Editing Story:Warhammer 60K: The Age of Dusk (section)

==Additional Background Section 1: Armageddon Rising==
<div class="toccolours mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" style="100%">
The rise of the Armageddon Imperium is one of the most important events of the ten thousand years following the Second Age of Strife, and is a truly inspiring tale. However, the story begins within the darkest period of the troubled world of Armageddon’s history. As it had always been, the polluted hive world had been a site of sporadic warfare during the collapse of the Imperium. On the eve of M51, the world’s population found itself speared between three dreadful and relentless foes. The Kazan Imperium, a culture of men driven to madness and narcotic indulgences, filled the system with their narc-barges and gunships, pounding and assaulting the worlds of the system relentlessly, pillaging the supplies of the beleaguered realm in order to create more drugs to ship back to their crazed populace. The second foe was the Rand, an Imperium of rebellious abhumans and mutant freaks, who wished to annex the hive world and steal the world’s military manufacturing capabilities for their own ends. Wild beastmen hordes and serf-ogryns were common amongst the armies of the Rand, who butchered and performed the cruelest of acts upon the cowering people. Not only did these Imperiums relentlessly assault the planets, a far worse force was drawn to the scent of battle, and the opportunity for sadism:
<div class="mw-collapsible-content">
A warband of the Emperor’s Children, which dragged a dozen enslaved chaos warbands in their wake as they burst from the warp to partake in the debauchery and torment such a war offered the chaos-twisted superhumans. The Steel Legion and the Hiver Militias tried their best to hold off these forces, but there was never any real hope. Slowly, over almost three years of horrendous, murderous fire-fights and blood-drenched desperate struggles in the dirt and rubble of Armageddon’s countless smashed hive spires and ruined homes. Bodies were piled high in the streets. The pavements and pathways ran a dull black-red, the taint of congealing blood filling every nostril.

The Emperor’s Children bestrode the battlefields like malevolent gods. Their noise marines deafened and liquidized fleeing remnants of humanity, while other deranged elements of the twisted monsters stalked men through the streets like animals, before putting them down with fitful giggles, pulling out eyes while men flailed uselessly against them. Many dark legends began to form amongst the despairing populace, some fair, some ill. 

Across every world of the Armageddon system, one name was spoken with quivering, fearful whispers. The Eternal one, Lucius. Lucius the Eternal was a nightmare by this period, a towering giant covered in the screaming faces of those slain by the Eternal beast’s blades, or subverted by his blessing. He traveled from world to world, challenging and murdering the greatest heroes and leaders of the near-broken defenders. Over the twenty thousand years of his vile existence, Lucius’ body had stretched beyond his natural physique, his body expanding to accommodate the hundreds upon thousands of agonized faces bound within his accursed battle plate. His lash whipped about him like a viper, slaying men and women with every venomous, languid stroke of its barbed tendrils, while his glittering blade cut down warriors by the score, his skill beyond anything a mere mortal could hope to match. 

Yet, there were other stories propagating through the misery. A giant, with eyes like the fires of hell, was fighting across the system too. Where ever the resolve of the defending humans seemed weakest, this hooded titan of obsidian flesh would appear; the hermit of glorious myth, now made flesh. Where he appeared, the tide of battle turned. His strength and power was unthinkable and wondrous; tanks were ripped apart, entire brigades of narc-mad berserker men from Kazan slain by his fists and his flamers, even the howling warriors of the Emperor’s children felt the brutal exactions of the hermit who killed them like presumptuous bastard children.

Eventually, the last of the Defenders were pushed back to the blazing ruins of Hades hive. Backlit by endless purple flames, the last of the Steel Legion formed up into a defensive ring, using their Chimera as barricades, while their basilisks and Russes unleashed a constant barrage of ordnance into the onrushing hordes of madness and despair. Lord Delorr, the last of Armageddon’s ruling leaders, bedecked himself in the ancient Imperial guard navy of his ancestors, his power sabre flourishing as he rallied his defenders with an impassioned speech where he called upon his people to put up such a fight, that they would be remembered forever in infamy amongst their enemies, as the last true Imperial outpost. His men cheered bitter cheers, as they shouldered their las rifles one last time.

Delorr was dragged from his lines as the hordes overran the Chimera blockade, by the brutal lash of Lucius the Eternal, who chuckled with a sadistic arrogance which did not cow Delorr, but drove him into a rage. Lucius dropped the mortal man into the dust at his feet. Both sides paused, as Lucius demanded all to witness the death of hope on Armageddon. Delorr, unafraid despite his broken arm and the many cuts ripped into his side by the vicious lash of torment. He spat blood, and slowly raised his sabre into a guard position. His arm was shaking with pain, and the defending men, women, and war-haunted children of Armageddon looked on with internal groans of anguish. Lucius towered over three meters above the frail, wounded old man who vainly raised his blade to challenge his foe.

