"Oh-ho... truly delightful. This is far more exhilarating than the Star Gods or the Old Ones..."
Swaying his head with evident glee as he rose from the overturned stool within the chaotic chamber, the Necron Overlord’s current mood was one of anticipation and excitent.
Leaning upon his necrodermis phase staff, his cloak jingling faintly, Trazyn the Infinite, lifted his smooth, rounded face of living tal. His erald photoreceptors flickered rapidly with agitation.
"Perhaps this bargain with Her might truly restore my race’s flesh and souls... Hisss... yet, such a greedy, domineering Chaos God—surely She wouldn’t leave behind a trap that would enslave us completely, would She?"
High above, the rift of the Eye of Terror still spread endlessly beyond the Cadian System, yet even so, he could not forget the grand silhouette forged from the light of a trillion stars.
Trazyn still rembered that mont vividly—
At the ti, he had not been in a hurry. He was, in fact, enjoying the reactions of the Imperial forces that had co to Cadia’s aid—the Space Marine Chapters, the Orders Militant of the Ecclesiarchy, and the Inquisitors—when they witnessed such an alien xeno heretic standing openly within Cadia’s Supre Command Headquarters. Their expressions and choice of words were... exquisite.
He simply loved seeing them fu while being unable to strike him.
Then, just as he was about to approach them with the elegant manners—and shaless tongue—of a gentleman rogue... he knelt.
Literally.
A voice that seed to shake the soul, tear through the Eye of Terror, and pierce the veil of the material universe and the [Warp] resounded within his cognitive array. Cold, imperious, and beyond question—the tone of a true sovereign. In an instant, it bent his chanical fra.
Trazyn felt imnse pressure crushing his digitalized soul and thought patterns. In that fleeting instant when the darkness was torn asunder, She glanced at him.
That boundless will of Finality was like an inverted abyss hanging between the stars—instilling the delusion that everything was being torn apart, that his soul was ascending while his mind plumted into darkness.
Oh, right... I shouldn’t have a soul at all. But that didn’t stop Trazyn from feeling utterly ecstatic—!
To those unable to grasp its supre nature, She was a terrifying high-dinsional Chaos God—an existence of madness and the end of all things. Yet from another perspective, this godlike being was... near perfection.
And the order to harass the Aeldari again? Simply marvelous!
Were it not for his current duties, he would have gladly joined in with his Tomb World’s legions from Solemnace to add to the spectacle.
Ah, how his circuits burned with excitent just recalling his own form—half-living, half-tallic, capable of commanding energy storms. Magnificent!
Slavery? Irrelevant. The Necrons had long since beco such twisted husks. Stagnant. Always on the brink of civil war. Passing the ssage to the Silent King and the Triarch Council would be enough to fulfill his duty as a Necron Overlord. The rest? Let them worry themselves to madness.
As for him—he was off to the crown world of the Oruscar Dynasty—Thanatos—to examine the ancient artifact, the Celestial Orrery.
Hopefully, Her Majesty would reward him with a perfect, powerful body for his hard work.
Feeling no guilt whatsoever for selling out the Silent King, Trazyn no longer even thought of visiting his old friend, the Astromancer. A quick reminder ssage would suffice.
Enough talk. The Overlord of Solemnace must now fulfill the task entrusted to him by the new Holy Emperor of the Selene Empire.
Who is the new Holy Emperor, you ask?
Well, the one wrapped in red cloth.
Selene had gained a Necron incarnation, using his very body. By any asure, that made her a monarch. And if he served Selene, then naturally, She was the Holy Emperor.
Not treachery—just restoration of order. Welcoming the rightful sovereign.
Alas, let the Silent King and his council agonize over it. He was rely a curator.
Ti to go.
"Lord Budo, I shall now fulfill the bargain between myself and Her Majesty Selene. Farewell."
Casting one last, reluctant glance at the towering, magnificent giants before him—their bodies of flesh enough to make one drool—Trazyn turned and departed.
"..."
Retracting her gaze from the alien’s receding erald-tallic back disappearing beyond the doorway, the Living Saint, Saint Celestine—her holy wings still burning with radiant psychic fire—tightened her grip upon the blazing, arc-infused blade in her hand, the Ardent Blade.
In the end, she did not swing it. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the towering figures of the Primarchs before her. Beside her stood the Supre Castellan of Cadia, Ursakar E. Creed, acting as interdiary.
"Lord Budo... Legion Master... who exactly are you people?"
Celestine’s azure eyes glimred with flashes of gold as she raised her free hand to rub the side of her temple, still tingling faintly from the psychic resonance that had followed soone’s energy broadcast from the highest heavens. Her voice carried both confusion and sincerity.
"Horus... Angron... Corvus... and Lord [Sanguinius] resurrected—how can this be...?"
Before her stood several titanic figures atop a massive structure of gleaming, immaculate machinery—entirely unlike the grim, oil-scented chanicus constructs of the Cult chanicus.
She could not be sure of their identities. Were these truly the Traitor Primarchs she had learned of from Imperial history?
Monts ago, one pale-blue giant—like a wandering wraith of midnight—had departed alongside the crimson-skinned, gold-armored colossus after receiving so divine command from the heavens above.
Magnus the Red—yet both his eyes were intact. Angron—yet where were the Butcher’s Nails, the mark of the Red Sands?
Thud... Thud... Thud...
Heavy footsteps echoed as officers of the Astartes Honor Guard followed their Legion Masters. Their ornate power armor shone under the kaleidoscopic starlight outside, its colors and craftsmanship foreign yet majestic. They conversed in an unknown language, their armor polished, their weapons and equipnt pristine and abundant.
The double-headed Aquila insignia upon their armor resembled the Imperial one upon her saintly plate—yet was subtly, unmistakably different.
Beep... boop...
"Report: Incoming transmission. The Daemon Primarchs are on the move."
"Hm. Inform Perturabo—it is ti for his Chaos fortress to prove its worth."
The gauntleted hand—encased in ornate armor—moved across a three-dinsional holomap displaying the Cadian Gate defense sector and the daemon worlds surrounding the Eye of Terror. Budo issued his commands to the holographic servitor projected from the command platform before him.
After instructing the Punishers’ quartermasters to provide supplies and dical aid to the Imperial Navy vessels and Astra Militarum regints docked nearby, Budo turned back calmly.
"As you already know, emissary of the Emperor—Celestine—neither I nor Lord Sanguinius are the Primarchs you think we are."
Budo’s voice was solemn and commanding as he clarified the misunderstanding among Cadia’s Imperial soldiers.
"Sanguinius never died—so how could he be resurrected?"
When Budo once again declared firmly that he was not the Emperor’s son, murmurs rippled through the vast chamber. The gathered forces—Cadian High Command, officers of the Imperial Guard, and representatives from various Space Marine Chapters—reacted with disbelief and uproar.
They wanted to protest, to shout—but under Sanguinius’ calm and reassuring presence, every commander, every soldier of the Imperial Guard and Astartes alike held their tongues, their gazes fixed on Budo.
"Just as Angron, Horus, Corvus, and Lorgar never betrayed anyone. I do not know what your so-called ’Horus Heresy’ from ten thousand years ago truly was—perhaps so ill on. But it was not our fate. It is not destiny!"
Having set the record straight with curt finality, Budo had no desire to waste more words. "As for charges of heresy—spare . None may pass judgnt upon us, save Her Majesty."
His eyes flicked toward the Inquisitors—bruised, battered, and barely conscious.
These zealots were far more unhinged than the group once led by Steward Sebas. The mont they arrived, they had scread accusations of blasphemy and deception: "A deception against the Emperor!" "A defilent of His divinity!" "Even if our souls burn upon the Golden Throne, we shall expose your sorcery!"
Several well-placed strikes—not lethal, rely calibrated to emphasize pain, ntal shock, and spiritual correction—had swiftly quieted them. With Abaddon’s corpse, countless heretic remains, and the fallen Vengeful Spirit as evidence, that should have been persuasive enough.
Though their eyes still burned with mistrust and defiance—as if daring him to finish them—they were, at least for now, subdued.
Were it not for the fact that the Inquisitors resembled the Imperial Inquisition so closely, Budo might have thought them reflections from a divergent mirror world—one where everyone was, in truth, a loyal servant of Selene.
Her Majesty herself had already pointed out the peculiar nature of this world during the pre-war council, offering a warning in advance: "Whatever happens, do not be surprised. See with your heart. Listen with your heart." Typical riddler’s words, as always.
In any other crusade world, those who dared shout and argue so recklessly would have long been dragged out and executed.
"And you, Celestine—the Emperor’s Living Saint—why did you co to the Cadian War? Did the Emperor deliver unto you a new divine revelation?"
