The collapse of all things is usually an incredibly long process.
But the downfall of all things often happens in an instant.
When Hektor began to understand this truth, he was witnessing a defeat he had never seen before.
The defeat of the Imperium.
——————
The Imperial fleet collapsed.
In that instant, it collapsed.
When Hektor witnessed all of this, he and his squad were standing on a barren hill, at their feet were dried streams of blood, and the foul-smelling land was covered with corpses, most of which were various xenos remnants.
The rest were the almost unrecognizable severed limbs of human warriors. Hektor even saw two iron-gray figures fallen at the very top of the hill, surrounded by a chilling number of xenos corpses, six of which belonged to the Randan alone.
Hektor recognized them; they were two Iron Warriors. Clearly, they had tried to organize a battle group, but the overwhelming numerical superiority of the Randan tide ultimately annihilated their plan, leaving behind only the scattered remnants of a desperate battle to the death.
Hektor stood still, he and his squad bowed their heads, in silence for a second, a brief farewell. While Chiron knelt to perform his long-forgotten duty as an impromptu apothecary, Hektor chose to look up, gazing at the gray, desolate sky of this nameless, barren world.
The sky here was gray, and also blood-red.
This was not a contradiction.
Gray was the dominant color, the trace left by the countless tons of dust from the myriad mountains and hills of this barren world, swept up into the sky by innumerable gales. It was the gloomy nature of clouds, undisturbed by any civilization or war for tens of millions of years, that had naturally evolved, constantly accumulating the potential for heavy rain and thunder.
Crimson was the accent, the most barbaric newcomer, the dominant color of war, the sole trace of countless warships and warriors battling, dying, and falling in the sky. It was like a series of sharp beast fangs,
ruthlessly piercing the gray clouds, mixing the darkest desolation with the brightest hues, sketching a beautifully absurd picture. The continuous explosions of fire in the sky made this painting even more vivid.
Watching this most beautiful and most absurd scene, Hektor couldn't help but recall how everything had come to this.
The storm.
It was all because of that storm.
Hektor remembered very clearly how that storm began. At the time, the Second Legion's fleet was docked in a star system numbered 288-36, an unremarkable system where the fleet was resting, and Hektor was waiting for his weapon to be repaired.
And just as Senior Taraxin finally finished repairing his weapon.
The storm began.
Without warning.
Without preparation.
The entire massive sub-fleet was completely scattered in an instant. Hektor only remembered that the small warship he was on developed cracks the moment it was sucked into the storm. Fortunately,
it was not until they had drifted through the Immaterium for several days and finally successfully broke through that their warship finally succumbed to the strain, completely disintegrating under the sun's rays and gravity after barely reaching an unnamed star system. Before that, they had successfully evacuated the ship.
They survived on that barren world for about one Terra Standard Month until an Iron Warriors warship picked them up and brought them here: a temporary Legion assembly system.
Only then did Hektor finally realize that although in their eyes, Hektor's squad had only drifted in the Immaterium for less than ten days, in the real universe, several months had indeed passed.
Hundreds of Astartes warriors and even more mortal auxiliary forces gathered here. They came from at least a hundred different units and fleets, and it took quite some time to barely piece together a new organizational system.
This involved some very realistic problems, such as the conflict between the numerous personnel and insufficient material supplies, which made the reorganization of the system somewhat realistic and... cruel.
But in any case, being able to organize the Legion again, even if it was just a truly "shattered Legion," was enough to comfort everyone, especially since hundreds of Astartes and even more mortal auxiliary forces indeed constituted a powerful force.
Due to the numerous obstructions of the lingering Immaterium storm, they were still unable to contact the rear battle line. So, at the suggestion of the Iron Warriors, they came to this current world and began to build fortresses and more defensive structures.
Just as everything was getting started, they successfully made contact with the main forces in the rear and received a solemn promise: reinforcements would arrive soon.
Not long after this promise was made, a large army did indeed pass through the Mandeville Point and arrive here. Unfortunately, it was not the fleet bearing the Imperial Aquila.
It was a Randan main fleet.
—
"Another Randan main fleet, how many is that now?"
Malcador the Sigillite sat at his unremarkable, even somewhat worn, desk. To his left and right were countless star charts, displaying everything belonging to the Human Imperium and this Galaxy, from Holy Terra to Ultramar. Among these numerous celestial charts, some even depicted star systems not belonging to the Human Imperium: no one knew how Malcador had obtained these charts.
The Sigillite looked exhausted. His face and mental state showed the fatigue appropriate for his apparent age. He was almost lying in his chair, one hand slowly hanging down, revealing clear veins and shriveled skin on the arms that his robes couldn't cover. His other hand tightly gripped his pen, casually resting on the pile of documents that would likely never be fully reviewed.
He closed his eyes, appearing to rest, but the constant electronic chatter and the increasing number of scribes around him indicated that the Sigillite's work had never stopped. After a moment, he opened his eyes again, and a psychic aftershock slowly began to spread around him.
He sighed, looking even older. He temporarily put aside all other work and began to shift his attention to the star charts related to the northern war in the Galaxy. He studied them intently, unwilling to miss a single detail.
The battle situation was not optimistic, even by Malcador's 6,000 years of experience and optimistic outlook; what was happening in the northern Galaxy could absolutely be described as terrible.
