Dust to Dust

[Gree]

Hello, this was something I had floating around my computer I decided to post. I wrote a story about the Pre-Heresy Thousand Sons called All is Dust, but my interest faded on that project. However I drew up several different story concepts and I decided to write some short peices about Nekhet Coven. People who have read All is Dust will notice that these are Post-Heresy versions of the characters featured in All is Dust.

 

This is actually only the first bit of the rest of the short story.

 

Dust to Dust

 

Flames crackled in the distance, along with the screams of the dying.

 

A world died around Nekhet squad of the Thousand Sons.

 

''Bakari?'' Ishkor questioned. Flames whipped and curled around his fists. Aetheric energies chanelled up around his blade as he searched wildly around for his brother. Bakari's armor-clad form entered through the flames and the smoke.

 

''Insanity brother'' Bakari's voice responded over the vox link in Ishkor's gorget. The Thousand Sons had long since lost his helmet during the fighting.

 

The fighting…..

 

It was inconceivable. Utterly shocking and inconceivable that something could happen like this. Never had Ishkor thought that another Astartes Legion would war upon another. It was inconceivable, ridiculous in its scope and thought.

 

Inconceivable.

 

Yet here the impossible was happening right before his eyes. From the skies descended the drop ships and Stormbirds of the VI's Legion. Russ's Wolves descended upon their world in a storm of blades and fire.

 

Ishkor kept casting his eyes back to the blackened corpses on the ground. A pack of Space Wolves had forged ahead into these streets, only to be cut apart by Nekhet Squad in a sudden assault. Dimly he could remember their bodies frying under his warpfire.

 

Inconceivable. Impossible.

 

Even now, after killing his fellow Astartes, Ishkor could not accept the fact.

 

''Nekhet? Is everyone present?'' Aktar, the squad commander called over the vox. He moved out among the flaming wreckage of a house. Behind him came Ishum Nassor, Seron Khosaru, Kald Talek, and Borbas Tair.

 

Three others of their squad lay dead in the streets. All slain by Astartes bolters.

 

''What is happening? This is impossible, it can't be happening.'' Ishkor felt himself sputter. Dimly he thought, Astartes don't sputter like that. But he didn't care. His world was falling apart around him, literally.

 

''Calm yourself,'' Aktar told him, as he looked around. ''Captain T'kar has ordered us to reform, more of the enemy are coming down the streets.'' He said.

 

''Enemy? Our comrades are our enemy? What madness is this?'' Ishkor demanded.

 

''I don't know.'' Aktar admitted. ''I know Russ hates us, but this is going too far, even for him.''

 

''We'll have our vengeance. There is no way the Emperor is going to allow this to slide,'' Khosaru mentally chimed in. ''Russ has gone too far this time. Even if he kills us all, the Emperor will come down upon him like a hammer.''

 

The thought was cold comfort to Ishkor.

 

Ten minutes later hell came again.

 

Fifty Thousand Sons Astartes, Nekhet among them, fought in the middle of a Prosperite street. In the skies Space Wolf gunships flittered through the skies and rockets blasted overhead. For the umpteenth time Ishkor wondered how they got orbital control. Where was the fleet?

 

Grey-armored warriors came, savage and bellicose in their stride, yet skillful and determined in their assault. Crimson-armored Thousand Sons and grey-armored Wolves decorated the streets. Astartes blood mixed and mingled.

 

A Space Wolf warrior fell back, head blown off by a timed shot from Bakari. Tair grunted in effort as bolter rounds impacted off his kine shields. Aktar supported him, shields of pure thoughts supporting the Thousand Sons behind the barricades.

 

Then more Wolves came through the walls of a nearby street, frag missiles corkscrewing overhead. Thousand Sons died as the Wolves closed in, chainblades revving as they did so. Multi-colored flame whipped from Ishkor hands as he turned a Space Wolf into a walking pyre, the unnatural flames incinerating even the hardened ceramite. Nassor fought while wreathed in lighting, using his own powers to supercharge his own synapses, carving wounds into his attackers with serpentine speed. Aktar crushed enemy Astartes with hammers of pure thought as the others fought more mundanely.

 

And then Tair died.

 

The movement was quick, almost like a blur as the figure stepped through a raging inferno that took up much of the street. Flames licked off the golden armor uselessly as the being looked around coldly with its visor.

 

For a moment Ishkor's heart stropped as he recognized the being. There was only one force in the galaxy that used that armor and heraldry. There was only one force in the galaxy with that kind of skill. Ishkor looked, horrified upon the lightning bolt and eagle breastplate.

 

Then he understood the truth.

 

The only reason why the Adeptus Custodes would be here is because they were ordered to. The Custodes were loyal to one being and one being only. Russ would have never gotten them to follow them. Never.

 

Which meant….

 

Cold shock at the sudden betrayal flooded in his veins as his powers sputtered and failed. Aktar shouted his name as a Space Wolf wielding a broad-bladed axe moved forward and decapitated Talek in a quick swung and then buried the power axe into the breastplate of another Son. Bakari moved forward, his shot knocking the wolf-champion back. Ishkor responded again, his powers flaring into existence once again, egged on by his tutelary, familiar, Baltain. The Wolf barely had time to react before a wave of fire incinerated him.

 

The Custodes moved forward with lethal grace. Armored limbs and heads fell to the ground as the warrior moved. His skill was ungodly, each stroke perfectly conducted and made. Quickly the solitary perfect warrior advanced on the Sons in the middle of the melee, his blade seeking Aktar.

 

The Librarian turned around, a shield of pure thought blocking the blade. The Custodes struck again and again, the Guardian Spear flaring against the invisible shield Aktar brought up his heqa staff to parry, but was hurled back. The Custodes moved again, as Bakari came charging in, bolter spitting out shells. With an almost lazy twist of its halberd-like spear, the Custodes severed one arm before gutting the Astartes with ease.

 

Ishkor watched for a moment as his oldest friend was cut down before his eyes. Bakari Xalphia, his oldest comrade, fell to the ground.

 

Ishkor screamed. Blood came from his eyes and nose as he channeled his powers. In his Baltain fed his rage, gleefully supercharging his hate. Fire coalesced into existence, first multi-colored and then black flames appeared and shot forward. The Custodes turned around, helmet inclined in surprise. It had no time to do anything else as black fire consumed it. Within seconds the burnt skeleton of the Custodes fell to the ground, flesh and armor alike stripped away in a second by the unnatural fire.

 

Pain ripped up his right arm as Astartes flesh and muscle twisted, the underlying flaws in Ishkor's genetic code coming to light. Spines and tentacles emerged from the ceramite plate as they came out twisting and writhing.

 

Baltain, his once-friend, now his destruction, came into him, attempting to seize control of everything that he was. Warpstuff effused his flesh and flames came alive, licking at his armor and scorching his body through the breaches in his armor.

 

Ishkor screamed as pain like he had never felt before engulfed him. His tentacle arm writhed and lashed about as his primary heart hammered and burst in his chest. Blood and fire filled his vision as he sank on his knees.

 

Before him Bakari's body looked up.

 

''Brother.'' the Astartes choked out, before his head fell back on the blood-soaked ground below.

 

Ten Millennia Later

 

''Brother…''

 

''…..Wake up Brother.'' Seron Khosaru said.

 

Grannus Ishkor opened his eye. Data streamed across his vision from his bionic eye as he slowly got up. Armor servos whined and wheezed as he looked around. His brother was clad in blue and silver plate, marked with the symbols of the XV Legion. Ishkor himself was clad in similar war plate.

 

But that is where their similarities ended. Seron Khosaru had handsome, friendly features. His skin was tanned and his black hair was cut short. Above him hovered his familiar Devis, a floating serpentine daemon that floated about. Devis flickered like bad lighting, phasing in and out of reality.

 

Ishkor's body was far different. Once Ishkor was handsome and young.

 

Now?

 

Nobody would call Ishkor handsome.

 

His features where a mass of healed burn scars and bionics. One eye stared out in a crimson slit while one organic orb looked out amidst a sea of blackened flesh. His right bionic arm pushed the ground beneath him as he lifted himself up.

 

Half of his body was made of bionics. It was the legacy of his ruination at Prospero. Baltain had tried to take control of his flesh, and turn that power against him. Instead Ishkor burned himself in both body and soul. Baltain had been forced from his soul and body. But Ishkor was never the same again. His right arm was severed by his own battle brothers and he had lost both his primary heart and left eye. His brothers had dragged his broken and blasted body in time to the Pyramid of Photep in time to be transported.

 

He had endured for weeks in agony, his Astartes enhancements keeping him alive. If he were a normal man he would have died long ago. But through sheer bloody minded will he survived long enough to be looked over by the few surviving Apothecaries and Techmarines of the Legion.

 

That was ten millennia ago, before the Rubric, before more scars of war had been added.

 

His new familiar, Natari, flapped its wings near him, before perching on the shoulder of the Thousand Son. Its ethereal claws found purchase on Ishkor's shoulder guard as the Thousand Son lifted himself up and replaced his helm.

 

The Nekhet Coven, as his former squad had called themselves after the Rubric had been cast, cast aside their tutelaries when they learned of the betrayal. Instead they sought out new daemons, and bound them ever tighter with wards, in order to serve as servants and power sources. The sorcerers' familiars where somewhat less powerful than their former Tutelaries, but they benefited from better control.

