Bal Harodon, Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers, was most disappointed. Not angry, no, just disappointed. Both in his Host and himself.

Five years ago, he had sent one of his favourite warriors, Krev Goduron, on a special mission. Krev had been the vanguard, a scout for Bal’s main fleet, tasked with the holy purpose of uncovering the location of the mysterious ‘Stillpoint in the Warp.’ That had been the last time Bal had seen Krev alive.

The reports from his sorcerers were clear on the matter; Krev’s soul could not be detected anywhere in the Warp. Bal had listened kindly to their words and thanked them for their time, but he was unsure how far he could trust their scans.

After all, a full quarter of their number had just been so rudely wiped out by the servants of the False Emperor.

“Most inconsiderate of them,” Bal mumbled. None on the command deck of his flagship, the Hecate Heavy Cruiser Spires of Monarchia, took any notice. Bal was among the mightiest of the Word Bearers, a veteran who had stood beside Holy Lorgar even before the Enlightenment at Cadia. He was among the most ancient of Space Marines, rumoured by some to have been among the Legion in those early, ignorant days when they were still the Imperial Heralds. His influence was vast, his deeds legend and scripture; Lorgar himself was said to have recorded the sayings and deeds of Bal in the Book of Lorgar.

Bal was also very prone to showing his age.

He was over ten thousand years old, a long life even by the standards of the Chaos Astartes. For reasons not known beyond himself, Lorgar, and the Chaos Gods themselves, Bal had never ascended to daemonhood. Thus he was forced to bear the years himself, his body and gene-seed slowly mutating and corrupting from millennia living in the Warp. It was a topic of much discussion among the Dark Council of the Word Bearers why Bal’s mind had degraded so much since the March on Terra, while other, similarly long-lived Chaos Marines such as the Warmaster Abaddon had not, a discussion that had enver been able to find a conclusive answer. Most ultimately chose to believe that it was the will of the Primordial Annihilator, as despite his quirks, Bal remained a mighty warlord for Chaos.

Thus his warriors simply bore his odd tendency to forget when he was thinking silently and speaking aloud.

“How dare they ram my ship?” Bal asked no one in particular, likely unaware he was speaking. “Where do they get such airs? Ramming into another man’s ship and then exploding, it just isn’t done!”

The ancient Chaos Marine huffed and rose from his command throne. His armour, ancient Cataphractii Terminator Armour from the days of the Great Crusade, creaked and whined at the movement. It had been days since any part of that armour save for the arms had moved. While that was nothing worth mentioning for most suits of Power Armour, this particular set had aged as poorly as its master. His armour groaning and creaking with every little movement, Bal began to descend from the dais on which his throne sat. His gait was slow and unwieldy; Cataphractii Armour was slow enough when in perfect condition, and Bal’s set was far from that. Furthermore, Bal himself was slow for a Space Marine, his body warped and scarred by millennia of war in the name of Chaos. Though he was still fully capable of fighting, and a very deadly warrior in the heat of battle, in more sedate times he took to leaning on his Accursed Crozius for support. It made his movements more stable, but added yet another sound to the cacophony he made with every step.

Yet again, none on the command deck cared. The sound was maddening, yes, but to complain would be to break the old man’s heart, and there was not a one among the Host who would wish to do that. Bal was as devout as they came among the Word Bearers, but amidst his fiery speeches and intricate sacrifices to Chaos, he was a kindly master. He took time to greet and speak with every Chaos Marine under his command, even the frothing Berzerkers of Khorne.

This was, in fact, the reason for his rising. It was an ill day that saw four cruisers destroyed and thousands of cultists slain, and Bal intended to make sure his soldiers’ morale did not suffer from the blow.

His command crew were veterans all, unshakeable in faith and morale. He could afford to speak with them later. For now, Bal’s focus was on the younger warriors in the bowels of his ship.

