Everqueen Reclamation - 49

Under the starlit sky of Luna, the Sixteenth Legion assembled.

Rows upon rows of seven-foot-tall soldiers with boulder-like frames stood in almost unnatural stillness upon the improvised landing field that the Imperium had been using since Luna’s compliance. There were fewer of them than there had been only some months passed and their armour was beaten and stained with soot. 

But they were still one of the Legiones Astartes. They were still a force that could break nations, and indeed, they had.

The Second Compliance of Luna was over, and the Sixteenth Legion was responsible for quelling the uprising with brutal speed and efficiency. Under the leadership of their Primarch Horus Lupercal, they had crushed the insurgent Selenar Cults and brought Luna to heel once more.

They were not unscarred by the experiences, for the Legion had lost brothers and sisters, and the survivors bore wounds from the bioweapons and vicious ingenuity of the Selenar. But they wore their scars with pride, and the experience of the campaign had, if anything, hardened them. Made them stronger, and more dangerous.

At the head of the Legion stood Horus himself, his helmet cradled under one hand as his grey eyes searched the skies above. His previously long dark hair had been cropped short, barely an inch from his skull, and there was stubble growing on his jaw.

He watched the skies with an almost anxious expression, looking for any sign of what he was waiting for.

And then, his lips curved into a smile, just as the great golden shape of the Bucheplaus made itself known.

The mountainous vessel landed in front of the Sixteenth with a great roar, a blast of wind that blasted straight into the Legion. But Horus kept looking ahead, waiting, unbothered by the dust around him.

A great ramp lowered from the Bucephalus in front of the sixteenth, and the giants of the Legio Custodes emerged, forming into lines on either side with deceptive speed and grace.

And then, finally, the Emperor of Mankind descended from the ramp, his golden eyes fixed on his son.

Horus knelt, and his Legion knelt with him as the Emperor reached the end of the ramp, looming over his son with thoughtful eyes.

“Father,” Horus said formally. “Luna is yours.” 

For a long moment, there was silence before the Emperor’s face cracked into a smile.

“My son,” He said, raising Horus and embracing him. “I am proud. You have done well.” 

Horus beamed and the Emperor’s gaze shifted slightly to the Legion behind him. “You have all done well,” He added, his voice resonating across the fields even though he never raised it above a whisper. “You were made to be the tip of the spear, the sword that rends my enemies asunder and you have served that purpose brilliantly.”

“You will be all due for rewards and medals for your service once we return to Terra,” the Emperor went on. “But first, I think you deserve something for your accomplishments during this campaign. Right here, right now.” 

The Emperor focused once. “Tell me, my son. What name would you like to give your Legion?” 

The Primarch’s eyebrows knit together in surprise. “Father?” 

“I think your Legion has earned it,” the Emperor said with a smile. “And you have as well.” 

Horus said nothing for several moments, his eyes thoughtful as he considered the matter. Then, finally, he turned to face his Legion.

“You have struck swiftly, and you have struck hard, like the Imperial raptor that is my father’s symbol. Let us continue to do so,” Horus said, his voice resonating much like his father, if not quite as strong. “My sons, my daughters, I am proud of you. This is our first great victory. Make no mistake, it is only the first. There are greater battles and foes yet to come. But it is still a great feat, so let us carry it with us forever. I name you, no, I name us…the Lunar Falcons!” 

The Legion erupted in cheers, as cries of ‘Lupercal’, ‘For the Emperor’ and ‘the Lunar Falcons’ filled the air.

The Emperor chuckled, gripping his son’s shoulder. “A good name, my son. Well-chosen.”

Horus beamed.

***

But while the Sixteenth Legion savoured the taste of triumph, one of their sibling Legions was approaching its end.

Isha had done all she could to try and save the Fifteenth, truly. But even a goddess had her limits. Tzentech’s curse was too deeply embedded, too difficult to so easily undo.

The bodies of the Fifteenth Legion might have been spared, but their minds were too far gone.

And the Emperor would wait no longer. The Fifteenth was an unacceptable risk, and no chances could be taken that their disease might spread to the other Legions.

So Isha steeled herself, rolled up her metaphorical sleeves and began the grim work of euthanizing a Legion.

It was not the first time she had done something like this, and Isha suspected it would not be the last. 

She did not have to do it, necessarily. The Emperor had been more than willing to oblige and do the deed himself.

But these were her patients. If Isha could do nothing else for them, she should at least face her failure to aid them head-on. More than that, if they were to die, they deserved to die with dignity, with as little pain as possible and frankly, Isha didn’t think the Emperor would give them that honour.

Oh, he wouldn’t be cruel about it, but he would cull them as a farmer rooted out weeds from his fields. An infestation to be dealt with, nothing more.

But the Fifteenth Legion were not an infestation, they were people. Men and women who had served the Imperium loyally, and pledged their service to its cause. 

Isha had a chance to ease their passing, and she refused to shy away from it just because of her personal discomfort.

(No matter how much it reminded her of having to do the same for far far too many of her children during the War in Heaven.)

