Editing Confessions of a Wayward Son (section)

==Confessions of a Wayward Son III==

Sometimes, I sin against mankind.

The planet was called Menos Primus, a civilized world far from [[Terra]]. The populace that lived on Menos was an enlightened people, something I cannot say for the rest of the Imperium. Their cities were great edifices of carved marble, vast metropolises where peasant and noble alike dwelled in comfort. It was in their capitol that I made my landing, with all three hundred of my Rubric Marines in tow.

The governor of Menos was there to greet me. A trim, dapper man in formal robes. With him were smiling diplomats, beaming politicians, and proud soldiers. This world had not known the tread of Astartes before, but they had heard the stories before. They took one look at the gleaming red plate of my brothers, saw the two behemoths that guarded my flanks, and assumed I was one loyal to the Imperium.

The planetary governor escorted me on a personal tour of the planet's capitol, citing to me with great pleasure the deeds his forefathers had done for this world. I was impressed. He did not rule with an iron fist as many of his fellows did. His government utilized a system of representative democracy. His compassion showed. The people of Menos loved their governor.

As I and my silent brothers strode on cobblestone streets, masses of civilians came to greet us. They cast flowers at our feet and chanted thankful prayers to my men. It took us hours to clear past the masses of cheering men and women. During these hours I remained silent beneath my helm.

At last, we arrived at the Congressional Hall, the place where councils were formed and decisions made. The governor gave a speech. I cannot recall the exact words, as it was many centuries ago. Then it came my turn. They expected me to say a few words. I did considerably more than that.

As pict-recorders flashed and holo-cameras rolled, I drew my plasma pistol from its holster, and vaporized the governor in front of eight hundred million people.

I still remember with clarity the word I said after the governor's ashes drifted into the faces of his shocked people.

"Fire."

Three hundred Rubric Marines lifted their boltguns and discharged exploding shells into the stunned crowd.

Bolters are weapons designed to kill armored opponents. Against unarmored and weaponless civilians, it was slaughter. More than slaughter. It was unparalleled butchery. Shrieking men and women, their frail bodies unshielded, popped like blisters under the torrent of fire.

I ordered this act in front of dozens of holo-cams. I did this so the entire populace could see their beloved leader and his advisors die. I was glad then that my brethren were silent suits of armor. Had they possessed their bodies of flesh and bone, they surely would have stopped me.

With one word, I murdered near a thousand defenseless people. With that same word, I saved the other eight hundred million.

A [[Chaos]] flotilla, led by a [[Black Legion]] warlord was nearing this sector. If they were left unchecked, their incursion would destroy many worlds before their momentum was stilled. Countless lives would be snuffed out by the breath of the Warp powers, and countless more would be forced into brutal slavery. The Imperial Fleet would be too late to save these lives, and the war of attrition that followed would be heinous in terms of men wasted.

This I had foreseen. My psychic potential could not match that of Lord Ahriman's, but it was sufficient to discern the waves of the Great Ocean.

Menos Primus would be the world where I halted this traitor tide.

Sadly, the Planetary Defense Force of this planet was not what I hoped they would be. Menos had not seen war for many a century, and the weapons their military possessed were all unusable relics. No man in their armies have ever fought a war, and their generals were all pompous buffoons with the brain of a grox.

My three hundred Rubric Marines could hold off such an invasion for a while, but they would be overwhelmed nonetheless. But it was not my intention to die on this planet, and I would not allow my brothers to fall if the situation didn't demand it.

By killing the governor in cold blood, I hoped to catch the attention an Imperial fleet, which would arrive exactly the time the Black Legion emerged from the Warp.

My plan worked better than I expected. The [[Imperial Navy]] diverted an entire sector fleet when my presence was known. With them came [[Inquisitors]] of both the [[Ordo Malleus|Malleus]] and the [[Ordo Hereticus|Hereticus]] and their retinues. This was how much my kind was hated. That the mere mention of the [[Thousand Sons]] would cause a fleet of hundreds of ships to be launched.

But that was not all. Last to join this improptu Crusade, was a Grand Company of [[Space Wolves]].

Menos Primus was considered a paradise to many. I turned it into a place of death and suffering.

Across its once pleasant fields, regiments of [[Cadia|Cadian Shock]] held the line against countless waves of maddened cultists. [[Vostroyan Firstborn|Vostroyan First Borne]] fought viciously for dominance against renegade Guardsmen in the cities of marble. Juranian Armored Companies dueled at long range with daemonic machines of warp infused power. Thousands of men died, both loyalist and traitor, and stained entire rivers red with their blood.

Beyond the planet's atmosphere, kilometer long battleships vied for supremacy. Flickering trails of light slashed brilliantly in the void of space, sent from a thousand different lance batteries at once. Torpedoes powered forward, puncturing through void shields to deliver their deadly payload into adamantium hulls. Nova cannons hurled building sized projectiles into clusters of ships, annihilating them in bursts of light more radiant than an exploding sun.

But this slaughter that occurred both on and above ground was a mere sideshow to what occurred in Menos's capitol city.

One hundred Sons of Russ defended the place I had first made myself known, and it was at this place the Black Legion hurled themselves towards. Howling Wolves met bellowing Legionnaires in a storm of bloodshed. Power armored frames grappled with each other beneath the shadows of a once great civilization, clawing at each other's throats with the strength born from ten millennia of hatred.

Through all of this, I watched and waited. My battle barge remained drifting in space, far from the powerful sensors of both sides. I was rewarded for my patience.

The Black Legion warlord himself led the last surge against the Space Wolves, a score of Terminator armored veterans at his side. They met the Wolf Lord and his retinue of Wolf Guard in a tempest of flashing blades and bolter fire.

I saw my chance.

I teleported myself, and all three hundred of my brothers into the flanks of the Black Legion

Surprise was total. My Rubric Marines advanced from the haze of warp energies, their boltguns lowered. The hissing whine by my left signaled Ishaq’s plasma cannon was ready to unleash its deadly munitions. The systematic clacks on my right told me Ah’ton had finished cycling the autoloaders of his twin-barreled cannon. I raised my plasma pistol and as one, we unleashed a hellstorm of fire into the Legionnaire’s backs.

Astartes screamed and died. Some danced like a marionette on tortured strings, their bodies jerking with successive bolter detonations. Others were blasted off their feet by Ah’ton’s autocannon, ruinous craters smashed into their chests. Entire groups of men I once called brothers were incinerated by the kiss of hot plasma from Ishaq, reduced to mere specks of ash.

My own weapon scorched smoldering holes into traitor marines, but my eyes did not linger on those I had slain. Through the mayhem, I was searching for the warlord.

I found him standing victoriously over the prone body of the Wolf Lord, his daemon blade fresh with rich Astartes blood. His self-mutilated face glared at me with a hatred that could not be described. My own heart was filled with the same loathing.

My pistol hissed as I advanced. One of his terminator guards stepped into the path of my weapon’s fury. He fell, armored skull gone. The warlord pushed aside the sagging corpse and charged forward to do battle. I met his daemon sword with my staff-blade.

The Black Legion lord was a monstrous, intimidating figure. Sigils pronouncing devotion to Chaos Undivided was etched on every surface of his ancient power armor. His face was hidden from view by a snarling, grimacing helm inlaid with the skulls of his fallen foes. Across his back he carried a trophy rack of severed heads, many of them still dripping with crimson ichor.

Even to this day I can remember the dark words of prayer that roared from the leering mouth-grill of his faceplate.

I was not his match.

I am no slouch with my blade-staff, but to face this… this… thing was beyond what I was capable of. Every strike from his screeching daemon blade I barely blocked. Every ferocious punch he landed felt like a sledgehammer descending on my skin. This was raw, naked aggression before me, instilled into mortal form, powered by Astartes muscle. The Warp Gods had chosen well this avatar of their will.

His last blow forced me to my knees, the force behind nearly causing my arms to break. The warlord laughed and swung his sword downwards to split my skull in two.

Before the blackened blade could connect, a blur of snarling fangs and power armor launched itself into my place, battering me aside and away.

The Space Wolf gave one last howl of defiance before his head was sheared in half.

I cannot say what compelled this Wolf into doing such an act. The enmity between our Legions goes back beyond the [[Horus Heresy]]. Perhaps he saw the need to destroy this greater enemy over a lesser. Perhaps he pushed me aside so he could take vengeance for his lord. I do not know. But regardless, the Wolf’s sacrifice gave me time.

Drawing upon my psychic reserves, I sent streaks of Warp lightning lancing from my finger tips.

Tendrils of lashing energies entwined around the bellowing warlord’s body, flashing with incandescent light. Skin was roasted behind corrupted ceramite. Flesh burned to cinders. Blood boiled in scorched veins. Bone was seared into blackened crisps.

The Black Legion warlord collapsed, plates of armor toppling from his smoking body.

A great howl arose from the Wolves of Russ as they saw their enemy’s leader fall. They fell upon the Chaos Astartes with fiery vengeance. I did not stay to see what suffering they wrought upon the former Sons of Horus. With the last vestiges of my psychic strength, I teleported myself and all three hundred of my brothers back into the bowels of my warship. And then I blacked out.

Countless years have passed since Menos Primus. Throughout those years I have wondered if my actions were just.

Sometimes, I see the faces of the governor and the thousand I murdered in my dreams.