 

No more would they be betrayed.

 

''We are ready to move out. What where you doing anyway?'' Seron Khosaru asked. They were in some sort of deep underground cavern. Lights flickered above from lamps. Peratis II was a mining world, one that churned ore to many different Imperial worlds.

 

The Sons had arrived here for a different reason however. It was something of theirs that they had lost. Khosaru's sorceries had made infiltration easy, the power of the warp confounding sensors and befuddling the minds of the PDF. Once they had reached a certain point they stopped as the world's military suddenly went into a frenzy of activity around them.

 

So Ishkor stopped to mediate.

 

''Mediating, nothing you need to be worried about.'' Ishkor rumbled.

 

Khosaru nodded and the two Sons walked into a nearby side tunnel. Thirty Rubrics stood in perfect formation, holding their bolters at ready. Their armor was ornate, with various scrolls of warding and protection on their bodies.

 

A brief pang sorrow came over Ishkor as he spotted the former form of his friend Bakari standing in perfect attention. His squadmate's sprit was present but otherwise he was effectively dead to the world. Bakari was nothing but dust in armor now.

 

''Ishkor, Khosaru.'' Aktar nodded. He was clad in the blue armor that had replaced their old loyalist crimson warplate. He carried the same blue heqa staff as before. He wore red robes, a concession to their Primarch. Ten millennia ago he had been squad sergeant. Now he was the Coven leader.

 

Ishkor nodded as he came to a stop. Ishum Nassor was still there; his features moulded using his power into a vision of pure perfection. The former Pavoni was typically vain after all. Nearby was Sald Morden with his beaked helmet.

 

''The Necrontyr have awakened seven hours ago and have moved out in force two hours ago. The PDF are attempting to hold them off, but they have little chance.'' Aktar said. Ishkor nodded. He and the rest of his coven knew much of the Necrontyr from their studies of Eldar ruins and prophecies. He had fought them occasionally before, while searching their tombs. They would be a foe that would be utterly beyond any normal human. Even Astartes would be hard-pressed fighting them.

 

Normal Astartes however. The Sons of Magnus had greater powers to command.

 

''And of our objectives?'' Nassor asked.

 

''We are close to the site. We should move there and finish our search before we teleport out.''

 

''After all this time could it really be here?'' Ishkor caught a note of hope in his own voice.

 

''I believe so. Morden's visions would not lie,'' Aktar nodded. ''But we won't know until we get there.''

 

''Are we splitting up?'' Ishkor asked.

 

''Correct, Ishkor, you come with Khosaru. Nassor, Morden, you take another squad, and I will take the last.'' Aktar said.

 

Ishkor looked around. Thirty Rubrics split three ways; it seemed simple enough for him.

 

''Alright then, let's go.''

[Gree]

Here is Part 2.

 

Note: Bolded is when Khosaru is using his telepathy,

 

***

 

The Ghosts of Prospero moved among the PDF like their namesakes. Khosaru's illusions made it so that even the warrior-giants of the Thousand Sons could walk mere feet from a PDF trooper and not be noticed. Of course even that sorcery had limits. If they opened fire they would quickly be noticed.

 

Khosaru chatted animatedly during their long walk, wondering what the place would look like over ten thousand years ago Ishkor ignored him, talking occasionally with his own familiar for fluctuations in the Great Ocean. On occasion Ishkor would stop himself and give him some information on the movements of the PDF commanders. The telepath read their minds like a book and sent it to the rest of the blue-armored sorcerers.

 

The local PDF responded quickly and competently, deploying armor where they could, but the emerging armies of Necrons where so far destroying them. From Ishkor's studies the Necrons where far from a full awakening, but that fact just made the Thousand Sons hurry.

 

Of course it was not long before they encountered some Necrons themselves.

 

Metal-skinned killers merged eventually from the darkness. Gauss weapons lighting up. Green rays stripped armor and warpstuff from Rubric armor before one of the leading ghost-Astartes fell to the ground in a pile of dust.

 

Then the Rubrics opened fire.

 

The bodies of the Necrons where resilient and repaired themselves quickly. They would walk through las-fire like it was nothing, and even then it took a large amount of bolter fire to truly put one down before they started to repair themselves. However the Rubrics fired no normal shells. Each round was warded and consecrated by the sorceries of the Thousand Sons. As a result they punched through the metal hides of the Necrons to bury themselves in the bodies before exploding in bursts of warpstuff.

 

Metallic skeletons fell down, their regeneration interrupted and halted by the sorcerous compounds each bolter round halted. Bits of metal and limbs crawled about as they attempted to recover from being blasted apart. A metallic skull looked upon again as an Inferno round took it in the forehead.

 

''Alright, you know what? I'm getting tired of this. Ishkor? Would you do the honors?'' Khosaru said telepathically.

 

Ishkor extended his hand and let out a wave of blue fire. The inferno quickly covered the Necrons. Normally the xenos would have shrugged off normal flames easily. However these where no normal flames, instead they were the fires of the warp itself. Necrons melted and warped under the fire, the flames eating away at metallic bones and destroying most of the downed attackers. Under the protection of the firestorm the Rubrics added more fire in, the roar of their bolters filling the cavern.

 

In moments there were no more Necrons.

 

Khosaru kicked away a flaming arm as it phased out. ''You do realize there will be more? And they can see through my sorceries? Right?'' Khosaru mentioned.

 

''Then we'll destroy them at all. What about the PDF?''

 

''Some of them have noticed, but Aktar's had taken his group to head them off while we move in deeper. The good thing about the Necrons here is that the PDF will be too busy focusing on them in order to properly track us down.''

 

''I see- do you sense that?'' Ishkor suddenly halted. Khosaru looked up.

 

''Yes, yes I do. Do you want to investigate or should I?''

 

''No, it will be me.''

 

***

 

Ishkor stalked through the darkness of the tunnels. He and his brother had felt a strong presence further. There was some sort of psyker down here. A psyker that even their senses had noticed. It was something that intrigued Ishkor.

 

Natari squeaked and flapped behind him, the fiery hawk trailing bits of flame behind it. It provided a source of light, but Ishkor hardly needed it with his bionic eye and gene boosted vision in addition to his own psychic senses.

 

He felt the presence come closer and close, but he remained still, not moving until it was almost upon him.

 

Some sort of spike of light came hurling at him. But Ishkor seized it with his own power and blocked it, shattering it into bits of energy.

 

''Impressive, for a mortal.'' Ishkor looked in the darkness then extended a hand. A figure flew struggling and cursing into his hands.

 

''Interesting.'' It was a mortal child. A male, young and dirty from the mines. His hair was long and scraggly, falling over his blue eyes.

 

''Let me go you-'' what followed was a series of local curses and insults. Ishkor watched impassively as the child struggled in his great armored grip. He himself could see warp energy surrounding and shrouding him.

 

''Stop struggling and look at me.'' Ishkor said. The child glared at him through the hair.

 

''Do you know what you are?'' Ishkor asked.

 

''Do you know what you are?'' the child mimicked.

 

''Do not play games with me. The only reason why I have not killed you is because I am intrigued by your power. You are a psyker are you not?'' Ishkor said.

 

The boy fell silent.

 

''The fact that you live in isolation is obvious. Are you so cut off from the rest of this world that you do not know what an Astartes is?'' Ishkor asked.

 

The boy laughed.

 

''The Space Marines are just myths, they don't exist.''

 

''Then what am I?'' Ishkor asked. Natari flapped nearby, illuminating Ishkor more properly.

 

The boy's eyes widened as he took in the great blue and silver form of Ishkor, cloaked in red robes. One shoulder pad depicted the serpentine star icon of the Thousand Sons, while the other was cast in the image of flickering flames.

 

''What am I?'' Ishkor repeated.

 

''I don't know. But I want to learn.'' The boy said.

 

Ishkor smiled underneath his helmet. That was what he wanted to hear.

 

''Good'' then he looked up and tossed the boy to the side roughly. The child hit the ground hard, but did not cry out. Blades flashed where his head had been as a tall skeletal form materialized out of the shadows in front of Ishkor.

 

The Thousand Son drew his force khopesh, the blade bursting into blue fires. The Necron was inhumanly tall, it's lower body replaced by a long spine-like body, like a snake. Its hands were long bladed claws and it lunged forward.

 

A shield of flames burst from Ishkor's form to block the claws as the force sword flashed. The head of the wraith-thing fell back, flames licking over its metallic form as it lit up the darkness around it.

 

Another wraith-thing came from behind Ishkor. The force khopesh passed harmlessly through it as it flickered out of reality briefly. Then the claws tore through his breastplate as Ishkor fell back. Natari's form suddenly flew at the wraith-thing, forcing it back.

 

Spears of multi-colored fire suddenly shimmered into existence, covering the wraith-thing and making it real again. The khopesh descended again, hacking through the body of the wraith thing before him. The halves fell away burning.

 

The boy sat, shocked as the blue-armored sorcerer turned to him. A spear of fire shimmered into existence as he hurled it at him. The boy fell back as the spear headed nearer…..

 

…..And impaled another wraith-thing coming out of the darkness. The wraith-thing fell back, fading out of existence.

 

''Did you think I was going to kill you?'' Ishkor asked.

 

''Well it did look like it.'' The boy admitted.

 

Ishkor walked over to him.

 

''I'm going to offer you a choice. You have great potential as a psyker. I'm surprised the Black Ships have not come for you yet. You can stay here, and die by the hands of the Necrons when they inevitably overrun this backwater world, or…'' he leaned in closer.

 

''-Or you can come with me and gain great power and understanding. Perhaps if you are great enough you may become one of the Legion thralls and aid me in my rituals. Perhaps if you are extremely capable, you might become like me. Which shall it be?''

 

The boy was silent for a moment before replying.

 

''Did the Emperor send you?'' he asked.

 

More silence.

 

''No, the Emperor hates me and my brothers.'' Ishkor answered truthfully.

 

The child smiled in the darkness.

 

''The Emperor hates me too.'' he whispered.

 

Ishkor touched the boy's shoulder.

 

''Do you have a name?'' he asked.

 

''Once, a long time ago.'' The child admitted.

 

Ishkor was silent for a moment.

 

''I'll call you Xanan.''

 

***

 

''Did you pick up a pet brother?'' the voice echoed in the mind of the boy as he followed the blue giant.

 

''My name is Xanan.'' The child said angrily. He followed the giant who had introduced himself as Grannus Ishkor. Xanan wasn't allowed to call him that. He had to call him Master instead.

 

He had grown up knowing of the light within him, of the light that he could shape into weapons or use to tear into the minds of other people. That power was what made him feared among his people. It was that kind of power that led his own father attempting to kill him out of fear of mutants.

 

When Xanan mentioned this to Ishkor in the walk back he merely said.

 

''My family tried to kill me too.'' And then the sorcerer told him to say no more of it.

 

Xanan looked around in wonder at the blue-armored giants that stood in perfect ranks. Another blue giant stood, cloaked in red robes and carrying a halbred of some kind. He wore the same kind of crested ornate helm as Ishkor did.

 

''Who are you?'' he asked.

 

''I am Seron Khosaru. The brother of the man beside you. Ishkor, why have you taken him?'' Khosaru asked mentally. Xanan recoiled in surprise.

 

''He has potential. I figured we might as well grab as much as we can from this useless rock before he leave with the real prize.'' Ishkor said. Khosaru seemed to accept this.

 

''What prize?'' Xanan asked.

 

Ishkor looked at him. ''You will find out soon enough, if you manage to survive this.''

 

''Don't be intimidated by him child. We're all a happy family here.'' Khosaru laughed sarcastically.

 

Then, the other blue giants began to move out quickly, one of them picking up Xanan.

 

''Hey!''

 

''You will be carried it our destination.'' Ishkor told him. ''Otherwise you will be unable to pick up the pace.'' he informed.

 

''Oh'' Xanan stopped struggling. He looked at the impassive green lenses of the giant. ''Do you have a name?''

 

''He can't respond beyond any kind of simple command, and only to a member of the XV Legion. He's not like you or I.'' Khosaru told him.

 

''I see.'' Xanan looked at the giant and felt the soul within but nothing else.

 

''The XV Legion?'' he asked.

 

''That is what we are.'' Ishkor's voice grew darker.

 

''The XV Legion of the Astartes, the Thousand Sons. Boy, forget your Emperor. He has no love for us and we none for him.'' Khosaru said.

 

****

 

Aktar knelt in the pit, his gauntlets moving aside soft earth. Before him he spotted the form of a metallic hull. The hide was dim and scarred from the rust of millennia. But it was unmistakably a ship's hull. This was there prize.

 

''Brothers! We come bearing gifts.'' Khosaru said as he walked in.

 

''Or a gift would be more accurate.'' Khosaru chuckled. Aktar floated up, pulled by pure telekinesis. He spotted the form of a child riding on the shoulder of a Rubric. After a few moments he looked at the two new arrivals.

 

''Which one of you picked him up?''

 

''That would be me.'' Nodded Ishkor.

 

''When are you going to take me away from this place?'' asked Xanan.

 

''Silence boy.'' A invisible fist seized Xanan's throat. ''We will leave here soon, but you must curb your tongue.'' Aktar said.

 

''He is mine. Unhand him brother.'' Ishkor said, walking forward. Aktar shrugged and complied.

 

''We'll be talking about this later. We are almost at our prize. Let's go. Nassor?'' he asked.

 

The sorcerer complied, drawing his staff. Lightning ran up it as he carved a doorway into the starship's hull. Despite the millennia of neglect it took a near full ten minutes to properly remove it. Once that was done Aktar dropped with, Nassor, Khosaru and Morden dropped in.

 

The hallway below was filled with darkness. The blue sorcerers walked through it fine however. Their senses where far sharper than a normal humans. They also knew this place well, for they had been aboard it many millennia ago.

 

Before the Space Wolves had attacked Prospero, Magnus the Red had ordered his fleet away. One of the ships in the Thousand Sons fleet, the Lightbringer, had disappeared in a miscalculated warp jump. It was only millennia that had the Thousand Sons tracked it down.

 

It has crash landed here, on Peratis II. A minor backwater world that rested on the farthest edges of Imperial control in this sector. Its loss would barley be noticed and not be mourned by the larger Imperium.

 

The Thousand Sons came here for only one thing, and it was what the ship carried in its stasis vaults.

 

They walked through more darkness. They found dust and vermin on most of the rooms. None of the automated ships controls worked, they had to cut their way through with blazing sorcery. Many minutes passed before they got to their designation.

 

The ship's Apothecarion.

 

On the walls was a faded symbol, that of a pair of entwined snakes and a staff. The Thousand Sons where well aware of the ancient symbols of healing that the mystics of Terra once employed in their use. Abandoned medical tanks and operating tables lined the silent chamber as Aktar and his brethren walked through it.

 

'Such nostalgia.'' Khosaru muttered.

 

''I was sent there once, after the war against the orks on Ferred remember?'' Nassor said.

 

''Don't get wrapped up on it. We won't be here long.'' Aktar replied. The Thousand Sons stopped in front of a large set of metallic doors. Aktar extended his mind and found the nestle of psycho-receptive circuits that would respond only to someone with warp power.

 

He activated it, causing the doors to suddenly flare into life for the first time in ten thousand years. The doors creaked open and suddenly the room was filled with white light as Aktar disengaged the stasis device inside the vault.

 

''Go, quickly.'' Aktar instructed. Nassor nodded and moved in quickly, looking over the various dials before finally taking out a large white case marked with Prosperite script on it. Quickly Nassor checked its vitals.

 

''It's intact, it's amazing, after ten thousand years. It's intact.'' Nassor breathe din amazement.

 

''It's ours again brothers-'' Khosaru began.

 

''The geneseed.'' Aktar finished.

 

***

 

''What is that? An axe?'' Xanan asked.

 

Many minutes had passed, with Ishkor standing silently with the boy. Eventually Xanan had gotten so bored he now wanted to pester his new guardian.

 

''No, it's not an axe. Only ignorant barbarians use axes. This is a khopesh.'' Ishkor indicated.

 

''Khopesh?''

 

''The name of a weapon from my homeworld, Prospero. Many in the Legion use them.'' Ishkor informed him.

 

''Are you going to take me to Prospero?'' Xanan asked curiously. He wanted to know where these people came from.

 

''No, Prospero was destroyed long ago. I would have loved to show you it though. It was beautiful, crystal blue oceans, green mountains, white pyramids. I was born there, in the capital, Tizca.'' Ishkor mentioned.

 

''How was it destroyed?'' Xanan asked suddenly. Ishkor stiffened.

 

''I'll tell you that later. It's a tale that brings out much bitterness in me.'' Xanan could practically feel the hate rolling off Ishkor now. Faint flames flickered on his khopesh as he hefted it once more.

 

The boy decided it was wise not to press Ishkor.

 

''Where do you live now?'' he said, hoping to change the subject.

 

''A ship, we have a permanent home, a place called the Planet of Sorcerers, but we don't visit it often.'' Ishkor answered.

 

''And what is this ship's name? I've heard of it, but I've never actually been on one.'' Xanan responded. Why didn't they visit their home more often? If he had a permanent home where he was accepted he would gladly be there.

 

''It's called-'' then Ishkor's helmet snapped around. ''They're here.'' He suddenly said.

 

''Whose here?'' Xanan asked.

 

In the distant shadows the forms of metallic skeletons emerged. An entire phalanx of them. Immediately the Rubrics shuffled around and opened fire. Sorcery-empowered bolts punched many of the skeletons off their feet as beams of green energy returned fire.

 

Immediately Ishkor shoved Xanan down with a light push.

 

''Stay down and don' t get back up'' he commanded. Xanan shut his eyes as Ishkor summoned blue fire that shrouded his frame. He whipped his khopesh out and a wave of flames engulfed the leading Necrons, melting them into lifeless hulks of metal.

 

Rubrics where destroyed by beams of green that stripped away armor until only the souls survived. Necrons where chopped down by relentless bolter fire. Warp flames destroyed Necron after Necron as Ishkor reached out telepathically for support.

 

Then in the darkness a new form came into existence. It wore a strange crown and carried a glowing blade-staff. Its burnished golden skin was inscribed with strange symbols and a billowing ghostly cape surrounded it.

 

It had a skull like face. Twin soulless green pits stared back at Ishkor as the sorcerer hurled a spear of flame at the being. The golden Necron simply raised a hand and reality flickered around it. The next moment the spear of fire was gone.

 

It then raised a hand and summoned a silver orb. Immediately the lifeless husks of the Necrons began to peirce themselves together again, even with the sorcerous flames bathing their frames. One by one the Necrons came back to life.

 

Ishkor snapped his fingers as the Rubrics closed in further, increasing their rate of fire. Xanan peeked through his fingers to see more Necrons come in out of the shadows while the lord raised its glowing staff and beckoned them on.

 

''Need help?'' Khosaru's voice echoed through Xanan's head briefly before Xanan realized that Khosaru was speaking telepathically. Blue armored sorcerers rose out from the wreckage below. Aktar raised his staff and the silver orb shot across the air to land in his hand. With a burst of telekinesis the orb exploded in his gauntlet.

 

The golden Necron's green eyes merely glowed briefly before it raised its own staff and send the resurrected Necrons shuffling forward. Scythe-like cannons where pointed at the sorcerers, but the rubrics moved in front of them, taking the fire.

 

''Prepare the spell.'' Aktar instructed Morden, who nodded.

 

''What's happening?'' Xanan asked. Nobody answered them.

 

Then, one moment there was the roar of bolters that almost deafened Xanan, and then there was a flash of light. Xanan's senses where engulfed in a torrent of light and sound as he was lifted bodily off his feet and everything seemed to converge at once…

 

…then he was dumped gasping onto something cold and metallic. He sputtered and looked up into a blue-armored shin. Ishkor hauled him to his feet.

 

''Where am I?'' Xanan asked. He was in some sort of hanger. Various equipment lined the walls and some sort of incense wafted through the air. The room was lit by some sort of dull red glow that hurt his eyes.

 

''This is the Hawk of Tizca. Welcome to your new home.''

[Blackwyvern]

really good i would love to hear some more.

[BassWave]

Your stories are wonderful as always Gree :( Is there any chance of your other characters from your other stories ever meeting, for example squad Nicanor encountering Ishkor and his allies? Would be quite interesting. Anyways keep up the excellent work :P

[AngelOfDeathXIII]

Great story :D Will more be uploaded?

[Dosjetka]

Great story, I do look forward to the rest, if there is more ^_^

 

Ludovic

[Tutteman]

Very good. I'm looking forward to more! It's so good the only flaw I can find is a typo ;) If I'm reduced to that then that is a good sign indeed :D

[Papewaio]

Liking very much! I'd love you to put more into this, especially the political structure within the coven. I want to see if other people see them as I do.

[Gree]

Thanks for all the feedback. I've written up a sequel.

 

If you want to see something similar then check out Sons of Orpehus in my sig.

 

 

 

Ashes to Ashes

 

The room was silent, before Aktar raised his arms.

 

‘’Let it commence.’’

 

The leader of the Nekhet Coven of the Thousand Sons stood, his blue armor polished to a mirror sheen, runes of power and wisdom inscribed upon his plate. He wore crimson robes, robes of a color that echoed his Primarch, Magnus the Red.

 

The room in which he stood in was covered in arcane symbols and occult paraphilia. The walls and floor where made of a quarried marble taken from lost Prospero in ages past, before the great burning. Chips of obsidians where inserted into the floor, forming a twisting circle in the shape of the serpentine star of the Thousand Sons.

 

Aktar stood at the head of the assembly, occupying the place of power in the room. From the shadows more blue-armored Sorcerers came. They took up their positions in the circle carefully then one by one they announced themselves.

 

‘’I Grannus Ishkor come here.’’

 

‘’I Seron Khosaru come here.’’

 

‘’I Ishum Nassor come here.’’

 

‘’I Ilmatar Serpal come here.’’

 

‘’I Sald Morden come here.’

 

‘’I Chigaru Khibale come here.’’

 

That was eight. Ishkor looked to his let to see an astral form take place in the circle.

 

‘’I Hamadi Menes come.’’ Said the astral form.

 

Of the entirely of the Nekhet coven, only Menes was unable to fit comfortably into the room. Menes was a Dreadnought, whose bulk made it entirely impractical to come in, so he instead sent an astral projection instead.

 

They were the Nekhet, sorcerers of the Thousand Sons. Ishkor sometime reflected on the irony their fate, once the Emperor’s most loyal legion, yet betrayed by their lord, but at the moment he hardly cared. It had been a while since the last meeting of the coven had been called.

 

Nine Astartes might not be much compared to the larger warbands out there. But the Thousand Sons were no mere Astartes, each was a master sorcerer and psyker. Beneath them were dozens of Rubric Marines ready to serve.

 

‘’Why have we been called?’’ Nassor asked.

 

‘’Business, the Despoiler wishes us to join him.’’ Aktar answered. It was no secret that another Black Crusade, the 13th was coming soon.

 

‘’Doesn’t he already have other warbands and covens ready to join?’’ Khosaru asked.

 

‘’Of course he does, but he’s gathering everybody from Angron’s Berzerkers to Lorgar’s Word Bearers for this one.’’ Aktar remind him.

 

‘’Tch, we can’t refuse can we?’’ Ishkor finally spoke up.

 

‘’Not if you want to get crushed by his armies.’’ Khosaru said. The Despoiler controlled the largest and most powerful faction in the Eye. They really had no choice otherwise.

 

‘’’’Fine’’ Ishkor spat.

 

‘’All in favor?’’ Aktar asked.

 

‘’Like we have a choice’’ Khosaru whispered.

 

The vote was unanimous.

 

‘’Excellent, but the Crusade won’t be for another few years in the least if my calculations are correct.’’ Aktar tuned to Morden.

 

‘’Brother? Your vision.’’

 

Morden nodded.

 

‘’I’ve seen a new source of Rubrics for us on a planet called Clay’s Reach.’’ He said.

 

‘’Really?’’ Khosaru asked.

 

‘’Astartes, coming to purge the world of its mutant rebellion.’’ Morden replied.

 

‘’What Chapter?’’ Ishkor asked. After the Heresy the once great Legions had broken up and multiplied into untold chapters, like colors of a rainbow.

 

‘’They wore black armor in my vision, otherwise I could not see any specific heraldry.’’ Morden answered.

 

‘’No Wolves?’’ Khosaru sounded almost disappointed.

 

‘’No Wolves’’ Morden confirmed.

 

‘’Well we do need some more Rubrics for the next Black Crusade. I cast my vote in favor of the journey. The rest?’’ Aktar asked.

 

‘’I am in favor’’ Ishkor said, waiting to get this over with.

 

‘’As I am I’’ Nassor said.

 

Khosaru gave a thumbs up.

 

‘’Brother you are an Astartes, please act like one, and yes, I believe this is a good prospect, I cast my vote in favor.’’ Morden said.

 

‘’I abstain. I wish to return to the eye.’’ Serpal said.

 

‘’At this point my vote doesn’t really matter now does it?’’ said Khibale.

 

‘’Then it’s decided’’ said the astral form of Menes. ‘’We go.’’

 

‘’I’ll tell the shipmaster to change course, if the tides of the warp permit, we should be there on time.’’ said Aktar. Then he looked at Ishkor.

 

‘’Grannus my friend, how goes your apprentice, is he ready for full elevation yet?’’

 

Ishkor shook his head. ‘’No, not yet. But soon.’’

 

***

 

Xanan sat in the middle of the training room. The shapes of the training servitors reflected over the rippled glass that made up the covering of the steel-reinforced walls on the Hawk of Tizca’s training room. Even the Thousand Sons needed to hone their skills.

 

However they did so differently that other Astartes.

 

Xanan hurled a bolt of light, the air igniting as it exploded in the chest of an armored training servitor. The thing’s flesh cooked within its metallic frame as it crashed to the ground. Then, to the sides, two more servitors came, hulking brutes with their hands replaced by jagged chainblades.

 

The sorcerer threw his hands to his sides, telekinetically nudging the servos in the legs to make the two stumble before they struck, his body twisting out of the way. Then he ignited the air around them, engulfing the two in warpfire once more.

 

After a few moments the training hall was quiet, lit only the crackling unnatural fire. Xanan’s eyes flickered to the right as he took in the form of his teacher moving through the darkness. Ishkor had his helm off, exposing his burned and scarred features.

 

‘’How was that?’’ Xanan asked.

 

He had changed from the young boy Ishkor had took from a forsaken place decade ago. Xanan’s body still ached with the Astartes implants still fresh within his body. His transformation had sorcery involved as much as traditional Astartes sciences.

 

He was tall, inhumanly so, his body dwarfing that of normal men now. His dark hair was cut short and cropped. Various runes and wards were tattooed on his body, for enhancing and refining the powers that he wielded.

 

Xanan had been raised up from humanity only a few years back, but he was still getting used to the changes. He was covered in power armor, a blue and silver warplate that Ishkor refused to talk about where they had got it from, but apparently it was form some sort of old comrade or something.

 

The he flexed his gauntlet, feeling the servos bunch there. Combat training hadn’t been the only thing he was taught. Studies on how to control his power and refine it had been drummed into his head along with various treatises and books on all sorts of occult.

 

Of course Ishkor made it clear that Xanan had to choose to learn such things. Fortunately for him Xanan had drive, a drive to delve into whatever mysteries the Thousand Sons offered him. He had already learned much, and yet it was only the tip of the iceberg.

 

‘’Adequate.’’ Ishkor said, his bionic eye glowing.

 

‘’I sensed you just got back from the meeting. How did it go Master?’’ Xanan pressed him for information. Ishkor was amused for a moment.

 

‘’War.’’

 

‘’War.’’ Xanan licked his lips suddenly. He had taken to the field several times before, but all of that had been mission to clear out various xenos and cultists who refused to surrender their knowledge. He had the power and the skill, but he lacked the true experience of the older sorcerers.

 

‘’I’m excited. ’Xanan said.

 

‘’Don’t be, this will be against Astartes.’’ Ishkor told him.

 

‘’Astartes?’’ a note of surprise caught Xanan’s voice.

 

‘’Don’t tell me your scared.’’ Ishkor smiled. It was an ugly thing.

 

‘’No, I’m excited, to meet equals in battle……’’ Xanan trailed off.

 

‘’We don’t intend to do this for mere war’s sake.’’ Ishkor said.

 

‘’What do you mean?’’ Xanan asked.

 

‘’Have you ever wondered how we replenish our Rubrics?’’

 

***

 

The Cult leader was named Wervus. It was he who had overthrown the former planetary governor and organized the rebel PDF militia into a military force. It was he had declared his independence from the Imperium and spread rebellion to the rest of the Clay’s Reach.

 

The Reach was a rather important planet, despite its location. It was an agri-world that supplied foodstock to many nearby Imperial worlds. Its loss was not something the Imperium would tolerate readily.

 

Sixteen Guard regiments had been dispatched. However, as mighty of a force as that was, a Crusade of Black Templars had answered the call, eager to destroy the heretic and cast them back into the Abyss. Marshal Donovad’s Crusade had been in the area and now was taking part in the planetary assault.

 

Morden had already foreseen that of course.

 

‘’They’re coming my lords.’’ Wervus said. He was a tall bald man, not as tall as the Thousand Sons, but still powerfully built. His left arm was a bladed claw instead of a normal human hand, and he walked, or rather pushed himself along with a flock of tentacles that replaced his legs.

 

‘’It was most beneficent of Lord Tzeentch to send you to help us.’’ The man bowed and scraped. Ishkor thought it was pathetic, but he had learned long ago that appearances where deceiving among acolytes of Tzeentch.

 

‘’Exactly how many forces do you have under your command?’’ Aktar asked.

 

The Thousand Sons where gathered in the former gubertorial place. The palace was still stained with the blood of its former occupants, Wervus apparently not having the time or care to clean the place properly.

 

‘’Nine hundred thousand of the faithful stand ready in the Metz-Danz Capital area. Ninefold that are over the local districts, ready at a moment’s notice. Our Magus’s have supplemented our ranks with the daemons of the warp.’’ Wervus announced proudly.

 

All around them men in black hoods trimmed with gold. They stood in a circle, chanting prayers to their patron lord Tzeentch. A Greater Daemon of Chaos, a lord of the warp, was to be summoned to aid the cultists in their battle.

 

Xanan glanced over the signal used in the summoned and recognized the type. This ritual would take several hours at the very least, and could only be performed in certain types of the year. Still it was probably the easiest way Wervus and his men could figure out how to summon a greater daemon.

 

‘’Yes, yes. Most formidable.’’ Aktar dismissed it. The Sons knew that the mutants and traitor PDF in the city where effectively cannon fodder for the Guard, let alone the Astartes.

 

‘’I would be most pleased my lords if you could help along with the great ritual to summon our benefactor, T’char-zera-‘’

 

‘’Don’t say that name!’’ Ishkor suddenly spoke out. Wervus’s mouth closed in shock.

 

‘’My lord-‘’

 

‘’It’s not ready to speak that name quite yet. Don’t play around until you need it immediately.’’ Ishkor admonished him.

 

‘’Of course my lord.’’ Wervus nodded enthusiastically.

 

At the back of the Thousand Sons coven, Xanan wondered how much of Wervus’s behavior was an act and how much was real. Surely no worshipper of Tzeentch could be tricked that easily?

 

***

 

The Imperium came as the Thousand Sons had expected. Valkyries came in their hundreds, gorging Guard drops troops. Behind them came countless landers and drop ships. Metz-Danz, with its tall grey spires and factories, was suddenly engulfed in the flames of war.

 

Of course the Guard were not the only force to attack. At 0600 hours Donovad signaled Lord General Albertine of the 11th Battlegroup that his men were attacking. Black and white drop pods plummeted thought the atmosphere, moving too quickly for the rebel orbital defenses to track, as they plunged into the city below.

 

Over six hundred Templars took up their positions and began to move thought the war torn environment of the city. Tens of thousands of rebels perished in those first few minutes as the might of the Imperium brought a hammer blow on the rebels.

 

The Templars hacked through the city like gods of war. Daemons, mutants and traitors alike perished at their hands. Doenitz split his forces into multiple small detachments, sending them out to support the Guard. He had little to fear from this kind of poorly organized rebellion.

 

***

 

‘’Blood of Magnus, the arrogance of these thin-bloods.’’ Khosaru shook his head. His thoughts reverberated through the heads of the Thousand Sons.

 

‘’They took the bait. The Templars went straight through the hole in the defenses you convinced Wervus to open and they aren’t even questioning their good fortune at all.’’ Khosaru spoke telepathically to Aktar.

 

‘’Good. Where are the nearest detachments?’’ Aktar asked.

 

‘’Thirty Astartes, led by Castellan Honovan, coming us the Danz commercial districts.’’ Khosaru reported.

 

Aktar stood there and then nodded.

 

‘’Morden , summon some Furies and Screamers, I want to cut off their air support. Khosaru, inform Wervus to send his men swarming into the area. I want the Templars occupied when we strike.’’ Aktar told them.

 

Then the coven leader turned to Ishkor.

 

‘’Now here is what I need you do to……..’’

 

To be continued......

[AngelOfDeathXIII]

Epicness! I was wondering how they recruited new Thousand Sons...

[Iron Corsair]

Excellent story! I'm liking the use of the Thousand Sons. Their a legion you don't read too much about after they joined up with Chaos. I can't wait to read more!

[Gree]

Author's Note: Here is part two of Ashes of Ashes.

 

Bolded is Khosaru's telepathy as usual.

 

Comments and Reviews are welcomed.

 

 

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Ashes to Ashes Part Two

 

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For the first time in several centuries, Ishkor spotted the forms of Dorn's ilk moving among the flames and fire of the burning Metz-Danz. They were armored in black and trimmed in white. They carried swords and bolters chained to their arms. An act of faith, he had learned.

 

Out of all the Astartes that served the Betrayer-Emperor, Ishkor found the Templars most distasteful after Russ's Wolves. They embodied the worst sort of ignorance and fanaticism that the Thousand Sons despised.

 

''Those are my gene-cousins-'' Xanan began.

 

''No, they are not.'' Ishkor cut his apprentice off. Mentally, he told Khosaru to drop the cloaking illusions that prevented the Sons' approach from being detected. For a moment light flashed and then the guns of twenty Rubrics opened fire.

 

The Templars had been hacking their way through a crowd of Wervus's personal followers. The Thousand Sons had taken the liberties of cloaking their approach as Ishkor led himself, Ishum Nassor, Xanan and Chigaru Khibale against them. The Templars would have noticed them anyway, as the bolts coming out of nowhere would have broken the illusion. But it hardly mattered as Ishkor watched the first Templar pitch off his feet, blood exploding from a ruptured helmet.

 

With interest he noted there was only twenty Templars confronting the Sons, the others had fallen or had broken off to engage more cultists in the sector. Ishkor didn't know which, he would have to ask Khosaru later. Six more were cut down, along with dozens of Wervus's followers. The Thousand Sons redoubled their rate of fire as the Templars noticed them. Bolter fire answered them as the Rubrics formed up to block off the Templars from attacking the sorcerers.

 

The Templars, seeing the object of their hate, attempted to hack through the tide of traitorous mutants. However Wervus's cultists where utter fanatics, and died screaming and clawing at their killers. Meanwhile the Thousand Sons where already forming the next phase of the battle. Bolter rounds stopped midair as Khibale and Xanan combined their efforts and threw up a kine shield. Immediately almost a dozen black-armored Astartes leapt out of the swirling melee in front of them and slammed into the wall of pure thought.

 

Four of them pitched over, concentrated bolter bursts simply blowing them apart, their power armor useless against the warded and enchanted bolters. The Templars screamed oaths at the Thousand Sons as they smashed themselves against the force field, each blow slowly weakening it.

 

''Bastard spawn of Magnus! Foul witch! I name thee traitor!'' roared a Templar officer. He was a shaven brute of an Astartes. He had his helm off, exposing the giant white cross mark that had been scarified into his face.

 

''No.'' Ishkor shook his head. ''You don't get to speak.''

 

With that he snapped his fingers. Instantly the Templar's tongue exploded in his mouth as the Astartes gave an incoherent cry of rage. Then the eyes were next as Ishkor superheated them to the point of explosion in the sockets. Then the Templar was consumed in warpfire, immolated inside his armor.

 

It felt good, Ishkor reflected. Then he noticed the kine shield give away. A pair of Rubrics pitched to the ground from bolter rounds to the head. Ishkor sighed and drew his khopesh. Flames ran along the blade as he slashed outwards. Natari, his familiar screeched and drew more power from the warp to enhance his attack. Black fire consumed the Templars. The lightly-armored ones in scout armor were the first to die, reduced to blacked and warped skeletons by the raging fire. The rest of the Templars where rapidly engulfed in warpfire. Above Natari flapped and sent sheets of flame.

 

A Templar ran out of the flames, chainblade roaring as he clashed swords with Ishkor. The Thousand Son leapt as Ishum Nassor moved in and gutted the Templar with his own blade, lightning running through the Templar's frame as the blade bisected him.

 

Xanan was confronted by another Templar. This one lunged blindly at the apprentice, his helmet warped and ruined by Ishkor's warpfire. His chainblade rained off Xanan's heqa staff as the apprentice was forced back by the blinded swings. Xanan felt no shock and awe at seeing this Templar. Immediately two of the chief advantages that the Templar had where taken away. Xanan was not some scared mortal. Once, Xanan regarded Astartes with that kind of fear and awe.

 

Now?

 

Now he felt only pity and disgust at the creature in front of him. The Astartes was blind physically and metaphorically. It could not see the power of the warp it had so foolishly denied.

 

Pain blasted up his hand as the blade cut through the edges of his gauntlet. Immediately Larraman cells rushed to staunch the bleeding, but Xanan surrounded himself with blue lightning and lashed out, frying the Templar's nervous system and slamming the bladed edge of his staff through the Templar's neck seals.

 

He had done it. He had slain his first Throne-loyal Astartes.

 

He was so overcome with shock he almost didn't notice the power axe heading for his neck. Ishkor appeared out of the whirling melee and incinerated the Templar in a rush of blue fire.

 

''Don't get distracted Xanan. Nassor, Khibale, now.'' He commanded.

 

Immediately arcs of green lightning flashed through the air. The remaining six surviving Templars where engulfed in the eldritch storm, their limbs freezing up under the warp power that the Thousand Sons had unleashed. One by one they thudded to the ground. They were alive in only the most technical sense. Their nervous systems had been fried and they were effectively brain-dead. But they were alive and that was what the Thousand Sons needed.

 

Ishkor looked over the bodies. Six survived out of the group that had been slain. Nine Rubrics had been lost, but they could he gathered and repaired. Countless numbers of Wervus's followers had been slain, but they had been unimportant. It was not even remotely a fair fight. But the Thousand Sons never had any intention of fighting fair. They ambushed the Templars out of nowhere and deprived them of close quarters combat while bogging the bulk of them down with meat shields.

 

''That was surprisingly easy, none of us really fell did we?'' Xanan asked him.

 

''No, we caught them by surprise and minimized their advantages. Don't get cocky.'' Ishkor calmly stated.

 

''Khibale?'' he turned to the other sorcerer.

 

Runes flashed in the air as his fellow sorcerer chanted in a daemonic language. Multi-limbed pink beings flashed into existence. They reached hungry for the Templar's bodies but Khibale restrained them with another set of chants.

 

Screaming in defiance at their lost meal, the summoned daemons grabbed the bodies of the sixTemplars and the shattered Rubrics and dragged them back to a set of blue Rhino carriers where they would be transported away.

 

''And now?'' Xanan asked.

 

''And now things come to a climax.''

 

 

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''They've noted the loss of two of their groups,'' Khosaru chuckled. ''Donovad, that's the Marshal's name, is sending his own household company after us.'' He had been reading the minds of the Templars as they headed towards the position of the Fifteenth Legion.

 

''Their composition?'' Aktar asked. He stood over a desk and was studying a chessboard. It was an old thing, with gold and silver pieces. Undoubtedly the old governors' personal set.

 

''About eighty warriors in all. All power armored, no Terminator war plate. They haven't deployed that yet.''

 

''Their mindset?''

 

''Wrathful, to put it mildly.'' Khosaru answered.

 

Behind them the Rubrics' mechanically and efficiently put the bodies of eleven Templars into a summoning circle. All around them Wervus's pet sorcerers chanted and continued with their rite. The remains of Ishkor's group came into the room, armor battered and blasted, but all still alive.

 

''A rather pathetic battle.'' Nassor remarked. ''But expected of such disgusting creatures.''

 

Ishkor ignored him. ''Are we already to begin the next phase of our plan?'' he asked.

 

''Of course'' Aktar picked up the gold queen on the chessboard and knocked over the silver queen. ''Everything is about set. Wervus?''

 

''My lord?'' the mutant leader came scarpering up. He had no idea that his rebellion was already being gutted by the Imperium.

 

''Let's finish off the ritual.''

 

 

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The Templars came through the front, as the Thousand Sons expected. A pair of Land Raiders came up behind a Vindicator. The thing's mighty siege cannon blew down the gates to the Gubertorial palace, sending the huge durasteel gates spinning through the air on flames. The Vindicator rumbled through the rubble, its shield pushing away debris. Behind it came the Land Raiders, disgorging squads of Templars. Behind them more and more Templars moved up, bolters blazing as they cut down scores upon scores of treacherous PDF.

 

Ishkor watched from behind a barricade with amusement. Nearby with him was, Khibale, Khosaru, Xanan, and Nassor. Forty Rubrics stood, crouching in the barricades and walls of the outer place. Vast terraces and lines of broken statues separated them and the Templars.

 

''They aren't even trying a flanking maneuver. They must really be angered or pressed for time.'' Khosaru reported to him.

 

''Which is it?''

 

''Honestly? Hard to tell. These warriors are angry all the time.''

 

''Enough.'' Ishkor waved his hand. Rubble fell away as the massive, ornate form of Hamadi Menes came into the field. His lascannon sent a burst of warpstuff straight into the hull of the Vindicator, blowing it apart in a multi-colored explosion.

 

Immediately the turrets on the nearest Land Raider swung outwards and targeted the huge Dreadnought. The Sorcerers immediately threw up a shimmering kine shield, the lascannon bolt struck it like a thunderclap, but the shield held. Menes moved back into the palace, lascannon spitting out arcs of multi-colored lightning as he did so. Immediately the Rubrics opened fire over the field as Khibale and Ishkor stood up, casting sheets of white fire over the boulevards. Natari flapped overhead, raining down blue-white fire.

 

Templars were turned into melted corpses or blown apart by the enchanted bolters. Bolter fire answered them, but the blue sorcerers came to the aid of the pyromancers, setting up kine shields. Nearby more of Wervus's followers added their fire with autoguns and lasguns, but they hardly made a difference. Overhead the forms of twenty Assault marines flew through the skies. They landed among the mutants and the Rubrics, chainblades carving apart the automatons and the traitors as they did so. Dust was scattered to the winds as a new hole was suddenly torn in the Thousand Sons' defenses.

 

Ishkor send roiling sheets of flame into the newcomers, immolating three Assault marines in their armor. Khibale did the same as the assault marines closed rapidly in to take out the Thousand Sons before they could employ their powers again.

 

Khibale incinerated another assault marine before a skull-faced figure landed in front of him. The Chaplain brought his crozius around, arcs of lightning clashing with Khibale's khopesh. The weapons flashed for a moment before fire focused them both. Then the Chaplain emerged from the cocoon of flames, fire licking off his Rosarius field. With one mighty blow he tore off Khibale's head. The corpse fell to the ground, blood staining the grass below as fire and flames licked outwards.

 

''So is the fate of all traitors'' the Chaplain rumbled.

 

''Ishkor!'' Khosaru shouted, this time in his real voice.

 

''I know'' he said.

 

''I'll take care of him.'' Khosaru nodded and set off to confront the Chaplain. He brought his bladed staff around, twirling it as he did so.

 

''Your foul enhancements have no purchase upon me witch!'' bellowed the Chaplain as he dove forward, crozius sparking against the fire-shrouded staff that Khosaru held. The two traded blows, both locked in a deadly dance.

 

''Perish mutant! Dorn watches over my soul this day. You shall-''

 

''Don't you ever shut up?'' Khosaru asked him as his staff cut through the Chaplain's shoulder plate, drawing blood. The Chaplain replied with another set of praises to Dorn and the Emperor and drove his crozius through the head of the sorcerer.

 

Disdainfully the chaplain kicked away the corpse of his latest kill and turned around.

 

''Brothers! Show no Mercy! No Fear! We will castigate the trai-'' he was cut off by a blade staff ramming through his chest. The Chaplain's body jerked as he stared dumbly at the blades.

 

''I also specialize in illusions, brother.'' mocked Khosaru. Then he channeled pure warpstuff through the blade. With one movement the Chaplain's soul was ripped screaming from its body and sent into the warp itself.

 

Khosaru withdrew his staff and kicked away the corpse.

 

Nearby the sorcerers where engulfed in the assault. The assault marines had succeeded in cutting off their barrage as the remaining Templars closed in, massed bolter volleys cutting down summoned daemons and cultists as they did so.

 

Then Aktar came in. He brought his staff down and the remaining assault marines were thrown and smashed together in the air. Helmets and torsos where pulled by invisible hammers of force. In moments the Templar jump pack troops had been disrupted. Ishkor, Nassor and Xanan took the moment to gather their powers and blast the surviving assault marines with warpfire and lightning. Blackened bodies jerked and threw about as they were sent crashing to the ground, shouldering with warp stink.

 

''We lost Khibale.'' Nassor told Aktar.

 

''I can see that. Withdraw. It's almost complete and I want as many of them in as possible.'' Aktar ordered.

 

 

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Donovad led his Templars through the broken palace walls, butchering thousands of cultists. The Thousand Sons fled before them. The surviving Rubrics laid down a covering fire as they stepped back through the hallways. Ornately armored Rubrics pitched to the floor, their armor breached, souls and dust escaping. The Templars where coming through the hallways, bolters blazing. Gouts of promethium gushed from flamer nozzles, setting alight tapestries on the walls and consuming the place in fire.

 

Donovad's advance was the very example of any Templar son of Dorn's attack plan. Assault squads taking point with crusader squads forming up behind them. The Marshal led his Sword Brethren Household at the heart of the assault.

 

It was brutal, powerful and grand.

 

And it all played right into the hands of the Thousand Sons.

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

''We give thanks to the Lord of Change for his beneficence.'' Wervus called out. The daemonic chanting of the cultists increased in their droning intensity. Aktar nodded to his Thousand Sons as they took their placed in specially designed ritual circles.

 

Wervus's voice increased in its intensity, calling out to his daemonic patrons for power in the ritual. In the warp the consciousness of a greater daemon stirred in the warp, eager to manifest in the physical realm once more.

 

That was, until Aktar calmly drew his bolt pistol from its holster and show Wervus in the head.

 

The Cultist's entire head simply disappeared in a shower of red as his body fell to the ground, arcs of blue lightning playing across the ground. Aktar nodded to the Rubrics as they then opened fire on the cultists, cutting them all down.

 

The poor deluded mortal followers had served their purpose with the ritual, now the Thousand Sons stepped in to finish the job and alter the lines of the spell into something more suitable for their plans.

 

The Astartes of the Fifteenth Legion began to chant in time as they directed the spell, now fueled by the blood sacrifice of the cultists, into something new and more deadly. Energy appeared in the center of the circled and swirled outwards.

 

Blue and purple lighting forked and spilled throughout the entire palace. The Thousand Sons stood, safe from harm in their pre-prepared wards, the magical energy dissipating around them harmlessly like rain off of stone.

 

The Templars weren't so lucky.

 

The incredible power of a mass storm coursed through their bodies, changing their insides and sealing their armor shut as if welded. Their flesh was turned to dust and their spirits warped and bound to their now rune-marked warplate.

 

The Rubric of Ahriman was impossible to cast in it's entirely, but a miniature version could be performed at great cost and effort. It was something that could change a few dozen Astartes instead of many hundreds. Aktar lowered his hands.

 

It was complete, over forty Rubric Templars now walked in, mechanically and slowly, balefires licking from their helmet visors. They stood in perfect formation, automatons for the warriors of the Fifteenth to use.

 

The Thousand Sons had succeeded, playing both sides against each other in order to achieve their ultimate goal of acquiring more Rubric Astartes. They now had the strength required for the Warmaster's crusade.

 

Aktar stepped slowly out the summoning circle and viewed his new warriors.

 

''Just as planned.''

[Gree]

It was when he mediated that Ishkor remembered.

 

For the Thousand Son, it had been so long ago, watching his life disappear in the flames. Tizca burned all around him and he burned too, his body consumed by the fires and flames as his brothers frantically dragged him out. He didn't remember much else but pain and screams. The flesh change had partially taken over him, transforming his right arm into a writhing mass of tentacles and causing his heart to burst within his chest, with only his secondary heart laboring to keep him alive.

 

He can remember, through bleary eyes, the form of his Primarch fighting Leman Russ before the steps of the Pyramid of Photep. He can remember the strange flash of light that filled his senses as the confusing twisting images that clawed at his senses as the Thousand Sons were transported through the warp. He can remember his body being hauled to a hastily constructed surgery table in one of the ruined towers that was transported to the Planet of Sorcerers. He remembers screaming as the last few Apothecaries and Techmarines of his Legion worked to save his life.

 

They amputated his right arm and replaced it with a bionic limb. His destroyed primary heart was replaced with an artificial one to pump transhuman blood throughout his body. His scorched lungs were repaired with mechanical augmentations and his clawed out eye replaced with a bionic replacement.

 

So much pain.

 

He had improved his augmentations since then. Replacing the crude replacements originally fashioned for him with bionics salvaged from Mechacnius depots during the long years of raiding that the Nekhet Coven had conducted from the Eye.

 

So was lost. How low they were forced to stoop. The Wolves, Tzeentch.

 

The Nekhet Coven had a strange relationship with Tzeentch. Nobody among Nekhet had actually worshipped Tzeentch, they had all recognized that Tzeentch had at least played a part in their downfall and the rampant mutations that had plagued their Legion since its inception.

 

But even Ishkor could not deny they were in Tzeentch's thrall in some way. Everyone was. Even as they refused to wear Tzeentch's symbols and offered only lip service at best some in the coven made pacts with the daemons of Tzeentch.

 

Nothing too major. They saw what had happened to them last time.

 

Ishkor knew the view of the Nekhet Coven were not as widely as accepted as the rest of the Legion. Many of his brothers worshiped Tzeentch, while others swore to use chaos as a tool. As much as Ishkor had to admit, he had more in common with Ahriman than Magnus.

 

The Nekhet Coven had stood on the sidelines when the decision to make the Rubric was cast. While Ishkor was pleased with the immunity to the Rubric and his own enhanced powers, it had come at too high a cost. He had watched many battle brothers become dust before his eyes.

 

After that, the Nekhet coven had departed the planet not long after. The last major times the Coven had gathered with the rest of the Legion was when the Thousand Sons invaded Fenris or on one of Abbadon's Black Crusades.

 

And now it seemed like they were going to meet up again. Of course calling it was Legion was an exaggeration. There hadn't been a Legion since the Rubric and the Thousand Sons had only splintered further into separate warbands, each taking their own path.

 

In truth the Black Crusade filled Ishkor with excitement and trepidation. He used to be part of the Pyrae cult, favoring action and battle over studies and plotting. Here was a chance to strike back at the Imperium in a meaningful way and gain vengeance.

 

Others in the Nekhet coven desired more to turn to their books or conduct their studies into the warp, forgetting the betrayal of the Wolves and the False Emperor. Their anger had cooled. But it always burned in Ishkor's mind every night he went to sleep, every ache in his body.

 

He could have vengeance.

 

''Ishkor?'' Aktar's voice came over the vox.

 

''Yes?''

 

''Meet us in the vehicle bay, it is time.''

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The vehicle bay of the Hawk of Tizca was a well-lit, but spartan affair. The warriors of the Nekhet Coven had no great armored formations like that of the Iron Warriors of the Dark Mechanicus, and they lacked the numbers needed to crew entire squadrons of Rhinos and Land Raiders like the Black Legion or Word Bearers had.

 

But they maintained a few vehicles. The Dreadnought casket of Menes was one as it stood proudly and regally, the visor lenses of the Dreadnought glowing emerald as it observed the binding and summoning ritual in front of him.

 

Xanan stood bareheaded before a Predator painted in the colors of the XV Legion. All around him a summoning circle was carefully arranged in the center of the vehicle bay. Arcane sigils and drawn runes that he had made himself. Behind him stood Aktar, Ishkor and Khosaru, all masked by their ornate tall helms. Behind them were the impassive forms of five Rubrics with bolters clasped across their bejeweled breastplates, sightless eyes also glowing emerald.

 

Xanan was chanting words in an inhuman and strange tongue, something that he had devoted years of practice to since his elevation into the ranks of the Astartes. One word and all could go wrong in this summoning and binding. Aetheric energy swirled in front of him and smoke and fire shot up, revealing the glowing serpentine form of the daemon. It's very form was insanity, with far too many eyes and teeth than any normal creature should have.

 

This was Xanan's first summoning and binding he had done by himself. He had assisted and observed it in others when Nassor or Ishkor had carried them out, but not it was his turn to complete his final test. Even though he was an Astartes he was nervous, this was the culmination of all his efforts.

 

The thing shrieked and twisted against the bonds, its many mouths speaking various pleas and curses in countless different languages. Xanan ignored its mindless babble and focused on his own chanting in order to complete the spell

 

His voice rose higher and higher in crescendo as he approached the final syllables. As he reached the final line he slammed his heqa staff down on the ground and the daemon thing shrieked before it was seemingly sucked into the Predator.

 

Xanan let out a sigh of relief. It was over.

 

The vehicle's weapons and turret swiveled around, but the beast inside could do nothing without the consent of its masters. Its engine hummed loudly as it actived, but it remained still, waiting for a command from Xanan.

 

A clapping sound filled the air as Khosaru was the first to respond.

 

''Good show, good show young one.''

 

''It was…..satisfactory.,'' Ishkor said simply.

 

''You completed the Rite perfectly then. You are one of us now.'' Aktar said. Xanan was pleased. Praise from his masters…..the sensation was a welcoming one.

