The Basilisks Rise

*It is still the early days of the Emperor's Great Crusade. Nineteen of the twenty Primarchs lost to the stars have been found, and joined in spreading the Imperial Truth across the stars, only one Legion is without their sire. It has been nearly one hundred and fifty years since the first found son, Antarus, joined the Imperium of Man; and nearly ten years since the last son, Lu Yueh, was discovered. The Faceless Heralds have begun to give up hope of ever finding their Primarch, resigned to their fate as outcasts among the Imperium due to their gene flaw. However, unknown to the fifteenth Legion, sons of Galvarian, Primarch of the Ashen Crows, have made a startling discovery deep in the Segmentum Tempestus; which by chance, or by fate, just happens to also hold a beleaguered and rapidly dwindling company of Faceless Heralds. Our story begins with them...*

“Brother Corbenic, the beasts are beginning to rise again,” murmured Lieutenant Broven Harr, leader of the pitiful remains of the Faceless Heralds 6th company. Iestin Corbenic’s eyes snapped open, after taking a much needed rest, though not nearly long enough of one. The Faceless Heralds had been dispatched to defend a human colony midway through the Segmentum Tempestus from an Ork incursion. The colony itself held no true significant importance aside from a curious microbe within its soil, which granted significant outputs in crops. It was, however, literally out in the middle of nowhere. With the nearest Imperium controlled base weeks away from the planet, the decision was made to send a seemingly overwhelming force to secure the burgeoning Agri World.

It was not enough.

Within days the Ork fleet tripled in size, driving away the Imperial ships in orbit, who went seeking reinforcements of their own. They would be too late, Corbenic knew even if the eddies of the Warp had been kind it would be close to a month before ships would arrive to assist them, that time had long since passed and the Faceless Heralds had suffered for it. Nearly 1,000 Adeptus Astartes had perished on this forsaken rock, and Lieutenant Harr had dug them into a narrow box canyon, where the Orks could not swarm them with superior numbers. One by one though the Faceless Heralds had fallen to the endless Ork horde, as their equipment began to experience failures and ammunition began to run out. Corbenic himself having a close call when a Power Klaw from one of their leaders nearly took off his head. Forced to walk around without a helmet, Corbenic felt oddly exposed, mentally and physically. It was a ridiculous to feel ashamed of his genetic flaws at a time like this, and he knew it, but at the end of the day every Astartes was still human and every now and again Corbenic’s psyche chose the oddest times to remind him of that fact.

Corbenic sighed as he stood and stretched overtired muscles, watching the spores fall in waves from his ebony colored ceramite armor. Ork mushrooms were resilient under the worst of circumstances, but here they grew so quickly it bordered on ludicrous. He scanned the horizon and again thanked fate that there were no heavy machines within the Ork ranks. For whatever reason the beasts had only fielded predominantly infantry and light ground armor. The canyon itself made air support hazardous at best, with sharp rocky spires creating a maze for aircraft to maneuver, the middle ground was littered with the vehicles and corpses of the Orks who had tried to do just that in the beginning weeks. This canyon was the sole reason why there were any Astartes left on this greenskin infested rock to begin with, but Corbenic was growing weary of it. So many of them had fallen here, their bodies kept in a small cavern behind him. He listened to the distant war cries and chants increase in intensity; the next wave would come soon. Corbenic turned to look at his brothers, a paltry couple dozen, each looking as ragged as he felt, but readied themselves with grim resolve. As cries and shouts erupted from the xenos lines, Corbenic snapped his full attention back to the enemy horde. A large ork, easily 13 feet in height, had strode to the front of the assembled horde, encased within a large mechanical suit which only increased his size. It looked like the Orks had finally tired of their stubborn opponents.

“ Get ready!” roared Harr. “For the Imperium! For the Emperor!”

The Orks charged.

