Chapter 47: Kingslayers
Whyz we still here? Just ta suffa?
The crude Orkish graffiti scratched onto a crumbling wall caught the gladiator king's eye. Angronius' brow furrowed as he studied the artist responsible for that epitaph, a headless greenskin with a looted bolt-pistol in hand. Its blood covered the stones behind and around him, along with whatever served as brains for the poor creature.
No one killed this Ork, it was clear that it perished by its own hand.
The Orks of the inner rim of the Ullanor Sector were smarter, but as it turned out, intelligence came with an existential crisis for many of the xenos. Angronius shook his head in bewilderment as he surveyed his surroundings. Who would've thought any of the aliens were capable of higher coherence or complex thought? The smell of propellant, burnt flesh, and effluent streaming from broken pipelines was thick in the air. The War Hounds made planetfall on the capital world of the Ork empire, known to the Imperium as Ullanor Prime. The greenskins defaced it with a moniker of their own, Urrlak Uraga, in honor of the boss of bosses- Urrlak Urg.
"Father, look." Khârn pointed to a lumbering silhouette lurking in the shadows of the upper floor. And then just like that, it was gone. "I saw something...something shadowing us."
Angronius listened to the wind and could've sworn he heard a grim chuckle echo through the rubble. The Orks of the drop-site were a lot sneakier than the rest, "That you did. Expect an ambush at any moment."
The Primarch and his Hounds marched on, picking up the pace to get a head-start on the mission. Their task was to drop in deep behind the defenses of the capital and assassinate Urrlak Urg. It was Horus' idea, once again. The Luna Wolves would spearhead the main strike at the biggest concentration of xenos to create the necessary distraction. Behind him were the legions Blood Angels and White Scars. Because for all the budding intelligence of these Orks, they still were slaves to their instincts. Horus achieved success in his endeavors, luring away millions of greenskins to drain the manpower of the capital defenders. Alas, the few that were left proved to be the toughest, the hardiest and most cunning Orks Angronius had ever seen.
Or at least, most of them were cunning.
"SNEAK ATTACK!"
Angronius and the Hounds snapped their heads upward, seeing three squads of elite Ork stormboyz jump down from a nearby refinery. They sped over and across the bellow pipes, carrying surprisingly standardized equipment compared to their anarchic kin. Choppaz and looted bolt-gunz, snazzy junk power-armor and even some were outfitted with faulty cyborketiks. The War Hounds shot them out of the sky, alerting the capital to their presence. Angronius raised his weapon, the restored Brazentooth, and met the greenskins face-to-face. The hollow buzz of the Nails goaded him to be lost in the frenzy, as they always did throughout his life as god-king. And he bit back at them, knowing that through their wordless taunting that the Blood God was laughing at him from beyond the veil.
"Steady, my brothers!" Khârn declared once the skirmish was over, "We but cleanse this ground of errant weeds."
"'Sneak attack'?" Angronius muttered, removing his boot from the faceless pulp he'd turned the stormboy's head into. "Is this a jest?"
There was a muzzle flash in the shadowy corners of the refinery pipes, and the Primarch twisted his head just in time to have his cheek grazed by an Ork bullet. He set his jaw in a grim line and glared into nothingness. The Hounds ascertained the origin of the shot and quickly fired in its general direction, cutting down an invisible Ork sniper and sending both halves of its body toppling to the ground. Strangely, the Ork was covered in what seemed to be a shimmering material that rendered the alien invisible, something that looked like purple paint.
Sneaky as it was, the Ork proved to have been most cunning to use its fellows as bait to lead the Primarch into the open. But in terms of accuracy, it was sorely lacking.
"So close, much too close." Khârn remarked, noting the small wound on his gene-sire's face. Angronius wasn't angry, he was intrigued. For as much as he wanted to end this war, he wanted to see the mind behind the incoherence of the greenskin tide. Who was this Urrlak Urg, that driving persona that shaped the anarchic Orks into a formidable barbarian empire?
"Onwards, I would have words with this Ork Overboss before I send him screaming to his gods."
The legionnaires assaulted the inner defenses, disrupted reinforcement flows by overloading nearby reactors to blow, then steadily moved up to disable key shield emitters that prevented War Hound drop-pods from deep striking. Once these secondary tasks were completed, it became safe for Imperial reinforcements to land atop the capital city. Angronius was busying himself with silencing Ork long-range artillery and anti-aircraft guns when his brother, the Primarch Leman Russ, teleported from his fleet flagship planetside with his retinue of elite. The Primarchs regarded each other with an uncomfortable silence, and a penetrative stare that seemed to speak volumes on what went on in their heads. Their eyes narrowed, each daring the other to make the first move.
