Molech - Part 2

The warp howled around both fleets as they sped forward, Astropaths reporting that to look away from their destination was to see a roiling and uncontrollable storm, one they could not fathom charting a course through successfully, and yet when looking towards the world of Molech, this storm abated, favourable immaterial tides speeding their ships forward, as if something, or someone, was ensuring they had a fast path to Almire.

Both Primarch’s saw this as worrying, few beings in the galaxy had such power, the Emperor of Mankind chief amongst them, and he was still silent upon Terra, consumed with the secretive project that they were kept out of. Could Camalous have done this? Was he waiting by the Warmaster’s side? Was this some new technological marvel of the Mechanicum?

All the questions and more went through both Charon and Veratal’s minds as they moved ever closer to the annals of history, the warp finally spitting them out at the systems edge, scans, counter-scans and a flurry of messages too and from the newly arrived vessels telling both Primarch's all they needed to know of the disposition and physical situation before them.

The XVIth, the might of the Warmaster’s own legion, were stationed at high anchor around the world, interspersed with the formidable defences that criss-crossed its skies. Sixty warships, eight heavy battleships at the fleets core, supported by at least four orbital defence platforms at any given time, far more present on the world's far side as they orbited around the planet, but what caught the attention of both of the Primarch’s were the forces reading as being present on the ground.

Both Primarch’s had exchanged words as they flew to obey the Warmaster’s summons, both admitting they had never heard of the world that they were headed to, and yet from the world, clear enough as to defy any arguments against the veracity of their presence, were warriors of the VIth Legion, Veratal’s own sons. Veratal knew about each and every one of his legions deployments, making a point of keeping in contact with all his children, from the largest Expeditionary Fleets to the smallest squad level deployments on seemingly insignificant actions. And yet he had no recollection of any deployment on this world, three companies of his children reporting readiness to their father.

Likewise, Charon was shocked as a company bearing signifiers of the XVIIIth reported their own readiness to their father. Charon did not claim to know each of his deployments as his brother did, content to allow his sons to act as they best saw fit, and yet the presence of a company on a world he had no information on at all worried the Wight Lord.

Even without these Astartes, the defences were terrifying. Signals from a hundred different army regiments, myriad PDF Divisions and even informal Militia units bouncing around the worlds Vox-net, close to fifty eight million mortal soldiers. Supporting them were forces of the Mechanicum, Skitarri, Cybernetica forces, contingents of three different Titan Legio’s and over half a dozen Knightly Houses. Molech was a fortress, few worlds having such a deployment within the Imperium given over purely to their own defence, those worlds that did warrant such a garrison well known to the Primarchs as linchpins of the Imperium’s defences. With each passing moment, suspicion rose between Charon and Veratal, both wondering what exactly was going on, what they had missed, and most importantly, what the truth of the galactic war was.

Before they could ruminate on their findings any further, a priority signal cut through the din of orbital noise, bearing irrefutable signifiers, originating from the Warmasters own flagship. Almire was calling, and neither Primarch wished to disobey. The journey into the inner system took weeks, but soon enough, both Primarch’s were streaking through the void, Stormbirds ferrying them and their personal guards towards the *Wrath of Judgement*.

Even with their suspicion ever growing, Almire greeted his beloved brothers with open arms, his armour nowhere in sight, instead coming before them in fine robes fit for a king. Leading the pair towards a prepared room, Almire spoke of the grandeurs of the Crusade, not allowing either Primarch to speak until finally, the trio reached the room, Almire turning at last to listen to his brother's concerns and fears.

For over an hour, the pair laid out all they knew, Almire listening intently, hearing how much of what they said was the truth and how much had fallen into the deceptions that had been weaved on his behalf. Finally, content that what truths they did know were far outweighed and obfuscated by the lies criss-crossing the galaxy, Almire spread his arms wide, preparing to bring both his brothers into the fold...or crush them utterly.

With practiced ease of a master orator, Almire having learnt well from his more diplomatically aligned brothers, Almire spun a tale of betrayal not by himself, but by the Emperor of Mankind himself. An Emperor who held himself above the laws that governed all others within the Imperium, bringing laws into existence that carried the harshest punishments possible with no oversight, such as the travesty of Nikaea where without oversight, the Emperor signed the death warrant of his loyal subjects for the flimsiest of reasons, many of the Dragon Lords perishing as a direct result of their adherence to the Edict. So too was his secretive work upon the Throneworld, hidden from the eyes of the ruling bodies of the Imperium, or a hundred other acts that stretched back as far as the Unification Wars and the muddied history of the end of the Astartes precursors; the Legio Cartegis.

