Ferrus Manus turned his silver eyes upon the warrior called Nareth, who stood slightly taller than himself.
His black hair flowed in the wind, his face chiseled like marble, and his dark eyes held fathomless depth.
Ferrus's gaze, by habit, shifted to the armor. The armor was jet-black, every surface hand-forged, every contour wrought with care.
The one who had forged Nareth's armor was Tech-Priest Malevolus, the sa master craftsman of the chanicum who had forged Horus's armor, counted among the very finest of his order.
Yet, to Ferrus Manus, gifted by birth with unmatched talent in tallurgy, the armor's fittings and curves had not reached perfection.
He glanced next at Nareth's left hand, where a silver power gauntlet glead.
"Your gauntlet… the polished steel shines with a flawless arc."
As he spoke, he lifted his own silver hand, which caught the light in brilliance.
"My hand too is silver. I wish to know, which hand is stronger."
Nareth's dark eyes glimred. The "Hand of Order," Sequence One of the Justiciar pathway, against the iron hand suspected of bearing a shard of a C'tan? Interesting, but he saw sothing even more valuable.
Curiosity aside, the ancient relics of dusa drew him far more.
He cast his gaze to the mountains, to the frozen layers beneath.
"From Azhek Ahriman's report, I've learned dusa is littered with relics of the Dark Age of Technology."
"You, Gorgon, often lead expeditions into these underground ruins."
"Let us test ourselves with an exploration. Each of us will lead a team to uncover an ancient ruin. Whichever of us recovers the greatest sum of relics by value shall be the victor. The winner will claim all spoils of the loser."
At this, the Emperor's brows knit slightly.
In countless strands of possible futures, he had foreseen Nareth defeating one or more of his gene-sons.
But always, Nareth's victories ca against primarchs who betrayed the Imperium.
He had seen Leman Russ in similar roles, but not with such frequency as Nareth.
The Emperor had already resolved: at the Terra Celebration, he would bestow the Dionysian Spear, personally forged, as the prize of the Wheel of Fire campaign, granting it to either Nareth or Russ.
And Ferrus Manus, with his imnse strength, was the ideal test subject.
If Nareth could defeat Manus, the spear would be his.
But Nareth had disrupted the plan, rejecting trial by combat and proposing a contest of relic-hunting.
The Emperor stood in silence a few monts, then spoke before Manus could reply.
"Nareth, this is not a fair contest. Manus knows dusa far better, and I have given him gifts in forging and technology that grant him a clear advantage."
Ferrus's mind raced, weighing his knowledge of ruins, his training of the Iron Fathers, all against the Emperor's words.
From every angle, he was certain of victory.
"He is right, you cannot defeat in the exploration of ruins."
Nareth's eyes flickered. His sharp senses caught a fleeting change in the Emperor's emotion.
'Not fear that I will lose and Manus will not return to the Imperium… but a startled dismay, as though I have disrupted so hidden design of his.'
'The Emperor is no idler. If he sent here, it was with purpose beyond re victory.'
'That can only an… to asure my strength?'
Nareth's gaze deepened. Whatever the Emperor's reason, he would not reveal the full scope of his beyonder abilitites before him.
This only steeled his resolve to contest Manus in the exploration of ruins.
'Even in defeat, I lose nothing that was mine. Yet in victory, I gain two hoards of relics.'
'Besides, I may not lose at all. I have my "Mystery Pryer" and "Archaeologist.'
With that thought, he allowed confidence to overflow in his voice.
"I was raised on Vostroya, I am not ignorant of technology."
"To preserve relics during an excavation requires a team."
"Among my sons are those well-versed in such arts. I will make full use of their strength."
Ferrus Manus's silver eyes bored into him, asuring the confidence radiating from Nareth.
"In that case, so be it. We shall each lead a team into the ruins."
The Emperor sighed inwardly. Events had already slipped beyond his design. Nareth and Manus were in agreent, and to intervene now would seem suspicious.
As Manus summoned the Iron Fathers, Nareth's consciousness extended outward.
The ion storms and wreckage surrounding the planet disrupted communication, forcing him to reach Arsena through telepathy.
But as his mind pushed through the thick clouds, he felt greater resistance than usual.
At once he ascended into the third layer of the Thelema mindstate, overlaying psychic strength upon thought.