Thus he traveled down into the hold of the Spires of Monarchia, to his Chapel of Chaos. Once, in ages long past when this ship had belonged to the blind corpse-worshippers, that place had been a shrine to the False Emperor. After Bal had seized control, he had torn down the Imperial idolatry and re-dedicated the room to the only true divinities, the Chaos Gods. It was his place of peace in a galaxy of war, a quiet room for meditation and private meetings.

Today, just as every day that Bal descended to his Chapel, two warriors, mighty in war and terrible in aspect, followed after him. They too were adorned in Terminator Armour, though theirs was the later Indomitus pattern, faster than Bal’s armour but poorer in defense. These warriors were the greatest remaining in Bal’s Host, now that Krev was gone. Gur Katiron and San Delekon were their names, names which carried with them many deeds and titles. Each had burned a hundred worlds by their own hands even before they joined Bal’s elites, and had accomplished much in the name of Chaos since.

After almost an hour of slowly traversing the Spires of Monarchia, Bal at last reached his Chapel. He carefully seated himself in his Preaching Throne. When he was comfortable, he turned to San and smiled.

“Would you kindly open the doors? I will see the first supplicant,” Bal said. San nodded and did as he was told.

Outside the ornate doors of the Chapel was a long line of Chaos Astartes, mostly warrior-brothers of the Word Bearers but also including some of the cult marines, Noise Marines, Plague Marines, and even a couple of Khorne Berzerkers, or so Bal estimated. At that distance, he could simply have been mistaking Word Bearers red for Khornate red.

“Come forth, brother,” Bal gestured to the first Marine. The warrior-brother walked across the room, carefully stepping over the blasted remnants of the old Imperial pews and the later additions of slimy tendrils grown from the stuff of the Warp. In older days those tendrils had been thick and mobile, glowing with the power of the Immaterium, but since entering the Stillpoint, they had rapidly atrophied.

The warrior-brother sat down in the Supplicant’s Pew, a special bench designed to support the weight of an Astartes in full armour while retaining the aesthetic of the ancient Cruxian pews from which the Imperial design was derived. This bench was almost as old as Bal himself, and unlike the Dark Apostle and his armour, it was maintained to excellent condition.

“What is your name, fellow Son of Lorgar?” Bal asked. “And what troubles you?”

The warrior-brother cleared his throat. “I am Hun Karefon, of the Sixty-Ninth Coterie. I… am the last. I came here bearing a message for my Champion, and was to return after we exited the Warp. My Coterie were onboard the Flayer of Tongues when the corpse-worshippers killed it. Apostle of the Dark Gods, please, what does this omen mean?”

A deep, warm laugh rumbled from Bal’s aged throat. “I thought as much. Do not worry, brother. We are not yet beaten. The servants of the False Emperor have slain our brothers, yes, but it is only a bloodying. Four hundred of our brothers remain, true Word Bearers and cultic mercenaries alike. The world below has no defenses, and the diviners have assured me that revenge will soon be ours.”

“Thank you, Apostle,” Hun said. “But can we trust the words of the diviners? The Champions said that we are inside the Stillpoint now. Even I am affected. I cannot hear the whispers of Chaos. Could not our diviners be similarly powerless?”

“Ah, your heart is filling with doubt,” Bal said, leaning forward in his throne. His ancient armour creaked with the movement. “You wonder why we came here, what purpose the loss of our brothers served.”

Hun cocked his head to the side. “Dark Apostle? That was not my question.”

“Power, fellow Son of Lorgar, it is for power that we came,” Bal carried on as though Hun had not spoken. “Power that will serve our Warmaster well in the war against Terra. On that helpless, virgin planet below lies a great power, foretold by the all-seeing eye of Magnus the Red. The four-thousandth prophecy of Magnus, recorded in the late thirty-second millennium. ‘There hung a globe, around which a star turned, and it was sealed with the Stillpoint, which no daemon could pierce. On the globe rested a power beyond power, the key to it all. A crack in the wall, a breach once made to be made again. Crimson-clad they will walk, and into the Stillpoint they will crash. To paradise they will descend, and Angels follow in their wake. There, Fate shall turn and break, and iron fist will clash with the golden eagle.’ Thus spoke the mighty Primarch.”

