The Night of Blood

In M301.055, the Warmasters Justicars laid siege to the advanced human world of Prodite XVI, beginning a campaign that would see their foe ground into the dust, and unknowing to most, forever change the galaxy at large. As the campaign progressed, reinforcements were ordered by the Warmaster, warriors from three other legions arriving at Almire’s command; those of the Light Bringers, Consuls Exemplar and Silver Basilisks.

These warriors were not deployed at full legion strength, indeed only small contingents from these legions were requested for the action, nor did they seemingly follow any standard deployment lines, warriors from dozens of Aleph and Aether Companies, Decurio’s and Cohort’s, Households and Orders. If any had any doubts as to their selection for such a seemingly chaotic deployment, they were swiftly put to rest as Almire threw them into battle, showing why he had been named Warmaster, mixing the disparate forces together in perfect harmony, bringing victory in a scant handful of days after their arrival.

The victory was a momentous one, the foe they had faced easily the equal of the Imperium in technological terms, their warriors possessing advanced exoskeletal warsuits that made them a match for the speed, power and endurance of an Astartes, while deadly energy weapons scythed through power armour and battle tanks with seeming ease, and yet, by the time the legions raised Almire’s standard above the world, naught remained of their once great armies, their destruction total, their technology already sequestered by the attached Mechanicum and Tech Marine forces.

In honour of the victory, Almire gave orders that a celebration was to be held, all warriors who participated in the campaign to be in attendance. Only some of the Justicars were not encompassed by this, the greater mass of the legion having been sent to perform interdiction actions in case this world was part of a larger empire, an astute move by the Warmaster, for such had almost brought ruin upon a legion before nearly two centuries past, plunging the Imperium headlong into what was now known as the Squat Wars. Almire was not about to let his forces be ambushed in such a manner, the forces he kept by his side more than sufficient as proven.

In short order, a mighty feasting hall was erected upon the surface of Prodite XVI, its grandeur a sight to behold even in this age of Imperium. As the work finished, the legionaries arrived, clad in the uniforms of their legion, rather than battle plate. Almire had also forgone his usual wargear, swathed in rich purple fabrics, decorative chainmail giving the perfect air of the warrior king he now was. Aloud the legionaries, mortal serfs moved, serving food and waiting upon the Astartes, while outside, mortal followers of Almire, those who would be left behind with a Black Sceptre to ensure compliance with Imperial Law, patrolled, weapons and armour keeping watch over the feast.

The message was clear, a moral boost to any who looked upon it, a sign of the symbiosis of the human and trans-human forces of the Imperium. The Astartes had taken this world, now the mortals defended the Astartes, their weapons keeping the defenseless Astartes, or least as defenseless as any group of Astartes was even without Wargear, safe from any residual threat the world may have offered. It was symbolic, plain and simple, and yet the power behind that symbolism was potent indeed.

All who had fought upon the surface were present, with the sole exception of those still recovering in the Apothecarium of the *Wrath of Judgement*, Almire giving word that if such warriors could not be honoured on the surface, then they would do him the honour of allowing his sons to treat their wounds upon his Flagship, yet another symbol, or so all present were lulled into believing.

For hours, the feast continued, before finally, Almire rose from his seat, all falling silent as he looked to address the assembled warriors. In a speech honed with practice and assistance from his brother, Gaius, Almire praised the warriors for their victory, spinning tales of their heroism out of proportion, but with such skill that all remained hooked on his words.  He spoke of skill at arms, of comradery, of brotherhood, and finally, of sorrow.

As Almire moved into his sorrow, a hushed whisper rushed around the room. This celebration brokered no cause for sorrow, and yet all who looked upon Almire saw genuine sadness within his eyes as he spoke his next words. The galaxy was changing, the change in progress for such a long time, and now finally coming to a head. The new age would be a glorious one, but it was one that required sacrifice, and was one that none present would ever live to see.

Offering one final heartfelt congratulations to the heroes of the Prodite campaign, Almire disappeared in a corona of teleportation flare. Seconds later, Cyclonic Torpedoes buried into the building’s foundation during its construction detonated, turning the world, the feasting hall, and all those who sat within to ash in an instant.

As the world below them died, warriors of the Warmasters Justicars entered the Apothecarium of the *Wrath of Judgement*, fully armoured and armed. Without a word they raised their weapons, letting loose volley after volley of pinpoint accurate firepower, their bolts exploding in the wounded of the campaign and blasting them apart in an instant. Chaos and pandemonium rained in those moments, those most wounded unable to defend themselves, while some managed to rise, raising hands in self defence before they were gunned down.

Only a handful of the wounded escaped the charnel house of the Apothecarium, Praetor Jean Davoust appalled at what his kin were doing, opening fire and scything down the attackers before fleeing with the walking wounded, managing to commandeer a small vessel and fleeing from the system, Almire’s warriors in swift pursuit.

Even with the escapees, the objectives of the campaign were a complete and utter success. In a single fell swoop, Almire had purged not only his own ranks, but those of three other legions of those who would follow the Emperor above Almire. Word would reach Terra of this betrayal, but there was little that could be done to avert the storm now. Elsewhere across the galaxy, other legions were moving to Almire’s orders, legions heading for destruction, homeworlds slated for occupation and annihilation. Finally, after over two hundred years, the Great Crusade had come to a close, its story ending as another burst into life, what future generations would know only as the Almire Apostasy.