Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty One: Gold, Silver, and Steel

Location: The Heart of the Inner Sanctum, Luna

Date: 814.M30 (214 Terran Minutes since the duel started)

The Emperor's message rattled through Kalib and Marcus's minds. "Recover your brother, his Legion, the Spear and evacuate immediately. An experimental weapon is to be unleashed"

Momentary doubt flickered through the superhuman minds of the Primarchs. Their Father had seemingly sent Horus to his death! That doubt was quickly washed away by the content of the message, for the Emperor had a plan. The Master of Mankind was always ahead of his enemies, even if they were the Dark Gods. The message had shaken both Be'lakor and the Primarchs. Resetting the flow of battle.

The pause did not last long. A vicious roar escaped Be'lakor as he charged the Primarchs once again. The two young demigods struggled to parry the blows, not because of any failure in their training or in their spirit, they were just simply outclassed by the First Prince of Chaos. Even with the knowledge that they could not win this fight, they continued the struggle, telepathically relaying orders and information to their legions all the while. The still living elite of the XVI were ferried out of the chamber and towards evac points. The dead were harvested and marked with runes of warding. A troop of pallbearers from both XI and XIII Legions attempted to move Horus Lupercali, but crackling psionic residue coating the fallen Primarch and his considerable bulk hampered this effort.

As duel continued, a series of emergency Vox transmission crackled into the Primarchs' armor. The Legion Fleets spotted something moving at incredible speeds headed for the Lunar North Pole. Auspex readings were off the charts, and any psychic probes they sent towards the object had produced bizarre results. Whatever weapon the Emperor had unleashed was coming in fast. To the fleet, it appeared like a flaming meteor, somehow defying the laws of physics by lighting a trail of psychic destruction across the hard vacuum of Luna's surface. Despite lacking any conventional or detectable thrust system, the object which was smaller than a drop-pod was moving at velocities an Imperial Destroyer would be pressed to match.

A crew member onboard an XIII Legion escort craft watched its path as she manned one of the ships Flak turrets. By sheer luck, she was closest to the fireball and had an impressive view of the object. The gunner would swear for the rest of her days that whatever she saw, it had wings.

The comet suddenly changed direction, diving straight towards the lunar surface. Frantic orders from Terra prevented it from being fired upon, with the Imperial Fleet watching apprehensively as it struck moon. Instead of a massive cloud of ash erupting from a tremendous impact, it seemed to pierce right through the Lunar bedrock. An arrow of light and fire set loose from the Emperor's vaults.

The impact could still be felt from within the Inner Sanctum. A high pitched hum seemed to resonate through the entire Moon as it bore through the satellite. The Primarchs attempted to disengage from the duel but were stopped by the fury of their opponent's blades. Any weakness or misstep would lead to catastrophic injury. The noise only increased and the temperature within the Chamber started to climb. Orders were given, the Astartes evacuated, leaving the body of Horus. It would be up to the fallen Primarch's siblings to remove him. Marcus silently hoped that they could survive whatever was coming. A quick glance at his brother told him that they were both beginning to have serious doubts about this conflict. The belief of invincibility and immortality that naturally came with youth and supernatural power was rapidly fading from both of the Primarchs.

Then finally, after what seemed like an seeming eternity, judgment came. Like a boring drill made of solid flame, the Angel burned through the bedrock and smashed through the ceiling, exploding into the chamber in a corona of psychic fire. It had burned a straight hole to the Sanctum. Scorching away stone, steal and the Dark Gods touch. The corrupted stone and steel composing the inner Sanctum recoiled from it, the Angel's fire searing away at the Warp's influence. It was a pure and terrible shard of the Anathema, the thing that Chaos feared above all else.

All three combatants stopped the duel as it crashed through the ceiling. Impotent rage and a twinge of fear radiated from Be'lakor while the Primarchs were more shocked than anything. Before them stood a woman made of fire. It radiated an aura of order, domination, and destruction they had only felt one other place. This illuminating shadow of their father was a lesser and far more terrible thing of the Emperor. It was all the fire and fury of Mankind's protector, stripped of its compassion and humanity. Yet on some hidden buried level, the two Primarchs felt something disturbingly similar. A spark of power and majesty only felt when in the presence of kin. This weapon… It was a Primarch but not a Primarch.

The Angel looked upon the Primarchs and spoke in a voice of legions. "Take the XVI and leave. My flames shall purge the unclean."

Without another word, it turned to Be'lakor. A blade of blue-flames materialized within its hand. The Daemon Prince smiled a wicked grin and prepared to face its first true challenge in eons. Before him was the Anathema's scion, it would die by his claw! Frantically Kalib and Marcus rushed over to Horus and hoisted his body up, his noble arms draped over each of their shoulders. Ignoring the sparking pain of psychic shock and the burning heat of the Angel, the brothers bolted from the Chamber. This was not a battle for them, they were like ancient myth-heroes stuck between clashing titans. Heraecles Half-God and Percyus Argos-Maker were mighty figures, but nothing compared to the wrath of Tarturaiz or Ourano. Such was the difference between young Primarchs and ancient Daemon Kings. One day that would not be the case, but for now they would have to take comfort in the knowledge that survival was their key objective.

As the three Primarchs left the chamber, the Angel and Be'lakor faced each other, black and gold flames crackling around them as the fabric of the room buckled under the weight of the psychic power present in the chamber. Both combatants watched for weakness, slowly circling the sanctum like dueling apex predators. At some unknown signal, the Angel and Daemon charged. Like colliding planetoids, they locked blades, unleashing a shockwave of psychokinetic force that detonated with a thunderous boom which shook the inner sanctum and cracked its stone structure.

In the cathedral-sized sanctum, they clashed. To mortal eyes, it would appear like twin stars colliding. One of inhuman heat and power, the other of oily daemonic chill. Be'lakor was capable of wielding more power in the materium in eons. The First Prince was a mass of sheer evil, a thing of doom and damnation. The Angel was worse. It was a thing of undiluted domination. Raw power barely directed by the Emperor's will. Be'lakor spat curses and profane insults with every strike. Grim silence was the Angel's only answer.

Just as their physical bodies dueled, the monsters fought spiritually. Chaotic and Anathemic energies were unleashed. Distorting and destroying the sanctum in a never-ending cycle. Flying through the rapidly crumbling sanctum, the Angel hacked away at Be'lakor's guard. Each blow a thing of blessed steel, holy flames, and divine fury. The Daemon Prince was puzzled by what he fought. Its existence was an unknown, some terrible tool the Anathema had kept locked away. Be'lakor could feel that this "Angel" had more in common with him than any human. It was a blasphemy to everything the so-called Emperor believed in. Something that should have been hidden away in shame. For it to be unleashed was truly interesting.

With serpentine whispers, the Daemon plied these questions, hungering for forbidden answers and an advantage in the duel. Be'lakor had thought himself invincible, for the amount of worship and warp-stuff pouring through him had made it to where not even a Primarch could stand against him. The Angel seemed intent on proving him wrong. It moved at speeds he barely registered and its swordsmanship was flawless. Its power matched Be'lakor in every way, empowered by some unknown source it grew hotter and hotter to counter act the rising tide of evil known as Be'lakor. With the souls of the Creed glutting him and the power of the rift the Daemon Prince only grew in might.

Like a dynamo of psychic energy, the Angel only grew stronger, its flames expanding, filling the sanctum. Scouring away the warp-taint and melting the steel and stone into metal-veined obsidian. It was like fighting a Star, a force of nature. The Angel was practically divorced from human characteristics. Order, pure and dominating order, given flesh. The Angel's body was not immune to its power. Being burned to ash and rebuilt to perfection simultaneously. ṘаΝǑʙΕṧ

Normally, defeat in the material world meant banishment and castigation, annoyances but only setbacks. For an ancient and impossibly powerful Daemon Prince like Be'lakor, true death was a near impossibility. As the Angel-Fire seared his soul, he started to worry if this Anathema-Shard could render him into unbeing.

Growling in fury, Be'lakor channeled all its might into breaking this foe. His power bloomed like a black-hole, growing to devour a world. The entirety of Luna shook with each blow. Thousands of gigatons of imaginary energy distorted space/time and ripped continent-length fissures through the Moon. Twin gods, one of unbending order, and another of eternal chaos dueled and the universe trembled.

Location: Near Luna's core.

Date: 815.M30 (41 Minutes since the Angel's arrival)

After escaping the chamber, the Primarchs desperately sent orders for a mass evacuation across the vox channels on Luna. The pacification of the Moon was dying down, and only a few heavily entrenched holdout of Cultists remained. These traitors cheered the Dark Gods as they saw the Astartes and Auxilia retreat, not knowing the source of this temporary salvation came from their gods' antithesis. Loyalist forces and civilians were herded into massive landing craft. A thunderous migration of millions surged towards the Lunar surface, hoping to reach the Astartes evacuation points. With void control, the entire landing power of three legions could be put to use.

Marcus and Kalib hauled their brother's body through the winding catacombs within Luna. Both superhumans using telepathic and vox communication to coordinate the diaspora towards the Lunar surface. Every few seconds, another detonation from the core would echo through the satellite, buffeting the Primarchs and sending some of their guards stumbling. The Emperor had unleashed something incredibly powerful, and Kalib silently hoped this thing could be locked away again once everything was over.

Relays from the rest of the System were looking excellent however. The enemy fleets had been largely composed of demonically infested hulk-ships, millions of years of burned out cosmic refuse ejected from the Warp by petulant gods. Compared to the full Imperial might commanded by the Primarchs, it was insignificant. The element of surprise and their numbers had been the only advantages possessed. New heroes were baptized in void combat and the start of a thousand legends across the twenty legions started.

The huddled masses of the Solar System had watched the forces of evil come. They had heard the maddened broadcasts howling for death and damnation. Humanity's cradle had shuddered with fear and revulsion as the horrors of Old Night came calling. Those terrified, huddled masses had expected the terrible scene of chaotic and xeno marauders violating entire worlds to come once again. Instead, legions of light marched forth to meet this great enemy. Millions of champions reborn through human mastery of the cosmos had stood between them and the darkness. The Emperor had dueled a false-god and broke it upon the anvil of War. His sons had rallied the mightiest armed force in Sol since the near-forgotten days of the Iron War. The Light of Salvation had come. Suddenly as if a switch was flipped, a new understanding blossomed in the infant Imperium. The Age of Strife was over, the human soul would not be extinguished. No, it would instead burn bright with the light of the Emperor. He was not just the Master of Mankind, but the Herald of its Salvation. The same fervor that pumped through him and his sons filled them as well. The time to run and hide was over. Now it was time to stand and fight.

To the Primarchs within Luna, such grand sentiments escaped them. Grief filled their hearts, and a desperate drive to survive propelled them. The fate of Horus had been hidden from the greater part of the legions so far. Such a crippling blow to morale could not be allowed at such a crucial time. As they fled the calamitous battle raging within Luna, the psionic fire could still be felt. A faint heat that could be detected by all within range. No matter when they were, the sensation of a distant inferno could be felt coming from the core. Psychic feedback rippling through the Imaterium picked up by countless souls.

Marcus and Kalib could only flee and hope to follow the Emperor's orders. The Primarchs, the body of Horus, and their respective honor guards made a strange sight marching through the tunnels. Unknown to them, a hidden agent of Chaos had joined this odd caravan. Hiding in the meniscus between the Materium and Immaterium was Korban the Eversacrifice. Hidden from the distracted sixth sight of the Primarchs, the Daemonhost had stalked them since they exited the inner sanctum, searching for a moment of weakness to strike.

It came when a truly cataclysmic impact shook the moon. Crevices large enough to swallow a man erupted throughout the tunnel which caused the Primarchs to completely stop in their tracks. The quake combined with an eruption of psychic energy buffeted them. At that moment, with all their senses distracted, the Eversacrifice struck. Like some nocturnal fiend, Korban materialized from the shadows. In one taloned hand was an obsidian blade of sacrifice and in the other a bloody goblet.

Supercharged by the blessings of Chaos and striking at a moment of distracted weakness. Korban ripped the cursed dagger across the chests of both Marcus and Horus. The empowered volcanic glass ripped through the auramite armor and raked the Primarchs' flesh. Exhausted from dueling Be'lkaor, Marcus lacked the focus to erect a kine-shield or some similar defense fast enough. A splatter of demigod ichor leaped through the air. Propelled by the blade's edge, like paint dripping from a brush. A few drops from two possible Arch-Traitors were stolen into the goblet.

With both artifacts anointed in the Primarchs blood Korban attempted to flee. In a single fluid motion, he collected the blood, and slashed the dagger across space/time, ripping open a gaping wound into the Warp. Chanting black-prayers to the Dark Gods, Korban leaped through the rift in reality, hoping to escape with this newly born Athame-Dagger. Despite all his gifts, Korban was only a mutated and damned Astartes, not a being capable of harming a Primarch without paying a bloody price.

An edge of blessed Adamant-Silver cleaved through Korban. Kalib Kraad, the XI Primarch had brought his war-axe down on the Eversacrifice's midriff, ripping through tainted ceramite, muscle and bone. With a blow that held the precision of a surgeon's scalpel and the might of an artillery barrage, Korban was broke in half. Vomiting blood and ichor, the Eversacrifice howled in agony as he fell through the portal. His lower half was separated from him and his internal organs were burning in a caustic reaction from the thrice-blessed silver. Crippled and in intense pain, Korban the Eversacrifice tumbled into the Warp, still clutching the artifacts.

With a shudder, the rift shut behind the fleeing Daemonhost, damning him to tumble through the hell-currents of the Warp in a crippled state until the fickle whims of the Dark Gods found it appropriate to release him back into the matterium.

The wounds he had inflicted were neither deep nor cursed. Just powerful enough to shed a Primarchs blood. Loathe to guess at the reason or nature of this bizarre occurrence, the Primarchs continued their mission onwards. They would get their answers eventually, but the threat was dealt with for the time being. Marcus Augistio waved his shocked guards away and continued onwards. Escaping the calamity at Luna's core took all precedent.

Location: A cavern of molten steel and rock that had once been the Inner Sanctum of the Creed.

Date: 815.M30 (191 Minutes since the Angel's arrival)

Battling a Daemon is never an easy thing. The Neverborn are not things of meat or metal. One cannot simply destroy an integral system and watch its body fail. A Daemon is a mass of sentient (or semi-sentient) Warp energy, puppeteering material matter. To banish it back to its hell-dimension home, it must be forced from the matter it is controlling. Either by utterly destroying the host, or sapping its energy through wards, exorcism and similar rites. The tools used to banish Daemons often use a mix of these factors. The Warhammer itself destroys the tissue and circuits, while the symbolism of the Hammer of Witches drives out the corrupting Warp-Energy. So when a Daemon is damaged, it is not being truly hurt. Only cast back into the pit.

Within the warp where banishment is not possible, battles play out differently. Instead of destroying an enemy-Daemon, a part or even all of it will be consumed. Cannibalism and predation between and within each God's sphere of influence are very common. Daemons wax, wane and change sides with the shifting battle lines of the Warp. Such is the Great Game, where flux is eternal and possibilities are infinite, and certainty such as death is alien. True and permanent death is a rare thing indeed. Killing a Daemon requires wiping to from the warp itself in such a way that its energy does not rejoin the Great Game but simply ceases to be.

The most primitive way to do this is for a far more powerful or uniquely antagonistic Warp-Power to utterly reduce the Daemon from being. Much like how a Star can burn entire worlds into nothing buts its most basic component atoms. A stark contrast to the cannibalistic exchange common between Daemons. The only power in the Immaterium with the will and means to do this is the Anathema. Atham the Revelator is not a participant in the Great Game, he is its end. He is feared and reviled by the Warp-Predators that feed upon the Materium and each other. When it came to matters involving the Anathema, nothing was held back. Both sides fought to exterminate the other.

This near eternal conflict continued in truly cataclysmic terms within Luna. The First Daemon Prince and the First Angel of Death sought to wipe destroy each other. Phenomenal psychic power, swords, and minds clashed in novas of power. The Angel's flesh was marred by many oily scars that oozed corruption, as was Be'lakor with tongues of blue flame that refused to be extinguished. The core of Luna ws being superheated and cooled by clashing energies in a physics-defying battle. The only constant in the ever-shifting battlefield was the Rift. The crack, in reality, provided a peephole for the Gods to watch the battle. Its jagged edges spat incandescent lighting. Illuminating the warzone in impossible colors.

A particularly brutal clash had sent both Angel and Daemon colliding into opposite ends of the chamber. The steel-shredding impact barely phased the two. Scrabbling from the impact-craters they flew across the Chamber. Reaching supersonic speeds, they smashed into each other, their weapons screaming for death of their opponent. With a mid-air feint, Be'lakor spun and grabbed one of the Angel's wings and threw her into the chamber wall. A flurry of doombolts and curses followed the reeling Avatar of Sanity, and before she could recover all two stories of Be'lakor landed on top of her wounded form. A taloned claw gripped the Angel's head and dragged her along the obsidian wall, grinding her burning flesh against the stone as he flew along it.