Ahzek Ahriman was first, already asleep, lost in pleasant dreams designed to soothe his madness and pain. Isha placed a gentle hand on his forehead, her power flowing into him.

And then outwards through the hallways, spreading through every cell, touching every member of the Fifteenth Legion.

“I am sorry, young ones,” She murmured gently, a metaphysical hand curling around each of their souls.

Then she snuffed them out. 

Ahriman’s breathing halted as his soul dissolved into nothing, and all that was left was an empty corpse.

And so did every other member of the Fifteenth Legion die. Just like that, so many lives ended, souls eradicated. 

It hadn’t even taken a minute. 

For a Goddess of Healing, she had always been far too good at murder, Isha thought, a humourless smile on her face. Perhaps even better at it than healing. Her hands were soaked in the blood of the Fifteenth, of more Krork soldiers than even a god could count, but she had not been able to save even one of either.

A moment was all it took to be rid of the corpses as well, breaking the biological components done to their base elements until they simply dissolved. Isha understood there were human customs of burial or burning for the honoured dead, but the Emperor had insisted on destroying their bodies as well, to eradicate all traces of any potential contamination.

Isha could not disagree. Chaos was dangerous, and she had dealt with too many rampant bioweapons in the past to not take such a precaution. 

The goddess let out a weary sigh. She would have loved to say that this never got easier, but the truth was that euthanizing those beyond help was something that had become far far too easy for her long ago.

Even with the perfect memory of the divine, she could not say when she had become so accustomed to this. The War in Heaven blurred together even in her memories, the twisting of space and time difficult to pin down when exactly she had become so hardened.

Had it been the tenth time she had done this? The millionth? Or even the first?

Isha couldn’t say. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to remember.

But at least this one grisly task was done, for the moment. 

Isha walked out of the cell, the labs suddenly incredibly quiet. There had been no sound before in any case, with the entire Fifteenth Legion lulled to sleep, but even so, the absence of any life except her own made the silence seem deeper now, darker and colder.

Tiredly, Isha gathered her dataslates to herself with a flick of her wrist, all of them floating towards her and organizing them into a neat stack. No doubt the Emperor would want the data about this entire incident under lock and key if he did not destroy it outright.

She would have to do this again. To her own children, no less. No doubt many of the remaining pleasure cultists would continue to oppose her, to reject her teachings. 

It would be a mercy, in the end. Better to inflict true death than to send them to Slaanesh’s grasp. Isha was not that cruel or foolish.

But that did not mean she was looking forward to having to do it.

Just as she was about to leave, the Emperor appeared in a flash of gold light. Or a projection of him, at least, slightly translucent and shimmering gold.

“Isha,” He greeted briskly. “Is it done?” 

“It is done,” Isha confirmed. “The Fifteenth Legion is no longer,” 

The Emperor gave a sharp nod. “Is there anything else?”

“Not on the matter of the Fifteenth, but I would like to conduct a check-up on all the other Legions as soon as possible. Just in case there are any similar traps left.” 

“Of course,” The Emperor said. “It will take some time, and it will have to be done in batches, but I will organize it.”

“I would like to prioritize the Sixth and Ninth Legions, if I may. They are the ones I believe we should check most urgently.” 

“Understood.” 

Isha hesitated at her next question, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking it. “What story do you intend to give for the Fifteenth’s destruction?”

The Emperor raised an eyebrow but obliged. “Malcador and I are still working on the details, but in short: a genetic scourge designed by the Selenar. Given their rebellion, few should have any cause to question it.” 

“I see. And…will there be a memorial for the Fifteenth?” 

“Yes, of course. It will serve as a good opportunity for remembrance and patriotism.”

They deserve to be remembered for more than that, Isha thought. You made them into weapons, you owe them more than to use their memory as a tool in your machinations.

But she held her tongue. Today of all days, Isha did not have the strength to argue with the Emperor. Not with the blood of the Fifteenth on her hands, memories of the Krork swirling through her mind and the shadow of how she would have to deal with her children on her heart.

“May I attend the memorial ceremony?”

The Emperor looked surprised but didn’t object. “Of course.”

“And,” Isha paused. “May I contribute to the memorial as well?” 

“How so?” The Emperor asked, faintly suspicious.

“Just some flowers,” Isha replied, suppressing her annoyance. “Long-lasting, but just flowers.”

She would have to think of which Terran flower would be most appropriate, though her first thought was black roses.

The Emperor watched her shrewdly for a moment, before acquiescing. “Very well.” 

“Thank you,” Isha said. “And…congratulations to young Horus on his victory over the Selenar.”

Isha could not say she felt particularly sorrow for the Selenar, even if they had only been dancing on the Emperor’s strings.

The Emperor gave a fleeting smile. “He did well. We will celebrate when we return. But now, I must go, Luna needs to be sorted out. Your presence would be appreciated.”

“I will be there soon,” Isha replied, despite how tired she felt.

It didn’t matter. As the humans said, there was no rest for the weary.