NationStates Jolt Archive

The murder of Marcus De Drakan had sparked outrage throughout the Imperium; moreso that his son, presumed dead, should be the one to orchestrate the foulest of deeds. Throughout the Imperium, soldiers loyal to Remiel had quashed rebellion swiftly on their path back towards hallowed Chronosia, to reinforce their Master's domain. The Crusade of Dire Retribution, disbanded upon the shores of Chronosia; and Turel pledged himself eternally to his Master and Emperor. In return, Remiel placed him as his favored; his Champion. Lord Turel of the First Company.

The fleets of the Envenomed Fang and the Black Fist hugn like vultures about the Homeworld; as Remiel tightened his grasp over the dominion of his Father; as he forged himself his Imperium. As he swore to outdo his patriarch, and bring ruin to all the enemies of Chronosia.

But even he, in all his righteous zealotry was decieved that he was the only true scion of Chaos; or the only true Heir of the Imperium. Upon far off battlefields, the warriors of Khorne; the Axis of Khorne, bound in the Crusade of Blood; heard tell of the Slaaneshi treachery, and swore vengeance. As the vast fleet turned for home; Cabot rallied all his men to his side; the book of honor records these as his words;

"Brethern! We stand today upon the edge of a knife; not merely sons of the Emperor; but Children of Chaos! Just as the rivalries of the Blood God and the Dark Prince rend space and time; so shall we rend flesh! Just as the conflicts of the Gods spills the warp; so shall we spill blood! It has been forseen! Let us go forth; lay low all who would call themselves loyal; let us sunder their strongholds! Shatter their defences! None shall stand against the true Sons of the Emperor!"

And so it was; that two forces readied for inevitable, bloody conflict; an din betrayal, war and depravity; in the Imperium prepared to tear itself apart.

It is a natural thing in life. Change comes whether you seek it or not, whether it is welcomed or hated, whether it is expected or a suprise. For the Empire, there were both.

The welcomed change, with the return of the true Emperor of Taledonia, Alexander Kellerman, son of Mathew Kellerman the Great. And then the surprise, the change that could be hated or welcomed, seeked or avoided, depending on the times. The Chronosian civil war.

It had barely been a week since returning to office within the Imperial Palace, when it hit. Something the great god of a man Kellerman had never felt before. Pain, not emotional or physical or mental, but a mix of the three. He fell to the ground as his mind was flooded with thoughts, images and predictions.

The first wave came, and depicted the life of his father. The time of great chaos within the Republic that led to the secret pact between Chronosia and Taledonia; and the mixing of blood that would now forever bound Kellerman and De Draken descendants forever.

Next came something unknown to everybody of the Empire. Pictures and thoughts of happenings in Chronosia. Of a daemon so powerful and evil being conceived, and the destruction of entire planets at his will. The assualt on the mighty capitol of the Imperium even. But what hit hardest at that moment, was the feeling of loss, loss of a "second father" as Marcus De Draken's great life finally gave out and moved to the powers of the warp.

Finally, came the feeling of a great shadow looming over all things. Of a new ruler bestriding the great throne of ebony and bones. The trade of the devil for an even more powerful one. And then, revealing itself to Kellerman, was the face of this new ruler. The one who was supposedly destroyed, but now reborn. One who would be bound by blood, continuing the deal between daemons and saints.

It's...impossible. The only words that escaped Alexander's mouth as he pieced together everything in his mind. Then, the name of this new threat of great ally once again appeared in his head, this time clear as day.

Remial had returned.

On a distant Imperial World; the forces of Chaos clashed in righteous fury. Cultists rose up; robes adorned in shimmering sigils; swinging their weapons against the oncoming Guardsmen, roaring in concert with the fury of their lasguns. This world had splintered when news arrived of Marcus' murder, and Remiel's usurption. And while the Pleasure Cults had embraced their Lord as Emperor; the Guardsmen had declared it a vile and contrived heresy.

And so they fought.

Lasgun and bolter roared; plasma howled and artillery thundered; setting the world alight in lightshows of pyrokinetic explosions that could be seen from orbit. Like rats they slunk through the ruins of cities; snipers taking aim to frame the perfect kill; the roar of constant conflict echoing from pole to fetid pole. A commissar drove his chainsword through the rough-hewn breast-plate of a cult Leader; he spun, decapitating a sub-ordinate with a stroke; leaping a pile of debris to land before a squad of them; bellowing his insane chants to the lord of Chaos; the martyred Marcus.

A bullet tore his arm as he ducked; hitting the dirt, rolling to bring his sword across their kneecaps; three fell while Guardsmen mounted the debris; opening fire; tearing them down, even as they themselves fell; one slumping back, thrown seared off; bone showing through the charred wound; as he tumbled away, gurgling in his death-agonies.

And then the sky rained fire. The red streaks that stained the sky as though the Gods themselves wept blood. The drop pods slammed into the midst of the ruins; the Commisar stumbling back as the great red juggernaut rose from the midst. It's axe seethed and hungered; and it raised it high above him; before spinning; the mighty blade tearing the advancing cultists in two with a mere stroke. Reality sundered as more Marines began to appear; and three mighty figures stalked amongst them, surrounded by their personnal Blood Guard; the great Primarchs; Cabot, Radu and Hakar. A bellow emerged from the eldests throat as he hurled himself into the fray; twin axes crackling and roaring; the blades of Havoc and Malice tasting the blood of the degenerate filth that held allegience to Remiel. It had begun...

It had begun in earnest...