The ground rumbled as the first waves of Grots hit the Astartes line. Ammunition was a premium, and the Astartes didn’t even bother shooting them, instead activating their various close quarters weapons and dispatching them up close. Corbenic focused a low current of warp energy through his force weapon, an intricate sword etched in a Damascus steel pattern. The air exploded into a kaleidoscope of death, filing with the sprays of black Ork blood, their screams blending with Space Marine battle cries and chainsword howls. Corbenic’s scarred and dented armor immediately took an oily sheen as he bisected several grots with a single arc of his weapon, it’s blade crackling, before flowing with a backhanded sweep that sprayed viscera up and out. He raised his right boot as he recovered and kicked, pulping the chest of the Ork who and run up with a wild howl, the force of his corpse killing several greenskins behind him as the impact snapped their bones. With a quick glance to either side, Corbenic saw the Orks increase their swarming efforts on the flanks, their tracer rounds creating a hailstorm that thudded into rock and armor. Corbenic raised a hand, swiping across his body as he touched the volatile nature of the Immaterium. Blue-violet fire danced along his armor, and Corbenic felt a small chill as it was replicated en masse in great sheets along the battlefield, giving the Astartes room, but no time, as the greenskin horde horde pushed through the flames, only to be cut down, without end. Corbenic felt the gunfire, rather than heard it, and immediately raised a kine shield, as heavy weapons fire sprayed in at his brothers from the large Ork mechsuit. Their leader had arrived.

Corbenic watched in anger as one of his brothers disappeared into a ruined bloody mist before his kine shield fully manifested, then watched in appreciation as Lieutenant Harr took a running leap at the mechanical monstrosity, trusting that Corbenic would protect him, and his faith was rewarded. Corbenic grunted with effort as he altered the shape of his shield, moving it in conjunction with the flying Astartes. He watched as Harr landed on the cockpit of the suit and ripped it open, metal shrieking in protest as it was bent or ripped away, the Ork war machine unable to stand up to an enraged Space Marine. Harr himself was knocked away from the mech as the giant Ork lept from the cockpit, tackling the Astartes Lieutenant. An explosion sounded as a Marine emerged from a small Ork war vehicle, Volkite Caliver steaming, with hissing piles of Ork flesh cooking around his boots. While such individual victories were plentiful, all too soon the sound of Imperial guns began to fall silent as ammunition ran out. Corbenic took two steps back at the order of Harr, who was roaring in pain and anger as he was impaled upon the giant Ork’s choppa, closing his eyes as two brothers covered him while he gathered energies to himself. After a couple long seconds Corbenic pushed himself between his two guards, and clasped his hands together, saying a silent farewell to Harr as explosions erupted on either side of the canyon. Tons of earth and rock rained down the steep slopes, burying and slowing the Ork advance, and crushing Harr and his opponent beneath the landslide. Huge stone formations shattered, slaughtering still hundreds more as large boulders, ponderous in their falls, fell amongst the greenskin horde. Corbenic went slack at the exertion for a moment, before being caught by his two brothers and lifted to his feet. The horde retreated screaming, but immediately started reforming for another assault, Corbenic had bought them an hour at most, as the Orks would infight until a new leader rose to lead the next assault.

He sat on the ground, as did the rest of his brothers, grateful for even this small respite. It had been weeks of grinding combat, with no real rest since they had touched down. Adeptus Astartes endurance was exceptional, but it had limits, and Corbenic and his brothers were reaching theirs. He looked to his six comrades and blinked. Six? Surely not. But his eyes did not betray him, there were only six Faceless Heralds that still stood with him. This was it then, he would protect them as long as he could. Then the world changed.

“Brothers, we have just arrived in orbit, standby,” boomed Legion Master Harnael’s voice across the vox channel, Corbenic had not heard his voice in nearly two months. Reinforcements had arrived, only too late. The Orks, perhaps sensing the moment was slipping away from them, rushed in a frenzied, unorganized mass towards the six survivors.

“Appreciated, Legion Master, but you will be too late,” replied Corbenic, his grip tightening around his force sword as it crackled and snapped to life. He would die on his feet at least."

“The Primarch is found.”