“Lord Bal, I know the prophecy,” Hun tried to say. “I asked about…”

“The deaths of our brothers pain us all, but we shall endure,” Bal said, oblivious. “But we remain strong. Four hundred of Astartes still stand with you. True Word Bearers, and dedicated servants of each of the Four. Our Possessed have been weakened by the effect of this Stillpoint, but they retain their killing edge. And Perturabo’s gift to us remains intact, a half-company of Iron Warriors, ready to crack any forts that may stand in our path. So purge your fear with faith, young warrior-brother. Our loss today was tragic, but not a defeat.”

Hun abandoned any attempt to dissuade the Dark Apostle’s ramblings. Instead he sat in silence, awaiting the next unprompted speech.

That speech never came, as but a moment after that thought passed through Hun’s mind, a more forceful personality interrupted.

“Bal! I must speak with you,” a cold, hard voice said. Yet it was not a voice of hate; hatred would imply some degree of care for the value of other beings. The owner of this simply found all other life to be beneath its notice. It cared only for its own ends, and would do anything to accomplish them.

“Ah, speak of the Primarch, and he shall appear!” Bal said happily. “Endas! It has been too long. Come, take a seat.”

Endas the Soulless, Warpsmith of the Iron Warriors and master of the Iron Death mercenaries, strode across the room, his face utterly devoid of emotion.

“It has not been enough, senile old fool,” he said dismissively. “But I have no other option.”

Bal turned to Hun, a warm smile on his twisted face. He pulled out a small metal token forged in the shape of the Eight-Point Star of Chaos and bearing a prominent serial number.

“Here, warrior-brother,” he said. “Take this to the slave pits. I suggest you first flay the skin, then apply warp-viper acid before carefully extracting the organs. The screams produced are perfect for re-centering yourself after a day like this.”

Hun rose and bowed. He then quit the room with the disciplined gait that set the Word Bearers apart from the other Chaos Legions.

As Hun passed through the doors, San closed the doors.

Endas turned his uncaring gaze on Bal.

“What have you allowed to happen?” he asked, his tone almost shifting from aloof to accusatory.

“Whatever do you mean, dear Endas?” Bal asked. He gestured to Gur. “Fetch us some Colchisian wine.”

Endas glared at Bal. “Four ships of Astartes lost. Fourteen cultist transports lost with them. All avoidable casualties. I do not care that they died, but I do care about your competence.”

Bal waved his hand dismissively. “If this is about Perturabo’s tribute, don’t worry. A quarter of the slaves in exchange for your assistance.”

A deep growl erupted from Endas’ throat. “How many times must I remind you that the Heresy is over? I am here of my own accord, Word Bearer, not that of the Primarch. And I want assurance.”

“Very well,” Bal said. He turned to take his glass of wine from Gur. “Dear Gur, would you please send word to the slave pits to turn one hundred slaves over to Endas? Would that be enough for you, Iron Warrior?”

Endas rose from his seat. “For now. But I expect more than emaciated humans. I want xenos from that world below.”

“And you shall have them in due time,” Bal assured him.

Endas did not bother with words of departure; he simply turned and left.

Bal took a deep drink from his glass. “San, bring in the next supplicant. And Gur? Throw in another fifty slaves for Endas. He looks like he needs something to raise his spirits.”

The Chaos Terminators did as they were bid. As the next supplicant walked towards the Pew, Bal jangled the large bag beneath his throne. There were many supplicants today seeking reassurance and relief. Thankfully, they had many slaves for them to play with.

And when the last supplicant was assured, Bal could go to his private room, and work on his hobby.

A hobby which at that moment shook the entire ship with roars of rage and pain and hate.
_____

It was neither unexpected nor unusual when Princess Cadence did not awaken until late into the afternoon that day.

This was not because she was prone to laziness, however; she was not Prince Blueblood, who wasted his time on frivolity and sloth while barely managing to hold the least important position in the entire Equestrian government. Rather, it was because this was one of the Princess’ rare days off.

The Crystal Empire was not a particularly adventurous realm. The cold of the Frozen North kept most threats at bay, and regular patrols dealt with the rest. The native population were rarely involved in violent crime, the scars of Sombra’s rule and their fanatical loyalty to the Hero Spike and ‘Cadence the Benevolent’ being too strong as factors to allow for such actions. The worst threats the Empire faced on a regular basis were rogue changelings who inevitably were caught by patrols or found love-drunk in one of the Empire’s many romantic hot-spots, and visits from Yak diplomats. The former was a matter for the Guard, and the latter was too uncommon to truly register for Cadence in this matter.

However, though there was little time for action-packed adventure in the Crystal Empire, the role of Crystal Princess was far from effortless. The crystal ponies were a paranoid and cautious lot, eager to put on a good show for their new rulers, but still unwilling to risk displeasing them. Aside from matters which fell under Guard or military jurisdiction, every little problem and dispute came right to the hooves of the Princess.

Each day, Cadence would rise from her bed, kiss her beloved husband good morning, check on Flurry Heart, and then carry out a strict, unchanging schedule of events: breakfast, morning court, lunch, parliamentary session, supper, evening court, brief time to simply relax with Shining and Flurry Heart, bed. Endless days of deciding which pony would get to place their stall on a given corner, which colour a new house should have, and, of course, reforming the tax code wore down on the Princess of Love. Thus, every few weeks, she would simply take a day off. No court, no parliament; just a day to relax and recuperate.

This day, Cadence had chosen to catch up on her sleep, which had been lacking in recent days due to what most crystal ponies now referred to as the Subsection Five, Paragraph Seventeen Crisis, which had revealed a glaring hole in the tax code that threatened to bring down the entire system.

It was events like this that made Cadence wish something exciting would happen.

Still, a day to just be herself with her family was not to be wasted too much. Thus Cadence rose from her bed and slinked over to her vanity. Reaching out with her magic, she brushed the messy mop that at that moment was her hair.

Several touch-ups later, Cadence trotted out of the royal bedroom and down to the nursery, where she knew Flurry Heart, Shining Armor, and Sunburst would be.

Since Flurry Heart’s Crystalling several month earlier, Sunburst had become a permanent fixture in the family. Though it pained Cadence to admit it, there were many days were Sunburst spent more time with Flurry Heart than Cadence herself did. It was not a matter of choice for mother and father, but rather a necessity of their position. Cadence had to micromanage the Empire, and Shining Armor had the Crystal Army.

Under Shining Armor’s command, the Crystal Empire boasted the strongest military in Equestria. It was a mixture of hard work, dedication, and good fortune which had brought this about. During Sombra’s tyranny, he had amassed a mighty army, intending to cover all of Equus under his shadow. Though most of that army had either been outside the Empire when it was thrown through time or had already been destroyed by the Equestrian Expeditionary Force, some elements remained. After being appointed Prince-General of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor had reorganized the survivors into the core of the new Crystal Army. Their numbers had been bolstered by survivors from the Crystal Resistance, those brave ponies who had stood against Sombra in the very seat of his dark power. While many resisters had returned to simpler lives after Sombra’s final defeat, a substantial number volunteered for military service. Their numbers were further bolstered by the scattered remnants of the Expeditionary Force. Their lives in Equestria having ended a thousand years ago, they were more than willing to take up service in a new home. Then, of course, there was Lieutenant Flash Sentry and the Shining Lancers. A variety of former Royal Guard and Equestrian Army forces, all of whom had served under Shining Armor at one point or another, they had volunteered to remain in the Crystal Empire after most of the Equestrian Army had pulled out.

This left Shining Armor in command of a menagerie of the most experienced soldiers in Equestria. He took full advantage of the opportunity; haunted as he was by the utter failure of the Guard and Army during the disastrous incidents with Tirek and… her, Shining had vowed to ensure his home was never so vulnerable again. For almost a full year now he had been training hard, garnering the loyalty of his forces and forging them into a single cohesive force.

Cadence shivered at the very thought of her, that horrid monster who nearly ruined her wedding to Shining Armor. She still had nightmares, though these days they were few and far between. Cold and hurt, trapped alone in that cave…

The Princess of Love shook her head, casting away such dark thoughts. She was safe now, and she was gone. There was nothing to fear.

Cadence felt a sudden surge of love, its source far away, but its fire so great that she could feel it even at this distance. It grew and grew, and Cadence was able to taste of its character; it was like a familial love, a father and his children, but it was like nothing the Princess had ever felt. Most bonds of that nature were either pure or utterly tainted, either true love or the strained emotions of a broken family. These bonds carried a hefty taint of hate and fury, but unlike the abusive families Cadence had all-too often encountered, none of it was directed at anypony in the bond. Instead, it seemed as though these hearts were united in an alien mixture of love for each other and hatred for some unknown third party.

A sudden flash of pain threw Cadence to the ground with a shriek. As guards rushed to her side, the Crystal Princess lay on the ground, her eyes watery and her heart pounding in her chest.

As a half-dozen guards tried to break Cadence out of her sudden stupor, she could only mumble, "they're gone, where did they go?"

“Princess!” one of the guards finally managed to get her attention. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Cadence mumbled as she struggled to her hooves. “Just a weird feeling. I’m fine.”

She collapsed the moment she tried to walk. Cadence grumbled.

“Lady Cadence!” a familiar voice said. Cadence looked up to see Flash Sentry standing just a few steps away. He offered his hoof. “Need some help?”

Cadence accepted the offer with a thankful smile. Lieutenant Sentry was a helpful stallion, if at times a bit simple.

“Thank you,” Cadence said as Flash helped her to hooves. Though still a bit wobbly, she shifted back onto her own legs. “I’m fine, really.”

Flash simply nodded, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” Cadence said. “And the rest of you.”

“Come on, stallions,” Flash said, turning to the unsure assemblage of Crystal Guards. “Back to work!”

The Guards nodded and returned to their posts. Flash nodded to the Princess.

“You’re sure you’re alright? I can get you an escort if you need,” he offered.

Cadence waved him off. “It was just a weird feeling. Seriously, I’m fine. Go on, I’m sure Shiny has you doing something important.”

Flash chuckled. “As always. Be careful, alright, Princess? We’d hate to lose you.”

Flash and Cadence nodded good-bye and set off in opposite directions.

As Cadence walked down to the nursery, she wondered about the strange surge of love. Its nature haunted her; it was so unlike anything she had ever felt, so utterly alien to Equestria.

The sounds of a laughing foal ended any attempt at further rumination, however.

Cadence quickened her pace and smiled. The strange surge was forgotten amidst the wave of love she could feel between Flurry Heart and Shining Armor. Cadence quietly creaked the door open. Her heart warmed as she saw her beloved husband playing with their daughter, making silly faces to entertain her.

The Crystal Princess nudged the door open and slipped in unnoticed. Or so she thought.

“Good morning, honey,” Shining said, a laugh in his voice. He turned and smiled at Cadence. There was a twinkle in his eye as he continued. “Or should I say afternoon? I hope you slept well.”

“I did, and thank you,” Cadence said as she walked up to her husband. “I’m sure Sunburst appreciated the day off.”

Shining shrugged. “If the Princess can get a day off, so can the rest of us. Come on, I’m sure little Flurry Heart here would love some quality time with mommy.”

Before Cadence could respond, there was a flash of green flame as a scroll materialized before her eyes. She smiled as she effortlessly snatched it from the air with her telekinesis. Shining Armor looked over.

“Who’s it from?” he asked.

“It’s from Twilight,” Cadence said, checking the seal. She broke it and unfurled the letter. A letter from Twilight was always good news.

A moment later she fell back on her rump, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Cady? What’s wrong?” Shining snapped to his hooves, his senses on full alert. Flurry Heart looked around, confused, and tried to crawl over to her mother.

Cadence had no words; she simply turned the scroll over to Shining Armor.

The wary stallion took the scroll and read it. His eyes were stone-cold when he next looked at his wife, and his words had all the warmth and life of a glacier.

“We need to get to Canterlot.”
_____

Krev woke in darkness.

He gasped for air, his three lungs swelling as he took his first conscious breaths in hours. Within a second, his genhanced brain rebooted, giving him full awareness of his surroundings.

It was night; he could see the moon and stars above, surrounded by the inky blackness of void. Ancient stone walls rose around him, weathered and worn from centuries without maintenance, though strangely cleared of moss and vines. Surprisingly well-maintained tapestries lined those walls, portraying the strange xenos which had interfered at the very end of his raid.

The raid! Krev realized that he had no idea what had happened. One moment he and Iphotek had been battling with the blind corpse-worshippers, and then…

“Son of Lorgar, you awaken at last.”

Krev froze at the voice. It was ancient, filled with the wisdom of age yet still retaining its immortal power. It was a voice he had never heard before, but knew as perfectly as that of his master, Bal Harodon.

The Word Bearer Champion scrambled to his feet, corrupted ceramite clattering against the aged stone of the floor. His superhuman eyes pierced the veil of night and beheld a giant, massive even by the standards of the Astartes. A chill flickered through Krev’s soul as realization sank in. His knees shook with gene-coded awe as he saw the curved of the twin horns, and his twin hearts quailed beneath that eye’s baleful glare.

“You are…” he began.

“Yes, I am,” the giant said. “Kneel, Krev Goduron. Swear your unwavering allegiance to me.”

“I am a servant of Bal Harodon, Holy Lorgar, and Chaos Undivided!” Krev protested, his words undermined by the weakness of his tone and his knees.

“You owe me this! I have given you and your fellow the gift of continued existence,” the giant boomed. His next words took on an almost somber tone. “And no gift is without its price, as I know all too well.”

Krev fought to remain standing, in the way a branch tries to fight the ocean tides. It was a feeling he had rarely experienced before; only in the presence of his gene-father, and then in a diluted manner when that strange xenos had shone with the might of the sun. His very body betrayed him before it, demanded that he bow and submit before the magnificence before him.

The giant laughed. “Lorgar’s brood were ever fanatic in their stubbornness. Do not waste my time, Word Bearer. Your force is dead in its defeat, and yet you remain alive. Is it not your father’s doctrine that none of his sons shall ever retreat? Have you not already failed him?”

A haze of doubt surged into Krev’s mind, clouding his thoughts. He was sure that the giant before him was wielding his god-like psychic powers to mould Krev’s will, but there was nothing the Word Bearer could do against the assault. Fears rose in Krev’s chest, fear of his punishment at Bal’s hand. Bal was known to be kindly to his men, but how would he treat the Astartes he had called his favoured brother when he returned in disgrace and cowardice? Krev could not face that.

There was no other option. Krev at last gave in, allowing his body to kneel as his mind surrendered to the dominance of the giant. Out of the corner of his eyes, Krev saw the sorcerer Iphotek exited the shadows, carrying a strange device in his hands.

Through the shadows, Krev could feel the giant smile. A single, scarlet-skinned hand reached out of the shadows and curled into a fist.

“Good. The day of my revenge is nearing, Word Bearer,” the giant boomed. He took the device from Iphotek’s hands and held it out to Krev. “And you shall be my instrument.”

Author's Notes:

Anyone know any good homebrew rules for Mark of Chaos Undivided? I need to figure out what Bal would get.
Also, I’ve forgotten: is the term “genhanced” or “gene-forged?”