Chapter 371: The Burning of Prospero
In the dimness, warning lights ignited with a shrill red glow.
White-helmed figures struck the ground, the deck shuddering beneath their steps. Scythe-shafts scraped across the floor, throwing up faint sparks. In the silence, respirators issued heavy, rasping breaths as red light flashed across the bodies of boltguns.
Claws and boots trampled the earth. Rough roars rose up. Beneath thick pelts, cold light skimmed across blades. Wolves growled low, war-axes hanging ready, their heads heavy and solid.
Drop pods in position.
The Lord of Death raised his head, silently bracing his scythe. The Lord of Winter lowered his gaze, roaring as he tightened his grip on his battle-axe. Beneath the fleet, Prospero's faint glow streamed through the viewports, bathing the Primarchs in a thin wash of cold light.
The Emperor held his sword and looked down.
"Begin," he said.
. . .
"…I can. I can do this."
Magnus took a deep breath. Distracted and uncertain, he reached out with his large hands to touch the raised microphone before him.
"Is this live?"
"It isn't," Hades, his warden, answered calmly.
"All right."
Magnus let out a bitter smile, then drew in another deep breath—
. . .
A warm sea breeze blew past, carrying a faint salt tang. A scholar was holding her daughter's hand as they walked toward the Great Library, the Pyramid of Photep. The sand-yellow streets were spotless, and in the distance the crystal atop the great pyramid glittered brilliantly.
As if sensing something, she looked up, narrowing her eyes slightly as she gazed at Prospero's bright blue sky—
"My people,"
A majestic voice rang out. Her legs went weak; she dropped to her knees, bracing herself with both hands while pulling the child close.
"Mom?"
The child turned back in confusion, but her mother quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. Shh—she was still too young, too young to understand what a Primarch meant.
She saw the people in the streets as well, waiting in fear or in joy. Some knelt, saluting the sky.
As a divination-type psyker, her heart suddenly jolted.
"…I am deeply sorry."
Magnus sat in the narrow, cramped cell, his hands clasped together. Hades could see blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers.
Magnus tried to move his lips, but his throat was hoarse, and no sound would come out.
You have to tell them the truth, Magnus.
You can't… you can't disappoint him again.
"I once proclaimed that I had cured the Thousand Sons, just as I rebuilt Prospero."
She clutched the child tightly to her chest, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"I still remember Prospero as a wasteland back then—aside from Tizca, every city had fallen."
Magnus kept clenching his fists, then spasming as he forced them to loosen again.
"It was I who led you to reclaim the lost lands, to rebuild our home, our city-states."
"I will forever acknowledge that Prospero is my pride."
"But…"
Magnus once again opened his mouth in vain. He felt as if blood were seeping from his vocal cords as he struggled to force out words.
A long silence.
The Emperor's lips moved slightly. Hades raised the communicator, frowning deeply.
"You need to give him a little more time."
As if he had heard Hades' whisper, words finally struggled up from Magnus' throat, rasped out with effort.
"…The psychic array encircling the entire planet is a mistake. It could erupt at any moment."
The Crimson King forced those words from his mouth. No—not the psychic array. It was… its psychic power—but he could not say it.
"In the name of Magnus the Red, I order all of you: do not resist. Shut down Prospero's defense systems. Stay away from summoning circles. Proceed to the plazas and wait."
"The Imperium has promised me—if you do not resist, there will be no blood—"
A harsh burst of static cut in. The recording was severed unilaterally.
Magnus' face drained of color. His body swayed.
With a dull thud, the trembling Magnus lost consciousness and collapsed onto the table.
Outside the cell, Hades opened a channel and roared at the other end, "Let him finish! You could've cut that last line afterward!"
The Emperor calmly raised his hand. He watched as a thin layer of light flared across the planet's skies, then swiftly faded.
"Let death and winter fall," he said.
In the next instant, tens of thousands of streaks of fire tore through the void.
The scholar looked up at the sky. She saw it begin to bleed. People screamed and howled, and the Crimson King's final words echoed harshly overhead, repeating again and again—
"If you do not resist…"
She stared blankly at her daughter. Her daughter stared back at her. In the next moment, the child burst into tears, and the dessert in her hand fell to the ground with a sharp crack.