His awareness pierced the clouds, crossed the ion storms, drifted through wreckage, and reached the black warship in orbit.
Inside, Arsena sat at his console, reviewing data slates of reports from the chapters.
A sudden presence made him look up.
The silver-haired psyker recognized the consciousness at once. He did not resist, letting the thought pulse resound in his mind.
"You, Adams, and Gabriel, co to the surface imdiately. Bring the exploration squads."
Nareth had already made preparations, selecting from his honor guard, the Fourth Legion, and techmarines, those Shadows of Order with aptitude in exploration and technology.
Arsena swiftly relayed the command to the Death Lord and the techmarines.
One stellar hour later, Arsena and fifty-four Shadows boarded a heavy transport and descended toward dusa IV.
As they neared wreckage, the captain reported:
"My lord, we are about to enter dusa IV's ring. Prepare for collision."
The psyker's blue eyes shone. He pressed his hand to the bulkhead, his telekinesis wrapping the ship.
Encased in his psychic grip, the transport glided through debris.
Fifteen minutes into the flight, Arsena spotted the first automated defense turret.
He reached with his telekinesis to shut it down, only to find it already deactivated.
One after another, he discovered every weapon platform dead.
And in them, he sensed familiar traces of telekinetic power.
'Ahriman's report said nothing of disabling weapons. Was it the Emperor?'
'To permanently silence so many weapon platforms, astonishing.'
'I could never wield such force. Only a Primarch could.'
With the guns and mines neutralized, the only danger left to face was the ion storms.
After five hours, the transport descended at last.
The Arsenna, Adams and Gabriel among them, wiped sweat from their brows as they stepped onto the deck.
Then ca the roar, black exhaust, engines thundering.
From the distance, an iron leviathan approached.
The steel land-crawler stretched nearly three hundred ters, its body black as night, its prow etched with the emblem of a great silver hand.
Brakes screeched a kiloter away, slowing the massive vehicle with ear-splitting noise, until it halted exactly ten ters before Nareth.
With a hiss of hydraulics, its side-hatches rose. n of dusa erged, many bearing augtics.
So had silver eyes, others silver arms, flesh replaced by steel.
Nareth's gaze swept them.
'Iron Fathers.'
He knew Ferrus Manus had established and trained the Iron Fathers long before returning to the Imperium.
They were part tech-priest, part shaman, responsible for the spiritual and technical needs of each clan, and for exchanging ancient secrets preserved across generations.
Through this system, Manus ensured every clan forged better weapons and stronger machines, even without direct rule.
And the Iron Fathers, following his will, kept the clans in disciplined conflict, preventing decadence despite growing prosperity.
'They are Manus's pride as much as his confidence. Masters of the machine, and veterans of countless ruin-excavations beside him.'
Ferrus Manus himself descended from the crawler, striding straight toward Nareth.
Gabriel Santor and the dusans looked on, seeing their Gorgon approach the black-armored giant.
The stranger's form was no less titanic than Manus's, like a demigod striding among mortals.
Manus's eyes swept Nareth's black-armored retinue. The cold gleam of his silver gaze bore down on each court-scholar in turn, forcing them to steel their wills.
They rose into the First layer of Thelema, resisting the urge to look away.
At last, Manus's eyes lingered on the eleven warriors whose chanical arms extended from behind, before settling on Gabriel.
Gabriel felt as if a mountain pressed upon him. Sweat stread down his brow, his temples throbbed.
Only by rising into the Second layer of Thelema, newly mastered, did the weight ease.
A flicker of surprise crossed Manus's eyes. He withdrew his gaze and spoke to Nareth.
"Your sons are impressive."
Nareth smiled.
"Of course. I have confidence in them."
Azhek Ahriman, after invoking the astropathic relay, had already transcribed the dusan tongue and knowledge gathered by the Fifteenth Legion into a data slate, which was placed in Nareth's hands.
During the voyage, Nareth's chosen sons had all learned basic dusan speech.
They understood the two primarchs' words, and their spirits blazed with pride.
"You are ready. Then we begin."
Nareth answered Manus simply:
"Good."
The Emperor, watching the two primarchs depart with their forces, turned to Alpharius and asked:
"Who do you think will win this contest?"
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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