Both Veratal and Charon watched with growing horror as Almire spoke, the Warmaster finally finishing by naming his creator as little more than a petty Tyrant, unfettered by any restraint, and one who must be removed from power to free the Imperium from his dictatorial grasp.

Charon remained silent, his helmet betraying no emotion even as his mind raced, loyalties warring inside his mind, but Veratal knew no such restraint, utterly unable to see Almire’s side, adamantly standing against the Warmaster. Taking a step forward, he pleaded with Almire to see sense, to surrender himself so that the true extent of his crimes may come to light and mercy be shown upon him.

Almire sighed, offering the lord of the VIth one final chance to join him. Once more, Veratal refused, Almire’s next words laden with regret and yet spoken with absolute conviction.

“Charon. Kill the traitor.”

Charon was stunned by the order, tensing up as the seconds after Almire spoke stretched into eternity. If Charon and Veratal had doubts however, their sons did not, warriors clad in armour of the VIth bringing their bolters up to fire, unleashing a hail of boltrounds into the stunned warriors of the warriors of the XVIIIth a split second before those same warriors unleashed a fusillade of their own. Only First Captain Achios of Ilnoss, Chraron’s closest son and the Primarch’s chosen second, did not fire, smoothly stepping back from the carnage, as if he had known what was about to unfold. Almire too stepped back without a word, his foot returning to the deck an instant before void shields flared into life, trapping all within the shield, ensuring escape was impossible.

The thundering retort of boltguns echoed round the deck, snapping Charon out of his contemplation as he dived forward to get to grips with Veratal, enraged that warriors of the Seekers would fire upon his sons. Veratal cried out in despair as he raised his staff, the Primarch’s clashing even as their warriors fought and died beside them.

Charon and Veratal sparred like the gods of old, Charon seeking to strike his brother down, Veratal seeking only to defend himself, refusing to launch any attacks of his own. Even so, Charon had the better of the fight, bringing his claws down again and again against his brother, forcing him to give ground with each new swing. No mortal eyes could follow their blows, even transhuman eyes would struggle to keep up fully, but anyone could see things would end in only one way, Charon proving this a moment later, gripping hold of Veratal’s staff and hauling it out of the way, his other hand drawn back to deliver a single disemboweling strike.

The blow never fell, Charon suddenly struck by a realisation as he saw the dead of both legions, the helmets on one fallen Wisp blown away, revealing the face of the warrior beneath. Those of XVIIIth legion universally possessed eyes of an icy blue, each hue near identical, a finite number of possibilities and a mark of Charon’s own geneseed that could not be escaped from. The fallen warrior bore these eyes, blue orbs now lifeless. To any other marine, even any other Primarch, nothing would have been amiss. To Charon however, the hue was unknown to him, and may as well have been the most glaring of imperfections imaginable. This warrior was not of the XVIIIth, he was born of a different stock, only one legion being adept at such acts of infiltration, Charon’s blood running cold as he realised how they had all been tricked, that the Consuls Exemplar, XIIIth Legion of the Imperium, were in league with the Warmaster, and if the XVIIIth had been infiltrated, so too could the VIth have been compromised, this fight almost certainly based upon that falsehood.

With a roar, Charon’s blow went wide, whirling around from Veratal to instead dive at his own surviving sons, tearing helmets free with due care for the occupant, releasing those of his geneline, eviscerating those who were not in a heartbeat. Not needing the unfolding situation explained, Veratal followed his brother’s lead, ordering each warrior to remove their helm, executing three warriors he did not know as his own sons, the room finally falling silent as the last traitor fell, both Primarch’s turning to face Almire, the Warmaster simply looking at the pair, a sorrowful look on his face, even as he raised his hand for a second, dropping it a moment later to the sound of thundering boots.

Doors to the room slid open to reveal dozens of Terminator clad Justicars, each bearing a large bore autocannon, unleashing a chatter of high calibre shells the instant the void shields were torn away. Even for two Primarch’s, the advancing foe was insurmountable, the surviving Astartes gunned down in a heartbeat.

Veratal knew he was dead as the warriors re-sighted their weapons upon him, but he also knew that Charon wasn’t, the Wight Lord's ability to slip through the aether known to the Lord of the VIth. Without hesitation, Veratal pushed his staff into Charon’s hands, the Wight Lord nodding once as he understood the meaning, before slipping from reality, the warp swallowing him and allowing him to escape the trap. If the warriors of the Justicars were surprised, they showed no sign of it, advancing and firing at Veratal, his armour giving out under the hail, driving him to his knees. Before a killing shot landed however, the terminators stopped, guns still pointed at the wounded Primarch.

