Chapter 327: The Legion Left Behind
Terra had sent someone remarkable.
The Head of the Silent Sisterhood—what was that, exactly? Something akin to the Custodes?
Khârn stood in silence, his posture rigid, the faint light gleaming off his helm. Beneath the helmet, his eyes watched the visitor before him with suspicion and wariness.
Darkness.
The World Eaters existed on the fringe of the Legions—and when it came to rumors, they were often the last to hear anything, if they heard it at all.
Khârn spoke carefully:
"Good day, my lord. I am Khârn, Captain of the World Eaters Eighth Company. May I ask what brings you to the Twelfth Legion?"
The darkness watched him. Slowly, deliberately, the visitor replied—his voice low and steady.
"You may call me Hades. I have come… hoping to see your Primarch. The Emperor of Mankind has not given up on curing him."
Nothing could hide from Hades' senses. When he mentioned his wish to meet Angron, Khârn and the other World Eaters immediately radiated unease—agitation rippling off them like heat.
But when Hades added the next words, "The Emperor of Mankind has not given up on curing him," their restlessness ebbed away, as if soothed by an unseen hand.
Hades? The name sounded faintly familiar to Khârn. He was certain he'd heard it before… but the memory sank quickly beneath the surface of his thoughts.
It wasn't his fault—Techmarines had always been peripheral figures in the Legions. Even though the World Eaters' Techmarines had indirectly helped them find their Primarch, they remained outsiders nonetheless.
Beneath the helmet, Khârn took a shallow breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sudden surge of hope left him momentarily at a loss.
Still, it could all be a façade. Khârn couldn't be sure.
With Legion Master Lhorke gone, he now commanded the entire Legion—and he couldn't afford to act rashly.
He bowed slightly.
"We thank the Emperor for His concern—and thank you as well, my lord. But our Primarch is currently leading a campaign in another war zone. I fear it will be difficult for you to meet him at once."
Hades silently struck one hypothesis from his mental list—Angron likely wasn't comatose or driven insane by the Butcher's Nails.
Adopting a grave and slightly urgent tone, Hades stepped forward just a little.
"Khârn, can you tell me where Primarch Angron is currently located? I've seen his surgical records. If this continues, his condition will worsen. I must set out immediately—if the battle is dire, the Silent Sisterhood stands ready to aid the Twelfth Legion."
In truth, Hades didn't have much faith in his ability to remove Angron's Nails—but those words weren't meant for himself. They were meant to reassure Khârn and the World Eaters, who were clearly on edge.
It reminded Hades of how no one ever trusted the Custodes or Malcador either.
Khârn hesitated for a moment, reassessing the stranger before him. Finally, the Eighth Company Captain spoke:
"My lord, the Warp in this sector is unstable. We've been unable to make contact with the Primarch for now. But the Legion's astropaths continue to try. I'm confident we'll reestablish contact with our father soon."
Now Hades was sure of it.
Khârn wasn't a diplomat.
He began to miss Legion Master Lhorke—or his friend, the Word Bearer envoy Argel Tal—anyone who might've been better suited to stand here instead of him.
Unexpectedly, the darkness began to recede.
Khârn blinked in surprise as the shroud of shadow surrounding Hades dissipated. He saw a calm face—one that carried, oddly, a hint of compassion. Yet the mechanical augmentations twisting across Hades' left cheek made him seem all the more terrifying.
A calm voice broke the silence:
"How long has it been since you last heard from Angron? Two years? Or longer? Khârn, I came here to help the Twelfth Legion. But if you keep dodging the truth…" Hades' tone hardened. "…then I might have to do something you would rather not witness."
Khârn's breathing faltered for a moment—but when he answered, his voice was still firm and unyielding.
"Two years and seventy days. My apologies, my lord—I was being overly cautious. Our Primarch was… caught up in a local ritual during a joint operation with the Librarius. After that, they disappeared. But we're certain our father still lives—his armor transmitted a brief life signal to us."
"With the Librarius?"
"Yes," Khârn said, recounting everything in detail.
"We discovered a planet whose civilization appeared to possess technology capable of removing the Butcher's Nails. However, their psychic sciences were extremely advanced, so the Primarch personally led the Librarians there ahead of the main force. At the time, the other companies were still engaged elsewhere."
So it wasn't by choice that he left.
Hades pondered. From Khârn's words, he still couldn't determine Angron's true condition. He asked quietly,
"Why are you the one receiving me? Where is your First Captain, Lhorke?"
"Legion Master Lhorke led the First Company to search for the Primarch a year and a half ago. They haven't returned."
"He's missing too?"
Khârn's silence served as confirmation.
In the original history, Lhorke was meant to die during Angron's first meeting with the Legion. Now, at least, Hades could be sure that their first reunion hadn't ended in madness.
Hades opened his mouth, then exhaled deeply.
"If the Imperium hadn't noticed anything wrong, Khârn… would you have just kept hiding it?"
Again, silence. Then at last, the Eighth Captain spoke, his words like iron scraping against iron:
"Lord Hades, I don't understand. Even without our Primarch—even with a third of our strength gone searching for him—the World Eaters haven't slowed the Great Crusade at all. We've never wavered. How did Terra notice us?"
Hades took a few steps forward, stopping beside Khârn. He raised a hand, his tone softening a little.
"Just call me Hades. And… I imagine Legion Master Lhorke left in quite a hurry, didn't he? He probably didn't have time to tell you how to properly forge campaign reports. Bureaucrats on Terra might be useless with taxes, but they're very good at catching inconsistencies."
A faint sound came from under Khârn's helm—the grinding of teeth.
Hades blinked, his eyes falling on Khârn's once-white armor. Now it was covered in thin, overlapping scratches.
With the exception of the Death Guard, most Legions took pride in keeping their armor pristine—unless they were too battered, too overworked, or too desperate to bother.
"There's no need to blame yourself, Khârn. Taking command in an emergency, keeping the Legion's momentum for two full years with so few men—few could have done as much as you."
The words didn't do much. Khârn's posture remained tense—his scent, the rhythm of his breath, all told Hades what his composure tried to hide.
"I'll make a request to the Imperium—for now, you can set aside the Great Crusade. The priority is finding your Primarch. The Emperor of Mankind will understand. The Silent Sisterhood will assist the World Eaters in this."
"And one more thing—"
Hades paused for a moment.
"I have a small suggestion, Khârn. If you could summon your Master of the Forge to join us, that would be ideal. I believe I might communicate better with a fellow artificer."
When Master of the Forge Peres received the summons and hurried from his workshop, he froze at the sight before him—the very man he'd long wished to thank, the Death Guard Hades.
But wait—something felt… off.
Peres' lips trembled, and he managed to stammer out a respectful, "My lord."
Then Khârn watched in utter astonishment as the supposedly grim Head of the Silent Sisterhood broke into what could only be described as a warm, almost goofy grin.
"Come on, don't be so stiff—long time no see, Peres."
Behind him, the face of the Silent Sister known as Nera twitched—her expression contorting for a fleeting instant.
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