The battle is joined On terra the assault by Horus had begun in earnest. Treachery amongst the Imperial Guard defenders had allowed the traitors to gain possession of both spaceports, allowing rapid deployment of the invading forces. Horus rapidly struck towards the imperial palace with the sole intention of killing his father, the emperor of man, and assuming the throne of the imperium. Sanguinius' Blood Angels were the only spacemarine legion protecting the Imperial palace against the combined might of nine traitor legions. The brilliant counter strike by Jaghatai Khan and his White Scars supported by the 1st Armoured Division recaptured the Lions Gate spaceport, halving the flow of enemy reinforcements. Rogal Dorn led his entire legion of yellow armoured warriors in his sky-fortress in a daringly successful attempt at reinforcing the imperial palace. Despite the slow grinding advance of the heretical legions and their supporting minions, time ground on. On the fifty-fifth day of the assault, Horus heard the dreaded whispers from the warp. A daemon cackled in his ears. Jonson and Russ were merely hours away with their entire legions. Horus was taken aback. The rapid approach of both legions was a complete and strategic surprise to him. He realized that Jonsons strategic and tactical genius, combined with Russ sheer ferocity, would completely turn the tables on the invading fleet. He had no choice but to induce the emperor to come to him. Using all his daemon given powers he blanketed terra with a mighty psychic ward. No communication was possible from within and dropped his shields. Unaware of the approach of the loyalist legions, the Emperor teleported directly to Horus' barge with Sanguinius and Dorn at his side and the rest is history. The death of Horus while ending the immediate danger was compounded by the death of Sanguinius and the near fatal injury to the emperor. As the last of the traitor primarchs retreated from earth in shocked disbelief, leaving millions of heretics behind, reality tore itself apart to disgorge the returning loyalist fleet. Like avenging angels the Dark Angels and Spacewolves tore in to the heretics. Blinded by rage they fought enrage gods. Jonson, clear minded as ever, once again deployed the Deathwing en masse to recapture the Eternity Wall Spaceport. As the rest of the dark Angels deployed directly on to the spaceport, the Spacewolves were assaulting on to the imperial palace from drop pods. Sending the Ravenwing units to harass the enemy, now confused without their commander, Jonson led the bulk of the Dark Angels like an avenging angel. Swinging his Lion sword, given to him by his father, his anger knew no bounds as they sliced through the invading hordes. Images of happier times flashed through the primarchs' mind as he charged through the familiar buildings and terraces. Memories of more peaceful times, laughter amongst the brother primarchs, competitions and conversations, discussions and arguments, all flashed by. The closer he got to the inner palace, the more desperate his efforts were as he sought out to feel the presence of his father and his brother primarchs. Seeing daemons and heretics stalking in the inner sanctums of the imperial palace caused anger to boil over in to a physical manifestation and the primarch of the Dark Angel became a whirlwind of destruction. His retinue was unable to keep up with him. Alone, like a cyclone of destruction, he continued his orgy of death, sending daemons and warp creatures screaming back in to the nether-world they had come from. Suddenly he was in the throne room. Bodies lay three deep, heretic and custodians lay grotesquely intertwined in death, a testament to the ferocity of the battles that had raged there. The throne was empty. Of the emperor or his brother primarchs there was no sign. Suddenly overcome by the reality of the situation and emotionally overcome, the Lion fell to his knees at the foot of the Imperial throne. Slowly he looked around, his hand still tight around the hilt of the blessed Lion sword. On the far corner a shimmering of the air caught his attention. Rapidly followed by the sudden release of pressure as the shimmering became eldritch blue light and figure appeared. His stalwart brother Rogal Dorn stood there in bloodied yellow terminator armour. He carried in his arms the limp figure of the Emperor. Jonson slowly rose and dreading the worst, locked eyes with Dorn. In a moment there was understanding between the two brothers. The limp figure of his brother Sanguinius, with a spirit purer than most, lifeless wings drooping, was born by mournful Blood Angels. Sadness overcame the Lion like a tidal wave. The dreamer was dead! Their hopes and dreams lay in ruin. Everything they fought for had been demolished due to the human foibles of some of his brothers. How could they have foresworn his father, he asked himself. He wandered aimlessly, sword in hand and anger in his heart. He came across Russ, who was slumped under the monument to the victory on Dulan. In their grief, harsh words were spoken, bitter accusations exchanged. Jonson blamed Russ for his insistence on assaulting the fortress on Kalidus. Had they traveled directly to terra they would in all likelihood have arrived five days earlier and their father would be alive. Russ knew this to be true and said nothing. Despite the devastation, in their hearts they realized that they had done right on Kalidus. They were the shield for humanity and to leave their subjects at the mercy of daemons would be against everything they had fought for. Russ was too exhausted to argue and too drained to confront Jonson. He simply dismissed him with a derisive gesture and went to sleep. The long battles of the great crusade and the longing for his home Caliban, their delay in arriving to render assistance to their Emperor all boiled down in to one single point of irreconsilable fury. At the epicenter of that fury, Jonson saw Russ, the man whom he called brother, but whose head-strong battle rage had disrupted so many carefully laid battle plans and ultimately cost them their father. In a storm of anger, rage blinding reason, Jonson drew his Lion sword and screamed at Russ to arm himself. The Spacewolf primarch too had been stunned by the events leading to their father's fatal injuries, and had no fight left in him. He simply presented his chest to Jonson, willing him to strike as penance for the delay at Kalidus. As Jonson's sword arm swung down, and the chaos gods chuckled in the warp, an inner voice of reason called out to him. Suddenly the clouds dropped away, and horrified at what he was doing, the golden haired primarch deftly shifted his aim just moments before the blade struck Russ' chest. The small shift spared the giant Fenrisian's secondary heart. As Russ collapsed, bleeding from his wound, Jonson dropped his sword and swooped down to aid his brother. Calling the apothecaries to tend to his brothers wounds, he then stormed off disgusted with himself, appalled at his own lack of self control and the ease with which he had caused another near-calamity for the imperium. In a state of depression and anger, with the mental and physical exhaustion of the preceding events overwhelming him, he wandered aimlessly, and found himself at the foot of the golden throne. There, in the company of his ever watchful father he fell asleep. As he fell in to an exhausted sleep he dreamed. In his dreams he saw his father. The Emperor spoke to the lion. He explained Horus' treachery, the events of Istvaan and the battle on the barge. That the emperor would no longer walk amongst his warriors but be confined to physical imprisonment on the Golden Throne so that he may watch over humanity became clear. The necessity for the surviving brother primarchs to unify and hold the imperium together was imperative. In his dreams Jonson resolved to put aside his differences with Russ and stand with his brothers as one to regain humanity's hold on the galaxy. Slowly the primarch of the first legion awoke from his deep slumber. A new purpose washed over him. New found resolve strengthened his steady will. He searched out the apothecarium within the great palace and sat don by his wounded wolf-brother. Days went by as the Fenrisian primarchs super-human metabolism repaired the near fatal blow, aided by the constant attention of the emperor's own apothecaries. Jonson stood vigil day and night, praying to their father, for Russ' recovery. When Russ finally awoke, he found Jonson and Dorn standing by his bed. Brother primarchs fixed gazes and they all understood. Their beloved father would no longer walk amongst his warriors. Half their brothers had turned traitors to humanity. Of the nine remaining loyalist legions three had been sundered in Istvaan, another three had suffered greatly on the battle for terra. Their dear brother Sanguinius, pure of heart, had died fighting for his father. They resolved that they would standby each other no matter what the outcome, and never again would brother primarch raise arms against one another. |
CHAPTER IV BROTHERHOOD BETRAYED Chronicled By ( Shadow Guard ) |
APOCRYPHA CALIBAN |
This entire section is one attempt to describe the long history of the Dark Angels in a linear form. Every known piece of history and event based on GW publications has been written in my own words and linked together in a reasonably plausible manner by additional fiction. This is in no way the official GW version nor is it in anyway an attempt to infringe on their IP. There are many versions of imperial history buried within the sands of time and this is but just one of them. Read on if you dare! |