Veratal forced himself to look up, even as pain fogged his mind and dulled his senses, the wounds done to him grievous in the extreme. As he did so, his eyes landed upon a huge warrior, towering above the others and clad in armour identical to that of Charon himself. Veratal closed his eyes and waited for the end, the imposter wearing the guise of his brother raising a claw, letting out a clipped bark of his loyalty to the Warmaster, before bringing his weapon down upon Veratal.

Pict and video feeds around the room recorded the blow, already transmitting the information across the fleet to be sent far and wide throughout the Imperium. Almire did not need to watch anymore, turning from the carnage behind him to instead look into the void beyond, battleships erupting in fire as his fleet unleashed their guns upon the defenders of Molech, giving them no chance to react or defend themselves, mimicking the destruction now circling the world of Istvaan V.

Vessels of the Seekers of Unity and Wisps of Acheron were likewise caught in the devastation, conflicting reports reaching both legions, that Charon had killed Veratal, that Veratal had killed Charon, that Almire had killed them both or that they were traitors or the staunchest of loyalists. None knew the truth, but none could deny the video feed invading every channel, Seekers watching in horror as their lord was struck down over and over again on the looping screens. Few escaped the maelstrom, but enough did to carry the message outwards, Almire paying them no heed, instead looking to the world below, the invasion already beginning.

The battle of Molech lasted for over a standard solar month, Justicars and forces loyal to them advancing on every front, killing any who stood against them, even as mass defections rocked the loyalist defenders moral, House Divine most notable amongst them, the Knight house falling the the predictions of the God of Pleasure, destroying the mighty Imperator titan, Paragon of Terra. Though the defenders gave an excellent account in their actions, they were outclassed, Almire showing no quarter, controlling the void above and unleashing orbital bombardments on the greatest concentrations of the enemy, caring little for showmanship, his drive for victory evident, more than living up to his name as Warmaster.

However, Molech was no simple conquest for the Primarch, for in truth the world was no simple world at all, far more than a mere chunk of rock. Many lifetimes ago, before the Age of Strife had ended, the Emperor of Mankind himself had walked upon the surface of this world, using it as a stepping stone between realities to make a deal with gods he soon declared did not exist. Using their stolen knowledge, he crafted the Primarch’s, and years later, returned to the world to seal its gateway once more, ensuring none could follow him.

Almire proved his folly at Molech, sweeping away the defenders and approaching the gateway. The gods of the warp were fickle beings, requiring pageantry or sacrifices of spiritual or metaphysical significance more than physical worth. Many of Almire’s seers and scryers had said only one message would be enough, to conquer the world in the exact same manner as his father once had, following his path exactly, hamstringing his conquest to catch the eye of the pantheon. As he approached the gateway however, the world behind him laying in ruins of his own making, not the Emperor’s, Almire revealed his counter offer.

Veratal, bloodied and broken but still very much alive, was dragged behind the Warmaster by a score of Terminators, First Praetor Gobalt Asmodeus at the head of the detail, the facsimile of Charon’s helmet that he had worn at the conflicts start still clamped to his waist. Even so ruined, Veratal was defiant until the last, meeting Almire’s gaze and holding it as the Warmaster daubed the wall of the cave they had entered with his brother's blood. Power pulsed through the cave system, growing with each passing rune carved or written upon the stone until it felt like it could be contained no longer. An instant before ruination was wrought upon all present, Almire turned and struck with deadly purpose, his Spear passing cleanly between Veratal’s eyes.

The blow seemingly lacked ceremony, and yet to the gods of the warp the blow was everything, Veratal’s soul torn away even as his blood flew from his body, covering the wall fully, far more blood seemingly to flow from the wound than should have been possible. Soon, the wall was completely obscured, the blood seeming to utterly replace it, as if no stone lay beyond. With but a simple nod to Asmodeus, Almire stepped forward, not hesitating for an instant as he stepped through what had once been a solid wall, and into the dominion of the gods.

A split second in reality passed before Almire stepped back once more, and yet for the Warmaster, countless eternities had passed, spent waging wars of a scale undreamt of by any and impossible to match within the material universe. Schemes had been hatched, unfolded and thwarted a million time a million over, civilisations rose and fell and rose again, all for the aim of beseeching the gods for their aid and their power until finally, they had provided it, Almire stepping forth once more as far more than any Primarch had been or ever would be. He was the Warmaster of Chaos now, a vessel of the powers of Chaos ascendant. None were now his equal amongst his brothers, they were all less than he was with the gods new power coursing through him. Only one being could match the Warmaster now, only one could have even a hope of standing against him. That being dwelt upon a distant world, protected by the greatest defences of mankind.

With a clipped order that radiated with a dark power, Almire gave his order for the legion to advance.

To begin the march towards Terra itself.