. He was so close to his long-held goal that he had sacrificed everything he had ever known and cared for this dream. Regret flared again, taking the air from the Emperor's lungs before more rancid air filled them again. Using the last of his reserves that had been saved for his secret weapon. Launched one final beam at his foe cutting another hole through the plague spawner's body. The damage was horrific, more of the skeleton hidden beneath the atrophied flesh was now exposed in all its disgusting glory to the open air tainting it further. Charging forward the Emperor poured his righteous fury into his still-good sword arm in many arcs upon his downed foe smashing him into the ground with the ferocity of assault.

Nurgle crumbled into the ground sending more of the pawns into oblivion. Another blow popped the remaining eye, a second took the other horn. The third to where a human's heart would be. The fourth stab was into the lungs with the organ catching a light the abomination made in the mockery of the human form. The fifth and final sweep of the blade downwards, the move that would end this struggle, however, that move never came. A sharp and sudden pain gripped the Master of Mankind's pain receptors. He looked down there was the arm of Nurgle protruding into his stomach, through his damaged breastplate. The rot, disease, and entropy filled his body immediately starting to break down his organs, skin, and bones. A choked gasp escaped past the Emperor's decaying lips. A wet chuckle emerged from his foe who was no longer able to move.

"I have surprises too betrayer! I made this poison especially for you. Hope it is to your taste. If we cannot enjoy our victory neither shall you."

Those were the last words uttered by the fiend. The injuries it had sustained finally pushed it into expiration. The armies of chaos were now completely gone, the wills that sustain them passing from unreality, allowing the remaining forces of order to finish them off in their entirety. However, they too were nearing their end. They were disappearing as the remaining vitality of their liege Lord/God faded.

Spots of darkness began growing in the now milky white eyes of the Emperor, the golden iris never to return. The end and the death. It had finally come.

Regret was now the only emotion that filled the mind of the Master of Mankind as he slipped into the blackness fully. Reality and unreality broke apart leaving nothing in what had been the Milky Way.

This was the true end. The true death. Or it would have been had a small light no bigger than a match had not left the shell of the being. Slipping through the exposed cracks that appeared for but a singular moment.

This tiny light would lead to something no one could have considered. A new and untainted dream.