The Sundering Erruption

The Night of Blood as many those who had taken part in the great culling had taken to calling it had been an unmitigated success for Almire and his closest allies, the legions already scattering to carry out their own allotted tasks across the Imperium, bringing Almire’s will and fire to those still loyal to the Golden Throne. All legions had been accounted for in this grand plan, those loyal to Almire deployed and equipped in preparation for the coming storm, those whose loyalty to the Warmaster was in question already sidelined or prepared for destruction.

All, save one, recently revealing themselves to be a far larger thorn in Almire’s plans than initially thought; the Ashen Crows, and more importantly, the new warriors that Galvarian had unveiled mere weeks earlier; the Ablaze. Alone, their numbers represented little more than a bump, numbering in the hundreds, their potency nothing against a legion on the battlefield, and yet off the field, if wielded correctly by an unbroken mind, they could prove to be far greater than their meagre numbers would suggest. A mind like Almire’s for example, or Malcador’s.

Almire could not allow the Sigillite to get his hands upon such warriors, it had been why he had ordered the Ashen Crows to remain in place after Galvarian had unveiled his new creation. The Warmaster would have these new warriors, or they would be destroyed, no room for compromise or margin for error. The Ashen Crows would share the fate of the Ablaze, standing alongside him or being crushed beneath him, and with that thought foremost in his mind, Almire gave his orders.

The Ashen Crows fleet was still in orbit around the unnamed world upon which the Council of Vision had taken place, holding position as Almire had ordered, remaining so even as the full might of the XVIth Legion translated into the system, the Warmaster’s Justicars transmitting hails bearing Almire’s personal access codes, stating Almire’s intent to come aboard the *Kiln of Humanity* and to treat with his brother. The messages were not requests, and none denied the request, counter-transmissions sending flight data and landing codes to the Justicars fleet.

Soon, no less than thirty Sokar pattern Stormbirds filled the void, accompanied by two of the far larger Apophis Pattern Stormbirds, ferring nearly two thousand Astartes towards the Ashen Crows flagship, their numbers filling the embarkation bays, their warriors disembarking with practiced ease, forming serried, silent ranks in every hangar bay, hidden teleport homers ready for activation in each of the Stormbirds.

In the primary hanger bay, Almire and his retinue of Executioners were met by Galvarian and his sons, terminators surrounding their lord, though failing to hide the changes wrought upon the First Ember. Gone was the tall statue of the once proud scientist-warrior, instead replaced by a hunched creature, Galvarian’s eyes darting around the room as he approached, paranoia writ across his face and body for all to see. Even when Almire addressed him directly, he did not meet the Warmaster’s gaze, Almire continuing on regardless.

Galvarian had transgressed against the Imperium, that much was plain for all to see, genetic splicing of not only xenos and human DNA, but that of the Primarch’s themselves, was inexcusable in most situations. However, in this, Almire was willing to show his brother leniency, extending a hand towards the Broken Crow. Galvarian could stand beside Almire willingly, or be taken into the Warmasters custody, his sons sharing his fate to be decided upon at a later stage. The offer was genuine, Almire not lying when he said he did wish for his brother to stand alongside him, even with everything that was about to come to pass and the war he had set in motion, Almire did not wish to see blood shed unnecessarily. Had Galvarian still been in full control of his own faculties, he may have taken the Warmaster’s hand, but the reaction to his greatest creation had broken something inside the Primarch’s mind, and where Almire presented friendship, Galvarian saw only execution and death.

With a half scream, half screech, Galvarian recoiled from the Warmaster, Annihilation thrumming to life as it spat wads of plasma at the Warmaster and his guardians, felling two of the Executioners as their shields were overloaded by the powerful blasts. As the final shot left his talon weapon, Galvarian disappeared in a ‘pop’ of displacing air, a teleportation array built into his armour spiriting him away from the carnage he had just set into motion.

For an instant, no one moved, the Ashen Crows stunned that their Primarch would strike the Warmaster himself. Then, Almire raised a hand and the hangar was engulfed in fire.

Justicars across the ship snapped weapons into firing positions and let loose deadly barrages against the shocked Crows, many of whom failing to even bring up their weapons as they died. Within seconds, teleportation flares filled every hangar, bringing reinforcements for the Warmasters forces as Scollistarii and dreadnoughts joined the ranks of the Executioners and Vanguard forces, pushing the Ashen Crows back in mere minutes of brutal and heavily one-sided fighting.

Even as they advanced, Almire took command of the battle in the void, giving orders to his ships captains to unleash fire upon the Ashen Crows fleet, their guns ripping into the vessels of the XIth, the surprise just as effective in the void as it was on the *Kiln of Humanity*. Nothing seemed to be able to slow the Justicars advance, Almire leading his forces with natural skill few in the galaxy could match, proving exactly why he had been named ‘Warmaster’.

Had they only faced a legion, then the Ashen Crows may have faced destruction that day, their commanders struggling to re-establish order, Galvarian absent and providing no point of command to rally around. Thankfully for the Ashen Crows however, they were not merely a legion,the self-same forces that Almire had come to seize or destroy would now prove exactly why they had needed such direct action from the Warmaster himself.

With a roar that echoed across the ship, the Ablaze poured forth. Striking outwards from Galvarian’s laboratories, the monstrously large warriors tore into the Justicars forces, their weapons spitting death as they came. Such was the ferocity of the assault, that the Justicars found their own assault blunted entirely, first grinding to a half, before beginning to be thrown back in dozens of places, Justicars falling back towards the hangar bays, the cramped confines of the spaceship favouring the brute warriors.

In an instant, the ebb and flow of the battle had changed completely, the XVIth now facing the very real possibility of being forced off the Flagship entirely. As the battle tethered on a knifes edge, Almire was faced with the simplest decision of any assault; fall back or push forward, the moment where a battle could be won or lost with a single ill-given command. If he fell back, they would not get another chance at the flagship, the Ablaze could slip away from him, perhaps forever. If he pushed on as he was, he faced the possibility of his elite warriors being gutted before his plans had even had time to unfold.

In the end however, the decision was simple, dozens of ships breaking off from their pursuit of the Ashen Fleet to make for the flagship, deploying their warriors to reinforce the Justicars. As fresh warriors poured onto the *Kiln*, the battle flipped once more, even the might of the Ablaze knowing limits as they began to fall, one by one, gunned down by a reinvigorated and reinforced foe, and at the tip of this newest spear thrust was Almire himself.

The Ablaze were beyond mere Astartes, but against a Primarch, they were nothing, any who crossed Almire’s path falling in the time it took for them to draw breath. A sweep of his glaive carved through reinforced chest pieces, while blasts from his cybernetic eye overwhelmed energy shields, broiling warriors inside their own armour.

Even as the assault on the Flagship regained its momentum, the effects of the reinforcements were felt in the remainder of the battlesphere. Those ships left to harry the Ashen Crows fleet were now too few in number to ensure their utter destruction, or even maintain their scattered and vulnerable nature, and with an efficacy that showed that even when damaged and caught unaware that they were still of the *Legiones Astartes*, the Ashen Fleet pulled together, two unevenly split fleets forming. The larger of these fleets, that under the split command of Flock Master Alveras Sceotan and Lord Furgol Durath, moved into a dense formation, daring the Justicars to brave their guns, those few captains foolish enough to try and break this tight formation swiftly finding their vessels reduced to blazing, twisting hulks. The smaller fleet however held to no such formation, many of its vessels caught by those of the Justicars as they sped for the systems Mandeville Point, a deranged Galvarian fleeing from the battle into the unknown. The Ashen Crows would survive this fight, but they would do so as a scattered legion, one who’s own Primarch now stood as a source of shame and a target of their wrath.

With the flagship poised to fall, Alveras gave the order to fall back, the fleet preparing to move from the system, maintaining its tight defensive formation as it too moved for the Mandeville Point. As they prepared to jump however, a single ship was detected on intercept course with the designated command ship, broadcasting an unconditional surrender as it shot forward. Wary of a trap but unwilling to pass up the opportunity of prisoners, Alveras allowed the ship closer, guns of mighty battleships trained on what was now revealed to be a large stormbird gunship, even as wings of intercepts were scrambled to bring the ship in to dock under heavy guard.