Suddenly, gouts of flames erupted from the Angel, seering the warp-infused flesh of Be'lakor. The Dark Prince was forced to let go of his foe, providing an opportunity for the Angel to ram her flaming greatsword through the Daemon's gut. The psychic flames burning away twisted flesh. Roaring in fury, Be'lakor punched the Angel. The atmosphere detonated in a cavitation bubble tinged with Daemonic laughter. Floating back to her feet the Angel flew forwards and gripped her blades hilt. With a brutal upward stroke, she pulled it free and through the Daemon's mutant ribcage. Be'lakor growled through the pain, and summon dark powers to combat the golden flames searing his flesh.

The battle continued for hours, neither side capable of gaining an advantage. Their flesh and spirit healed as quick as they were damaged. But Be'lakor could draw the fetid spring of corruption that was the Rift within Luna, and he knew that he would tire slower than his foe. A scrap of the soul once known as Sagitari-17 was entrapped in his stolen flesh. Tormented and mocked by the Daemon he had once served. He had believed himself chosen, elected by the divine. A rightful Sorcerer-Lord to enact the Gods will. Be'lakor had lost count of the times he had claimed such fools as hosts. Across the galaxy and the ages, a thousand worlds had gone mad under the First Prince's whims, each tragedy ending with the warp-touched architects of extinction becoming his hosts and playthings. Sagitari-17 was just the next of this Chaotic epic.

What puzzled Be'lakor was the source of the Angels power. He could sense the Astronomicon helping stabilize it, but it was not its font of energy. While it was similar to an incarnated Daemon, flesh infused with Warp Energy, it was also decidedly different. Something unique and bizzare made it up. Similar to the Primarchs in some ways, but if they had a spark of it inside of them, this thing was a blazing inferno. The Angel and the Primarchs were indeed Warp-touched, in a way that was both experimentally new and impossibly ancient. The Anathema had crafted his tools of domination perfectly.

The duel continued unabated, with Be'lakor holding a slight advantage in power. Not enough to tip the balance decisively, but enough that he would eventually win. With the Warp-Rift feeding him the raw stuff of Chaos and the laws of physics fading in Luna, victory would be his. This tempo changed in a single moment. With a perfectly timed parry, the Angel had slashed its sword across the eight-sided rune on the Daemon's chest. The psychic flames that formed the sword leapt onto his flesh and sought to reduce him to ash. Instead of slowly fading to auric cinders that would be quenched by his ocean of malice, these flames only grew hotter. Burning away at the Daemon's flesh.

The Angel's fire spread, leaping from its form like Solar flares. Everything it touched burned. The Warps touch was burned out of the materium, purged with callous disregard. The Angel's power was growing, and quickly. Soon, a corona of energy surrounded her. The Angel had become a Star. It took Be'lakor no time to realize the source of this new power: The Emperor of Mankind had come to Luna.

Where the Primarchs were power placed in flesh and filtered through a human soul, the Angel was nothing but unstoppable psychic energy barely contained in a saint's body. It existed only to destroy what the Emperor decreed an enemy. Eventually, if left unchained for too long, it would stop limiting itself. It would seek to serve the Emperor the only way it could; by destroying anything and everything it deemed unworthy or corrupt. It was a being made of pure order and domination, and few would escape its zealous judgment.

So where Be'lakor was limited by the Materium's stifling certainty, the Angel could only follow orders and do as the Emperor commanded. The Master of Mankind through Malcador had ordered it to stop Be'lakor, cleanse Luna, and protect the untainted. It had followed these orders, and even now its fire coursed through the Lunar catacombs, burning out the chaotic corruption like a virus culled from a bloodstream.

Now the Emperor's attention and will was focused through the Angel. Instead of a broken godling, Be'lakor faced the Anathema himself. Using the Angel much like a normal psyker would a force weapon, the Emperor channeled his power through her and unleashed his fury. Blow after blow burned and broke Be'lakor. His flesh was seared and his soul ravaged. With each world-ending strike, Be'lakor was further broken.

The mighty black wings that had once darkened the skies of countless worlds were ragged stumps. His limbs were torn off and burned. As the core of Luna burned with golden light, the Emperor-Angel gripped the Daemon by its throat and dragged it to the rift. Speaking through the Angel, the Emperor addressed the Daemon Prince and his gods.

"You are not gods. You are nothing but a disease. A blight on the soul of mankind, a curse inflicted in the First War. I will cleanse the Warp of you, and bring light and sanity to my people. Your armies have been broken. Hashut has been cast back to its pit. The Imperium has been girded against your taint. The laughter of thirsting gods is over. The Age of False-Gods is at an end. The Age of Mankind has begun."

Thrusting Be'lakor through the rift, the Emperor started to pour the psychic energy that made up the Angel into the Warp. The Angel was an unborn Primarch. It was divine essence not given humanity but simply weaponized. Now that Anathema-Power was being poured directly into the Warp. He sacrificed the Angel' s very essence to inject his will into the deepest Realms of Chaos. Screaming in unimaginable pain and humiliation, Be'lakor fled for its false-life, leaving the body of Sagitari-17 and seeking some dark pit to hide in.

Still the Angel bled into the Warp. The gods screamed in horror and frantically sought to stop the poisoning. The warp rift in Luna had been opened from the darkest reaches of the Warp, the domain of Chaos itself. Here, they could twist existence and send the sons of Lorgar back in time. Here, the God-Emperor could not destroy the gate, only shut it. It was a breach in existence leading to the stronghold of Chaos. A place of great darkness, a place of power. Where Chaos was at its purest, unassailable, and invincible. Except for one thing, for the deeper the darkness, the brighter the light shines. The Angel's essence flooded into the heart of Chaos. The Emperor would never have been able to strike such a domain normally. The gods had opened the way, channeling their might to extinguish the Imperium. Instead, the Light of Salvation and Revelation struck the gods.

The light burned away at each realm of chaos, exposing weaknesses in each domain and opening new cracks in the strongholds of disorder. The Chaos Gods felt the old rules of the Game change. The Anathema had cast a light in the deepest darkness and the Gods were afraid. Fear and desperation make fools of all of us and in that moment of panic, great cracks in the alliance known as Chaos Undivided were illuminated. The Emperor still held the attention of the Four but more of it was cast to their siblings. Opportunities became apparent as did flaws. The threat of the Anathema had not lessened, but the danger of a rival Ruinous Power had only increased. The Gods would be at war, stuck dueling each other while keeping an eye upon the Emperor. Self-Destruction is Chaos's very nature and when an opportunity presented itself the Four could not help themselves. Somewhere within the Warp an outcast watched this display and laughed. This misguided malice would aid the Emperor, and itself rise to join the Game.

Reeling in horror, the Four frantically to utterly shut the rift. As space/time convulsed and the Warps power subsided the Angel pulled itself out of the rift. Still holding the burnt and broken husk that had once been Sagitari-17. As a final parting gift of spite, the Four spat an ember of evil into the failed servant. The last bits of the Cult leader's soul took control of his broken body just as it mutated into a rancid Chaos Spawn.

Feeling the Angel dying the Emperor used the unborn Primarch for one final miracle. From its burnt body, a wave of golden flame lashed out. Pure Anathema to Chaos in the form of cleansing fire coursed through Luna, burning away any lingering touches of the Gods. Psychic engines and ritual chambers detonated in flames both real and immaterial. Cultists and daemonic infestations became ash. Unlucky loyalists who had failed to reach the untainted surface layers of Luna were scoured. The ones who survived would suffer the symptoms of soul-binding, unconnected to the choirs but damaged, and left in awe at the terrible might unleashed.

Now within the burning cavern once home to the Inner Sanctum lies two beings radically different yet incredibly similar. An ashen Angel composed of the last few flickers of power and a mewling Warp-Spawn that cried bitter tears at its foolishness.

The Primarchs and most of the lunar loyalists had made it to the surface. Where the corruption had already been scorched away by the XI Legions exorcist specialists. Marcus Augustio and Kalib Kraad, still carrying the body of Horus, arrived into the light of Sol just as a golden Stormbird touched down. When its gantry lowered. it seemed like a second Sun had erupted. The Emperor had arrived on Luna.

(Beta Read and Edited by Klickator, Thank you as always)

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