Chapter 32: CURSED BE YOU, SAINT STANISLAV

The news of the Saint's return spread like wildfire through the Crusade fleet and, breaking free from the Webway, raced further across the galaxy. The consequences of this event were impossible to underestimate. 

Yes, Jaghatai Khan had handled the organization of the Crusade admirably in Stas' absence, but even so, everyone keenly felt the absence of their primary banner. Now, however, morale was higher than ever. 

Despite Stas' attempts, his generals and the Primarchs had managed to keep the next target of the Crusade a secret. The gathering of the army was timed to coincide with the resolution of the Necron issue. 

Given the Saint's abduction and the utterly incomprehensible and unknown nature of the Necrons, the target was an excellent choice. However, no one was under any illusions. Chaos had countless ways of eventually uncovering the truth, so they were merely buying time to assemble the army. 

And assemble they must, for the army required was, to put it mildly, enormous. 

No one doubted that the battle for the Eye of Terror would be the most grueling and brutal campaign in a very, very long time. 

Perhaps the last time humanity had seen wars of this scale was during the Horus Heresy or even during the days of the Federation and the war with the Iron Men. 

Speaking of which, the human artifacts provided by the demoralized Trazyn had seriously excited the Tech-Priests of the Mechanicus. It was they who, with the utmost care, loaded the sarcophagus containing the "ancient ruler of Terra." And when they got their hands on the deactivated "Iron Man"... 

A truly colossal fleet was summoned to transport these relics from Commorragh to Terra and Mars, a fleet that promised to join the battle near the Eye. Thus, the artifacts were handed over with almost no questions asked. 

The Hydraphur system was chosen as the rallying point for the fleet—an old human colony that had grown into a major industrial hub and waystation for both free traders and the Imperial Navy. 

Though nominally ruled by a governor, due to the significant influence of noble houses composed of the largest trade organizations, the position was largely symbolic. In reality, the planet was governed by the Council of Hydraphur Lords. The space above the planet and the entire system belonged to the Imperial Navy, which, due to its duplicity during the Plague of Unbelief, had no right to challenge the government's decisions. 

The arrival of the Saint incredibly excited the local nobility, and Stas' schedule was packed until departure. The number of people who wanted to meet and speak with him was simply laughable. 

The mere opportunity to sit in the same room with him sparked the most intricate intrigues, often spanning multiple planets or even entire systems. 

And though only the most influential merchants, military officers, and politicians of the Imperium vied for Stas' attention, there were still far too many of them. 

Meanwhile, while Stanislav "entertained" himself in the endless sea of high society that swarmed like flies to honey from across the Imperium, entirely different people were deciding how the Crusade would proceed. 

The fleet of the new Crusade was a formidable force, but it was decisively insufficient. That's why the generals, led by the Primarchs, sent orders to all nearby Space Marine Chapters with an urgent "request" to join the holy endeavor. But this was little more than a formality, as the real decisions were being made elsewhere. 

The true request was sent directly to Ultramar and Terra, to Roboute Guilliman himself. It was he who had to make the decision, as the message to the Lords of Terra was merely a courtesy. They had taken too long to make decisions in the past, and now haste was more crucial than ever. 

And as the armada of ships approached Hydraphur, it became clear that the Saint's fleet was not as vast as it seemed. 

Accompanying Roboute Guilliman were three dozen various battle groups of the Imperial Navy, over a dozen Space Marine Chapters, five Orders of the Adeptus Sororitas, and a vast number of transport ships carrying countless regiments of the Imperial Guard from more than twenty worlds. 

The most impressive thing about all this was that it was merely the vanguard, the forces Roboute had managed to assemble in the shortest possible time. 

The rulers of Hydraphur were truly ecstatic. The forced expenditures on supporting such a gigantic fleet were easily offset by the most incredible connections.

At this moment, the most active and simultaneously powerful forces of the Imperium had gathered in this part of the galaxy. 

And very soon, four of them decided to meet. 

- Glad to see you, - Roboute Guilliman, entering the room, was the very embodiment of grandeur. Blue armor, golden hair, and a green laurel wreath symbolizing glory, victory, peace, and the supremacy of the Primarch of the Ultramarines. - Saint Stanislav, Jaghatai, and... - Roboute paused, eyeing Fulgrim. - ...and you, Fulgrim. 

- I greet you as well, - the Phoenician nodded calmly. His conversation with the Emperor had restored some of his old composure and confidence. To give Fulgrim some purpose, he had been tasked with training the assault and boarding units of the Imperial Navy. These were the forces he was to lead in the upcoming battle. 

An incredibly dangerous mission, but the Phoenician was even glad for it. He wanted to wash away his old shame with blood. 

- Saint Stanislav, - Roboute walked to a specially designated seat and majestically sat down. - Though I have only recently awoken, the entire Imperium speaks of your deeds. Many believe that it was solely due to your actions that the Eldar decided to aid in my awakening. This makes me your debtor. And I do not like to remain indebted for long. 

- Don't worry, - the deliberately crude response made Roboute's eyebrow twitch slightly. - I had some agreement with your father, but your awakening was entirely his decision.

- Yes, I heard that you... you found common ground with him quite easily, - Guilliman casually switched to informal speech, seeing that Stas himself wasn't particularly keen on formalities. - I must admit, it still surprises me. The Emperor was a difficult conversationalist even in the best of times. Now... - Guilliman grimaced. - I spoke with him, and ten thousand years on the Golden Throne have not made him any kinder... 

- Not all of us got to sleep peacefully for ten thousand years while others paid the price, - Jaghatai's sarcastic words clearly hit their mark, judging by Roboute's frown. However, the Ultramarines Primarch had something to say as well. 

- Paid the price? - Roboute repeated in a dangerous tone. - And whose fault is that? Who among us abandoned the Imperium in its time of need, succumbing to a momentary thirst for vengeance? Whose folly led to such pitiful results? 

- Say that again, brother, - Jaghatai rose from his seat. - And you'll learn why the Dark Eldar Empire is now forever dead.

- As if you had any part in that, - Roboute retorted arrogantly, also rising. 

- Both of you, shut the hell up! - the Saint's shout made both Primarchs fall silent in bewilderment and turn to Stanislav. In all their lives, no one had dared to raise their voice at even one of them. 

- What are you staring at? - Stas asked angrily, unfazed by the combined psychic aura of the Primarchs. - Despite all your power, "Sons of the Emperor," the Imperium of Mankind has fought alone through all these millennia, in its darkest times. Why? Because you all screwed up! - he cut off Roboute, who had opened his mouth to speak. - And I don't care about your excuses. 

The Saint leaned back in his chair and mockingly waved his hands. 

- When you were needed, you were nowhere to be found. The only Primarch who deserves my respect is Rogal Dorn. He was the only one who fought for the Imperium to the last and died for it. So I don't give a damn about your mutual grievances. If you argue and get in the way, you'll be dealt with. The Imperium managed without you for ten thousand years; it can manage without you now. 

- And how exactly do you plan to do that, little Saint? - Jaghatai asked with dark mockery. - Don't think your wings will help you much. 

At the same time, Fulgrim subtly moved away from Khan, warily glancing at the ceiling, which seemed ready to collapse at any moment. 

- What makes you think I'll fight you? - Stas' face twisted into a truly vile smile. - I'll just complain to your dad. And he'll decide what to do with you. From what I hear, he's quite creative with punishments. 

The dark mockery slowly faded from Jaghatai Khan's face. 

***** 

Abaddon the Despoiler clenched his teeth and once again reviewed the reports on the size of the army he had gathered. Though the Thirteenth Black Crusade, launched ahead of schedule, was larger than anything Chaos had ever assembled, Abaddon was dissatisfied. 

First of all, the damned worshippers of the Corpse-Emperor had managed to deceive his scouts and assemble a fleet not for an attack on the Necrons. 

Ironically, while Abaddon had previously cursed Tzeentch and his followers for their constant schemes and betrayals, he now realized just how much he missed their intelligence. 

Khorne's intelligence? Don't make him laugh; his brutes probably couldn't even write. 

Nurgle? Their rotting carcasses worked well against the lower masses of humanity, but they weren't very effective against the higher echelons. Few intelligent people were willing to accept such "immortality." 

That left Slaanesh, and Abaddon had the highest hopes for her. But no! The massive influx of Dark Eldar souls and the disappearance of Fulgrim's soul had driven the She Who Thirsts into a frenzy, making it nearly impossible to negotiate with her for a long time. 

As a result, Abaddon only received reports of the new Crusade's movement toward Cadia when it was already almost upon him! 

The second nerve-wracking issue for Abaddon was a wave of misfortunes that constantly plagued his thrice-cursed fleet. 

Champions of Chaos kept inciting rebellions, Khorne's berserkers went mad and started massacres, and Chaos Titans became capricious and began crushing the Dark Mechanicus scurrying around them. 

The most infuriating part of all this was that Abaddon knew exactly who was to blame but could do nothing about it. 

Unlike all the other enemies of Saint Stanislav, Abaddon knew exactly how dangerous their foe was. He had studied his entire history of victories and couldn't help but be impressed. This man was a formidable opponent, which was why the Despoiler had done everything to make his own army even more dangerous. 

He had even achieved the impossible, convincing the Dark Gods to temporarily set aside their disputes and jointly bless his entire fleet, ensuring that the Saint's strange power would have no effect on them. 

Yes, some influence still remained, but it had significantly weakened. 

Moreover, the Chaos Gods had granted him all their Primarchs and their personal guards. Angron, the Slaughterer; Mortarion, the Death Lord; Lorgar, the Voice of Truth; Perturabo, the Iron Lord; and, as it had become known, the false Primarch Fulgrim. The latter's reputation had hit rock bottom, as his Legion had refused to follow the daemon masquerading as Fulgrim. 

Even their forces alone, along with the Primarchs themselves, were enough to unleash true terror upon the galaxy. And when combined with the might Abaddon had gathered himself... 

For too long, the Despoiler had endured defeat after defeat. On this day, it would all finally be decided, and he would finally quench the Talon of Horus with his father's blood. Abaddon was genuinely curious if there was even a drop of blood left in the rotting remains that were the Emperor of Mankind. Would he have to wring the corpse like a rag to fulfill his promise? 

But it was time to give the order to emerge from the Eye of Terror. 

According to reports, the Imperials had already arrived near Cadia and were hastily forming their fleet for defense. 

Looking at the list of their forces, Abaddon was even slightly impressed, but not overly so. After all, both in terms of troop numbers and fleet size, the numbers were on his side. Moreover, he had the Blackstone Fortress, a force worth an entire fleet on its own. 

The Imperium would burn, and he would finally have his revenge. 

***** 

Somewhere far away, on the edge of the galaxy. A place that even the endless Tyranid swarm avoids by a wide margin. 

Tsara'noga, the Outsider, shifted slightly, staring at the energy point that had appeared in the space of his voluntary prison. 

The mad and most powerful of all C'tan blinked with millions of eyes and, for some reason, trembled, sending destructive dust storms across the planet. The dim star that had been feeding the exiled C'tan also trembled and nearly collapsed, so weakened had it become. 

Unlike all his brethren, the Outsider had not lost his power in the war with the C'tan but had instead grown stronger, assimilating the power of all his consumed brothers. 

***** 

- Here we are, - Stas whispered, looking from the bridge of his flagship at the Eye of Terror, pulsing with thousands of the most bizarre colors. The giant warp rift, where it intersected with the real world, was the largest and most famous in the entire galaxy. 

There, reality had come too close to the border of the Immaterium, partially becoming it. Anyone who found themselves in that place would be subjected to the warp's destructive energies and gradually begin to mutate, succumbing to all the evil within them. 

This place had been the entrance and exit for thousands of years of raids and suffering on countless worlds of the Imperium and other races. The forces of Chaos could easily slip back into the Eye, hiding from any pursuit. 

Every officer and crew member of the fleet felt the Eye tremble, ready to unleash Chaos' army upon the world. 

The transports were rushing to land as many troops as possible on all the planets in the Cadia system to reinforce the fortresses and outposts. 

No one doubted that this battle would be the most grueling the Imperium had seen in a very long time. 

Somewhere on the planet, the Tech-Priests were working as fast as they could to activate the Cadian Pylons, but it was clear that Chaos would arrive before they could finish. 

They had to wait until the last moment, until the defensive fleet reached Cadia and deployed. 

The allied Eldar fleet arrived at the last second, but they too were given a place in the formation. This battle would truly cement the alliance between the two races. 

Stas was asked to give a speech, but he wasn't in the mood. All his thoughts were focused on the Eye's accelerating pulsations. 

The Primarchs took it upon themselves to speak, but Stas wasn't listening. 

***** 

- ...Warrior, - Abaddon received a report from all participants of his fleet. - The forces of Chaos are ready to advance. 

- Then let the slaughter begin, - Abaddon gave the order for the entire fleet to begin moving. All three Chaos Gods watched with glee. 

***** 

Tsara'noga, the Outsider, watched with interest as a chaotic, random portal to the Immaterium appeared right in front of him. 

Though a purely material being, the C'tan nevertheless knew what the warp was. Moreover, they had once taken systematic steps to shield the galaxy from the influence of this unstable energy. 

The mad god of reality trembled and began to shrink, heading toward the portal. 

If his body had once spanned the entire planet, consuming parts of it, now, after retracting all his tendrils, the planet began to collapse. Moreover, the star, frozen in a fragile equilibrium, disrupted by the parasite, began to rapidly shrink, turning into a white dwarf. 

The Outsider himself casually ignored the increasing radiation, which caused the remnants of the planet to ignite instantly, and with a jerk, he leaped into the portal, disappearing from this point in space to appear... 

***** 

- ...anomaly detected off the starboard side! Power levels... - the mutated psyker trembled and then exploded, scattering gore across the bridge. But no one even blinked; such things were common among the forces of Chaos. 

What was more important now was to observe the rapidly expanding black-blue blot covered with thousands of rapidly growing tendrils. The Immaterium touching it twisted and disappeared without a trace into thousands of maws, which transformed into mouths and eyes in an endless, never-ceasing dance. 

At first, Abaddon thought it was one of the giant "whale" creatures of Chaos, spawn of the pure warp, which could neither be subdued nor directed, as they were utterly mindless and uncontrollable. 

However, he quickly changed his mind, feeling a painfully familiar sensation, akin to the effect of Pariahs.

In any case, a decision had to be made quickly, as the growing creature, whatever it was, already occupied a significant portion of space and continued to grow just as rapidly. 

He was about to order the fleet to open fire on the creature when the very essence of the Despoiler shuddered as he felt something he could never have imagined. 

He felt the fear of the Dark Gods. 

And when his enhanced eyes noticed the white spheres of energy forming on the countless tendrils, he fully surrendered to the intuition of a warrior forged over thousands of years of war. 

- All power to the engines! - he bellowed at the sorcerers controlling the Blackstone Fortress, his personal flagship. - Make the jump immediately! 

- But, Warmaster, we'll lose almost half our shield... 

- Now! - when Abaddon gave an order in that tone, no one dared argue. - Quickly! 

With a shudder, the Blackstone Fortress broke away from the main formation and, losing its shields, surged forward under the bewildered gazes of thousands of Chaos vessels. 

"Faster, faster, faster!!!" - Abaddon mentally panicked, feeling the last seconds slipping away. 

The flagship managed to pass halfway through the Eye when the most powerful creature born of reality struck with all its prepared might. 

In the final moments, the three Chaos Gods attempted to intervene, but due to their disunity and haste, their disjointed strike only shook the amorphous giant, failing to disrupt its attack. Moreover, a black-and-white plane appeared before them, further weakening their blow. 

---

The white spheres finally brimmed with energy, and then… they burst, releasing an endless stream of white, all-consuming light. 

The Immaterium, asteroids, warp-floating chunks of planets, and even several planets of the Dark Mechanicus, along with their defensive fortifications and stars—everything vanished, as if erased from reality by a giant eraser. 

The black void was immediately replaced by the Immaterium, rushing to fill the newly freed space, but few cared about that. 

Right now, the gazes of billions and trillions of tendrils-maws-eyes were fixed on the three Chaos Gods who had attacked them. 

And the only thing the Dark Gods saw was… hunger. Infinite and unrelenting. The same hunger that had once buried the race of the K'tan. 