Budo regarded the radiant Living Saint. She claid to have been guided by the call of the Holy Crusade. When the war for Cadia had reached its fiercest stage, she had crossed the Warp storms alone, leading a fleet of Battle Sisters she rescued along the way, erging directly into the front lines.
"All things are as decreed; all gifts are the Emperor’s grace. How could I dare to ask more of Him?"
With utmost humility, Celestine spoke her gratitude to the Emperor.
Budo: "..."
Still that pious tone. Ah, perhaps sending Lorgar instead of himself would’ve been wiser.
"I am but a fool struggling within the mortal realm. The Emperor’s revelation—perhaps my faith was too shallow to comprehend it." Celestine continued softly.
She recalled the mont of her revelation. Having just broken through the turbulent veil of the Warp, she had arrived on Cadia when the war’s outco was already clear. The chaos of the battlefield had not shaken her resolve. As she prepared to deliver the Emperor’s retribution upon the traitors who had forsaken His light, a sudden, ineffable vision seized her.
An unseen emptiness filled her heart.
She had touched the trace of hope left for the Imperium—a silent golden sun suspended above a dark, frozen river, burning and freezing all at once.
Just as the golden brilliance was about to bloom—just as she reached out toward Him—a vast voice echoed, divine and overwhelming... and then, in an instant, it was gone.
For the galaxy itself had torn apart.
The clash of supre powers above the highest heavens had disturbed all things.
From the depths of the Eye of Terror, at the thinnest boundary between the [Warp] and the material universe, ca the storm’s psychic roar—a ntal hurricane like the clash of blades and shattering glass. Residual echoes of an unknown will filled her thoughts and mind.
Celestine knew, of course, that the command issued by that will was not ant for her.
Yet the Warp storm was growing ever stronger. Even the Astronomican’s light was veiled. The revelation had ended abruptly. To her, it could only an one thing—her devotion had not been enough.
"Cadia... Terra... co... number fifteen..."
Celestine hesitated. After glancing once more at the split-screen hologram showing Astartes executing Chaos Marines and cultists, she decided to share the fragnted words she had heard.
"...Number fifteen?"
A distorted, tallic voice interrupted their conversation. Turning, Budo saw the imnse figure of the chanicus Archmagos approaching.
He lood like a tower. Beneath the red robes of the Omnissiah glead an arsenal of divine machinery: coronal fla cannons, plasma projectors, arc whips, ornate Omnissian axes, refractor fields, countless servo-arms, and floating servo-skulls—a chanical monstrosity of divine design.
Belisarius Cawl.
With the Imperial reinforcents had co Cawl’s own battlefleet—a presence that had surprised everyone, even the priests of the chanicus stationed on Cadia.
For a Tech-Priest said to have lived ten thousand years, Budo regarded him with genuine curiosity.
"Archmagos, what is your insight?"
The bionic lenses implanted in Cawl’s aged flesh rotated twice. He had been scrutinizing the Punishers’ tactical devices and the towering Astartes warriors—each far larger and more powerful than any standard Space Marine.
"Terra. Fifteen. Magnus. It is the Emperor who calls him."
Celestine blinked in surprise. "How can you be certain?"
"I am not. It is only conjecture," Cawl replied, rotating one of his chanical arms. His tal fingers tapped lightly upon the haft of his Omnissian Axe.
"Based on mories so ancient they might as well be forgotten."
"I ca here by guidance... by accident, even. Because of an important task." His lenses turned toward Budo, who stood with arms folded beside the command dais.
"Lord Primarch—if I may call you that, though my databanks lack a suitable designation—you have... visitors requesting your audience."
"Who?"
"The Aeldari."
...
Elsewhere—
Within the deepest reaches of the Webway, in the remnants of what was once the grand Aeldari Empire.
Were a daemon of [Slaanesh] to intrude here, it would have drowned in ecstasy. For amid these nightmare thorns of blackened light, emotions of every extre were erupting in waves—screams, sorrow, terror, and fury blending into one chaotic symphony.
It was the finest feast imaginable for the Prince of Pleasure’s daemons—and Aeldari emotions made it all the sweeter. Such a harvest would earn them the Dark Prince’s blessing.
Countless souls trembled in dread whispers, for they, too, had heard it—the sa psychic roar that had torn through the veil of the material universe and the [Warp].
The newborn Chaos God—[Finality]—had set Its gaze upon the Aeldari.
And Its servants had already arrived.
—
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