Chapter 177 - The Primarchs’ Next Plans (1)
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"Abaddon has allied with the Warp daemon Vashtorr the Arkifane. The terms of their cooperation hinge on locating a mysterious key — one capable of opening a certain weapons vault.
"Inside that vault are powerful constructs left behind by the 'Old Ones,' the ancient sapient race. Whether those constructs are effective against Primarchs remains uncertain, but that alone warrants our attention.
"In the meantime, Abaddon will dispatch multiple Arks of Omen fleets across the galaxy to hunt down fragments of the key. Several critical Imperial worlds will face direct threats as a result."
Inside the strategic command chamber, Kaelen's fingers moved across the star map projection. Several Imperial planets lit up in response, tagged as high-risk zones, bleeding a dull red glow.
Four Primarchs stood around the map, listening in silence. Their massive frames threw long shadows through the light of the projection.
The rebuilding of three Legions was well underway, and the Regent of the Imperium Guilliman had begun handing over frontline command authority to the brothers he trusted most. He himself remained in Ultramar, anchoring the rear — managing Imperial governance and keeping the logistics system running.
Horus assumed the position of supreme frontline commander. No one was surprised.
It was a different animal from the old Warmaster's role, though. The Warmaster had carried the title but little real authority. Getting other Legions or Primarchs to fall in line had depended entirely on personal relationships and mutual goodwill.
A commander was a different thing. More formalized. A proper chain of command, real dispatch authority. The one drawback: he answered directly to the Regent of the Imperium.
From the outside, it looked like Horus ranked one step below Guilliman.
Horus didn't care.
He'd said it himself: what was the point of obsessing over glory? Better to do what his brother Leman Russ did, put your head down, do the work, don't overthink it.
The big bald head had an infuriatingly healthy attitude about the whole thing.
Fulgrim's reasons were his own. He genuinely, sincerely wanted to help the Imperial people grinding through lives of suffering. Serving under Guilliman's direction was something he embraced without hesitation.
Curze treated his obedience as a sentence. Every mission he helped his brothers complete was one more payment toward a debt written in blood, penance for the slaughter he had once carried out.
Though in practice, Curze wasn't the one actually commanding the Legion in the field. That was Sevatar's job.
With Guilliman coordinating the broader war effort and Kaelen's Gloriana-class Battleship STC production template feeding the shipyards, it would not be long before the Imperium had a void fleet worth fearing again. Those war-machines, the kind that had existed only in the memory of the Great Crusade, would soon be cutting through the star sea once more. And because Guilliman held such a valuable STC template, his position in negotiations with the Adeptus Mechanicus was unassailable.
The Lord of Ultramar had taken his mortal friend's advice and kept his demands measured. He added only one condition: any research into xenos technology, and Necron technology in particular, required advance notice to him.
Kaelen had warned him. In the original timeline, those red-robed cockroaches had chased Necron knowledge and technology straight into catastrophe after catastrophe, and every time, it had been Guilliman left cleaning up the wreckage.
The Lord of Ultramar had no intention of letting history repeat itself.
Imperial governance was already a mountain of unfinished work. He couldn't afford more.
"Beyond that, the Imperium is currently facing two primary threats." Kaelen's fingers swept outward across the star map. The eastern rim of the galaxy and the northern star domains lit up at the same time.
"The Tyranids and the Necrons. The Tyranids are still expanding. Hive Fleet tendrils have already pushed deep into Imperial space, and planets keep falling. The Necrons, meanwhile, are consolidating. Szarekh, the Silent King, has returned, and with him comes a unified drive to reclaim galactic dominance and expel every Chaos force in their path."
"So by that logic, they could almost be useful to us?"
Horus raised an eyebrow. His bright bald head caught the glow of the projection and gleamed.
The Imperium hated Chaos. The Necrons hated Chaos. The enemy of an enemy wasn't necessarily a friend, but it was at minimum a tool worth exploiting.
In the Primarch's estimation, cooperation wasn't out of the question.
"Don't forget what they are, Lupercal." Fulgrim's voice came from beside him, melodious, almost musical, like a string instrument carefully tuned. The warning underneath it was anything but soft.
"They are soulless machines. Xenos. I will admit we have had civil dealings with xenos before, but those were exceptions, and rare ones at that. The Necrons will not be among them.
"The former masters of this galaxy will have very particular feelings about watching it occupied by 'lesser races.'"
As the philosopher-king of Chemos, the Phoenician's instincts in politics and diplomacy were razor-sharp. He'd read the arrogance buried in that ancient race's bones at a glance.
Horus was quiet for a moment. Then, measured and calm:
"I still believe cooperation is possible. Not because I want peace between our species. Because in the current chaos, having one fewer enemy is an advantage we cannot afford to pass up."
He reached out and indicated a star sector on the map, not far from Ultramar.
"The Tau Empire is the same. After I gave them a thorough beating, they won't be moving rashly anytime soon."
He looked toward Kaelen, his gaze carrying a question.
"And Kaelen told me before, the Necrons have internal factions just as tangled as anything in our own Imperium. Overlords who want to restore the old dynasties. Scholars who want nothing more than to be left alone with their research. Outliers with some twisted fascination toward flesh-and-blood life. We can work with that."
Kaelen nodded.
"My thinking exactly. It was through the Necron collector Trazyn that I arranged Lord Fulgrim's return." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at the mention of the Infinite. "That one has a skull full of nothing but acquisitions, but he keeps his word."
"After this, we might consider using Trazyn as an intermediary between the two sides," Horus added. "Since he likes collecting, give him things worth collecting as payment. The galaxy is vast enough. There are bound to be things that interest him and that we don't particularly need."
Kaelen moved on, circling a region of space with his finger. A label materialized in the projection above it: the Nephilim Sector.
"The Necrons will run an experiment here. They call it the Pariah Nexus. Any sapient being with a soul who enters that zone will have their soul suppressed. An Astartes can hold on for a short while. Those like Sisters of Battle and priests can resist for far longer, sustained by faith.
"I think all of you now have a clear picture of the Emperor's nature. He is not a god — but the difference is negligible. Faith in the Emperor receives real answers."
His gaze moved across all four Primarchs. His tone settled into something harder.
"That means inside the Pariah Nexus, faith is not just a spiritual foundation. It becomes something quantifiable. Deployable. A practical weapon that can go directly up against Necron technology. Our War Apostle Mathieu already proved it on Yaxis. With his life."
Horus nodded slowly. Something moved behind his eyes.
"Then it's time the Ecclesiarchy made themselves useful for once." His voice was even, decisive. "Let them go to the front lines and prove that devotion of theirs."
➤ Next: The Primarchs' Next Plans (2)
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