And over the millions of years, it had not weakened in the slightest. 

***** 

"The Eye has activated! The Chaos fleet is on the move!"—the message spread instantly across the entire Imperial fleet. 

Large and small ships, barges of Space Marines and galleons of free traders, bloated transports and nimble fighters—all of them turned their weapons toward the Eye, ready to destroy anything Chaos dared to throw at them at the signal. 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. 

No one knew what Chaos had planned this time, but one thing was absolutely certain—it wouldn't be easy. 

The Eye of Terror shuddered one last time, and out of it spilled… 

The inhuman, super-durable heart of Stas skipped a beat. 

Drifting chaotically in the void of space was the majestic and terrifying Blackstone Fortress, one of the most powerful space fortresses in the entire galaxy. Or rather, only half of it was drifting, as the entire rear section of the fortress was simply gone. 

The sparking and burning corridors, halls, and machine rooms of the spaceborne structure were clearly visible, as if someone had carefully sliced a "cake" in two and then misplaced the other half. 

The entire Imperial fleet maintained a respectful silence, carefully examining one of the most dangerous threats to the Imperium, now unable to even stabilize itself in space. 

All the admirals and primarchs were straining to figure out what trick the heretics had up their sleeves, but they couldn't come up with anything. And the pause was becoming downright awkward. 

The spinning fortress rotated a hundred and eighty degrees and now faced the Imperial fleet with its completely defenseless side. 

***** 

Abaddon spat out the blood that had pooled in his mouth and, swaying, somehow managed to get to his feet. Both of his arms were so badly damaged that they were beyond repair. By sheer chance, two fallen beams had practically severed his limbs at the shoulders. 

Wherever he looked, he saw only corpses. Everyone who could still somehow manage the fortress was dead. 

And as if mocking him, among the hundreds of destroyed screens, one single screen still glowed, displaying in all its glory the hundreds of thousands of ships of his enemies, bristling with weapons. 

It was at that very moment that the fleet opened fire. 

Abaddon had a full five seconds to take a deep breath and scream at the top of his lungs, raising his head to the ceiling. 

"DAMN YOU, SAINT STANISLAV!!!" 

And then millions of energy beams, torpedoes, shells, and bombs struck him directly. 

***** 

Stas waited until the very end, hoping for something, as the entire Imperial fleet blasted the half of the Blackstone Fortress with Abaddon the Despoiler trapped inside. 

Even when the fortress was reduced to dust, Ordyntsev still looked hopefully at the Eye of Terror. 

However, the black beam striking from Cadia began to gradually close it. 

The Eye grew smaller and smaller. And Chaos did nothing. 

Only when the Eye finally shrank, and the old familiar blackness of space appeared in place of the wound in reality, did Stanislav finally realize that he had lost. 

He no longer had any chance of leaving the Warhammer universe. 

The officers, still not fully believing in the reality of what was happening, and then the ordinary crew members, began to cautiously, but increasingly loudly, cheer with joy. 

Grown men, seasoned with gray hair, aristocrats and paupers—all of them wept and embraced, unable to express the relief that had overcome them. In that moment, there was no social division, no status. There was only a united humanity, rejoicing in victory over its ancient and eternal enemy. 

The happy madness gripped the fleet so tightly that if they had been attacked at that very second, no one would have been able to do anything. 

Even within the allied Eldar fleet, an atmosphere of happiness and love for the world prevailed. 

All the more unexpected was the strange reaction of all the psykers, whether human or Eldar. Freezing, they all turned in a direction known only to them and maintained an eerie silence. 

"What's happening? An attack? Chaos?" demanded Roboute from the Ultramarines Librarian standing beside him. 

"No,"—the scarred, hardened face of the Space Marine cracked into a genuine smile. "I… No, we all felt it… The Emperor… The God-Emperor has just risen from the Golden Throne. The God-Emperor has returned." 

There were no words to convey the feelings that people experienced upon receiving this news. 

Freed from the weakening pressure of the Dark Gods, after ten thousand years, the Emperor of

Mankind had finally risen from His throne. 

Whatever the future of the galaxy had been before, on this day, it had irrevocably changed.