The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Two
Continued from The Tales of the Emperasque: Part One.
4-006-001-M42
The observation void platforms of Macragge are, by necessity, among the best left in the galaxy. It was that world, the home of the Ultramarines, the second birthplace of Robute Guilliman, that drove Hive Fleet Behemoth to pieces, and houses the mortal remains of the second greatest leader the Imperium has ever known. The void platforms, named Calgar, Tigurius, and Cassius, for the three leaders of the Ultramarines, were the templates used to design the great Void Stations of Armageddon, which helped prevent the loss of that world to the Orks.
It was these stations that first detected something approaching the planet from the direction of Segmentum Obscurus. The return of a splinter fleet could not be discounted, and so the full force of the first, second, fifth, and ninth companies of the Ultramarines, the finest warriors of the Astartes, were assembled at the northern polar fortress, which had managed to hold off even the Dominatrix of Behemoth. Librarian Tigurius, perhaps the most potent human psyker in the galaxy barring the Emperor Himself, joined Chapter Master Calgar before the stasis-locked form of Primarch Guilliman in the Shrine of the Temple of Correction, seeking one final prayer of guidance from Chaplain Cassius. The black-clad old Marine slowly raised his hands in prayer before the frozen body of his genetic predecessor.
“We seek your beneficence, Lord Guilliman, and the guidance of the Emperor on Earth, blessed be the Golden Throne. May the defense of the innocents of Macragge be steadfast, and the protection of the honor of the Chapter never falter.”
Suddenly, Chief Librarian Tigurius rose to his feet, disrupting the sermon. He spun to gape at the ceiling. Calgar looked up at him is surprise. “What is it, old friend?”
Tigurius cradled his head in his hands. “I…I feel a great, terrible, divine power. It approaches us, Marneus, with the winds of the Warp at its back.”
Cassius joined Calgar and the rest of the assembled Ultramarines, and the thousands of pilgrims, Ecclesiarchal drones, and PDF honor guards in staring at the ceiling, as if they would suddenly develop the same psychic powers as the Librarian, and see what he saw. Calgar grimaced. “A divine power…is it one of those accursed Eldar Warp entities, Avatars?”
Tigurius shook his head, nearly weeping tears of joy. “No, Lord battle-brother, it is nothing so profane…such a presence…it can only be our Emperor himself!” Calgar felt his jaw drop.
“Impossible!” he proclaimed without thinking. Realizing his mistake, he continued. “The Emperor sits the Golden Throne, never to march alongside mortal Man again.”
“Apparently not, brother,” the wizened psyker whispered. “He comes to us.” Cassius turned to the frozen body of Guilliman and bowed his head, grinning.
“It seems,” he said faintly, “that my prayers are to be answered.”
The pilgrims scattered throughout the vast sepulcher started gibbling to themselves, several taking a reverent knee, others fainting from the shock. The PDF honor guard were little better, milling about uncertainly, and the Ecclesiarchs around the room clustered before the body of Robute Guilliman, locked in its eternal rictus of pain, the poisoned wounds at its neck clear to see.
Abruptly, the sky beyond the adamantium sepulcher turned a vivid purple, as the warp being flashed into existence outside. The faithful fell to their knees and sobbed, the Ultramarines stood true and proud, and the Ecclesiarchy minions called out His most Divine name in rapturous joy.
For several seconds, there was nothing but a howling wind beyond the walls of the vast, mountainous temple. Then, with a suddenness that shocked the assembled mass of humanity, a loud WHAM sounded from the ceiling above the marble throne. The Ultramarine contingent visibly tensed, and the gray-haired Tigurius nearly toppled. Calgar caught his arm, baffled. “What is it, brother? What just happened?”
Tigurius shook his head. “The…the God-Emperor, he can’t…this can’t be…”
Before Calgar could ask him what he meant, a deafening roar sounded from above the building. “DEAREST ROBUTE, WHY DID YOU ALLOW YOURSELF SUCH TASTE IN ARCHITECTURE? I MEAN, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE ECONOMICALLY-MINDED ONE.”
The ceiling shook visibly, the ancient marble and adamantium buckling under a vast impact that threw the standing gathering to the ground, save only the most sure-footed of the Space Marines. The voice continued. “I MEAN, JAGHATAI NEVER NEEDED A TEMPLE THE SIZE OF AN AIRCRAFT CARRIER. HE HAD A HORSE AND A GUY WITH LIGHTNING IN HIS ASS AND A MOTORCYCLE THE SIZE OF A BUS. WHAT MORE DID HE NEED?”
The whole building, walls of armor and all, shook with the force of the next slam. Everyone left standing toppled to the ground. “AND RATHER MORE TO THE POINT, WHO BUILDS A TEMPLE OUT OF FUCKING ARMOR? WERE YOU THAT AFRAID OF DORN STICKING HIS BOOT UP YOUR ASS? DID THOSE WOLVES RUSS USED TO HAVE SCARE YOU THAT BADLY?”
Finally, the ceiling gave way, and a hole big enough to fly a Marauder through appeared in the abused roof. Vast chunks of the building fell inward around the hole, sending the pilgrims scrambling for their lives. Tigurius overcame his stupor to dazedly knock the bigger chunks harmlessly aside, as an enormous orange animal fell through the hole. It landed with an earth-shaking THUD at the foot of the throne, knocking Cassius aside like a bowling pin. The enormous creature stared at the figure of Robute Guilliman on the throne, and in a rather more reasonable tone, continued. “SHIT, SON, THAT GLITTERY TRAITOR FULGRIM REALLY FUCKED YOU UP, DIDN’T HE? GOOD THING SLAANESH USED HIM FOR TOILET PAPER.” The creature padded up the flight of stairs leading to the throne, with the Ultramarines at its feet gazing on in astonishment. The monster looked at the man with…what? Pity? Sorrow? Regret?
At length, it spoke again. It was still gazing at the blue-armored man on the marble chair, but its words were directed at the Ultramarines. “HEY, YOU GUYS. LISTEN, GO GET IN TOUCH WITH WHOEVER’S RUNNING THE BLACK TEMPLARS THESE DAYS, HUH? I HAVE A DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT TO BE AT.” With no more talking, and no pomp or bombast at all, the colossal monster vanished with a thunderclap of displaced air, taking the stasis-protected Primarch with him.
Marneus Calgar, the man who punched Khaine to death, the Space Marine who broke Behemoth over his knee, stared at the empty space his bestial Emperor and spiritual liege had just vacated. All he could manage, with his centuries of oratorical skill, was a single
“What the FUCK?”
Sometime later, at The Rock
In the final, waning hours of the life of the Horus Heresy, no legion escaped unscathed. All eighteen of the surviving twenty legions had either gone over to Chaos or broken, save the Ultramarines. By the time of the Thirteenth Black Crusade, none of the loyal Primarchs remained, unscathed. Three were dead, in fact: Dorn, Sanguinius, and Manus. The others vanished or fell in battle after the fact: Gulliman, his throat cut; Corax, Vulkan, and Russ entered the Eye, and Jaghatai and The Lion simply disappeared. Disappeared, however, does not mean died. In the tumbling rocks of Caliban, overseen by the Watchers in the Dark, lay Lion El’Jonson, still comatose, but fully healed, after his climactic battle with Luther. Only Luther himself and the Watchers knew of this secret…aside from the Emperor. The empty caverns below the citadel of the Dark Angels bent, folded, and popped as the massive Emperor stepped forth. The purple flash illuminated dark corners of the chamber that had probably not seen daylight since the planet was sundered thousands of yeas ago. The Emperor looked around and sighed. “LOOKS LIKE I HAVE SOME WORK TO DO.”
Above, in the fortress-monastery, the Angels were thrown into a panic. “What do you MEAN there’s a psyker signal from the Rock?” Sammael roared at the hapless Librarian. “I…mean what I said, brother, there is someone down there. Someone with a psychic power that is horrifyingly vast,” the Librarian answered contritely. Azrael, master of the Secrets, leader of the Dark Angels, strode into the room in fury. “What in the name of the Golden Throne,” he began without a trace of irony, “is going on in MY monastery?”
Sammael spun to face him. “Brother, there is a psychic signal emanating from the places where the Watchers in the Dark go to die. Something is down there.” Azrael buried his face in his hands. “I gathered that. I have ordered what few elements of the Deathwing remain here to gather, and prepare for an excursion into the Rock.” “Let me save you the trouble,” a rasping voice said. Azrael and the other two men in the room spun about –a sight to see in power armor – to face a ragged old man, leaning on the wall, nursing his head. He was surrounded by a rapidly dispersing purple mist, and his free hand was blocking out the light in the room. Azrael gaped. “…Master El’Jonson?” The old man nodded slowly, then winced at the evident pain that caused him. “Yes…yes, brother Azrael, it is I. I confess I have been away for a time. I recall this world having trees when last I was here.” The Librarian sank to knees, overcome with emotion. Sammael slowly raised his gauntleted hands to cover his gaping mouth. Azrael, however, recovered his composure, looking grim. “Ah…Master El’Jonson…the Vault…it is not refilled.” The Lion sighed and gingerly stood upright once more. “I can not tell you much much of a fuck I do not give, brother.” Azrael gasped aloud. “But…Master, it was ever the duty of the Keeper of the Truth to fill the Vault-” “-In the event that I did not return, brother,” El’Jonson said, keeping his voice level and free of censorship with a grand effort. “I quite clearly have.” He grinned faintly. “Don’t look so disappointed.”
Sammael slowly turned to face his Chapter Master. Azrael looked utterly crushed, certainly not how he should have looked upon finding out that his Master had returned. El’Jonson must have grasped Sammael’s confusion, for he sank down the steel chair fitted to the wall behind him, and stared at the floor below him, as if seeing where he had nearly had his head caved in by Luther ten thousand years prior. Before he could explain however, a massive noise from beyond the chamber walls heralded the Deathwing. The first of the Terminator-clad giants entered the room in a rush, already speaking. “Lord Azrael, we have drawn together what lingers here of the First Compa…who the hell is that guy?” Sammael turned to the Terminators, suppressing a smirk. “Can you not see that he is Lion El’Jonson himself, returned to us?” The Terminator Captain glanced at the withered old man, the still-prostrate Librarian, Azrael, who looked to be on the verge of tears, and finally Sammael, who had failed entirely to suppress the smirk. “You’re shitting me, aren’t you? You’re so full of shit, your eyes are brown.”
“As I was saying,” El’Jonson said loudly, then immediately looked to regret it, placing a hand on his forehead, “ah, blast, that stings like a mother’s bitch…Azrael, you have executed your task ably, but the time for further adherence to the Truth is concluded. I have returned to complete the role I abandoned when I lost to Luther.” Azrael, among the most feared Space Marines in all the galaxy, slowly slumped his shoulders and nodded. “…Okay.” The Lion shook his head again, and managed to keep from wincing. “The Emperor already filled me in on what has transpired. Not all of your…actions thus far have been…meritous, brother. Believe me, though, I would rather return from the vast sleeping death of the Rock to find you darkened than dead.” He turned to Sammael, who was looking rather startled at that pronouncement, hastened to explain. “The Truth, brother, the fact the position of Truth Keeper was created to protect, was that I swore to the Emperor, as I lay dying in the Rock, to fill the Vault of the Watchers with the geneseed of The Fallen, and should I awake before the last of the Fallen are killed, then my oath has been broken.” The Terminator Captain visibly stiffened at those words, and Azrael shuddered. El’Jonson let the mood hang in the air for a few seconds before smiling. “That said, I have been released from the Oath by our new Emperor. Actually,” he said off-handedly, ignoring the horrified gasps of the assembled Deathwing, “I guess he’s the same Emperor with a new body. Ah well, same thing, really. The teeth will take some getting used to.”
There were only a few hundred Dark Angels present in the Rock when Lion El’Jonson awoke, but all were summoned to the Chapel to hear him speak. Several dozen Initiates and Neophytes were milling around in the vast auditorium, but the older Angels were all silent. When Lion slowly walked on to the stage and turned to address the crowd, the whole room seemed to hold its collective breath. Lion winced and recoiled slightly as he looked out over the assembled Marines. “Gah…can someone turn those lights down a bit? I haven’t used my eyes in nine thousand years.” Several Techmarines at the back of the room scrambled to obey. The lights lowered considerably, and Lion sighed. “Thanks, brothers.” He walked slowly to the front of the stage. “I imagine that you were rather expecting this to be a bit more formal, but frankly, this alone is more than sufficient. We have always been keepers of secrets.” He turned his back to his brothers and slowly paced across the stage. “I have awoken, by the will of the Emperor. He has risen from His Golden Throne, and visited the Rock personally.” The room erupted in a buzz of incredulous noise. El’Jonson stopped pacing and glared coolly at the rows of Power Armored Astartes, and the buzz died at once. After a moment, he grimaced. “I suppose I shouldn’t be angry, I imagine I would be skeptical too. Still, I assure you, the God-Emperor of Mankind has arisen.” A Techmarine stood, head bowed respectfully. “Lord El’Jonson, will He not appear before us here? So that we may resume our Grand Crusade?” El’Jonson shook his head ruefully. “Oh, there will be a Grand Crusade, make no mistake, but He will not come here. I doubt he would fit in the room.”