Disembarking from the Stormbird, Alveras met with those who claimed to be survivors of the “Night of Blood”, promising answers as best as they could give them. Alveras didn’t truly believe their claims yet, and the battlefield was no place to find truth or lies in their word. Stripped of their armour and weapons, the warriors submitted to the Ashen Crows, escorted to cells in the bowels of the vessel to await a more permanent solution, even as the bulk of the Ashen Fleet finally reached the systems edge, jumping away from the battle. They had survived, but at great cost.

Even as the Ashen Crows slipped from his fingers, Almire closed on his prize. The Ablaze were in full retreat now, falling back to the bio-labs that had spawned them, Almire continuing to lead the charge against them. Then, as he was poised to strike at the labs and lead the final push, Almire was stopped by one of his own warriors, a hooded and robed warrior of the XVIth legions psychic cadre, the Edicts of Nikaea having been abandoned years earlier when Almire had set his plans into motion.

The warriors' vision was clouded, but ruination would await those who stepped into those labs. Though Almire did not give full credence to this foresight, he could not afford to risk that this portent was true. Ordering his forces to hold, these Astartes stepped aside as mortal forces were brought up, Ogryn Charonites from the legions sworn Solar Auxilia cohorts pumped full of combat drugs and sent raging into the laboratories. Such unsubtle warriors were little match for the Ablaze individually, but presented enough of a threat to force those few surviving Ablaze to perform their final sanction.

Birnon, one of the first of the Ablaze and uniquely blessed amongst his kind with a connection to the warp, opened his mind fully to the powers of the Great Ocean. This was no power however, no great spell being weaved against the foe. This was simply power, drawn into a vessel and placed under more and more pressure, akin to a container pumped full of promethium, and just like such containers, all it would need was a single spark to ignite. Without pause, the warrior unleashed the pent up power, his body torn asunder by the otherworldly powers. Nor was such destruction restricted just to him, the rolling aether wave destroying all in its path, consuming the maddened ogryns and the remaining Ablaze with impunity, everything within the bio-labs destroyed beyond repair or recovery.

The Ablaze had fallen, and though he had been denied their strength, Almire was pleased that their power had also been denied to the enemy. Within the hour, the last defenders of the flagship were hunted down and slaughtered, the ship falling entirely under Almire’s command. It would not remain that way for long, aftershocks from the wanton power unleashed by the Ablaze psyker in its last moments had broken something within the mighty vessel, wounding its machine spirit, the vessel itself swiftly dying. Having no use for a defunct ship, even one as powerful as a Gloriana, Almire gave the order to abandon ship, setting the plasma drives to overload before it was fully abandoned. The resultant explosion consumed the vessel entirely, and when the roiling cloud dissipated, nothing remained of the once mighty ship save dust floating in the void.

Satisfied with the victory, Almire and the Justicars turned to pick through the destroyed or captured vessels the Ashen Crows left behind in their flight from the system, before they too jumped into the warp, their sights set on an even grander prize.

Elsewhere, Alveras and Durath spoke with their prisoners, verifying their identities and under the Lord Furgols practiced eye, verified the veracity of what they spoke of, a betrayal set to engulf the galaxy, at least four legions already turned upon the Emperor, likely more following in their wake. Terra had to be warned, and yet the Ashen Crows would not allow their lord to run roughshod across the Imperium. In this, Alveras and Durath disagreed, both believing the larger portion of the legion should go to different places, Alveras wishing to hunt down their Primarch, Durath wishing to stand with Terra.

In the end, the Flock master’s seniority won out, Durath settling for travelling to the throneworld with but a handful of warriors and Apothecaries, carrying with them the survivors of the traitor legions and, importantly, salvaged notes and mad ramblings of Galvarian and the creation of the Ablaze. This was the proof that they needed to back up their claims, ensuring that the Praetorian would not find falsehoods in their words.

Already battered and split by the disappearance of their Primarch, the Ashen Crows split once more, Durath and his warriors striking towards Terra, as Alveras led his forces in pursuit of their father, beginning a near insurmountable task of hunting an individual across the galaxy, a task that Alveras half expected to never complete, but one he would die in the pursuit of, wiping free the stain of Galvarian’s betrayal and in so doing, redeem the name of the XIth from the gutters in which it had languished for so long, rising like the phoenix of old to stand as paragons of humanity once more.