Imperium Ascendant

Chapter 32: Tales from the Ullanor Crusade

Part 1

The Eye of Horus

​

As he stood in the very front row of the procession, in front of numerous Astartes, dignitaries, and other Remembrancers, Caduceus Wrex could scarcely believe his luck.

He, above all others of his famous order of chroniclers, had been chosen to spectate this moment of glorious Imperial history. As the Imperium of Man had first started making entry into the Ullanor Sector, the Crusade had been unprepared for just how expansive it was. Records that had survived the horrors springing up from the Dark Age of Technology were sparse, and it soon became clear that the sector comprised a significant portion of the space on the border between Ultima Segmentum and Segmentum Tempestus. Billions if not trillions of Orks populated the sector, and the Imperial Army soon became aware of just how far away from their homes they were.

It had been a slow, methodical pace with which the Ullanor Crusade advanced further and further into Orkish territory. Some of the Auxillia troops even claimed that the slaughter wasn't the worst of the events they experienced in this hellish part of the galaxy. The Orks had the advantage of numbers, but they could be quelled with the right weaponry. There was no such easy solution for the monotony. There was no saving the people of these lands. Human slavery, of which there had been a multitude of archeological evidence for, had died out centuries ago. The last of their kind had been either slaughtered out of boredom by the Orks or used for food in the vain attempt to slake the endless thirst for bloodshed of the horrifying xenos.

Obviously, it had been a wonderful surprise for the Imperium when they discovered the planet of Raishan. Deep within the Ullanor Sector, five years into what had been estimated would be a ten year campaign, exploratory elements of Crusader Fleet XVI had encountered a planet full of humans that were still effectively holding off an Ork horde numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Reduced to a single planet, with their technology reduced to slightly what was below Imperial Standard, their troops still put up a mighty effort. In the weeks that the exploratory fleet stayed hidden and gathered information while waiting for the main bulk of their force to arrive, the Imperium's scouts witnessed heroic effort after heroic effort. Some even marveled that their own troops could not have done so much with so little.

When the Lunar Templars finally arrived, it had been a routine operation for them. The warboss leading the siege was killed by a captain of the legion, and the rest of his newly disorganized forces scattered into the stars. The grateful people of Raishan welcomed the Imperium with open arms, and gladly elected to join the rest of humanity. Casualties were mounting up over the course of the Ullanor Crusade, and the battle-hardened men and women of Raishan would be a welcome addition to the Auxilia forces that were used as a bastion wall for the Orks to crash against and hold the enemy in one place while the Astartes Legions hammered them into oblivion.

And of all the remembrancers in the XVIth Crusader Fleet, it was Caduceus Wrex who was chosen to be next to Horus Lupercal himself for the ceremonial swearing of fealty. Lunar Templars and accompanying Auxilia had already been on the surface of the planet for weeks now, along with members of the Mechanicum and even Silver Knights from Titan. Wrex assumed that the Primarch had rewarded him for his diligent chronicling of the Raishani suffering from the millennia of warfare they had experienced. None had documented their plight so diligently, and the Remembrancer was honored that the Primarch himself seemed to take notice of his efforts.

Horus Lupercali was as radiant as the sun as he stood in front of his army, patiently waiting for the Raishan government's leaders to arrive on their shuttle. Adorned in his famous armor, his perfect face was impassive, giving nothing away of what he was thinking, save for his eye of psychic fire that blazed with a passion that was clear to anyone who looked upon his visage.

The Raishan delegation on the other hand, looked as weary as their planet did. As the shuttle landed and the assembled men and women disembarked, it was clear that the strain of the war had put a great deal of wear upon their bodies. Their leader, an old man who barely seemed to be able to stand upright, made his way over to the Lupercali at a painfully slow pace. Eventually, the lords and ladies were before the Primarch, and their army was behind them facing the hosts of the Imperium with an expression of hope and grim resolve upon their faces.

"My lord…" the old man croaked as those around him fell to one knee as Horus Lupercali stepped forward. "Forgive this old man for not kneeling, but the people of Raishan are grateful for what you and your soldiers have done for us. For the first time in the recorded history of our planet, we know what a sky free of Ork invaders looks like. Please accept my ruling scepter as a sign of our submission. The men and women of Raishan are yours to use as you please."

Two servants came forward carrying a heavy chest and opened it up to reveal a gaudy rod of pure gold, containing the most brilliant sapphire that Wrex had ever seen. The Remembrancer was so taken with its beauty that he felt his arm twitch as he fought to suppress an unbidden movement to reach out and touch it. It would have been unthinkable to do such a thing, but such was the power and authority contained within the deceptively simple symbol of authority that he was still tempted. He consoled himself with the prize that he would be the first to record the Primarch Horus bearing such an item, and it would most certainly be one of the most recognizable pictures of his uncontested authority.

The Primarch himself seemed less impressed. He didn't even look at the scepter, but rather kept his gaze centered upon the old man, his fiery eye blazing even brighter than before.

"Ah, so that was your plan." the Primarch rumbled, his voice a sonorous boom. "You would have tried to corrupt me with this thing. Try to bend me to your will and use me as yet another one of your puppets."

The kneeling lords and ladies looked at each other with puzzled expressions. An expression that Wrex knew he shared. What was the Primarch playing at? A corrupting staff?

"It is a crude plan, one that never would have worked." Horus continued, looking down at the old man with nothing but contempt in his face. "You have been separated from your kind for some time. How did it happen? Did you approach those early people with an offer of salvation? Or did they come to you, drawn through their dreams and hoping to escape the Greenskins horrible advance?"

"No matter." he said, raising a ceramite fist that signaled all of the Astartes and Auxilia present to prime their weapons and aim them at the startled Raishani forces. "You have failed, as all your kind will in the end."

"My lord, please…" the old man said, nervously licking his lips as he tried to move backwards. "This is all some sort of mista-"

He never finished that sentence. It was over faster than Wrex could process. One microsecond the old man was reaching behind him to grasp the scepter, the next saw Horus Lupercali closing the distance and wrapping one gauntleted hand around the throat of an iridescent colored bipedal bird. It squawked and screeched, trying in vain to make a scratch on the Primarch's armor with clawed fingers.

The dignitaries and soldiers behind the Tzeentchian daemon started to twitch uncontrollably, as the horrified humans saw their flesh melting before their rapidly multiplying eyes. Soon they were reduced to gibbering, mindless horrors, screeching in unrecognizable languages that made Wrex's head hurt if he tried to listen.

"Ah, that's how you did it." Horus said calmly. "Offer them a bit of your own blood, get them to drink it to gain the power to hold back the Orks. You never stood a chance against us."

"My disguise was perfect!" the daemon screeched as the scepter fell from its smoking hands. It writhed underneath Horus' grip as only a wild animal about to meet its death can. "How? How could you have known?!"

"The Eye of Horus sees all!" Horus roared, leaning in close to the daemon's face. Flames from the inferno that was his psychic eye leapt onto the feathers of the abomination, soon spreading all over its body. With a horrifying screech, the daemon began to writhe in indescribable pain as the Primarch of the Lunar Templars finally let it fall to the ground. "It was a daemon that gave me this gift, so it is only fitting that I use it to see what others cannot, and drive out your kind wherever I can."

All around him, the sounds of battle wrang. The Lunar Templars fell upon the newly created gibbering horrors with lethal precision. Caduceus Wrex saw attachments of SIlver Knights making their way to the strongest of the horrors, dispatching it with contemptible ease. With a sudden, horrifying realization, the Remembrancer understood that the Primarch had known the secret of this planet from the moment he set foot on it. This operation had been in place for weeks, and it was being undertaken with precision that the XVIth Legion was famous throughout the Imperium of Man for.

"I see it written clearly across your face." Horus Lupercali said from behind him, his voice the promise of retribution. "You finally understand our mission here."

Caduceus Wrex fell down on his knees immediately, prostrating himself before his lord in the vain hope that he might be shown mercy for his foolishness. He had not been chosen to be at the front of this procession for his diligence. He was at the front so it would be easy to eliminate someone suspected of Chaotic corruption.

"Rise, son of the Imperium." the Primarch commanded. "You will not die today. The battle nearby is done, and you shall not perish by my hand, for I did not have you attend me at this event to kill you."

Wrex raised his face up high, gazing at the perfect features of the demigod before him. He was the brilliant morning light, the blazing sun before which all darkness fled and cursed its dwindling existence.

"You are here now to learn a lesson, and to record it for the future so that others may heed its warning as well." Horus continued. "Your sin is believing the fight to be over, that our enemy lay defeated or scattered and now was the time to feast and be merry."

"The War is never over, Caduceus Wrex. Nor will it ever be so. The moment one enemy is vanquished, another will take its place. Peace is a lie, for there are enemies lurking in every corner. Vigilance is the price of our existence, and one that we must gladly pay. So dry your eyes, steel your nerves, and prepare for the next battle you face, for Humanity has need of us all."

And so he did. Caduceus Wrex never forgot the lessons he learned that day upon the smoking ruins of a planet built on a lie. Nor would the countless other humans throughout the history of the Imperium who saw his recording and heard the words of the Primarch. The planet of Raishan died that day, the uncorrupted humans of that world which were saved by the Imperium numbered only in the hundreds.

But from those small seeds grew a mighty civilization that sprouted from the ruins of the world after the climactic battle of Ullanor Prime. Renamed Vigilance, it serves as a training ground from the Auxulia of the sector, and it is upon its surface that the troops will be forced to overcome their greatest hardships before being deemed fit to serve in the Emperor's armies. Upon graduation from their training, each and every soldier lays their hands upon the gigantic bronze statue of the Primarch Horus laying a rebuking but gentle hand upon a naive Remembrancer on the very spot he once did so all those years ago, and there each and every soldier renews their vow to defend humanity with the steely resolve in their hearts to never again suffer from the horrible disease of complacency.

Concerning the Lunar Templars themselves, Raishan receives only a cursory mention in their own histories, for it was so near the great crucible of their legion. Within five years, upon the surface of Ullanor Prime, the Legion would win its undying glory, and write their names across the stars, leaving behind the story of planets like Raishan for the people who lived on it. Their own tale was one that the galaxy itself could barely contain.

---

Part 2: Tall Tales

​

Ishrek Tarjun nervously approached his new squadmates within their barracks, all his possessions held within the threadbare bag slung over his shoulder. His fellow soldiers barely even paid him attention, so absorbed in their card game. Ishrek was fine with that, as it meant they weren't going to bully him more than he already had been since being assigned to this regiment.

Just as he thought he might be able to slink over to his cot and quietly put his things away, he felt a vice-like grip upon his shoulders from sturdy hands.

"Oi, lads!" Grun called, his crooked teeth flashing a smile that held no warmth. "Cut the game short and get over here! We got ourselves a fresh recruit to our ranks!"

Even though it had only been scarcely more than an hour since meeting him, Ishrek knew that Grun was going to be a constant tormentor for every waking moment that he was in the army. The old sergeant took one look at Ishrek and had decided he'd hated the boy. When Ishrek was told he was going to be a part of the Tupelov Lancers, he thought it would be a dream come true. The were a part of the 'Old Hundred', or the first one hundred regiments the Emperor of Mankind had formed on Terra to help him reclaim the ancestral planet of humanity. They were even older that the Astartes, than the Primarchs themselves. The tradition afforded to the regiment was incredible.

But Ishrek wasn't Terran. He had been taken from a recently liberated planet in the Segmentum Tempestus and pressed into service where some bureaucrat had randomly assigned him to this spot. That wasn't good enough for the older members of the Lancers, of which Grun was almost certainly apart of, and that had been made clear to the young boy. And now the other members of the squad were looking at Ishrek with a predatory look in their eyes, naked glee in the torment they could inflict upon him evident upon their faces.

"Tsk, tsk, where are my manners?" Grun tutted. "Boys, this here is Ishrek Tarjun, but you can call him Fresh Meat. Meat… these are the boys."

Eight men peered back at Ishrek, and he could tell that his new nickname of 'Meat' was one that they were clearly going to enjoy. His heart started to hammer away in his chest as he saw one of them lift up his cot and take a branding iron out from underneath it. The man shoved it into a furnace in the rear of the barrack that was warming the place up as the rest of them grabbed onto Ishrek's arms and legs, holding him down as the boy tried to wriggle out of their grasp with all his might.

"That man there Meat, is called Smoker." Grun said with a wicked grin as Smoker removed the iron from the furnace, its metal glowing red hot. "And you're about to find out why."

"Everyone in the squad has the same brand." Smoker cackled, lifting up his tunic and showing a scar that looked identical to the end of the glowing iron. "Gotta do it for your entry into our little group. The Lancers have a lot of tradition to live up to, after all."

As hard as Ishrek thrashed, he couldn't escape. He could actually feel the heat of metal as it came closer and closer. Was nobody going to help him? Was nobody going to come to his aid? These were the people he was supposed to live and die for?

Mercifully, a horn blast sounded out from the camp loudspeakers and Smoker stopped inching the metal forward as he looked at Grun with a frown on his face.

"Time for food." Grun growled, looking at Ishrek with a suspicious expression. "Lucky little Meat. Can't have you nursing a burn when you're supposed to be stuffing down food. We'll get you when we return here for the night. Don't you think that you can start wandering off either. Primarch himself tells us we need to be ready for an attack at any time. Like that will happen."