The stunned silence couldn’t have been quieter in a vacuum. After very nearly a minute, in which even the Lion himself could barely suppress a laugh, one of the Terminators of First Company spoke up. “Um…Lord El’Jonson, what do you mean, he couldn’t fit in the room?” “I meant precisely what I said, brother,” El’Jonson said with restrained mirth. “He’s huge. Zyberhuge, one would say.” “I thought…I mean, isn’t He…He’s a divine man, but still the size of the mortal man he used to be, before He ascended the Throne, right?” the Dark Angel blustered. “Ah, I see what you meant. No, he isn’t, not any more,” Lion said frankly. “He’s…changed. He summoned a daemon and took control of its body. His mind travels in its body now. He also allowed the beast to psychically consume his old body, as well, so he has retained all of his old abilities, while acquiring the beasts’.” The room erupted in confused yelling, prayer, and questions. After nearly a minute, Lion raised his hands for silence. “Brothers, I know you’re skeptical, but I assure you, it’s the truth.”
“But then won’t the Astronimicon become invisible?” one of the Deathwing Lieutenants asked in horror?” “No, no, Brother-Lieutenant,” Lion hasted to assure them. “He kept the beacon lit even while battling Horus, and while nearly dead on the Throne. He can guide its light even easier now, since he isn’t bound to a failing Throne.” The Lieutenant hesitantly spoke up. “So…where is he now?” Lion nodded. “A very reasonable question. I have no idea. He’ll contact us when the need arises, though, I’m sure. “In the meantime,” the Primarch said, raising his gaze to take in the entire room, “we must prepare. Six of our Companies are in the field on assignment or recruiting, so we should make ready what forces remain here. He may return at any time.” The assembled Marines rose to their feet, sensing the dismissal in the phrase. They saluted their Primarch as one, and made for the doors of the great hall, still muttering to themselves. Lion sighed. Azrael, the Chapter Master, remained in his seat, in the middle of the front row. When the other Angels were gone, he spoke up. “Lord El’Jonson, will you be joining us in the field when called?” El’Jonson looked away for a few seconds. “If my strength returns fully, yes, I will. Until then…I am in need of recuperation.” “I understand, my Lord,” Azrael said, masking his disappointment. He stood and saluted as well, then walked out with the others. Lion stood staring at the empty room for several seconds before letting out the sigh he had been holding. “It would have been easier to lie,” he said under his breath.
4-011-001-M42
The meeting of the High Lords of Terra continued unabated, with twelve of the nineteen most powerful humans in the galaxy debating long into the night. Finally, the chair [presently the Grand Marshal Provost] calls the meeting to final order.
Provost: Gentlemen, under the circumstances I see no further value in lingering here. We have decided. We shall appear before the commoners and let them know a select slice of the truth: the Emperor lives on, but has journeyed to fight the Great Enemy with their own weapons.
Ecclesiarch: This is madness, I tell you! There will be riots in the streets!
Charter Captain: He’s not wrong. Perhaps we shouldn’t mention the part about “their own weapons.” I mean, the commoner hears “Great Enemy,” they hear “weapons,” they’re going to think “demons.” Do we want them to think the Emperor is consorting with demons? No matter how factual?
Provost *angry grunt*: You solution is no better, Captain.
Lord High Admiral: Then it is decided. We should perform the address, promptly.
horrible shriek, Paternoval Envoy, Grand Master Astropath, and Astronomican Master double over, bellowing in agony
Lord Commander Militant: What?! What is going on?!
Assassinorum Grand Master: ARGH! My…my head…something is coming…something terrifying! Something UNHOLY!...Gaaah, my head…
purple flash of light from center of conference table
UNKNOWN: BEHOLD, SENATORS. I RETURN.
'crunching noise as conference table breaks under the unknown beings’ weight, catching Charter Captain’s augmetic leg in the process. Captain shrieks and begins throwing sparks
UNKNOWN: OH. SORRY. GUESS I DON’T KNOW MY OWN STRENGTH.
All four psykers cease feeling pain now that the apparition is in the room and not approaching
Grand Master Assassinorum: My Emperor? It…Is that you?
UNKNOWN: YES, IT IS I, LORD OF MANKIND. I’VE GAINED WEIGHT, BUT YEAH, IT’S ME.
Lord Commander Militant: How…oh, most divine one, tell us, how have you returned to us, your most loyal servants?
UNKNOWN: IF YOU THINK YOURSELVES MY MOST LOYAL SERVANTS, YOU’VE NEVER MET THIS FELLOW I’VE HEARD OF NAMED FERIK JURGEN. BUT TO ANSWER YOUR QUESTION, I LEARNED OF THE PLANS OF THE ONES CALLED THE ILLUMINATI TO KILL MY CHILDREN AND SACRIFICE THEIR SOULS TO ME. I KNEW OF THEIR PLAN, AND KNEW THAT IT WAS GUARANTEED TO FAIL, SINCE TWO OF THE…WHAT DID THEY CALL THEM, SENSEI? YEAH, THOSE GUYS. THREE DIED BEFORE THE ILLUMINATI GOT TO THEM, AND ONE MORE TURNED TO CHAOS AND GOT EATEN ALIVE BY TZEENCH, SO THEY COULD NEVER FORM CRITICAL MASS.
Lord Inquisitor *sweating profusely* : Shall we round up and purge these heretics, my Lord God?
UNKNOWN *turns to face the Inquisitor, who changes colors several times*: ‘WE’ SHALL DO NOTHING OF THE KIND. THE SENSEI ARE MY BLOOD, AND THE ILLUMINATI, WHILE CRUEL, ACTUALLY HAD A PLAN FOR MY RETURN, WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN SAY FOR ANY OF YOU. *turns to Fabricator-General* THOUGH I CAN’T GET MAD AT YOU, REALLY, AT LEAST YOU HELPED REPAIR THE GOLDEN THRONE THAT ONE TIME. OUT OF CURIOSITY, WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HIT NOW THAT IT’S VACANT?
Fabricator-General: Now that it is no longer in use, Omnissiah, we have deactivated it and are attempting to repair it. It should be…easier, now that it is not…active.
UNKNOWN steps off conference table, Charter Captain grabs leg, attempts to reattach it unsuccessfully. Fabricator-General leans over to repair it
UNKNOWN: GOOD, GOOD. LISTEN, I GUESS I SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR NOT COMING TO YOU FELLOWS SOONER…
Grand Marshal Provost: I’m certain you had more pressing needs, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: YEAH, I SENSED THAT ABBADON THE DESPOILER WAS ABOUT TO USE A NURGLITE VIRAL BOMB ON CADIA, WHICH WOULD HAVE ALLOWED HIM TO TAKE THE GATE. CAN’T HAVE THAT. ALSO, MY SONS, ROBUTE AND LION NEEDED MY HELP WITH…THINGS. I SHOULD GO FIND JAGHATAI, TOO, THOUGH HELL IF I KNOW WHERE HE IS. AND WHOEVER THE FUCK EVEN KNOWS WHAT VULKAN AND LEMAN ARE DOING OFF THE ASS END OF THE EYE.
Lord High Admiral *hesitantly*: And…Corax as well, my Lord God?
UNKNOWN *nods vigorously, dust falls from ceiling*: YEAH, BUT I ALREADY KNOW WHERE HE IS. ANYWAY. I WANT YOU ALL TO LISTEN VERY CLOSELY.
Administratum Master: I assure you that will be very easy, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: YEAH, SORRY, THIS BODY’S A BIT LOUD. ANYWAY. I WANT YOU TWELVE TO GO GET ON THE HOLOPICT CASTS, THE ASTROPATHY RELAYS, ALL OF IT, AND START TELLING THE PEOPLE THAT I WON A GREAT BATTLE AGAINST A DEMON OF KHORNE AND CONSUMED ITS VERY ESSENCE, AND THE CAPTAIN-GENERAL OF MY GUARD DIED IN THE HEROIC STRUGGLE. A LITTLE WHITE LIE. ALSO, I WANT EVERY SINGLE EVERSOR ASSASSIN IN ALL OF THE IMPERIUM READY TO GO ON MY ORDER ASAP. I HAVE…PLANS FOR THEM.
Grand Master Assassinorum: You honor us, my Lord God! I shall assemble them at once!
UNKNOWN turns to face him, placer board falls from ceiling
UNKNOWN: MAYBE YOU DIDN’T HEAR ME. I SAID ‘READY’ THEM, AS IN READY THEM FOR ACTION, NOT ‘GATHER THEM ALL IN ONCE PLACE LIKE I NEED THEM TO MOVE FURNITURE.’
Grand Master Assassinorum: As ordered, my Lord God.
UNKNOWN: FANTASTIC. THANKS. MEANWHILE, I HAVE BUSINESS ON ORCICIA. I’LL BE BACK LATER.
UNKNOWN teleports out in burst of purple light. The doors give in as the guards pressing against them tumble in, having been restrained by UNKNOWN’s psychic power. Fabricator-General steps back from Charter Captain
Fabricator-General: … I gave you rocket knees.
Charter Captain:…Thanks.
Continued in The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Three.