Lucius smiled a hideous smile, his overly scarred features splitting like the glaze on an old piece of pottery, his fangs and serpentine tongue flicking around his jaws. Delorr attacked with all the skill he could muster, and Lucius lazily blocked and deflected every single blow without even effort. Each time, he would gift Delorr with another shallow cut, and the leader would stumble to his knees, before slowly rising once more. Finally, Lucius split Delorr from head to foot with a single stroke of his blade.

“And so, mankind falls to the eternal blade of the Emperor’s Children, never to rise!” Lucius the Eternal was recorded as cackling across the battlefield, his daemonic voice carrying across the entire field easily.

“There is only one Emperor’s child upon this world, and you are not him. I have fought from the shadows for too long. I decree that this shall continue '''NO MORE'''.”

The voice which replied was effortlessly powerful, and filled with a humble yet firm authority which evaporated the effect of Lucius’ vile tirade. It is said every warrior on the field that day was briefly knocked into silence for a few moments, as the hermit himself emerged from behind the ranks of the Rand, tossing the abhumans aside as he burst into the forefront of the battle, striding forwards to point at Lucius directly.

Lucius turned and cursed the presumption of the pathetic beast who thought to challenge him, drawing his sword once more. His venomous words caught in his throat, as he realized who removed the hooded cloak from around his shoulders, revealing a giant armored in dragon-sculptured emerald and glittering green plate.

The Primarch, the demi-god of War, Vulkan. Though Lucius still rose to a greater height than Vulkan, the Primarch was powerful and filled with a presence the Eternal One couldn’t hope to match. Vulkan raised his burning spear in one fist, aimed at the Chaos marine. Lucius grinned in response.

“At last,” was all the monster said, before charging to engage.

The swirling melee lasted for almost twelve hours, daemonic energies and light spilling from the conflict in great boiling waves. The arena of conflict which sprang up between the defenders and attackers was turned molten by the fury of the conflict. Vulkan’s spear was like a living being in his grasp, darting and spinning to engage Lucius with ever more complex assaults. The Eternal One, for the first time in millennia, was struggling to defend himself and counterattack, simply trying to defend himself. He however, was simply weeping with joy. At last, a true challenge.

Yet, for all Lucius’ hateful abilities, Vulkan was the greater. He hacked off the legs of the chaos marine, before slicing through his arms from his torso contemptuously. Lucius merely giggled, spewing black blood from his mouth in a great torrent. He jeered at Vulkan, even as the primarch stood over him.

“Go on, slay me Salamander prince! Just like we slew your Legion on Istvaan! Finish your victory, take your bloody vengeance! Feel the pride and joy of avenging your fallen brothers, your fallen Imperium, your broken father! Kill me, and learn of your folly!” Lucius pleaded, with malevolent eyes.

Vulkan slammed his boot down onto Lucius’ head. 

Except, he didn’t. His boot paused inches from the killing blow. The arrogance drained from Lucius’ face, as Vulkan smiled humorlessly, and turned back to face the hordes of enemies who were ready to murder every defender of Armageddon without mercy. He raised his spear, twirled it in his hand, and plunged it six feet into the ground, before raising his arms up from his sides. He declared his name, what he was and what he represented. He declared how he would rebuild the old Imperium, and drive despair kicking and screaming from his new realm. His speech resounded across the landscape, as his passionate voice reached the men who stood poised to destroy the last remnants of resistance.

The Emperor’s children however, cared not. They advanced once more; weapons raised... and were then assaulted by the Rand Imperial forces, who threw themselves into combat with the superhuman butchers with rekindled zeal at the words of the Emperor’s true child. The Emperor’s children, believing both of their allies had turned, attacked them with spiteful vengeance. The Kazan, Rand and Emperor’s Children thus turned upon each other, and this conflict expanded out into space and unto every planet in the system. Enemies divided, Vulkan led, at last, a counter offensive. He battled in person where he could. The few surviving Steel Legion desperately followed him, and as he engaged the enemies across the system, he gathered more and more supporters from the local populace. Those soldiers and people who had hidden from the onslaught of the Astartes now rose up, buoyed by the arrival of their new champion.

After a decade of further conflict, Armageddon was reclaimed, and those who opposed Vulkan were forced to withdraw. The Daemon Prince Kadious, who led the Children from his Pleasure fortress in orbit, fled from the might of Vulkan, his howls echoing throughout the warp as he chose to abandon his physical form rather than risk defeat by the Primarch. His howls of hurt pride reverberated throughout the warp. Somewhere, deep within a daemon world formed from tattooed, mewling flesh, an ancient serpent-thing’s eyes flicked open, in recognition of the word ‘Vulkan’. A slow smile spread across its distorted face, as it recalled its brother. But this story will be told later...

Vulkan’s consolidation of Armageddon ended when he returned to that world, and returned to Hades Hive, at the head of an army of refugees and grizzled soldiers, some Kazan, some Randian, others genuine surviving Steel Legionnaires and citizens of the planet. Here he found Lucius, howling and cursing. He had been guarded by a dozen soldiers while Vulkan had been at war. They had each shot themselves, as the influence of Lucius corrupted their minds. Still, the Eternal one was alive. Limbless and broken, but definitely alive.

When Vulkan returned, Lucius cursed and spat his name, eyes wild with malice. “I shall never die dog of the Emperor! I am eternal! Even in defeat, I am made stronger! You cannot slay me, or you will fall just like your fallen brothers!” Lucius cackled manically.

Vulkan’s face, it was said in later Legends, was set like stone as he responded coldly. “No, Lucius. You will not die. You will live forever. My subjects; dig a pit,” Vulkan requested, as he hefted Lucius up to his eye level.

“You will live your corruption in darkness and impotence! You shall be Eternal, I promise you that. Yet, should you suffocate in your living tomb, and your soul once more seeks reincarnation, know this: I take no pride or pleasure in your demise, for you are beneath me. I feel NOTHING for you.”

Thus, as Lucius screamed his defiant misery through his bleeding jaws, he was entombed within a bladed coffin of admantium, and was tossed into the vast pit delved into the crust of Armageddon by the adoring allies of Vulkan, before being buried forever.

Lucius the Eternal was finally bested, forever.

Vulkan turned his attentions inwards, and he remade Armageddon from the foundations up. Militarily secure, the Primarch had the structures of the planet rebuilt; he enforced mass infrastructure renewal projects, including increasing agriculture, both on the surface and in dedicated underground greenhouse vaults. As food and security increased, manpower increased and the population slowly began to recover. He formed enforcer units to keep the peace, had medical facilities and factories constructed, and the people of Armageddon began to prosper over the decades, under their immortal Lord’s rule, who ruled alongside a council of Senators and celebrated thinkers. Eventually, this rebuilding spread to every planet in the system. Once his world was secure and as perfect as his vision could imagine, he began to look outwards.

His new armies, forced to utilize the captured barges and warships of the Kazan and Rand, progress was slow. Yet, as he made short warp jumps to the nearest systems, he began to encounter and defeat realms with useful technologies, knowledge and equipment which he could utilize to reclaim much of the lost information of mankind at its height. He liberated scores of Tech Priests and their acolytes, bringing them to Armageddon to found the first of Vulkan’s Promethean Technocratic Academies, where the cult mechanicus was reborn upon the world. Using the rebuilt factories and industrial equipment of Armageddon, the Academy began to produce many new and glorious technological wonders. After a century of campaigning and reconquest, Vulkan had brought a dozen star systems under his rule, and the Academics cloistered within the Tower of Knowledge, situated upon Armageddon, had designed and had constructed three vast battleships, by disassembling dozens of older vessels, and using those parts in conjunction with newly designed equipment. 

These were soon used to lead the fleets of captured vessels Vulkan had brought under his heel, a million different hulls and weapon load-outs for a million different purposes and wars. Old, disbanded remnants of old Imperial Guard regiments and recruiting worlds also began to be incorporated, adding to the skill and effectiveness of Vulkan’s armies.

Each world Vulkan took, he would stay upon for almost a decade, carefully rebuilding much of what he destroyed, and converting the populace to his views using his powerful rhetoric and skills as a diplomat and orator. Yet, despite the influence and power of Vulkan, he could not lead every fleet of his, and his mortal armies were struggling to advance his new Empire, as many other older petty Imperium began to oppose them with ever greater stubbornness. This would not do.

As Vulkan’s Imperium became better known amongst the galactic population, he began to encounter Space Marines, in various guises. On the worlds of Domhald, Vesker and Hoinkaz respectively, Vulkan found these fortress worlds were defended by fearsome defenders, who would not yield to Vulkan’s armies. Eventually, Vulkan realized these were Imperial Fists. After much argument and war and debate, the Fists were persuaded that Vulkan was, indeed, who he said he was, and they reluctantly agreed to an alliance, finally relieved after their lengthy sieges. Every few decades, Armageddon would be visited by black-skinned warriors, clad in faded, cracked green armor, tears trailing down their features as they made pilgrimage to Vulkan’s residence, a relatively mundane tower within the vast rebuilt Hades Hive. The surviving Salamanders returned to their father. Vulkan joyfully accepted the refugee Salamanders into the fold once more. Occasionally, word reached Vulkan’s campaign forces of bands of rogue Space marines raiding and pillaging various human worlds across the segmentum. When Vulkan actually encountered many of these bands, he discovered most were not actually chaotic renegade marines, but were actually simply rogue aimless Astartes causing trouble and starting wars simply because they wanted to. Doom Eagles, Marines Malevolent, Dark Star marine, Minotaurs, White Scars, and a hundred different chapters had elements running rampant and uncontrolled across the void. Vulkan forcibly brought these warbands to battle. Those who did not submit to his Imperial rule were defeated and their arms and armor was captured. Those that realized who this Vulkan was, eventually submitted to his will. Yet, despite these recruits and converts, the Vulkan Imperium could only boast around three hundred aging Astartes, and this was simply not enough to be useful to the ever expanding realm.

By 006.M52, Vulkan’s Imperium spanned roughly one thousand worlds. Each world was well fortified, and his army was still expanding and re-organizing into a more unified galactic fighting force. Institutions and bureaucracy sprang up, and many complex industrial and social systems developed, turning Armageddon into a bustling metropolis of Vulkan’s new Imperium.

Not only were the mortal armies changing, but the forces of the Astartes began to be remade according to Vulkan’s new plans. He used genetic information from his own flesh, combined with much of the geneseed of those Astartes who came to him, to begin a new project of Astartes-creation. Countless boys and families begged to join this new revolution of god-making. These new Astartes were formed into forces known as Commanderies, each two thousand marines strong. They were led by veterans of the ancient old Imperium’s previous Astartes Chapters, who knew of the intensive training required to make these superhumans into true Astartes killing machines. In total, two hundred Commanderies were formed, and many would be remembered with infamy amongst the foes of Vulkan; the Jade Princes, the Supplicants, Nemenmarines, the Dorn Revenants, and countless others (''which we shall not go into here''). Those Salamanders who returned to Vulkan formed the first Commandery, and kept their title. They devoted themselves to protecting their Primarch. They became a force of guardians and counter-insurgent force, used to stifle any violent revolutions against Vulkan’s regimes. However, Vulkan had no desire to crush all dissenters. Those who had concerns over his rule were allowed to have their opinions voiced in the councils of the Vulkan Imperium. While most concerns are ignored, at least they are acknowledged.

With the Commanderies at the forefront of the reconquest, the Vulkan Imperium expanded to almost three thousand worlds in half the time it took to claim the first one thousand. As the Vulkan Imperium expanded, Vulkan encountered the larger menaces that filled the galaxy. South of his realm, the vast Theocractic nightmare realm of the Tallern-Ophelian Imperium resided. It was a dark realm of suspicion and hatred, where witch hunters and preachers drove the realm into religious mania. The Ecclesiarch was the highest authority there, and he declared, from his monolithic Cathedral world, that Vulkan was no Primarch, but was instead a daemon in disguise. Those that face the daemonic red eyes of the warrior king of the Vulkan Imperium, could hardly deny he seemed truly diabolic. To the North and West of the Vulkan Imperium, the two Chaos Imperiums began to react to his consolidating actions, and many were the vicious wars fought between these three powers, in anticipation of some vast unseen engagement yet to come. To the east, Vulkan received emissaries from a realm he had never known before; Grand Sicarium. The multi-colored Astartes to arrive in Vulkan’s court were clad in fine burnish armors, expensive furs and jewelry, and bore ornate bolters across their chests. They declared that King Sicarius, being King of all Astartes, would be happy to accept the Commanderies of Vulkan into their Empire, as long as they accepted Sicarius as their lord and master.

Needless to say, Vulkan was not pleased, and demonstrated great restraint by only killing one of the emissaries of Sicarius, sending the second one back to his master, to inform Sicarius that no, the Commanderies would not join his den of infamy and oppression. They would fight them to the very last.

For, amidst the growing tide of dangers throughout the galaxy, Vulkan had formed a solid core of sanity in the middle of the former Imperium’s heart.
</div>
</div>