In the end, it was Leman who spoke first. The Fenrisian grinned, "What? I am owed an Ork's head, and I aim to collect."
"Then look for one elsewhere. The Overboss is mine." Angronius declared.
Leman's smile broadened and his eyes gleamed with murderous intent, as did Angronius. Both legions started to swivel their guns in each other's direction, at the behest of their fathers. "You wish to settle this the traditional way?"
Suddenly, Khârn uttered a loud grunt as he flew backwards and into his brothers. A large Ork chain-axe had imbedded itself into the torsal part of his armor, hurled by an unseen assailant. It didn't kill him, but it certainly knocked the air out of his lungs. He managed to yell a breathless command before setting himself upright and raising his bolter. "Contact! Return fire!"
"Waaghh!" A harsh guttural warcry, bellowed from the frothing lips of an Ork Underboss, resonated clearly through the air. The fortress gates and all manner of openings, entrances and hangars was soon practically bursting with Ork Nobz. For a moment, the brothers Primarch forgot their petty rivalry and got a 'proper stuck in with the boyz' situation as the greenskins termed it. Da Big Red 'Un cleaved through them, spurred on by competition as Leman Russ did the same.
It was far from a friendly rivalry, but when Angronius saw that at some point Leman's forces started to become overwhelmed by the surging green tide, he didn't hesitate to wade deep into the melee and lend them a hand. Watching him do this made Leman a little embarrassed, but he quickly suppressed it under his usual Fenrisian bravado. He taunted Angronius by deliberately spearheading the assault into Urrlak's fortress. Not to be outdone and outpaced, Angronius fought all the more harder. Both legions took heavy losses in the fight, but it became clear that without the aid of one another the task would've proved to be impossible.
In that great battle, a unique bond between the Hounds and the Wolves was sealed in bright scarlet. The brother Primarchs too. They loved and hated each other in equal measure, but despite their empty threats and baring of teeth, neither would fall to each other's hands. Nor would they see each other fall to the hands of Orks.
"Angron!" Leman growled, "Let us end this!"
Enraged, Angronius started to close the distance between him and his brother. But then the veil of red lifted from his eyes as Leman continued his sentence.
"I make for the Ork leader, and I would have you at my side!"
The Primarchs grinned, Angronius gave his consent.
On and on they went, down into the belly of the beast. Angronius and Leman followed the source of the green tide, suppressed it by cutting the power feeding into the tellyportaz, then ascended into what was basically the Ork throneroom. The doors that kept them back were not at all a work of art, but it was enough of an offering to the lofty station of the Overboss. Twin snarling maws, effigies of their cruel Ork gods fashioned from the plates of destroyed tanks, forbade the brothers from entering. Their answer to this was a defiant kick which sent the heavy steel doors flying apart.
Inside, they found a strange looking statue of the greenest and most sophisticated looking xeno power-armor. It was sitting on a throne of carved ivory, a skull of a mighty squig slain in some long-forgotten battle. The throneroom was mostly empty, a simple ring with a dozen giant tusks affixed into the walls and floor like a great bramble pen.
And then, the statue moved.
It stood up from the throne and approached the pair, looming over them by nearly twice their size. This thing was Urrlak Urg, the Prime-Ork and the closest the greenskins could ever get to their bygone roots.
When Urrlak walked, he stood straight with the leveled shoulders of a man. He wasn't hunched like his lesser kin, but was nevertheless possessed with the brutal strength of an entire species dedicated to war. He was monstrously huge, towering above every Ork by twelve meters. Every movement was not made out of impulse, but of a carefully calculated intelligence. And when he spoke, his words were devoid of the crude barbaric drivel that so plagued the Ork tongue. Though it remained inexplicably alien to Angronius' and Leman Russ' ears, they held a certain eloquence that defied all logic.
He spoke in perfect Gothic, with as much ease as any human. "You made it. Good."
"You take his head. I take his life." Angronius said to Leman.
Urrlak lowered his visor and drew out a crackling double-bladed axe that looked too masterfully crafted to be forged by Ork hands. And yet, it was.
Brazentooth and Mjalnar Balenight descended from both sides, managing only the barest of cracks in Urrlak's armor. The Ork made no sound as he bore the blows, returning them with twice the force and thrice the pain. Leman was the first to stumble backwards. His left pauldron had been torn out of his armor, and a bloody gash in his arm spewed thick crimson from Urrlak's axe. Angronius came second, his helmet was smashed open by a backhanded slap from the Ork Overboss.
