The Crystal Labyrinth glowed with the mysterious lights of the Warp. Every wall, every floor, was made of mesmerizing crystals that could drive a mortal insane with a mere gaze. At the center of this vast and confusing structure stood Tzeentch, the Lord of Change. His amalgamous form shifted constantly, each new shape more obscure than the last. His thoughts were too chaotic, too unstable—too much for words to describe. (A/N: I will use "he" for Chaos Gods except for Slaanesh, for convenience.) And yet, there was something in his madness that resembled anticipation.
His masterfully planned heresy—the tragic tale of father against son—was supposed to be the end of the Cursed One. And yet, it had failed. Not because of his own failure, no. But even he hadn't foreseen that the everburning wars of the galaxy would consume them all. He knew he could not deceive the remaining ones. None of them could, not while that arrogant and insolent bastard still lived.
But Tzeentch was not worried.
He was the Weaver of Fate, and Fate demanded a Heresy. If the necessary ingredients were not available, they could always be found elsewhere. Time was not immobile, and the past could be just as useful as the future. With thoughts like these, he opened a gate between the branches of time—reaching into one where he had triumphed—and pulled what he needed. Fate demanded this, and he would be the one to deliver.
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Noah stood in the golden room, filled with the humongous contraption known as the Golden Throne. He was not alone. Beside him was his closest friend—Alexander, better known to the galaxy as the Emperor.
Both were masters of the immaterium. Both had sensed what that damned bird had done. It was a shame—they had lost nearly all of the Primarchs:
Angron had died on the crimson sands of Nuceria, cradled by the cold arms of the slaves he once called brother and sister.
Horus had fallen to the Beast, drowned in pride. He was powerful, but the Orks believed the Beast was stronger—so it was.
Fulgrim had been stolen by the Infinite, locked away in a timeless gallery.
Perturabo and Konrad were lost in the endless depths of the Webway.
Magnus had vanished into the Warp, beyond even the eyes of the Four.
The rest had perished, following their brothers one by one—leaving only the Lion, still sleeping, and Roboute, preserved in stasis.
The Emperor's great plan was a complete disaster. Half the Astartes were dead, the Imperium weakened. The situation was grim, the future shrouded in darkness. And yet, they did not give up.
Yes, the times were dark. But the Age of Strife had been darker. They were outnumbered, overpowered. Yet it had been even worse when they had fought against the Legions of Iron. Humanity was once again on the edge of annihilation—but the defiant light still burned with all its radiance. Humanity had survived everything this cursed cosmos had thrown at it—and it would survive this too.
Noah and the Emperor prepared their weapons for the first crossroad of destiny. As always, they had plans. But none of it would matter if they were defeated here. Terra would be destroyed. The Emperor would die. The Astronomican would go dark. The Imperium would fall, and humanity would be devoured by the Chaos.
So… no pressure, Noah thought to himself.
"Ready to kick some sense into those brats, brother?" he asked merrily.
Brats—that was how the mighty Primarchs looked in the eyes of the God of the Machine.
The Emperor's stoic, featureless face cracked with a grin. He knew what the future held. He knew what his failed sons had caused. He knew the pain that was coming—and he was furious. It was time to show the galaxy what the old generation could still do.
It was time to remind the stars who they were.
Who were the protectors of mankind.
And why fighting them was the worst idea anyone could have.
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They rose into orbit, awaiting their enemies. After all, it was only proper for subjects to come to their Emperor—not the other way around.
The boundary between timelines shattered under the power of the Chaos Gods. They had ceased their enmity—for now. They hated each other, yes. But they hated the accused ones even more.
Through their combined power, reality cracked open. The Black Legions poured in from a myriad of timelines, led by their commanders.
Angron, burning with fury worthy of a Daemon Prince of Khorne, ready to kill everything in sight—including his allies, not that he ever had any.
Fulgrim shimmered with seductive light, his serpentine body coiling. The Prince of Excess looked perfect to himself—but his eyes were filled with hunger.
Perturabo stood like a walking fortress, bristling with weapons capable of glassing a planet. He despised Chaos—but the price was too good to refuse.
Konrad Curze was cloaked in robes, his face still as haunted as ever. The Oracle Primarch saw only death—not that anyone cared.
Mortarion drifted silently, shrouded in clouds of toxic gas, his legion infecting the air with every known plague.
Alpharius was presumed present among the XXth—perhaps with Omegon. Who could say?
Magnus arrived with his tomes and his legion. He spoke quietly with Ahriman, planning the battle. Not that any of his blood-crazed brothers would listen.
Lorgar was alive, meditating. His words were mightier than his fists—and he would use them.
And finally, Horus Lupercal stood tall, radiating majesty. The Warmaster was a force of ruin, filled to the brim with power. At his side was his second-in-command and future successor—Abaddon.
They were mighty. That was beyond question.
But was that might enough to defeat their father?
That was the true question.
The traitors were not alone in their endeavor. Each of the Four had commanded the majority of their forces to join this crusade. To many, this army was overkill—far more than necessary to deal with two mere men.
But the gods knew the truth.
There was nothing "mere" about these men.
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AN: Hello again dear readers that I wish still exists. I am very sorry about my absence but I finally decided nearly everything. There was immense holes in the plot so I feel like a constractor at this point. Anyway The next chapter should be posted tomorrow. Take care of yourself and thank you for reading.
Please Inform me my mistakes and share your ideas.