Chapter 36: Betrayal at the Battle of Isstvan III
The Soul Drinkers' assembly chamber had never felt so heavy. Francis moved through the rows of his gene-sons, distributing equipment with a gravity they'd never seen in him before.
To each warrior, he handed the same provisions: bio-reactive gloves of pale pink flesh, teal bio-armguards, sealed containers filled with "Sun Mushroom" spores, and generous quantities of growth compounds.
His sons watched him with growing unease.
Something fundamental had changed in their Primarch. The casual humor that usually lightened even the darkest briefings had vanished, replaced by an expression so grim that even veteran warriors found themselves shifting uncomfortably.
When the distribution was complete, Francis's voice cut through the chamber's silence.
"Listen carefully." Each word fell like a hammer. "No matter where you are, when it happens, or what the tactical situation looks like, when I say the phrase 'it's time to harvest,' you do exactly what I tell you. No hesitation. No looking back. No doubt."
The warriors shifted. They'd seen their Primarch angry before, amused, even disappointed. But this cold aura was something entirely new.
"This operation is highly dangerous. There's no room for hesitation. If you hesitate, you die."
Sergeant Kaine, a veteran of three centuries, finally voiced what they all feared. "My lord, what if we accidentally strike down loyal Imperial forces?"
Francis met his gaze without flinching. "Given the situation, mistakes like that are acceptable. With the numbers we're dealing with, individual casualties won't be noticed. Just make sure you take out extra traitors to balance things out."
The immediate relaxation that swept through his gene-sons troubled Francis deeply. They actually found comfort in the prospect of acceptable losses.
CRASH.
The battle-barge lurched violently. Emergency maneuvers threw warriors against bulkheads despite their enhanced balance.
"What's hitting us?"
"Xenos attack?"
"Stay disciplined! Wait for the Primarch's orders!"
But when they turned toward their leader, Francis had already vanished.
Francis materialized in the command center to find Horus standing before the tactical displays, directing the pursuit of a fleeing vessel.
"What's happening? Why the urgency?"
The Warmaster's shoulders tensed at Francis's sudden appearance. His logical mind insisted that Francis must have somehow warned the loyalists, yet communications analysis revealed no outgoing transmissions from the Vengeful Spirit.
But who could have predicted the virus bombardment? Certainly not Leman Russ. The Wolf King's strategic thinking was impressive for a primarch, but it didn't come close to his own.
"Leman Russ was hiding in the system's shadow," Horus explained, his voice carrying grim satisfaction. "He's evacuating survivors from the surface. It's a worthless effort; his ship is carrying too many refugees. The weight's preventing proper acceleration."
Horus turned to his fleet commanders. "Increase speed! Get us in weapons range and open fire!"
The Vengeful Spirit surged forward, her massive batteries cycling up to full power. Francis observed the tactical displays with apparent interest. His left bio-glove twitched.
THUD.
The Warmaster's flagship lurched to an abrupt halt.
Horus had been watching the fleeing ship with predatory anticipation. Now he froze, bewildered fury etched across his features.
"Why did we stop? Tech-priests, fix this malfunction now!"
Tech-adepts swarmed the machine-spirit interfaces as the Hrafnkel pulled steadily away, slipping out of optimal firing solutions.
Horus struck the command lectern. Ceramite cracked under his enhanced strength.
"What kind of inferior components are these tech-priests installing? Critical failures at the moment of victory!"
His curses echoed through the bridge as the Vengeful Spirit attempted to resume pursuit, only to suffer complete propulsion failure.
The attending Mechanicus adept stared at his instruments, professional anxiety visible in every mechadendrite twitch.
One Day Earlier
Captain Tarvitz's Thunderhawk reached planetary surface minutes ahead of the virus bombardment.
His boots struck corrupted ground. He sprinted toward the battle lines, his voice carrying across the entire engagement zone through vox-amplifiers.
"Stop fighting immediately! Cease fire! The Warmaster and our Primarchs have abandoned us!"
The fighting slowed. Warriors on both sides turned toward the desperate transmission.
"They've betrayed the Imperium itself! Virus weapons incoming! All warriors find shelter now!"
Tarvitz's warnings echoed across the battlefield. When attempts to contact their parent vessels failed, the horrible truth crystallized. They'd been abandoned, left to die by their own gene-fathers.
"Find cover! Pull back to defensible positions!"
"All units retreat!"
Captain Saul Tarvitz commanded absolute authority. Every Astartes present obeyed without question. The Emperor's Children captain had fought beside these warriors for decades. If he said retreat, they retreated.
Then came an unexpected transmission, Leman Russ himself.
"Anti-toxin equipment is being dropped at your position. Get to the dark hemisphere immediately and board the Hrafnkel."
Supply pods rained from the night sky, bearing protective gear hastily manufactured in the Space Wolves' forges. The warriors donned their masks with desperate haste and evacuated toward the rendezvous coordinates.
Tarvitz felt deep confusion washing over him. Someone had already prepared countermeasures before he could even issue his warning.
Who could have anticipated this betrayal in advance?
As Imperial forces withdrew, the daemon-spawned inhabitants of Choral City displayed bewildered disappointment.
"Why are the pretty warriors running? Are our games getting boring?"
"Don't they want more fun?"
The creatures murmured among themselves before returning to their perverted revelries, decadent melodies of corruption filling the city streets.
At the settlement's heart, the rebel commander raised triumphant hands toward the sky.
"Praise to [REDACTED] for our deliverance! Glory to the Dark Gods!"
As he looked upward in gratitude, thousands of Life-Eater virus canisters were already streaking earthward. The flesh-dissolving virus would spare nothing.
One canister landed directly at his feet.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Detonation charges dispersed their payload across the planet. Eight billion people died almost at once. The lethal flesh-dissolving virus infected every living thing on the planet's surface.
The weaponized pathogen transformed every organic structure it contacted. Flesh separated from bone. All sound died instantly. Creatures inhaling the agent drowned in the rotting fluid filling their own lungs.
Plant life melted into dark brown sludge, achieving biological termination within moments.
Even the Chaos-spawned entities couldn't escape. Their daemonic enhancement meant nothing, their organic components proved equally vulnerable.
Within heartbeats, the city resembled a massive gravestone, drained of all color and life. Not even final screams marked the passing of billions of souls.
Former plains and jungles collapsed into fetid marshland. Oceans transformed into green-black sludge.
The psychic shock of so many simultaneous deaths shrieked through the Warp. The death-screams of billions blazed across the immaterium, sustenance for entities beyond mortal comprehension.
From orbit, Isstvan III resembled a rapidly decomposing fruit suspended in the void, a monument to betrayal.
"Emperor's blood! They really are monsters!"
"Our own Primarchs working together against the Emperor!"
"Without the Space Wolves stepping in, we would've ended up in that slaughterhouse!"
The surviving Legion commanders gathered in an emergency council aboard the Hrafnkel. Their rage transcended even Astartes' emotional conditioning. They formally renounced their previous designations, refusing to share names with the traitor forces.
As they emerged from the planet's shadow, enemy contacts appeared on their sensors. Leman Russ felt tactical urgency crystallize. Two enemy vessels against his single ship, manageable odds, provided he acted swiftly.
Just as the Vengeful Spirit and Pride of the Emperor closed to engagement range, the Warmaster's flagship executed an emergency stop and dead-halted in space.
Leman Russ's eyes blazed with opportunity.
"Raise all shields! Take the Pride of the Emperor's bombardment and jump to the Warp immediately!"
RUMBLE. RUMBLE.
Under the Emperor's Children vessel's fierce cannonade, the Hrafnkel shuddered violently. Her void shields flared and collapsed. Hull plating buckled under the assault.
But she still managed Warp translation with a brilliant flash.
Watching the loyalists escape, Horus drew a steadying breath. The magnitude of what he'd just ordered began to settle on him. Eight billion dead. His own sons left to die.
"Report. Are repairs complete?"
"No, my lord. The machine-spirit has not yet calmed. We need more time." Lubricants seeped from the tech-adept's cranial implants, anxiety evident in every servo's tremor.
Horus seemed to age years in mere moments. Then sudden realization struck. Two Gloriana-class battleships in pursuit would have prevented any escape entirely.
He turned toward the tactical displays. The Conqueror remained stationary near Isstvan III. Angron's flagship had contributed nothing to the pursuit.
His temper erupted with volcanic fury.
"What in the Warp are Angron and his World Eaters doing?"
Eventually, only the Pride of the Emperor could tow the disabled Vengeful Spirit back to fleet formation.
When communications finally reached the Conqueror, the sounds that emerged proved... unexpected.
"You're completely worthless! Why should you command the World Eaters Legion? What gives you the right?"
"Khârn, watch your mouth! You don't have the authority!"
"Leowyn, what makes you think you can lecture anyone?"
"Shut up! Can any of you even beat Lord Khârn in combat? You're all pathetic!"
"So you're his lapdog then! Take him down!"
Horus listened to this chaos with growing disbelief. He fixed Francis with an expressionless stare.
"Explain what's happening."
Francis shrugged with studied nonchalance. "Don't look at me for answers, brother. You're the Warmaster, not me."
[End of Chapter]
Hello amigos, How you doing? Fine? Happy? or just passing by hmm? :)