The pieces of the Howling Visage cluttered into the floor, but Angronius refused to be sent to his knees. Snarling like a mad dog, he seized the great axe by the shaft when it descended upon him. For a minute, he wrestled with the green giant. Then, he struck with Brazentooth. The chainsword rattled against Urrlak's helmet, churning up the eyeslits to momentarily blind the warlord. Urrlak staggered back and ripped open his ruined helm, baring his face to the brothers. He was an ugly thing, an alien thing, but only Angronius could see the resemblance of the beauty that which Urrlak's forebears- the faded Old Ones- once possessed. Ceremonial scars decorated his head like a crown, while his long braided squig hair swayed like whipcords down to his neck.
Still blinking away the shrapnel that stung his eyes, Urrlak grunted and swung wildly, sending Angronius flying across the courtroom and crashing into the skull throne. So powerful was the Ork's blow that the god-king passed through the Realm of Brass and landed at the feet of the Blood God himself. For a moment, he lay still as though dead. His ears rang with the voices of a billion scarlet-skinned Bloodthirsters cheering him on. Then, he felt the hot breath of Khorne upon his neck. It was like being put to the torch, searing him both in flesh and soul.
"Get up!"
The deafening roar spewed from the Lord of Skulls' own lips shook Angronius awake. When he came to, he was on all fours with all the pieces of Urrlak's throne around him. Leman was still busy fighting for his life, and very well was nearing the end of it as every blow he parried near broke Mjalnar in half. Angronius' head pounded like a drum, he could feel a dozen clawed fingers digging deep into his skull and worming their way into the scarred matter of his brain.
The Nails. They buzzed with renewed vigor, blurring all shapes together and turning everything red.
"Kill."
Letting loose a cry that sounded more animal than man, Angronius launched himself into Urrlak and lifted the great Ork warlord high. He never slowed, sending them both crashing into the wall to hurtle some distance below. In his murderous frenzy, the gladiator king lost his sword but the urge remained. He pummeled the giant in the face all the way into the bottom. Red eldritch energies crackled at the balled fists of the enraged Primarch, certainly not of his own but by a higher and most foul power beyond the veil. Urrlak howled as his armor rent and broke apart, then turned to pieces when they finally met the ground.
The earth trembled, distended and cracked from their fall. The Orks who were mobilizing for war, stopped to watch as the most epic duel they've ever seen unfolded before their very eyes. Upon recovery, Urrlak Urg swiped Angronius aside and staggered to his feet. His armor was in shambles, so he tore it all away to bare his chest. A thousand scars lined his ancient body, and he showed then proudly.
"Do you see these scars?" Urrlak said to Angron, "Each is a lesson in war, inscribed into my flesh! Behold, a thousand of them! I've been fighting since before you were even conceived, do you think you can stop me now?" Angronius snarled, trading blows with the ascended xenos scum as the fight devolved into a primal brawl of fists and teeth. All the while, the beast taunted him.
"Your hands are nothing to me, the bites of a little squig!"
He had to admit it, Urrlak's blows were more than he could withstand alone. Fortunately, as Angronius wrapped his arms about the monster's waist and clung to him to endure the rain of fists upon his battered armor, Leman Russ leapt from the heights of the fortress and landed upon the Ork warlord. The force of his fall was likened unto a meteor, and Urrlak was brought to his knees as many of his bones soundly cracked. The wolf king owed the giant a debt of blood and pain, he was more than happy to collect.
He was not alone.
"Hah! Did you forget me so soon?" Leman grunted, taking hold of Urrlak's head from behind. Setting his knee upon the monster's back, he pulled with all his might. At the same time, Angronius punched a hole through the Ork's chest and took hold of his ribcage. It felt like prying open the hull of a voidvessel, it took every ounce of godlike strength he could muster to tear the beast apart. Both Leman and he roared like beasts themselves, as did the Ork.
Slowly, Urrlak's flesh tore and bones snapped. Overwhelmed by agony, with two Primarchs ripping him to pieces with their bare hands, the warlord could only stand and desperately paw at Angronius' face. The fight had ended, this was an execution.
"Yeahhh!" Leman cried out suddenly, raising the beast's severed head high for all his followers to see.
Angronius, having ripped out Urrlak's heart, stepped back to let the shuddering corpse fall to the earth. His hands and face were stained with the blood of xenos. When he licked it, Angronius found the taste to his liking and his eyes gleamed with savage glee. As expected, the Orks fled the capital in huge numbers. Most fought each other and descended to their most base instincts, to see who would be boss of bosses. The former Overboss was dead, and the sight of the two Primarchs was enough to burn a psychic scar into the collective consciousness of the xenos race.
"It is done." The gladiator king declared, satisfied by the conclusion. Another war was won in the long crusade against the xenos, another sector won and claimed by the Imperium. But Angronius held no delusions of its end. There will be no slaking the thirst for conquest that mankind had, even less so for the Emperor. It was said that a long time ago, there was no measure for the borders of men. They ruled the galaxy and beyond. Given time, the Emperor would see it happen again.
But by the hollow gods of this future, a weariness was starting to creep into the Primarch's bones. A weariness, not by the thought of fighting wars but by the Ruinous Power they served inadvertently. For as he basked in the praise and honors of his sons, Angronius could hear the braying laughter of Khorne echoing in his ears.
Nuceria Prime, The Freelands
The Wastes of Costigane
The ruins were in sight. The faint glow of radium and poisoned earth welcomed Ichabod.
His mission was done, he wouldn't have to set foot in the place of his birth for some time. For the moment, he chose to retrace his path to Costigane. This cursed place had been his home for many years, and the solace of company in the shambling dead his comfort. Ichabod sighed, his father would be displeased by how low his prince son had gone. In truth, Angronius would've been proud of how hard he'd carved his life into being. Like the stories of the god-king's rise to power, the humble beginnings and the bloody trail he left in his wake, Ichabod fashioned unto himself a purpose that easily trumped the lives of opulence his siblings had.
Witch-hunting and slaying monsters, it wasn't much but it was a living. When he wasn't uncovering plots or destroying hidden cults, Ichabod made a living by battling horrors. The Freelands of Stygia, at the very least, was a land that tolerated his existence a lot more than the mainlands of Nuceria. Here, he could earn coin in exchange for his skills. A sellsword primaris, in a way. Walking back to the ruins, parting the streams of wandering dead like a downstream stone, it felt lonely. The undead faltered at his presence, repelled by the unseen aura of his nature. Ichabod sometimes looked to them and saw a vision of himself, of what he at times felt like on the inside.
How the poor wretches could remain of this world, existing only to eat and maim with no thoughts left in their hollow rotting brains... he felt envious. At least they got along pretty well. As he neared the gaping maw of a nearby cave shelter, Ichabod's thoughts turned to his beloved half-sister Morgana.
It was good to see her again.
Before he'd left the shores of the capital, they were allowed a brief moment to bask in each other's affections. The memory of the warmth of her thighs, her soft kisses and loving smile, it made the arduous journey bearable. She was the only thing keeping him moored to the family, otherwise he would've severed connections long ago. He remembered he owed her that much, to prevent the cult from destroying the House of Thal'kyr and toppling the Nucerian government. The things his father did for love, no one understood this better than Ichabod.
The Outcast entered the cave, announcing his arrival to the Exile. "Minerva! I have returned!"
A smokeless fire, conjured through magic, crackled in the hearth. It blazed green when Ichabod approached. All throughout the narrow earthen passage hung ritual beads and dreamcatchers, all of them markers of an old pagan religion that predated the worship of God-King Angronius. The old witch said nothing to acknowledge his words. The years were unkind to her since Angronius sentenced her to live as an exile in the irradiated wasteland. Her body was scarred and broken in many places, but she survived all the battles she fought against the undead and the mutants of Costigane. Her hair was white as snow, her once beautiful skin had become wrinkled and loose. And yet her hands never trembled, nor did the keenness of her eyes leave her. With age, her powers grew stronger. When Ichabod first came to her, Minerva could never have imagined she would care for him. A witch and a pariah made for an unlikely pair, but it worked itself out in the end. All that she'd come to know in her long life, she found purpose by passing it on to the Outcast and found a son in this mongrel of Angronius.
Minerva knelt next to the hearth, tending to her cooking pot but she wasn't alone. Standing next to her, awaiting the arrival of the Outcast were the twins Xenobia and Janissa. Ichabod froze in his tracks at the sight of them, and his hand instinctively crept to the hilt of his blade. They were the very image of their mother Polgara, pale and slender minxes of death that fully embraced their bloody craft. Why had they come for him?
"Hello brother." Xenobia, the taller of the pair, traced the shaft of the bolt-pistol hanging by her hip. Her dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of curiosity and deadly purpose. Ichabod couldn't quite tell what she was planning to do, and that scared him.
"We would have words." Janissa slipped out from the shadows, startling the Outcast
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone