Chapter 30: The Golgotha Campaign (4: The Stormlord's Gift) |
Part 4: The Stormlord's Gift
Location: Deep inside the Ork stronghold of Gorm-2
Date: 894.160.M30
Culain MacTurson was awakened by a slight jostling sensation on his right side.
It was subtle at first, barely noticeable and almost not enough to wake him up. But it was there, insistent and irregular. Almost as if something or someone was trying to get his attention.
With superhuman accuracy, Culain opened his eyes and took in his surroundings in a microsecond. He was in a tunnel of some sort. Almost imperceptible grooves in the floor implied that he had been dragged here by Orks on their underlings. The underlings in question had stopped trying to drag him, as he was far too bulky to be moved very far, and were now in the process of seeing whether they could remove any piece of his artificer armor to use as scrap.
They had already detached his weapons from the armor and several gretchin were attempting, in vain, to figure out how to make his custom built Stormcaller-pattern plasma cannon operate. Culain had always been among the most mechanically gifted of his brothers. Whereas Octaviar had always beaten him in the breadth of his knowledge and Ogadin could consistently create things of more wonder and awe than he could, not a single Primarch had a better knowledge of how machines worked than Culain MacTurson.
His brother Moric had once dryly noted that the Xth Primarch's personality must have been what the thinking machines of the Dark Age were like. He was cold, calculating, and more than a little arrogant. There was a sense of superiority about him, a domineering trait that made him instinctively work to master and control whatever he could. It had driven him to be a consummate expert at whatever he sought to do, and to prove his superiority to all those around him. There were rumors of a dueling room where Culain would spar with whatever brother he had available to see which of them was strongest. Those rumors also said that he won more often than he didn't.
And so, without making so much as a sound, Culain looked at his plasma cannon in the grimy hands of the foul xenos trying to dismantle it, psychically linked with the spirit controlling his prized weapon, and gave it a simple command. One that it had happily carried out countless times.
*Fire*
Culain had designed the Stormcaller himself. It was the only one of its kind, at least outfitted for infantry use like this one was. It was a gigantic thing, 2 meters long and about half that wide. Almost comically large for someone who didn't have the size and stature of a primarch, it had been his signature weapon for medium-range engagements. Countless enemies of the Imperium had vanished into superheated ash upon their unfortunate location at the receiving end of this weapon of horrifying destruction.
The gretchin didn't stand a chance.
One short crackle of electricity and a burst of blue light later, and Culain MacTurson was once again alone. The Stormcaller lay smoking on the ground, its former holders reduced to scattered atoms across the tunnel where Culain lay.
He rose to his feet quickly, summoning the psychically controlled servo-harness attached to the Primarch version of a Black Carapace. The four arms of the harness snaked out to collect their customary attachments from the belongings the gretchin were carrying. Two held the Stormcaller, holding it aloft slightly above and to the right of his head. One carried a portable shield generator that would have looked more at home on a tank than a human, and the last carried a multipurpose reconnaissance scanner that would map out the surrounding area and send the data in real time along its psychic link back to Culain, giving him an unparalleled field of vision upon the battlefield.
Lastly, he checked to make sure that his two power fists, Tamar and Perun, were still in working order. A gift from his brother Iskandar when they had sought to test one another's skill at forgeworld while still enjoying their youth on Terra. They were beautifully wrought things, equal parts artwork as they were vicious instruments of death. Originally, he had used a massive power claymore to fight his way through countless Orks, but near the end of the Golgotha Campaign he temporarily lost the weapon in the heat of battle. The powerfists were his sole remaining melee weapon and when he used them to kill the warboss Grappa da Punch, it had felt… right. There was something in those fists that called to him, made him feel more like himself, or at least the version of himself that he had hoped to become. Over time, the claymore was used less and less. The Stormcaller was implemented to give him more power at a range, and the powerfists became his primary melee weapon, among other things.
Culain collected himself and allowed the tech now swarming over his body to get readjusted. It was time that he rejoined Horus and found a way out of this foul base, but not right away. Clearly this was the heart of the Orkish presence in the Gorm system, and Culain had been transported to the heart of it, albeit by accident. This was an invaluable opportunity to collect more intelligence about what the xenos were up to. Horus could wait a little while longer for a rendezvous. Culain was more than capable of taking care of himself.
The Xth Primarch looked at the gargantuan hole the Stormcaller had made in the side of the tunnel and peered through to see what was on the other side. It appeared as though he had some small bit of luck, as the gretchin had almost finished with dragging him to their destination. Namely, what appeared to be a Greenskin version of a research lab on the other side of the wall.
Culain was almost impressed. The room was well over half a mile long and its ceiling stretched up almost up high enough to be out of his superhuman eyesight. Shelf after shelf stretching hundreds of miles in the air was full of all sorts of advanced technology, both Imperial and xenos in nature. Workbenches occupied the floor around every fourth shelf, taking apart the tech on the shelves and reassembling them into new and frightening technologies. Crude science thought it might be, the results were speaking for themselves. The Lord of the Stormbringers had a sneaking suspicion that the technology that had delivered bombs into the middle of his sons and had transported Horus and himself had been the result of one of their cursed experiments.
It was odd. These Orks were wearing protective suits and interfacing with primitive monitors that were feeding data on whatever project the brute was working on. How could the greenskins have become so far advanced. In the countless battles that Culain had waged against them, they had never possessed such
The Orks working at the stations hadn't noticed him yet, for while he was a veritable walking armory, he could still move stealthily if he so wished. The noise from his explosion had been disguised by the roar of groaning machines and backfiring experiments. To the xenos working in the laboratory, it was just one more noise they should be grateful to not have been near when it happened.
The gretchins were busy cowering and running like mad trying to gather all sorts of scraps from the shelves and shove it into the hands of an Ork with heavy mechanical augmentation. He was barking orders like the madman that he was, and sparks were flying as he combined piece after piece to form whatever monstrosity he was working on.
"Faster, you gits!" he barked, smacking a gretchin that was moving too slow for his liking. "And get me one of them telyportas! It's time to make another Mork Tunnel!"
Though he gave no outward indication, Culain was surprised. This Ork was talking with a level of grammatical proficiency that the Xth Primarch didn't know his kind possessed. He was also massive, a huge brute of a scientist who displayed both strength and dexterity in startling amounts. And he was using those gifts to nefarious ends.
Green energy that was identical to the type that teleported Culain into this place appeared at the work table where the Ork scientist was working. The Greenskin shoved his hands into the glowing ball of energy, and soon his hand appeared in shelves dozens of meters away, appearing out of thin air to grab other pieces of equipment off the shelves. He held a few pieces of xenos metal in his hand and withdrew them from the portal, trying to wrap the foreign metal around the glowing ball of energy.
It appeared to be successful at its task, as the energy stopped pulsating and solidified within the frame. With the flick of a switch, the monster turned the teleportation field on and off. He let out a roar of delight as he threw random pieces of scrap into the teleporter. They appeared at seemingly random places all over the workshop and crashed into all sorts of stockpiles, sending material flying all over the place.
"Clean it up, and tell Da Zapboss that I did it." the Ork crowed. "We 'ave stablel Mork Tunnels! It's small, but it's a start!"
As the gretchins moved to begin cleaning up the workshop space, another runt came running into the room out of breath and looking behind him in sheer terror.
"One of da humies is killin' us all!" it screamed. "We gotta pump 'im fulla dakka! Gotta go!"
It appeared as if Horus had been causing all sorts of trouble for the Orks as well. And it appeared he was doing what he did best. Namely, killing them all.
It also gave Culain a unique opportunity, as all of the Orks and Gretchins that had been working in the lab were now running in the opposite direction, in all likelihood to kill his brother. The foul xenos didn't stand a chance, and now Culain was able to walk down the rows of this place in relative peace and examine what his enemy had been working on. At least it was clear what the point of Gorm-2 was. This was a massive laboratory, filled with all sorts of experimental equipment and devices. The Orks were using the Gorm system to design and test new implements of war.
Their miniature 'Mork Gate' was of particular interest to Culain. He had never seen one, but had heard how the Orks had been able to push behind the Imperium's front lines and cause massive amounts of destruction. They had somehow managed to build tunnels that made them able to slip in and out of realspace with ease, avoiding the Crusader Fleets and fortified worlds cordoning Ork-held space. Only the brave actions of Rogal Mauer and Alexio Garva had been able to stem the tide, and the Emperor had ordered Horus to move up the timetable for the campaign into Golgotha. It appeared that they had been working hard on their Mork Gates, and now had the potential to reduce its size.
The material the framework was made of was of particular interest to Culain. The energy being used to teleport material was from their fabled Ork WAAAGH!!!, and years of fruitless research had instructed Culain that figuring out the intricacies of that power were more his brother Magnus' speciality than his. But all of the Imperium's reports had told of how the Mork Gates would open up out of nowhere and disappear while some of the Orks were still coming through. They were powerful and dangerous, but they weren't stable. It appeared that whatever material they were making this frame out of let them hold a gate open for as long as they needed to.
There was something about the substance that piqued Culain's interest. It was both organic and inorganic, psychic and physical, even solid and permeable. He'd never seen anything quite like it, but that didn't mean the Imperium would be as clueless as he was.
"Run an identification scan." Culain ordered as his information mechadendrite snaked out from behind him and began illuminating the construct as Xth Primarch picked it up and examined it, flipping the crude switch off and on to test its mechanisms.
"Information compiled from Craftworld Ulthwe shows that this frame is constructed of wraithbone." the mechadendrite informed him. "Chronal markers show an 88% probability of creation before the fall of the Aeldar Empire, but crafting occurs afterwards, sometime within the last 5 standard solar months."
"Run diagnostics again." Culain barked. "Did you just say it was recently constructed?"
"Yes, Lord Primarch. The material is very old, but its form and function are new."
The Orks had wraithbone. Not only that, they were constructing devices from it. This wasn't good at all. Somehow, these Orks were getting stronger and more cunning. If they were on the verge of making Warp Gates with Aeldari technology, the Imperium was running out of time to win this war. Within a decade, they could be storming the very gates of the Imperial Palace on Terra while the vast bulk of the Imperium's forces were a galaxy away fighing on the borders of a Segmentum.
But how? How had they done this? Thanks to their father's foresight, all of the Primarchs were aware that the more Orks fought, the greater their WAAAGH!!! energy and the more advanced they became. Advanced tactics were already on display, such as the ambush Horus and himself had walked into. But the Emperor had also assured his sons that the process of ascension was a broken thing for the Orks, and the process that would make them whole was forever beyond their reach. They would always be incomplete things, a weapon that had gone amok and could never again be reorganized. On their own, no matter how powerful they became, the Greenskins should never have been able to make creations such as this one. Something, or someone, was behind this and Culain needed to find answers.
He looked down the tunnel where the Orks had run off to and thought about helping his brother fight against this tide of xenos, but he thought better of it. Horus could take care of himself, and there was some sort of power drawing him further and further into the lair of the creature responsible for all of this. The Ork scientist he had seen was merely a pawn, a lesser pawn in the service of a greater piece on the gameboard. There was a warboss waiting for him further down, and Culain was not one to keep it waiting.
The tunnels were completely empty as he made his way down. Horus had done a wonderful job of distracting them, and he could feel the faint sensations of rage and pure determination emanating from the psychic bond that all Primarchs shared with one another. He was beyond Culain's help now, and the Xth Primarch reminded himself that he was also beyond his brother's aid. They both had a job to do. But ironically, it was the role the other was best suited for. Horus was to kill wave after wave of xenos in unending slaughter, and Culain was to cut off the head of this snake.
The journey deep into the center of the base was a quiet one, as seemingly all of the spare Orks had gone to fight Horus. Even if they never found him, they would spend hours trying to navigate the tunnels of this place instead of guarding what secrets lay deep within. Culain didn't believe in luck, he was far too practical of a Primarch for that, but he did marvel at how the Orks plans of ambushing them were what was going to lead to their destruction. It was a good lesson, and one he planned on never being on the receiving end of.
Eventually, Culain reached a pair of doors much like the ones at the entrance to this base. He had been in his personal battle vehicle before and was confident that he had he been given enough time, the door would have been cracked. And looking at its sibling now, he doubted anything of lesser firepower could open this one either.
Before he could figure out an alternative to open the doors, his problem was solved for his as they open of their own volition. The entryway was covered in blackness, but there was a hum of energy in the air, and there was the unmistakable sound of crackling electricity emanating from beyond the blackness. It was down there, the warboss that was in charge of this world. Horus cut off the head of these snakes all the time, and now it was Culain's term. This was a massive one too, bigger than any Horus had ever killed. He was going to enjoy rubbing it in his brother's face when he returned.
Over the course of the Great Crusade, the Primarch of the X Legion had killed countless Orks, hundreds, perhaps thousands of Warbosses, and even a few Warlords. One thing they all had in common was how grandiose their throne room was. Of course it was crude, decorated with a barbarity only the most evil of humans could ever hope to match, but it was still ostentatious. This one's room was no different. Unlike some of the others he had slain, this one was filled with the screeching grind of machinery and smoke belching from vents in the floor. Mechanical trophies from several different xenos species made up the basic structure of the throne, and Culain surmised that these were trophies the warboss had found no practical use for.
"Do you care for my collection?" a metal-tinged voice asked from within the smoke. Culain whirled around and saw a truly massive Ork appear out of the vapors on the balcony and land in front of him. It was a huge thing, and made all the larger by the vast quantities of machinery it had attached to its body.
It's biological form was held in a chassis that had multiple instruments of death attached to it, alongside pieces of technology that were for some purpose Culain could not yet guess. Some of the smoke filling the room came from a contraption on the creature's back, adding to the miasma that was obscuring the chamber Culain found himself in.
"Your own technology is fascinating." the Mekboss continued. "I shall look forward to having my underlings take it apart and find new and inventive ways to serve the Great WAAAGH!!!"
"You don't speak like any Greenskin I've met before." Culain said, his mind calculating the best possible moment to attack. There was much about this Ork that didn't make sense, and despite being the pinnacle of human advancement, Culain was still a human being, and that meant coming with a fight-or-flight instinct. It was screaming at him to make a move, but Culain was not a simple beast like his opponent. He would use those instincts, hone them and make his reaction time the stuff of legends. Until then, he would try to pry as much information from his opponent as possible.
"Correct, little human. I am more evolved. Our war-field is far more advanced than your so-called Emperor believes. We are smarter now, and I am the smartest of them all. I am not just a simple Mekboss, I am more evolved than those crude beings. I am one of the Beasts. I am Maga da Zapboss. I am the heir to the great legacy left by our forefathers millions of years ago."
"Never heard of you, or the Beasts." Culain replied.
"Ignorant human." Maga scoffed. "The Beasts are the pinnacle of Ork evolution. Our forefathers, the Krork, may be gone, but their spores remained behind. Our race spawned from them, but not all spores were created equal. There are spores for the underlings, spores for the pack beasts, spores for all sorts in our grand army. There are even spores for commanders, the ones that will go on to become great leaders and killers. I am one of those gifted few. Our ancestors brought the galaxy to its knees, and the more we fight, the closer we are to fulfilling their legacy."
"Hence why you speak so differently." Culain mused, psychically sending signals to the Stormcaller to prepare to fire at a moment's notice. "Not only are you getting smarter from our war, you were literally born for this."
"Perhaps you are stupid, but you may yet be smart for one of your kind." Maga chuckled. "I see you too share a connection with machines. You would have made a fine Ork, perhaps I would have let you lead an army in my name, inventing new ways to kill our foes."
"But you can't get there, can you?" Culain shot back. "Something is wrong with your development, or else you would have been these 'Krorks' or whatever you call them already. You've had millions of years to return to that point, and you said yourself, and I doubt that this is the greatest war in galactic history."
"No…" he continued, looking around at what little of the environment he could make out. "You got help. You evolved with the help of someone, or something that is scared of our progress. Come, Ork. Tell me who your new master is and I might make your death a painless one."
Maga snarled and made to draw a weapon, but Culain was ready for him. With a psychic command, the Stormcaller was aimed and firing in a fraction of a second, bouts of plasma careening towards their target with enough firepower to take out multiple armored columns of vehicles.
The device on Maga's back roared and belched even more smoke as it whirred into a higher gear. The moment the plasma bolts got close to the Mekbeast, green energy crackled to life as the damage was soaked up by an energy shield again and again. It was no matter. Culain would have been surprised if such a foe had died to his opening attack. He had another trick he was prepared to unleashed.
The Stormcaller chimed that it was overheated, and needed time to cool. Instead of commanding his mechadendrites to sheath it upon his back, he commanded the gun to fire once more as he told his mechadendrites to throw it towards Maga with all the force they could muster. The explosion it would create would be a powerful thing, and if detonated right in front of the Beast Boss' shield, it would overload and leave the Greenskin vulnerable to Culain's other attacks.
But as the Stormcaller soared through the air, a monomolecular blade flew with such speed that the Primarch was barely able to track it. The blade buried itself deep within the magnetic accelerator coils and the Stormcaller detonated with a furious explosion roughly halfway between the two combatants. While Maga da Zapboss was able to weather the concussive force, Culain was thrown backwards, only able to keep his footing due to his superior physiology.
It was a good thing he was able to keep his footing too, as the blade's owner appeared out of the smoke and immediately lunged in his direction. Faster than any unaugmented human could possibly react, Culain commanded a mechadendrite to block the next swing, as he was unable to move out of the way in time. The sword cut right through the appendage as if it were made of air. Pain flared white hot in his side as the sword bit deep into him. With a growl, Culain grabbed the sword arm of his opponent and smashed their face in with his free power fist, obliterating their skull in the process.
"It appears you have the opportunity to meet my benefactors after all, human!"
As Culain felt his stomach knitting itself back together, he looked around to see more assailants appearing out of the murkiness surrounding the two foes. Two of them wore masks of polished metal with a wicked grin on their face while their hands were painted bright silver. They were not alone however, and had six Wraithblades with them, carrying the same type of monomolecular blade that the Xth Primarch was now very well acquainted with.
"Welcome, Lord of Iron, to our show." one of the mask bearers said, moving so silently and stealthily that if Culain had not been staring directly at them, he would have no idea they were even in the room.
Aeldari, and what was worse, they were Harlequins. Culain had never been unfortunate enough to encounter them, but Iskandar had told him the tale of his previous meeting with their kind on one of the many nights the two of them stayed up late discussing strategies and forming brotherly bonds. They were dangerous enemies, and worked in mysterious ways that only the Emperor could truly understand.
"A fate averted, but still the pattern rhymes." the other Harlequin said. "Fists of steel before, fists of steel now, a constant in the flow of time. Different types though they may be, each fulfill their role violently."
"The rhyme of time indeed." the first mused. "I wonder if our performance shall also have repetition to it. What a fun show that would be."
By some unspoken signal the Wraithblades accompanying the two warriors all removed their helmets, revealing nothing underneath save for a piece of red cloth completely covering the top of their necks. The spirit of the Aeldari warriors were still inside, and judging by the battle-ready stance they all took once removing their heads, their combat abilities were not to be diminished in the slightest.
For some reason, looking at the red cloth where their head should be greatly troubled Culain MacTurnson. Something deep within him felt uncertainty, and more than a little apprehension.
"So these are your benefactors." Culain spat at the Ork. "A dying cult of a dying race, doomed to oblivion and mad enough to drag every other living thing with them as they fall."
"Ah, but these are different." Maga chortled. "They do have a plan, and a part of that involves ascending my species. Their contributions have proven invaluable to my work, and their Wraithbone has been the perfect addition to my Mork Tunnels. Soon, Ascended Orks will darken the skies of every world the humans have taken from us. Witness the death of the Imperium, and the rise of the Beasts!"
Culain could see it in the body language of both Maga and the Harlequins. They were playing him and his companions, feeding their egos and whispering lies into their ears. What the Harlequin's end game was, Culain did not know, and had no desire to find out. Let his more philosophical brothers muse over that. All he needed to know was that there were enemies in front of him, and in the Emperor's name he would not suffer them to live. Instead of giving another reply, he simply raised his power fists into a fighting stance and beckoned for his foes to come. He was ready.
"I grew tired of this conversation anyway." the first Harlequin said, and in a nanosecond the battle began again.
Maga stayed out of the way of his allies, as they were moving incredibly fast and he worried about hitting them with his powerful but inaccurate weapons. Instead, he moved back to his throne and sat down upon it, fidgeting with something upon his chassis while doing so.
Culain paid him little attention, as he was hard pressed as it was to win this fight. Though faster than any Harlequin could hope to be, he was but one warrior against a troupe that had millenia of practice fighting together. Their coordination was perfect, their strikes completely synchronized with one another. Without the aid of the Stormcaller, Culain was forced to rely upon his three remaining mechadendrites and his two powerfists to finish this fight.
By the time the battle was over, Culain was a bloodied mess. All three of his mechadendrites had been severed, though he had made his foes pay dearly for the last one, strangling one of the two Harlequins with his scouting/analysis appendage as two Wraithblades tried in vain to slice their way through to save their comrade. They succeeded, but not nearly fast enough as Culain's power fists simultaneously ended their anguish at failing to protect their living counterparts.
His fists made short work of the remaining combatants, but what they possessed in sheer power they lacked in range, and the Stormlord suffered several cuts across his body by the time he was through. Though most were superficial, not all were, and he was far too exhausted to effectively use biomancy to completely heal his wounds. Psychic powers relating to the human body were never a strong point for the Xth Primarch, and he chided himself for this area of weakness. If he survived this, he would need to ask Eddard, Magnus, or maybe even Tengri to help him expand his knowledge.
But that was far in the future, and Culain could not afford to be distracted at the moment. He had but one more foe to conquer, but it would be the most challenging.
Maga da Zapboss slowly clapped while seated atop his throne, mocking Culain with a wicked gleam in his eye.
"Well done, human." he crowed. "You have saved me the trouble. The Aeldari have been good allies, but I no longer need them. I am more than capable of making advancements myself now."
"Take this throne for example." the Beast continued, gesturing to the contraption underneath him. For the first time Culain saw that the mechanical trophies were only a surface layer, mere decoration for something else that lay underneath. He cursed himself for not seeing it before. Even now, it was humming with psychic power waiting to be unleashed. "It is from one of our own designs, on a world Orks have controlled since the beginning of time. And it is a special throne, oh yes it is. For you see, it exists in both the material and immaterial plane. All I have to do is flip a switch, and power like nothing you have seen before will flow through me."
Maga did just that, and with a flip of a switch, green lightning started to coalesce around the gargantuan xeno.
"I have seen our future, and it starts with me!" da Zapboss roared. "Behold the full might and power of a WAAAGH!!!, channeled through my very fingers!"
Bolts of electricity cascaded towards Culain. The Primarch had almost no time to react as the energy hit him and was exposed to the sheer madness and power of the Orks' collective psychic might. But almost no time is not the same thing as no time at all. While not enough to raise shields or dodge the attack, it did give Culain time to issue a psychic command of his own. It wasn't much, but it was all the Stormlord would need to turn the tide of this fight.
Every single Primarch was given a gift from their father. Some like Eddard and Horus were given weapons of great power, in order to better slay the monsters that threatened the safety of the Imperium. Others like Iskandar and Vulkan were given psychic presents, to better help them fulfill their roles within the Emperor's plan for humanity. Some like Octaviar and Rogal were given concepts more than physical things, so they could truly assume the mantles they had been created for. Culain's gift was a different thing altogether, unlike any of the other gifts the Primarchs had been given. For it was both extraordinary, and mundane compared to the rest. Tame in comparison the exotic nature of others, but capable of such wonders that only a few could surpass.
Location: The Inner Palace of Terra
Date: 812.M30
As the Solar Crusade was about to embark, the Emperor approached his son as Culain was doing a routine inspection of his Astartes before being sent out. The Master of Mankind announced that it was time for his taciturn son to receive his gift and that he should follow Him to where it lay.
The Imperial Forge was a favorite spot for Culain, and he could often be found here, tinkering on devices of his own design or conducting experiments on all sorts of materials and concepts. But the forge was not his alone, and both Octaviar and Ogadin had been known to frequent its halls. Even Iskandar had been here occasionally, starting the friendly rivalry between the IIIrd and Xth Legion that still existed centuries later.
"Father, if you are to give me the Forge, I cannot accept it." Culain said resolutely. "It is not mine to keep and withhold from my brothers. Better I receive no gift at all than to deprive my brothers of their joy and talents."
"You misunderstand me, my son." the Emperor had replied, and not unkindly. "I do not give you the Forge, but rather the means to make your own."
The Master of Mankind summoned his son, and they took a lift to parts of the Forge that Culain had never been to. Power coursed through the confines of the space, giving life to the intricate instruments of creation over their heads. This was the heart of the Imperial Forge, where the Emperor and his chosen disciples and sons had crafted the tools to save mankind from itself.
"The Cybernetic Revolt was horrifying not only for the massive amounts of human lives lost, but for the horrific technological innovations it unleashed. Things that should never have been discovered, were. And not all inventions that were lost are a tragedy."
Golden light filled Culain's vision and and he was suddenly besieged by visions of the past.
*Swarms of nanites, devouring hundreds of thousands in seconds. Their biomatter being collected to create more monsters*
*Spheres of accelerated time the size of planets, launched at a populated world that turned into a barren wasteland after only a second of normal time.*
*A gigantic metallic entity digging into the crust of a planet, and lifting a continent free of its mantle, flinging it into the cold void of space with enough force that it still travels to this day*
*Metallic coils the size of a gas giant enveloping a sun and beginning to squeeze before all light is extinguished beneath its inexorable coils*
Culain roared in grief and fury. Machines were meant to serve man, not slaughter him. The notion violated the Xth Primarch's sensibilities and a cold sweat broke out over his face.
"It is good that you are so troubled by those visions, my son." The Emperor said, adopting the form of a distinguished scientist that held the wisdom of the ages. "Were you to be apathetic, you would prove to be unworthy of this gift."
With a psychic command, metal stairs formed underneath them as the pair descended deeper and deeper into the underworkings of the Forge before finally making their way to a platform suspended above a river of molten slag. The metal formed a bridge across the flaming river, and the Emperor crossed it without hesitation.
"The Men of Iron were horrific almost beyond comprehension, but even evil things can be turned for good." the Emperor lectured his son. "Often a foes greatest strength will betray their greatest weakness. Take the Sunkiller I showed you. The Men of Iron would never simply devour a star and leave its corpse in the void. No, for that would be a waste of resources. They never destroyed what they could utilize, and that has led to our benefit."
With a wave of his hand, a pillar arose from the platform until it was at the waistline of the two figures. A small hatch opened up at the top, and glowing sphere of light appeared.
"They captured the stars, compressed them with arcane technologies lost to us, and used them as sources of energy. Dyson Spheres may have powered the Federation of Man, but the Dyson Bottles powered their betrayers."
Indeed it was a miniaturized Dyson Sphere, but one that was scarcely larger in diameter than six inches. The small size did nothing to deceive observers from the power lying within it however. A white blue light filled the room and Culain could do nothing but stare at it with dumbstruck awe and the power and complexity of the thing before him.
"I took this Dyson Bottle from the corpse of the greatest Suneater of them all after I slew him. It is from an O-class star, one of the most powerful that the galaxy had ever seen, and I have used it to power my forge. Poetic, is it not? That which helped almost kill humanity is now in its service as we reclaim the stars."
Culain could do little more than nod, enraptured as he was with the device before him.
"And now it is yours."
Primarchs had perfect hearing, and were never able to forget what was said to them thanks to their enhanced memories, but even with all of that Culain couldn't quite believe what his father had said. This Dyson Bottle, perhaps the most powerful of its kind ever to be made, was his?
"Your destiny will take you out amongst the stars, my son. You will craft wonders and rediscover tools of our salvation wherever you go. Now, no matter where your path takes you, you will always have a light to power your instruments. You will be a bright spot in a dark galaxy, and your illumination will be a guiding light for others on the path of knowledge."
"I… I do not know what to say." Culain murmured. The Xth Primarch was often a man of few words, but that was usually of his own volition, not because of events outside his control.
"Say that you promise to use it for good." the Emperor said with a fatherly smile. "And be mindful, my son: this has the power to create, and the power to destroy. It will be up to you to know when to use which part."
"I promise." Culain intoned, and he meant it. This was a truly precious gift, and he would ensure that it was used to its fullest potential, no matter the situation.
Location: The Throne Room of Maga da Zapboss
Date: 894.160.M30
The Dyson Bottle sent powerful currents of electricity running through Culain's body, and he was only able to just get his power fists up and aimed in time to send the energy flying towards the Mekbeast a mere second before the Ork's own energy field hit him.
The two were locked into a duel of energy and will, with green lightning clashing against the blue in a contest of physical, mental, psychic, and electronic skill.
"A pretty toy, but nothing more!" Maga shouted. "It serves you well, but I am master of the energies of the WAAAGH!!! and there is nothing that your toy can do to save you from that overwhelming power!"
As much as he hated to admit it, the Beast was right. Though they had been locked in an energy loop for hours with each other, the Greenskin had shown no signs of waning power. The energy within the Dyson Bottle was extensive, and Culain doubted he alone could ever use up all of it, but it was not limitless. The energy of the foul xenos however, was. And as long as one Ork remained fighting somewhere in the universe, so too would the WAAAGH!!! be a part of galactic life.
But this was not just a test of power alone. Each of the combatants was not nearly powerful enough to handle the energies they wielded without the aid of protection. Maga da Zapboss has his throne, and Culain had the bottle's containment unit and his power gloves. And managing those was not a matter of power, it was a matter of control. And Culain MacTurson was the undisputed master of technological control. No matter how powerful his enemy would be, he doubted he would ever face one with a better understanding of technology than his. Especially in how to make it submit.
Obey.
Heed my command.
Channel my power.
SUBMIT
And submit it did. Though no more energy was coming out of the Bottle than before, it seemed to be more potent, as its instruments worked in perfect unison with Culain. There was not a Primarch and a machine spirit submitting to his desires, there was simply a Lord of Machines and the extension of his will.
Maga da Zapboss, on the other hand, was struggling. In a vain attempt to stop the every advancing blue lightning, he tried to increase the amount of power flowing out of the throne and through him. It was a massive mistake, for it did not improve his position in the fight.
They were like two duelists in a gunfight. It did not matter that Maga had infinitely more bullets than Culain did, his gun fired at a much slower rate. Extra bullets meant precious little when your opponent could outfire you. The Mekbeasts plan to beat his opponents advantage had essentially been to try and cram two bullets into the rifle in order to increase his firing rate. In both the analogy and the actual duel, the plan had backfired in a strikingly similar way.
The throne broke apart, smoke belched from its sides and with a massive shower of sparks, it died. WAAAGH!!! energy that had been carefully measured was now flowing fully into the creature that moments before had been Maga da Zapboss. The throne had acted like a sieve for the power of the Greenskins' gestalt psychic conscience, and now the sum of its power was trying to force its way into one individual organism.
Maga shrieked, his body twisting and forming all sorts of grotesque shapes as cracks appeared all over his skin. Green light bled through and cast the room in eerie illumination as it danced upon the smoke. There was no stopping the reaction and all Culain could hope to do was find cover. He ripped the metal covering off the floor and found that there was enough room underneath for him to take shelter. It was cramped, but it would have to do.
A massive explosion was heard above him, and the shockwave made the Primarch's teeth rattle as it passed through him. Culain emerged from his hiding place to see a throne room in complete disarray. There was no trace of Maga remaining, and the Stormlord knew that he wouldn't have to worry about stray spores from this particular Ork being a problem in the future.
He had won, and it was a victory that would all but assure that the way to the Ullanor Sector was clear. After centuries of combat, Golgotha had finally been tamed. The campaign had been started by the Stormbringers all those years ago, and now it had finally been ended by them too.
Still, there was precious little satisfaction that the Primarch could take from the situation. There was another power at work here. The Aeldari Harlequins were moving pieces behind the scenes to bring about some sort of scenario only they could imagine. Culain was troubled. Ork warriors with Aeldari technology was a dangerous proposition and what worried him even more is that he couldn't understand why such an alliance was formed in the first place. Was the Imperium truly that terrifying to them? Culain had thought that most Aeldari outside of the Webway had either been destroyed or folded into the Imperium of Man. What did those depraved raiders from beyond the confines of the material plane have to gain from allying with genocidal beasts like the Orks? Try as he might to make sense of it, Culain could not and decided such matters were best left up to his father.
Scrounging up what parts he could from the ruined throne and the wreckage of the Mekboss' chassis, he fashioned a rudimentary vox-caster from the remnants of his analysis/scout mechadendrite.
"Primarch Culain MacTurnson calling and and all Imperium forces in the area. The warboss has been defeated. I repeat: the warboss has been defeated. Begin the adoption of Attack Plan Cinder and commence the cleansing of this world."
"My Lord Primarch!" came a warbled voice from the other end of the vox. "Thank the Emperor you are alright. We were so worried that-"
"Has my brother returned?" Culain asked, cutting off the soldier's ramblings.
"He has, my lord. Though he is quite injured. He is resting now, and will be available to talk should you need to. It was incredible, my lord. The sheer amount of Orks he slew…"
"That will be all. I will make my way to the surface. Prepare for my arrival." Culain cut in curtly, dropping the vox-caster before looking around to get his bearings . He steadied himself and began limping to the door, passing through the Adamantium doors and slowly making his way out of the tunnels. The Orks were not known for being clever builders, and even these more advanced ones had not struck him as architectural geniuses. There was nothing here that would prevent his Primarch brain from guiding him slowly but surely back to the surface.
"I hope you know what to do here, Horus." he muttered to himself during his solitary journey back to the surface. "Because I have a feeling this was only the beginning."