That last part, at least, Ishrek agreed with. The moment they had told him what planet he was traveling to, he had forgotten it. It was another nameless place for him, one small part of the massive line of planets that represented the furthest incursion into the Ullanor Sector. He knew that they were currently besieging some sort of Warboss in his citadel, but both the Imperial Army and the Orks had seemed content to sit on their respective sides and wait for the other to make the first move. The combat wasn't what scared Ishrek. It was what bored soldiers could do when they had so much time on their hands to sit around and wait.

"I hear the Primarch is nearby." one member of the squad mentioned as they all sat down with their food. "Something about how our lines are the weakest in this siege. He's coming to help bolster the defenses and improve morale."

An older member of their squad, weathered and gaunt leaned forward with a smirk on his face. He flashed a smile full of teeth whiter than they should have been in Ishrek's direction. It was clear that conversation was more appealing to him than whatever the sorry excuse for food the Solar Auxilia had given them.

"I tell you, the Primarch should just give me command of the army!" he bragged, waving his dining utensil around like a person might wave a conductor's wand. "He knows talent when he sees it. We'd get those Orks out of there in no time at all."

"As if the Primarch even knows who you are, Brill." Grun scoffed. "Phillip Lot is in command of an entire theater of battle. I bet you don't even know what he looks like."

"Bald head, golden eyes, and a booming voice." Smoker said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come on, appearance alone won't prove that you know him."

"I do!" Brill shouted. "And I have a story to prove it to you:"

*I remember seeing the Primarch for the first time when the Lancers were first assigned to the XVII Crusader Fleet. We were preparing for a massive fight, one that would have a lot of losses. The people who ruled that planet were notoriously evil, and vowed to fight to the last man. But they were cunning, and hoped to lay a trap that would kill the enemy commander. They set a nuclear device on board their ship and requested to meet with Phillip Lot. He chose the Tupelov Lancers to accompany him that day, a decision that would have proved fatal were it any other Primarch.

When the leadership arrived and began to negotiate, the strength of Phillip's words were such that they were wholly moved by his argument. They laid down their arms, flung himself at his feet, and begged forgiveness for their trickery. Being the great Primarch that he is, Phillip forgave them on the spot, and looked directly at me to secure their captivity and sweep the ship for nuclear devices. I could see it in his face. The Primarch trusts me, and I know that if he ever needs my services again, he will count on my skills to win us the day.*

"That's a load of Grox dung." another member of the squad scoffed. "I've met Phillip Lot, and he's nothing like that."

"Stuff it, Tanko." Grun snapped. "You most certainly did not meet the Primarch."

"I did so!" Tanko countered. "And I can prove it:"

*Phillip Lot isn't some benevolent, powerful wordsmith. He is destruction itself. When we were pacifying a rogue human system, bent to the will of a religious fanatic, I saw the Primarch become a raging inferno of justice. My squadron was in charge of putting down a particularly dangerous witch, a woman who could drive those who heard her voice into a murderous frenzy from which they never returned. We killed her, but not before her death scream was heard by everyone in the area who wasn't under the Primarch's own protection.

It was a slaughter, and I killed more than my fair share of innocents that day, but there was one little girl I couldn't help but hesitate on. My own daughter was her age, and what if it had been my own little one in her place? I didn't even see the blade until it was already in the air, arcing down towards my neck. With one powerful word, a blast of pure vocal energy erupted from his mouth. She was torn to shreds, and I lost my hearing. I was tended to by medical staff, but Phillip Lot continued his destruction against anyone who had heard the witch's cry. Thousands heard it that day, and thousands died. He is death itself, and woe to any that stand before him.*

"You lost your hearing in a training accident!" Grun said, roaring with laughter. "It's all ridiculous. You wouldn't know the Primarch if he slapped you over the head. I'm the only one here who has ever seen him, and I know better than all of you. Here's how it really goes:"

When I was a young private, I-

BOOM

BOOM

BOOM

Explosions were heard off in the distance, and alarm klaxons started to blare as the entire mess hall leapt to their feet. Laspistols were drawn, and Ishrek looked around in bewilderment at what exactly was happening.

"The Orks broke out!" someone screamed, rushing into the mess hall, a bloody gash on their hairline. "It's a full on invasion! To arms! To arms!"

Anything else he might have said was drowned out by the sound of a massive explosion taking place nearby. The mess tent was torn from its stakes and Ishrek was exposed to the elements once again. It was chaos all around as men were running back and forth in various states of battle readiness, trying desperately to find their comrades.

"Lancers, form up!" Grun roared, priming his laspistol and waving it around like a madman. "Regroup at the barracks and prepare to fight! Have faith in humanity and in yourselves!"

For all his cruelty, for all his arrogance, Grun could be an effective leader when he chose to be. Several other squads were following their own for no other reason than Grun seemed to be someone who had an inkling of what to do in a situation like this one. Little good it did to Ishrek personally though, as he felt completely exposed as they ran back to their quarters.

"Give me a weapon!" he screamed, though nobody seemed to be paying attention to him. He tried to grab Smoker's arm, but the man just brushed him aside and ran faster. "I need a weapon!"

The barracks were in sight though! Soon they could get appropriately geared up, and recover their weapons. Then they could rally to various command points, and perhaps even score a few kills on these xeno beasts. Hope was close, so close that the young man could almost taste it.

The nearness of the hope made it all the more bitter when he saw Orks emerging from behind a cloud of dust and smoke that one of their artillery shells had set off. They had already made it into the camp! This was beyond not good, and there was nothing that Ishrek could do at the moment. With a scream of delight, the Orks noticed their little group and opened fire. Men dropped left and right, and a laspistol dropped from Tanko's hand as his corpse tumbled to the ground. Ishrek moved to grab it, but found that once he did so, he couldn't move anymore.

He was completely fine, the first salvo the Orks had fired from their crude guns had missed him completely, but fear gripped him so tightly that it was all he could do to remain conscious. Seeing Grun go down was the final straw. He slumped to the ground, his back resting against a piece of rubble as his sergeant groaned in pain upon the ground, his hand severed by the chainaxe the lead Ork held in his hand.

It was over… it was all over… the Imperium had lost this battle. The Primarch had been right to come here, but he had been too late. Perhaps the other sections of the siege were progressing better. Maybe the sacrifice of the Tupelov Lancers could prevent casualties in other sections. Perhaps their failure would make for an easier victory for other forces of the Imperium of Man.

Still, it was so shameful. To be a frightened failure in the greatest military campaign in human history? What a joke. And that was all he was in the end: a joke that wouldn't even be recorded as being a part of history when all was said and done.

"Forgive me… my Primarch." Ishrek whispered, his hand gripping the pistol so hard it squealed in protest. "I have failed you. I failed you all."

Suddenly, the lead Ork's head exploded with violent force. Moving so fast it was almost impossible to track, a power mace swung back and forth with terrifying fury. The burnt orange and grey blur at the center of destruction moving so fast that Ishrek could not hope to keep track.

In less than three seconds, it was all over. Over twenty Orks lay dead at the feet of a gargantuan human being. Ork blood dripped from his mace and pooled onto the ground, but the figure conjured up flames with the snap of his fingers and the blood soon became nothing but fading smoke. The armor colors indicated that he was a member of the Imperial Heralds, but he was far more massive than any of the Emperor's Angels. Besides, he was beginning to turn back towards Ishrek, and there was no mistaking that bald head of his.

No… it couldn't be…

Phillip Lot knelt down beside Grun as the sergeant was breathing his last breaths, taking the man's bloody hand into his own, he held him close as the poor, tortured soul began to shudder and gasp.

"All is well. You have done your duty." Phillip said, closing his eyes and nodding his head. "You can rest now. You were a good soldier."

The Primarch opened his eyes, and they found Ishrek. It was like the demigod was staring directly into his soul. But the fiery gaze within those orbs didn't burn away Ishrek like he feared. They were warm. Inviting, even. They didn't judge Ishrek for his failures, but rather told him that there was still a promise of hope and redemption. Grun had been a good soldier in the end, even if he had been a horrible one for most of his life. What difference was there with Ishrek? He was a coward now, but that could change whenever the young man wanted. And he wanted it right now.

With a roar, he grabbed the laspistol and charged off, heedless of his own safety and firing his weapon at whatever Ork he could find. When it ran out of ammunition, he found another lasweapon and fired it until that too ran empty. When there were no more rifles, he found a blade and started stabbing. When he lost the blade and the arm holding it, he cauterized the wound and fought bravely with only one remaining hand. Others rallied to him, followed his lead, and the Tupelov Lancers were able to push the Orks back from their attacking positions. The Battle of the Trenches would be the first of many legendary engagements for Ishrek 'Ironfist', the future leader of the Tupelov Lancers, but for the moment he was a young man who was heavily injured and barely standing.

As the rest of his comrades cheered and praised his name, Ishrek found his legs buckling underneath him and he would have fallen forward onto the ground were it not for Brill catching him.

"Meat, what happened out there? What happened to your arm?"

Ishrek Tarjun just looked at him with a determined grin, and perhaps a little hint of smugness.

"You might not believe it, Brill, but I have a great story to tell you…"

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!