 

''Lamentable that Khibale could not be here.'' Khosaru mused.

 

''Think no more of him at the moment. We have a new brother.'' Aktar told him.

 

''Thank you for everything.'' Xanan told him. He looked at him hands and marveled at the blue gauntlets, so different and so large than the young child he was so many decades ago. Many years put into this study and effort.

 

All of it had finally paid off.

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Aktar sat in the bridge of the Hawk of Tizca, his helm off, exposing his bald bronzed features. His face was strong and broad, covered in tattoos from the old Prosperite script that snaked over his temples, cheeks and neck.

 

The bridge of the Hawk of Tizca was large and well lit, with white-clad orderlies bustling about amidst deck officers and the occasional form of the Rubricae standing guard over the bridge entrances, their forms still and impassive.

 

Aktar himself was seated in the command throne, looking over the multitude of lesser mortals. His helmet lay as his side while his staff was safely stowed to the other side. In his hand he looked through a series of reports.

 

Recently the Nekhet Coven had hit he private museum collection of an Imperial noble on the hive world of Zenthrax. It had hardly been a fight, the Rubricae had neatly and efficiently disposed of the hired guards while Ishkor and Xanan stormed into the museum itself and disposed of the remaining defenders quickly. Most of that they recovered was junk, but a few rare texts and trinkets had been recovered and filed away in the Hawk's safe vaults.

 

They had been hitting several targets like that over the last few months, trying to finish conducting their business before they were called away to Abbadon's Black Crusade and to an uncertain future that the war held for them.

 

They had attempted to scry to see what would happen in the Crusade, but their efforts were mostly fruitless despite the rituals performed. They had only seen scattered visions of fire, war and insanity that the crusade had promised, but they had expected that anyway.

 

Of course their increased raids in the Segmentum Obscuras had consequences. They had played a game of cat and mouse with the Imperial Navy, hiding for weeks on end while they trekked back into the safety of the Eye of Terror.

 

''We have exited the warp my lord. We are in the Eye.'' The shipmaster said, a slight, bearded mortal in gold and white robes. Aktar waved him away. He looked out through the viewscreen, noting the various data-streams displaying themselves near his command throne.

 

A hail-signal flashed on his screen and he pressed the acknowledgment rune.

 

''They're hailing us, it's the Talon of Shadow. The Eighth Legion sir.'' One of the bridge officers reported.

 

''The Night Lords. That's Vayne's ship. What does he want?'' Aktar mused. He learned forward.

 

''Open up a visual and audio. I want to speak with him.'' The Thousand Sons Sorcerer commanded.

 

''As you wish my lord.'' In a flash the face of Lord Brutus Vayne of the Night Lords was revealed.

 

He was deathly pale, his eyes pitch black orbs. His black hair was close-cropped. He was bleakly handsome, like one of the ancient Terran statues that rested in the Hawk of Tizca's holds, but Aktar could detect a hard steel behind his black eyes.

 

He wore MKVII plate, painted the blue-black of the Eighth Legion. One shoulder guar displayed the winged skull clearly while the other bore the faded markings of his former company. His winged Legion helm sat on his lap, the blank lenses of the skull-helm staring out.

 

''Vayne.''

 

''Aktar.''

 

The Thousand Son laid back in his command throne.

 

''Should I assume you have a good reason for meeting us here?'' Aktar asked.

 

A cold smile spread across Vayne's face. ''We have acquired things. ''

 

''What things exactly?'' Aktar asked.

 

''The Keys of Zantrech, the Books of Karek.'' Vayne told him.

 

Aktar was surprised. To any student of the occult those were rare items indeed.

 

''You will give us proof of course?'' Aktar asked.

 

''Of course.''

 

''And what do you want in return?''

 

''We know you have excess weapons and supplies from your raids. Knowledge for weapons.'' Vayne told him.

 

''We have a deal then. We will of course know of any attempts at betrayal.'' Aktar told him.

 

''No, this is business as usual Aktar, Vayne out.''

 

The viewscreen deactivated it and Aktar active his own vox-link.

 

''Khosaru, Xanan, prepare yourselves for a little trip.''

 

 

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''So the Eight Legion? The Night Lords?'' Xanan mused as the lander approached the Talon of Shadow. Xanan noted it was of the same class as the Hawk of Tizca, one of the great battlecruisers constructed to service the Emperor's legions during the Great Crusade.

 

''Butchers and killers. They eat fear. We revere knowledge.'' Khosaru nodded.

 

''I already knew that I just-''

 

''-Never met one, you will now.'' Khosaru told him.

 

''Do they live up to their reputation?'' Xanan asked.

 

''Definitely. Now helms on, its bloody dark in their ships.'' Khosaru told him as he fastened on his helmet, bringing up a tactical display. Xanan did the same. They were in one of the Hawk's immense landers, laded with weapons and armor that they had salvaged in their long raids.

 

Khosaru ran his eyes over the racks of power armor and bolters that they had salvaged from the Templars extra stores after their recent conversion of a few dozen Templars into Rubric shells to house the spirits of their fallen brothers.

 

''We have landed my lord.'' The pilot said over the drop ship vox.

 

''Excellent. Let's go Xanan.'' Khosaru nodded.

 

The lander bay's doors opened and Xanan saw only darkness illuminated by thin strips of blue light on the celling and the glowing eyes of several Astartes helmets. But the Thousand Sons had more senses than mere eyesight. Both of the Sorcerers detected scores of souls in the darkness. Khosaru read the audible mental tang of fear, the essence of terror filling the souls of the slaves in the dark. Then there were the five Night Lords who had overseen the exchange.

 

Khosaru gestured to the serfs of the Thousand Sons. At his command various crimson-robed menials and servitors carted out the racks of weapons with great strain and effort. Khosaru nodded to the Night Lords.

 

''I must say I don't know who you are, it's been a while since I've last seen this warband.'' Khosaru mused.

 

'' Kar Sareth. Fifth Claw.'' Replied the leader curtly.

 

''Do you have it?'' Khosaru asked.

 

''Of course.'' Kar Sareth gestured and two of his Astartes brought forth the items in question in a silk-wrapped motor cart.

 

''Lights please. We don't all have your vision.'' Khosaru snapped his fingers and a bit of flame crackled into existence, lighting up the place.

 

Several of the Night Lord serfs shied away from the light, but the Night Lords remained stoic, two of them snapping to attention with bolters pointed at Khosaru, but Kar Sareth waved them back nonchalantly.

 

''Take a look for yourself.'' Sareth said.

 

''Oh, I intend to.''Khosaru walked over to inspect the various arcane trinkets.

 

Xanan looked at the various Night Lords, now revealed by the light. They wore blue-black power armor of a much darker shade than the Thousand Sons, their war plate was also much more hodgepodge and mixed. They also had painted various terror markings on their armor, for example one of the Night Lords has a MKIII helm painted with silver lightning bolts, another had a bat-winged helm with a crimson faceplate evoking a flayed skull.

 

And as for Kar Sareth…..

 

The leader of the Fifth Claw more a bat-winged skull helm, the ears of the grinning rictus face mounded into flaring winds and it's eyes growled with an unearthly crimson glare. He carried a power maul fashioned into the winged skull of his Legion.

 

''You look like a Chaplain.'' Xanan said.

 

The skull-helm turned to glare at him.

 

''Watch your tongue sorcerer before I rip it out myself.''

 

Xanan's gauntlets tightened as his twin hearts began to race in preparation.

 

''Calm down the both of you.'' Khosaru turned to look at Xanan.

 

''We got what we came for. Thank you for doing business.'' Khosaru gestured to a pair of Rubricae to take the cart back to the ship as he turned around. Xanan turned to follow him, pausing briefly only to look back at the crimson visors of the Night Lords.

 

They were watching him, stern and implacable. After a moment Xanan turned away and walked back to the lander.

[Dosjetka]

I don't have much in the way of criticism, so I'll just say that I have read the whole thing and that I love the story. I also hope that you'll continue with this :devil:

 

Ludovic

[Llagos_Tyrant]

Just wanted to drop in and say that you've put together a great couple of pieces here.

 

It was very interesting to see the first meeting with Xanan and his relationship with the other Thousand Sons. I also liked how they created new Rubric Marines. Seems quite fitting.

 

Other than a few grammatical errors I don't have much in the way of criticism. Keep it up!

[Son of Carnelian]

One of my favorite 40k shorts to date. My favorite that I have read on the B&C. When the new Chaos book comes around, I am modeling some of these wonderful characters, if that's all right Gree.

[Arachnid99]

Good story, though I tough the Thousand Sons were more firmly committed to Tzeentch, but I suppose even if it's a small Legion there will always be varying degrees of piety.

[Gree]

Good story, though I tough the Thousand Sons were more firmly committed to Tzeentch, but I suppose even if it's a small Legion there will always be varying degrees of piety.

 

Well my Thousand Sons kinda realized that Tzeentch really screwed them over in a way. They acknowledge him, but they realize that Tzeentch is really not trustworthy at all.

[Nuclear Fridge]

I thought that the 'use' of the ill-informed cultists was quite in keeping with how the Thousand Sons operate.

 

The poor dumb mutants and witches might think they're being favoured - right up until they get shot!