The first drop pod smashed into the streets of Tizca. Amid the smoke, scythes and fangs bared themselves.
. . .
Prospero was burning.
The ground split apart. Night fell in an instant. Lightning detonated, and torrential rain surged as though it were falling from the depths of the earth into the sky, plunging toward an endless hell.
Pitch-black raindrops splashed at his feet as the Emperor stepped expressionlessly onto the steps of the Great Pyramid of Photep. Black rain and shrieking lightning howled around him, tearing at his golden helm.
He climbed upward, step by step.
Below, amid the screaming winds, the Emperor caught sight—out of the corner of his eye—of the trembling people. He saw Thousand Sons who had been inversely possessed by their "tutelary" erupt in ghostly light, wolves circling them and snarling, fire tearing holes in the darkness.
It was a necessary sacrifice.
He continued upward. The flames of the Emperor's Sword blazed, casting light across his golden helm. Raindrops evaporated before they could even touch the fire. At the apex of Prospero's greatest pyramid, the Warp and the material world had fused into one. He heard sharp, piercing mockery ring out.
The tides of the Great Ocean crashed against him. He saw turbulence accelerating in an instant—spectral blue shadows twisting, shrieking with manic laughter. The galaxy burned. Stars fell. Titanic waves of psychic power slammed toward Terra. The River of Fate, warped and distorted, was about to be forced back into its course by the hands of Chaos.
He saw Horus—Horus' hollow shell. He saw Astartes turning blade against Astartes. He saw his sons trapped in place by Warp-storm currents. He saw Magnus screaming at him in despair.
"Father, Father—I never betrayed you!!!"
The wind of winter lashed against his face.
The lion imprisoned by desire.
The phoenix falling to heartbreak.
Iron rotting away.
The swift steed bound at the legs.
The wolf howling as it charged former kin.
The watcher collapsing in a forgotten corner.
The madman mocking nobility beneath the night.
Blood and laurels crowning golden hair together.
Those who scorned flesh ultimately devoured by it in return.
Those who broke free of fate were dragged back into its vortex.
Those who believed in prophecy walked the same road once more.
Kings were devoured by their own people.
The guilty cut themselves open to prove innocence.
Those who loved shattered beneath betrayal.
The devout drew blades before their gods.
The dragon hid deep beneath the earth.
The raven screamed as its feathers were torn out one by one.
+Fate—oh! This wondrous fate!+
Shrill, blood-soaked laughter flayed his flesh and stabbed at his nerves. Blue phantasms pressed close, singing madly. The Emperor raised his sword, flames roaring.
+You must enter the game! You have no time left! You who scorn fate—you must pay your price!+
"Lies."
In the next instant, golden light erupted.
Fire surged outward. Darkness vanished together with the illusions—not so much banished as departing of their own accord. The final shriek still echoed in his ears for a long time, but he never listened to a liar's words.
Light drove away the deep night. At his feet, he saw the final, agonized screams of those whose souls had been corrupted. Some fled. Some died where they stood. The wind tore at him, and he heard voices calling—distant, crying out to him.
"Allfather!! Allfather!!!"
He lowered his gaze and saw his son tearing through wind and rain, climbing the sloped face of the pyramid in desperation, trying to reach his feet. What had the Wolf King seen reflected in those feral eyes, enough to make him abandon all else to protect his father?
The Emperor blinked.
"It is nothing," he said calmly, watching the Wolf King bare his teeth in an attempt at a smile.
That brought him a faint sense of comfort.
He watched as the Wolf King still struggled forward, but now the wind was no longer so violent, the rain no longer so heavy. Beneath his radiance, they fled far away. He saw the Wolf King begin to move with greater ease.
The Emperor raised his hand and opened it. Magnus' single eye lay in his palm, gazing up at him. Raindrops slid down it, like tears.
He looked at the Wolf King and recalled the biting winter wind.
The Emperor extended his hand, signaling Leman Russ to receive it.
He released his grip. Magnus' lone eye fell from the summit of the Pyramid of Photep into Leman Russ' hand.
"Hold on to it," he said.
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 421: Guilliman Scores Some Points[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/152512330?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed