Warhammer [549-551] (Patreon)

Chapter 549: Great Battle — The Aeldari Death God Bursts onto the Field

The sword-edge flashed. Skarbrand barely dodged, but half a wing was hewn away; black blood spurted like magma.

"The False Emperor's avatar… die!!!" Angron roared, the Butcher's Nails erupting with a blinding blood-red glare.

In this moment, the colossal Avatar of the Emperor before Angron seemed no different from the Emperor Himself.

His twin axes hacked in a sequence that defied physics, each strike leaving a crimson afterimage in the air.

The Emperor's Avatar slipped aside; the great holy blade in His hands turned, meeting Angron's massive axe-blows with ringing blocks.

Skarbrand seized the moment, stooping from on high, his brass war-axe falling with mountain-crushing force.

The Avatar suddenly pivoted. His left hand conjured a golden shield of pure Psychic-power. When the axe struck the shield, time itself seemed to pause.

Crack!

Fractures laced the Psychic-shield's surface—but at the same time the daemonic runes on Skarbrand's axe guttered out.

The Bloodthirster was shocked to find his link to Khorne cut for a heartbeat. The Avatar snatched the fleeting chance—His holy sword flared brighter than the sun and drove straight into Skarbrand's chest.

"AAAHHH—!"

The arrogant Lord of the Bloodletters screamed. His brass armor melted like wax; sacred fire ignited his very essence from within.

But Khorne's power flooded into him at once. Lava-like blood geysered from the wound and turned midair into countless shrieking blood-crows that hurled themselves at the Avatar.

Angron lunged, his axe-edges carving great gouges in the Avatar's golden plate.

"Father, look!" Angron howled with manic laughter.

"This is the power of the son you threw away!"

Angron's axe suddenly swelled into a hundred-meter-long blade of blood-crystal, scything to cleave the Avatar in half.

At the very instant doom fell, the Avatar broke apart into a spray of golden motes and the immense strike bit only air. Rhodes' first summoned Emperor-Avatar, after pushing core output to the limit, could now dissolve into photons at will—appearing unseen, or evading a killing blow.

The motes reformed behind Angron. The Avatar's vast holy sword leveled at the daemon primarch's back.

But the skin on Angron's spine split open; a maw of jagged bone-spurs snapped shut on the blade. The daemon primarch's fighting style was feral beyond reason.

Skarbrand, not to be outdone, rejoined the assault. He and Angron pressed the Avatar together. If they could slay this peculiar Avatar and offer His head to the Blood God, perhaps their master's wrath would be appeased.

This Avatar was stronger than any before—stronger even than the greatest Greater Daemons—and even against both Angron and Skarbrand He fought with cool ease.

The clash burned white-hot. The holy sword finally tore free of the bone-maw and took Angron's left arm with a single cut.

But the geysering blood became a storm of crimson chains, binding the Avatar in place. For a moment, He could not break free.

Skarbrand slammed his axe into the ground. The battlefield's crust heaved—and a forest of spikes, congealed from blood and etched with blasphemous Chaos sigils, erupted upward. Each spike held power enough to destroy an Imperator Titan.

For the first time the Avatar's radiance dimmed. Hairline fractures crawled across His golden plate. From the widening warp-rifts more daemons crawled forth—many of them Khorne's Greater Daemons.

Overhead, the blood-clouds began to churn, forming a vortex tens of kilometers wide. At its heart, something darker than night gazed upon the field.

The weaker Greater Daemons could not join the melee against the Avatar, Angron, and Skarbrand, but they could ravage the other fronts. On the Imperial line, only Calgar—giant-sized—could meet them.

"Daemons! I'll fight you to the end of the world!" Calgar bellowed, whirling an immense power ring and battering several of Khorne's Greater Daemons aside.

Suddenly the Avatar blazed with unprecedented light. The binding blood-chains flashed to vapor. The flames on His sword shifted to pure white. Wherever the sacred fire swept, warp-filth was forced to recede. Even Angron had to give ground, half a step.

"The game ends now."

Weariness—almost human—colored the Avatar's voice. He raised the holy sword overhead; a spear of light lanced from the tip to the heavens.

Amazingly, the beam drove the blood-clouds back, and true starlight spilled across the battlefield.

In that starlight the holy blade changed shape, becoming a weapon Angron felt he had seen before.

It was a perfect replica of the Sword of the Emperor, the very blade the Emperor Himself had wielded in the Great Crusade—now borne by Guilliman.

Having seen it countless times, Rhodes could reproduce it with the Avatar's divine power. Forged from extradimensional and regenerative metals, the copy might even surpass the original in sheer force.

The instant Angron beheld the blade, agony ripped through the Butcher's Nails.

Buried fragments of memory heaved up. He saw himself upon the steps of the Imperial Palace on Terra, saw a golden figure reaching out to him…

A man who called himself father—the man he hated beyond words.

"No! All lies!" Angron shook his head wildly, axes flailing without rhythm—nearly cleaving Skarbrand beside him.

The Avatar seized the opening. The Emperor's Sword thrust forth—apparently slow, yet impossible to evade. The instant the tip touched Angron's chest, time froze.

Ancient runes along the blade lit one by one. Each rune stood for a fundamental truth of the Imperium of Man. Those truths became substance, unmaking Angron's daemonic essence from within.

"Ah… AAAHHH!!!" The daemon primarch screamed, inhuman and raw. His skin crazed and split, and beneath it churned the seethe of Chaos.

At that decisive moment, a burning blood-spear streaked in from afar, striking the blade with perfect precision. The blow carried Khorne's own power—the Emperor's Sword was knocked aside for a heartbeat.

The attacker was Skulltaker, another of Khorne's Greater Daemons, second in might only to Skarbrand.

Roaring, the daemon joined the fray. If two could not bring down the Avatar—then three.

Angron staggered back. A wound burned in his chest that would not heal; golden fire smoldered within. He had almost died—after ten full millennia, he felt the real threat of death again. Even backed by his master's power, the Emperor's psychic might could kill him.

Skarbrand tried to strike from behind—but an Aeldari Death God appeared without warning and ran him through the shoulder with a single blade. Antithetical energies warred in the wound; the Greater Daemon howled in pain.

Furious, he whirled to see what craven mongrel dared such a blow.

At some point, the Aeldari Death God Ynnead had slipped onto the field. Webway gates yawned open in many places, and the Death God's chosen—the Death Jesters and their kin—poured forth.

The turn shocked even Rhodes. Why were the Aeldari here? The Death God's vessel was itself an Super Beast body—a shell Rhodes had forged in the Imperial Palace long ago.

"Three-on-one's a bit much, isn't it? How about two-on-three?" the Death God said, brandishing his long sword.

The Avatar frowned—and so did some mortal soldiers—glancing warily at the Aeldari around them. There were Drukhari, Craftworlders, even Exodites and members of various Harlequin troupes.

"Do not panic! The Aeldari are our allies—we've been allied for decades. They are reinforcements," Calgar shouted at once.

The alliance had gone well in recent years. Except for the Drukhari, there had been exchanges—and even trade of technologies. The Aeldari had obtained humanity's FTL drive.

Now the Death God's sudden arrival with his host might prove a boon for mankind.

The Avatar said nothing, only nodded to the Death God and moved to stand at his side.

For now, the Death God was indeed a supporting force. Why he appeared at this moment, none could say.

The battle shifted—from two-on-one to three-on-two. Skulltaker planted himself at Angron's side, roaring.

The field plunged into deeper chaos. Skulltaker's arrival brought more Khorne daemons, while the Death God's warriors tied up swathes of the enemy. Aeldari and humans stood shoulder to shoulder.

In the center, the Avatar's glow was dimmer than before, but He still held the Emperor's Sword high. The Death God stood with Him. Together they faced Skarbrand, Angron, and Skulltaker.

"Let me be clear, Rhodes—this time I help you, but I want a primordial-form dimensional avatar like this one. I know you've been using my divine power to secretly make a little toy."

Through the warp-link, Ynnead spoke to Rhodes.

He was here for two reasons. First, to prevent humanity's extinction and the rise of a newborn Slaanesh—else the Aeldari would face Chaos alone.

Second—payment.

He could feel it: the Death-aspect avatar Rhodes had crafted with divine power.

"Deal!" Rhodes agreed without hesitation.

The Death God's timing was perfect.

Chapter 550: The Emperor's Stance — And Fulgrim's Trap

The Death God's arrival neatly completed Rhodes' plan. Look, Fulgrim—the Aeldari Death God is here too. A strong contender for the fifth Chaos Power. And he wants a primordial-form Ace Killer as well. Tempted? Come and take it.

After striking his bargain with Rhodes, the Death God nodded and waded into the fight, his Sword of Death reaping as he went.

The Avatar and the Death God together faced two Greater Daemons and a daemon-prince primarch. The battle cracked the heavens; even the Vigilus system itself began to shudder.

It raged for seven days and nights. The sides fought to a standstill. One-on-one, none of Khorne's Greater Daemons or daemon princes could match the Avatar.

Even after Vashtorr's refits and the latest gigantification trials, the gap in raw power—and in banes—could not be bridged.

The Emperor's sacred psychic might was too lethal to daemons. It could kill any warp-spawn short of the Dark Gods themselves.

And at the Avatar's side stood a mighty Aeldari Death God whose dominion was death itself—fatal to greater daemons. When wielded by that god in person, any daemon prince or Greater Daemon struck would scarcely escape death.

So Chaos found itself in a bind. Khorne hurled in more Greater Daemons and legions, hounding the Avatar and the Death God by sheer rotation of fresh horrors.

For seven days and nights, mortal armies and Chaos hordes alike hurled themselves forward without rest.

None gave ground.

In that span, more than a dozen Greater Daemons, Chaos champions, and daemon princes fell to the blades of the Avatar and the Death God. Yet every time the Avatar moved to finish Angron, some strange force intervened—some Greater Daemon or daemon prince flung himself in the way to die for him.

The struggle's fury drew eyes across the galaxy. The Imperium watched with bated breath.

Other primarchs paused their crusades, asking the Emperor whether to reinforce.

Rogal Dorn and Sanguinius in particular sensed something amiss. Why move this special dimensional avatar through Vigilus? Why not have Rhodes open a portal—or use the Aeldari Webway?

After all, Rhodes' subordinate Tartarus could fold space. For Rhodes, distance meant nothing in the galaxy.

…

"Father! If needed, I request permission to reinforce Vigilus. The battle is extreme. From the lower warp we can see the storm—I fear Calgar may not hold," Dorn said.

Since merging with a cosmic phantom-beast, the primarchs' warp-essences had fully awakened.

Dorn could now, by soul-mode alone, survey whatever he wished in the warp-threaded galaxy—and saw the carnage on Vigilus. Mortal bones piled like hills. Daemons burned to ash under the Emperor's power. Aeldari hosts arrived in waves.

He did not much approve of these xenos allies. His attitude toward the newly returned Aeldari war-god primarch, Khaine, was likewise cool.

When did mankind's battlefields need alien aid?

 "Father! Where is Rhodes? If he's free, he could move us to Vigilus at once. We cannot lose the Nachmund Gauntlet. The spirit-gems aid us, yes, and the Webway can return us through the Imperium Nihilus—but the Gauntlet lets more Imperial fleets pass," said Sanguinius.

"I know you would protect our people," the Emperor said from the Golden Throne. "This is Rhodes' and my design. I cannot tell you the details. Know only this war decides humanity's fate."

"Then we should go all the more. Has our strength become useless? Must mortals hold the line alone?" Sanguinius asked, baffled.

"No. You will join this war—but not yet. It has not reached its darkest hour," the Emperor said.

He had probed the warp of late and found two distinct Chaos godshards. One he could not source. The other was clustered about His son.

He was now certain: Fulgrim, by some means, was stealing the divinity of Slaanesh. If he succeeded, the consequences would be dire. He must be stopped. The Emperor watched Vigilus constantly—restraining His grief and refusing to commit His blade-bound legions and living saints.

By rights He should already have sent His own Greater Daemons and daemon princes to this slaughter. He had not.

He meant to draw Fulgrim out.

"As you will, Father. We'll stand ready to reinforce Vigilus at your word," Dorn said.

He suspected something vast—a trap laid by Father, Rhodes, and Guilliman—for whom, he could not yet say.

…

In the warp, Fulgrim also wore a frown.

Vigilus was too chaotic. If he did not act in person, his champions, lords, Slaanesh Greater Daemons, and daemon princes were all inadequate. Tossing them in would feed the grinder. Unless the Avatar and the Death God fell, more troops were wasted.

"Great master, trust your servant! Abaddon's forces carry the main fight. If we strike from the flank—when Guilliman arrives—if we attack then, we can seize what you seek," a Chaos champion knelt and said.

"This is different. The fight looks even, but Abaddon is starting to slip. If Khorne's full support falters, he will break within a day," Fulgrim said, shaking his head.

Under such pressure, stealing the cargo would be impossible. Abaddon's Black Legion might not even escape.

"Great one, we previously raided Macragge. Khârn slew one of the Emperor's Companions, and we captured many Primaris biowares," a sorcerer said.

"Oh? Speak plainly," Fulgrim said.

"Lord, the Ultramarines are not of one mind. There is a traitor among them—Leandros, formerly a chaplain in the Chapter era. Our easy penetration of Macragge was thanks to his leaks. We should reach out again. When Guilliman arrives, we send a special strike team while the main host fixes the Avatar and Death God. The team steals the dimensional avatar," the sorcerer said.

"A passable plan—but flawed. The Aeldari Death God wants the avatar too. Their gods wake early; he aids the Emperor for his own ends," Fulgrim said.

If not for the need of a vessel to stride the materium at full power, he would never risk this. Yet he had no choice. He had to seize that avatar. He could not let the Death God or Abaddon have it. Even knowing it might be a trap, he had to spring it. Otherwise he would be like Slaanesh—exiled from reality forever.

"Great Gene-Father, perhaps there is another way," said Lucius from the side.

Lucius had returned months ago—after learning his gene-father was about to fuse Slaanesh's godshard and become a new Dark God. To show magnanimity, Fulgrim took back this once-rebellious son.

"My son, speak," Fulgrim said.

For now, he would hear him.

Chapter 551: Lucius and Fulgrim — An Open Trap

"Great Gene-Father, let me command the strike team. Let me seize the cargo for you," Lucius said.

"Lucius, I expected better. Has your brain rotted? How is this different from the sorcerer's plan? You only made yourself captain," Fulgrim said, staring as at an idiot. He had never liked Lucius—not since the latter first joined his host.

Around them, daemon princes, Chaos lords, and high daemons smirked. Lucius' plan was nothing.

Lucius was no longer a god-chosen. Since Slaanesh's descent, all such brands had faded. Only Fulgrim could anoint new chosen—after he fully fused the shard. For now, Lucius was but a strong champion. Nothing more.

"Father! My plan is different. The true decoy must be you. Only your presence on the main field will draw every eye. The Avatar, the Death God, and Guilliman when he comes—they will all come for you. I will lead a small team to steal the prize. That is the only plan that can work," Lucius said.

"Utter folly. How can the Gene-Father risk himself? He is ascending to godhood. We should do it," a Chaos champion protested. Once he'd have feared Lucius, but no longer.

"But if the Gene-Father does not appear, even a full commitment will fail. And then he will never walk the materium," Lucius said.