Enemies charging or not, every remaining Astartes froze in place, glancing at one another.

“Say again, Legion Master,” breathed Corbenic.

“I repeat: The Primarch is found. He comes for you now,” repeated Harnael’s voice, his tone stressed and urgent.

Corbenic looked up and saw the bright red streak of a Thunderhawk reentering the atmosphere. It still would not reach them in time. However, instead of resignation Corbenic himself felt only rage. Who were these foul Xenos to deny him the right to see his Primarch? Who was fate to deny him? No, not this day, for nearly six decades Corbenic had been waiting for this moment, and he would not be denied.

He stood tall as he marched towards the writhing mass of Orks, ignoring the call from his comrades to fall back, gathering strength from reserves he didn’t know he had left. His ebony ceramite armor began to crack and chip along its golden accents, as the Warp energy began arcing outwards, tearing up small trenches near him. In his mind’s eye Corbenic looked down into the earth, he had fought here for so long, and its structure was as familiar to him as his quarters back on his ship. He scoured its depths, seeking out faults and microfissures deep in the planet’s crust, and then pushed.

The ground heaved, throwing everything to the earth, and would have done the same to Corbenic, except he was floating slightly above it. Eyes tightly shut and teeth clenched in agony, he ripped apart the floor of the canyon, rending huge gashes deep into its mantle, as the land began to swallow the horde that sought to destroy them. New canyons several hundred metres deep suddenly opening, and the land began to look like flesh someone had repeatedly stabbed, as Corbenic’s psychic will rent it to the point of ruin. The energy was taking its toll though, already Corbenic could feel newly formed scales begin to push through the scars on his face, and he felt his skin start to fuse to his armor with the heat. His vision darkening, he finally let go, dropping to the ground twitching, as the earth still continued its sporadic heaves. The rest of the survivors ran to his aid, holding him as he spasmed in pain, while he heard the Thunderhawk land.

“Get me...on my feet,” growled Corbenic weakly. “And...something to cover...my face.”

Two brothers helped him to his feet, but his knees wouldn’t hold him, so Corbenic settled for a kneeling position, while another wrapped a medical bandage loosely around his face. Then the other four knelt with him, and he appreciated their solidarity with him. The Thunderhawks doors hissed open, and Corbenic held his breath as his Primarch stepped out of it. He was...noble, there was no other word for it. He had masculine, but refined, features, and closely cut silver hair; the hair color being one of the defining trademarks of the 15th Legion. However, as the dust cleared and he drew closer, Corbenic took in the mastercrafted pearlescent armor, which seemed to refract the light around him, making him seem to shimmer as if he were more mirage than man, this light only highlighted the scales on his face. He wore  them without shame or embarrassment, they glinted proudly in the sunlight, and highlighted the silver irises of his eyes. He immediately went to Corbenic, brow furrowed, worried.

“Are you injured my son?” he asked, eyes searching, his voice a deep, warm, baritone.

“I...I will be fine with rest...my Primarch,” said Corbenic, still breathing heavily, the last said barely higher than a hoarse whisper.

“Then why the bandages? I do not under-” began the Primarch, before cutting himself off. He abruptly straightened, and gestured at the four brothers with Corbenic.

“You four, helms off, now,” he commanded, no hint of a request in the statement. The four Astartes almost had their helms off before the request had ended, so commanding was the presence of their Primarch. Not in the same way Primarch Antarus was of the Scorpion Guard, this felt more natural to Corbenic, a skill gained after decades of giving such orders. The Primarch examined each face, looking closely at the deep pockmarks inflicted by pulling the scales out as they formed. Each face seemed to incense him, and he turned back to Corbenic and ripped the bandages away from his face faster than his eyes could follow. The Primarch looked at the newly emerging scales, and the shame on Corbenic’s face, and the anger faded as quickly as a summer storm. He looked over the battlefield, then back to Corbenic and his brothers.

“My name is Artellion Emerabron. You are now my Silver Basilisks, and you will never hide again.”

And for the first time in his life, Corbenic wept.