Extremely terrible.
The Eleventh Legion had "disappeared." The purest Primarch and his Legion vanished almost overnight without a trace, along with their fleet, mortal auxiliary forces, and Titan Legions. Even the worlds temporarily under their command on the front line had their communications cut almost simultaneously. When the Imperium returned there, they only saw the Randan's vast armies sharpening their blades.
The impact on the war situation was even greater than the immense, almost eerie, Immaterium storm.
The disappearance of the Eleventh Legion created an almost irreparable gap in the Human Imperium's northern Galaxy, and the Immaterium storm that arrived almost simultaneously with this Legion's disappearance only added fuel to the fire.
Too many fleets and Legions had disappeared in this storm. The Iron Warriors Legion's reinforcements sent to the north even lost an entire grand encampment at once, and there was still no information returning. Many combat units, caught in the storm, disappeared for several months, and the Randan seized this opportunity.
The xenos empire's armies swiftly tore through several long-contested defense lines, bringing countless star systems and worlds under their control. When Malcador ordered the First Legion to abandon their positions and move to support the last front line in the northern Galaxy, the Human Imperium's territory north of the Solar System had already been completely devoured.
The arrival of the First Legion did not significantly change the situation. After all, these Dark Angels, loyal to Lion El'Jonson, had suffered too many losses in the long wars preceding this, and their combat effectiveness was greatly reduced. Furthermore, they themselves were one of the biggest victims of that massive Immaterium storm.
At least one-twentieth of the Dark Angels fleet had yet to return from the storm or send any information, and the greatest loss was the disappearance of Lady Morgana: this had an even greater impact on the Imperium and the First Legion than the loss of those fleets.
After all, the whereabouts of an Imperial Primarch being unknown was a major event at any time. Moreover, Malcador knew very well what kind of expectations his liege held for that special Primarch, and what an... interesting plan he had.
Whenever he thought of that plan, whenever he thought of the bits of information about that plan that the Emperor had revealed to him, Malcador couldn't help but laugh. Even the current terrible situation couldn't stop him from showing a genuine, joyful, and somewhat schadenfreude-filled smile when thinking about it.
Sometimes, the Emperor was truly more... insidious and humorous than he imagined.
Malcador knew that although the Second Primarch could be considered the most failed of the twenty Primarchs, in reality, or rather, in a certain sense, the Emperor had not completely given up on this Second Primarch.
In his own way, he had, in a sense, saved her, at least delaying her descent into the deepest darkness.
In fairness, Malcador doubted whether the Emperor's theory that "since the Dark Prince governs extreme emotions, greatly suppressing or eliminating the Second Primarch's emotions could largely interfere with the Lord of Pleasure's control and corruption over her" had any real possibility. However, he had no better suggestions.
The Emperor had not completely abandoned his only daughter. He murdered her emotions as a necessary means of confronting the Lord of Pleasure, and on the other hand, he placed this daughter, also corrupted by the Lord of Change, beside one of his most trusted sons, for constant surveillance and protection.
At least for now, judging by Lion El'Jonson's continuous feedback, the Second Primarch was largely "controllable."
But unfortunately, this storm introduced some uncertainty into the matter. However, the disappearance of the Eleventh Primarch also brought about a fundamental change in the situation. If the disappearance of that purest Primarch did indeed evolve into the worst-case scenario, then the return of the Second Primarch was indeed something that should be put on the agenda.
Malcador closed his eyes again. He wanted to communicate with the Emperor, verbally or psychically. After all, some aspects of the current war situation were so thorny that he couldn't handle them alone. If he left everything to Lion El'Jonson, Malcador would be even more uneasy.
But he knew that such conditions were not available now. The Lord of Terra was currently leading his most trusted Legion deep into the Webway. Malcador remembered his serious expression and hurried steps when he left. Clearly, something significant had gone wrong in the place the Emperor valued most, problems so severe that the Lord of Humanity needed to take Valdor and the vast majority of the Custodian Guard.
Malcador opened his eyes. He had sighed enough, complained enough, and rested enough.
Now, it was time to get back to work.
Just as he was thinking this, a letter from the southern regions of Terra suddenly appeared on his desk: it was a letter from Horus.
The Sigillite couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. His relationship with Horus was not good, to say the least, even terrible.
He opened the letter and quickly scanned it, skipping over the necessary greetings and flowery words, rapidly finding what Horus truly wanted to say.
He read it, then showed a faint smile.
Good. It seemed that, at least for the matter of the Second Primarch, he wouldn't need to worry about it for a while. This slightly reduced his enormous workload.
Furthermore, a certain Calibanite, currently enveloped in self-reproach and rage, should also be able to take a breather.
Malcador laughed.
——————
But Hektor couldn't laugh.
"What is that...?"
The rising star of the Second Legion frowned, because an unusually tall, silent, and dangerous figure was blocking their way. Undoubtedly, this was a Randan xenos, but the armor on its body and its unique aura were unlike anything Hektor had ever seen.
He felt an anomaly.
And soon, he heard Chiron, the ancient warrior who had served since the Unification Wars of Terra, breathing deeply beside him. He looked at the exceptionally dangerous xenos and softly uttered an incredible word.
"Custodian..."
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