That was the crux. Fulgrim did not want to go—every keen mind smelled a trap. But the bait the Imperium dangled was irresistible—too important to refuse. He would have to risk himself. Without him, the theft would fail.

"Lucius, I suspect you take orders from another," Fulgrim said.

"Great one, to gain what you want, you must risk. The godshard has chosen you. You will be the greatest being in the galaxy—perhaps the universe. Even if that corpse on the Throne schemes—what of it? Why would I bend to a corpse?" Lucius said.

He did not answer directly. He would never serve the corpse on the Throne—only his true mistress, Aisha. He used the gross insult to ease Fulgrim's suspicion.

Fulgrim smiled. Soon he would be a Dark God. What had he to fear? Though not complete, the god-power was already intertwined with him.

"Lucius, your plan is sound—but you won't lead the team. I have a better choice," Fulgrim said.

He would not entrust this to Lucius. He chose his most trusted—Lorgar, now a daemon prince—whose hatred for the Emperor burned even hotter since learning the Emperor preferred a replacement to bringing him back.

Such sorrow. The Emperor would raise a clone to preach rather than trust him.

"Your word is law, great Gene-Father," Lucius said with a slight smile.

It didn't matter who led, as long as Fulgrim entered the snare.

Fulgrim agreed to Lucius' plan, but did not fully trust him. He gathered an elite: Daemon Prince Lorgar, several Chaos lords, and a strike force of Noise Marines and veteran Emperor's Children.

"Lorgar, this mission is vital. If I succeed, we will gain greater power. I promise to help you rise to demigod," Fulgrim said.

"Fulgrim, you know I care little for power. I want a god to follow. If you will be my god, all the better," Lorgar said.

He had been born to serve a god—to found a church. He had hoped his father would be that god—to lead all mankind in worship. But the Emperor destroyed Monarchia, stripped his faith, and declared He was no god—the universe's cruelest joke. Then worse: rather than trust him, the Emperor elevated a clone to preach. Despair. Lorgar wanted one thing now: to destroy the Emperor and His Imperium.

"Brother, I will be your god. I will be generous, not like Him. Preach for me. Found a new cult of delight," Fulgrim said. faith was potent and plentiful. After annihilating the current Imperium, he would sift a new mankind to breed and make them worship him.

"Rest easy, my brother, my master. I will do it. Make me your prophet," Lorgar said. He would seize the avatar at any cost. With a vessel in the materium, Fulgrim would be invincible—unless the Emperor rose and ascended fully, in which case He would be constrained to the warp.

"Lead the strike team and secure the cargo. I will engage the enemy host and buy your time," Fulgrim said.

Lorgar bowed, eyes aflame with hatred. "For your glory, my brother—my new god."

"Go choose your team. The rest will at once attack Vigilus and join Abaddon's assault," Fulgrim ordered.

For now, pressure must be kept on the Imperium. The true decision would come when Guilliman arrived.

Lucius stood aside, lips quirking as if savoring the play to come. He slipped away, sank into meditation, and contacted the Slaanesh-Slayer.

"How goes it, Lucius? Did you complete your task?" the Slaanesh-Slayer asked.

"My lord, tell our great master her task is done. Fulgrim will engage. The plan is thus…" Lucius said, recounting Fulgrim and Lorgar's decisions in full.

"Excellent. As reward, you will receive a Monster Capsule. Open it to release a cosmic beast to fight for you," the Slayer said.

After decades of research, Rhodes' scientists had perfected a copy of the Monster Capsule—packed with creatures Rhodes had ordered made, and some redeemed from the System—nothing too crucial.

"My thanks to our new master. I, Lucius, will serve with all my might," Lucius said.

"After this, the Master will receive you—along with the Lady. You will be granted Super Beast augmentation and become a giant warrior," the Slayer said.

…

Time slipped by. A month and a half later, Guilliman's fleet emerged near Vigilus from the warp.