Inspired by Zahariel's awesome work, Roboutian Heresy. But you guys knew that.

No Man's Storm

Chapter 1

"Chaos was the law of nature; Order was the dream of man."

― Henry Adams

The world below was not beautiful to look at. Few daemon worlds were, though there were exceptions of course. The enormous orb bathed by the unnatural lights of the Eye was the color of rust, completely without bodies of water or visible vegetation. The planet's two pale white moons circled too closely to the planet, close enough that it was possible to travel between them with purely atmospheric crafts. Multiple ships and orbital emplacements surrounded the planet, clustered around a medium size starfort looming over the world.

The world's name was Crucible, and it was one of the many worlds dedicated to the purpose of producing mortal soldiers for the armies of the Crimson Lords warband of the VIIth Legion. A harsh world that weeded out the weak, ensuring that only the strong emerged to fill the ranks of the Blood Korps. It held on its surface the all necessary breeding centers, training facilities and drill battlefields for creating fresh regiments of recruits in near endless supply for the warmachine of the Fists, armies of disciplined, trialed and refined from birth humans better trained and equipped than some Imperial Guard regiments of the Corpse Emperor's realm. The planet needed regular fresh supply of pure genetic human stock from beyond the Eye to counter the mutating effects of the Eyespace, ensuring that the quality of the troops produced did not degenerate over the long years.

The fleet orbiting the world was however the most impressive aspect of the system. There were ships from several different Legions, though some Legions had no representation at all, as well as ships with no clear allegiance or Astartes bloodline heraldry, and many ships commanded by only mortals.

Eclipsing most others with its enormous size, the Victory-class battleship next to the starfort drifted calmly in the void, its silent but massive guns radiating contained power that ensured the order among all that had gathered under the watchful eye of its armaments. It had once sailed under the banner of the aquila with a different name in the years after the great betrayal, but now it bore new allegiance and a new name: Blood Reaver. A clenched crimson fist decorated its massive and heavily armored prow as a indication of its new master.

Gathered around the massive behemoth of war, separated from the lesser ships with respectful distance, there was a circle of large ships that did not pale much in comparison to the battleship. There were four of them, each of them a mighty construct of war and conquest worthy of leading their own fleets. They formed the heart of the armada that was gathering into the system, the core around which the others vessels added their strength.

The smallest of them, by comparison, was an Hades-class heavy cruiser in the colors symbols of the XVIIIth legion, the head of its green platted hull decorated by a brass sigil depicting a draconian head. It was called the Incinerator, and it was commanded by Du'rhan of the World Burners.

Next to the ship of the Salamanders was a black battle barge dating back to the days of the Heresy, a massive Astartes warship that was designed for planetary assault. Its weapon bristling hull showed the glorious symbol of the mighty Raven Lord, the white Raven against the blackest of black. It was the Dark Harbinger of the Onyx Sons. Savardin's ship.

The last two ships were both painted in the bright yellow of the VIIth Legion. One of them was called the Red Crusader, a rare Retaliator-class grand cruiser almost the same size as the Raven Guard ship next to it. The other was a strike cruiser Storm of Wrath, the traditional and mighty Astartes vessel seeming rather small when compared to some of the vessels alongside it. Both of the ships, as well as the battleship beside them, belonged to the warband of the Crimson Lords, which was an extremely impressive show of might.

The Crimson Lords were a large warband, maybe even one or the largest of their Legion, comprising of over two hundred of the sons of Dorn, as well as some adopted sons from loyalist bloodlines, which was an unusually high number of Astartes for a VIIth Legion warband. The Crimson Lords laid claim to an exceptionally powerful domain within the Empire of the Eye, lording over multiple system that were dedicated to producing mortal armies for the wars in the name of their bloody God, as well as Dark Mechanicus allies that allowed them to supply and arm their warhosts. A considerable portion of the ships around Crucible bore the yellow and sailed under the symbol of the red fist, and on the surface of the planet there were millions of mortals ready to rally to their master's cause when called.

It was the master of this warband, of this world, of this region of the Eye, that Rukiel Varkhian had come to meet with.

The yellow clad Terminators escorted Rukiel to a door that opened to allow him in, the Fists warriors remaining behind to wait outside. The door fell closed behind him, and he carefully treaded deeper into the chamber. In his hand he carried a long power spear, casually resting it against his shoulder guard next to the white symbol of a raven.

There were trophy racks and pedestal of many sizes and shapes scattered around the room, some hiding in the shadowed edges of the room, some occupying very central positions of the floor. There were weapons, alien body parts and pieces of armor of all kinds, sporting numerous heraldries of all stripes. Some of them were coated in blood, as if they had been claimed from vanquished foes very recently, the choice of not cleaning the trophies adding to their rather impressive ambiance. The walls were framed with many banners depicting clenched fists, Legion numbers and symbols of the Blood aspect of the Primordial Annihilator.

The largest wall of the room was dominated by a huge digital view screen depicting the map of the galaxy, corners of the screen dripping small trails of blood that Rukiel found very symbolic. There were a few focused points of interest on the map brought out by variety of colors and tactical markers, but the view of the galaxy was too unfocused for any real relevant information, most of the markings just some very general data of not particular value that faded in and out from the screen.

There was a power armored Legionnaire champion standing on the edge of the room, clad in the heraldry of the Fists. A lieutenant to the master of this battleship most likely. He was the only other occupant of the room save for Rukiel himself, and the lord of the Crimson Lords.

In the almost center of the room, raised on a dias overwatching the galactic map, was large iron throne decorated by hundreds of bones, with skulls of various kinds hanging from chains falling from the ceiling around it. Rukiel walked to stand a respectable and safe distance from the throne, and laid his eyes upon the Astartes sitting on it.

The figure on the throne was massive, even when taking into account his ornate yellow and black Terminator armor that had possibly grown around its wearer to accommodate his massive bulk. The favour and the power of the Warp had mutated him to grow far larger and stronger than most other Legionnaires in the galaxy. The Astartes lord would have loomed easily over the Terminators that had escorted Rukiel here, in a similar way a Terminator loomed over a regular power armor Legionnaire. He could have passed for a small primarch.

There was a large two handed sword of dark material resting against his foot on the throne, fitting the stature of its master, and one of the crimson colored gauntlets was resting upon the pommel of the weapon.

He had an aura of power and glory around him, a presence of might that was hanging like a cloak over a champion of a thousand Warp coiled around him, marking him as its favoured and chosen warrior. The might of the Blood God was strong in his soul as well as his body.

He was the kind of warrior that upon meeting made Rukial think that this was a warrior with a God behind him. The Black Dragon's sons might receive unique unholy benefits as their master dwelled in the unknown aspects and paths of the Great Ocean, and Rukiel's own Legion was connected deeper to the Power of Ruin like no other through the might of their great father. But this here was power of completely different kind. This was a being that was blessed and supported by a God, and it was clear to all who gazed upon him. Rukiel could not help being impressed. There were many lords in the Eye, but there were lord and then there were Lords.

The master of the of the Crimson Lords was unhelmeted, and his shaven head showed many faint battle scars gathered in the wars of the Long War. His blue eyes looked right at Rukiel with a gaze that was as implacable as adamantium and as cold as the void of space.

"Lord Kalron," Rukiel greeted, his words accompanied by a respectful nod that was all he was going to give to the warlord, no matter the might the warrior possessed. He bowed to no being, save for the Ravenlord himself. At least as long as his life was not on the line.

Kalron observed Rukiel, tilting his head slightly as his eyes took in all of the warrior standing before him. "So you are Varkhian of the Obsidian Talons?" Kalron spoke with a voice that was like an contained avalanche waiting to be unleashed. "Savardin speaks very highly of you, which is unusual for him."

"Savardin is a good judge of character," Rukiel said with a faint smile. "He is the reason why I am standing before you now. He is the only other lord of my Legion that I could say I almost trust, and I dare to say he thinks same of me."

"Indeed," Kalron rumbled, his eyes seemingly lacking the capability to blink. His icy blue eyes just continued staring at Rukiel without pause, never releasing him from their observation. "That is the reason why he has vouched for you and invited you to join my crusade host, is it not? Well, partly at least. I understand you and him made a deal of some sort, something in which I have a part ?"

Rukiel's face adopted an unreadable expression. "There is a certain relic," he said. "I have made a pact with brother Savardin. He says you will provide me with a ship in exchange for it."

"So I understood the matter," Kalron said. "And in exchange for the ship, you will offer me geneseed of the XIIth Legion you are in possession of, as well as your service for my crusade host."

"That is the agreement," Rukiel confirmed. "It surprised me, really. You offering a strike cruiser in exchange for a relic for you ally. That is extremely generous of you."

It was not as generous as it sounded. Rukiel had seen the ship. It was a battered and battle-torn ship stolen from the Iron Warriors guarding the Cage, and it was missing a fifth of its mass in the form of a blown away broadside. Even now it laid in anchor over the planet, under extensive repairs to make it functional enough for the minimum requirements of its intended purposes. It was not cut out for void engagements for a long time, but a strike cruiser was a strike cruiser. Proper Legion ships like that were not in excess in the Eye, and many warbands would have offered a lot for one, even in such a condition.

"Savardin has been a valuable ally for me for a long time, and during all these years I have come well acquainted with what XIXth Legion can offer. I have high hopes for you, Varkhian. Do not disappoint me." Kalron glanced away, finally breaking the eye contact and looking at the large map on the viewscreen behind Rukiel. "I have waged many wars after the Siege, and I have learned to value good allies in the Eye. I have fought alongside every Legion heraldry there is during the long years, but Savardin of the Onyx Sons and Du'rhan of the World Burners are the only two that have sticked with me through all this time. If Savardin says you are a valuable ally, I am inclined to believe him."

Rukiel nodded. What Kalron said sounded very unusual coming from a Crimson Fist, who were famously a paranoid bloodline with not the best track record when it comes to handling their allies. The warlord in front of him was different from all the other Fists Rukiel had encountered before. Raven Guard were not very popular allies in the Eyespace (for a good reason), so it was strange to meet someone who was willing to trust a son of rhe Ravenlord rather than just follow the whispers of their patron to strike down the sons of Corax. Rukiel was now starting to see some of what Savarding saw in Kalron. Opportunities of alliances were scarce enough in the Eye for the warbands of the Raven Guard, so it was no wonder that Sevardin took care to maintain one to such a powerful lord as Kalron.

"Savardin seems to have encountered much more success than you though," Kalron continued. "He commands a battle barge and a strong warband. You have a light cruiser with very few Purebloods under your command."

Rukiel felt a ting of irritation at the mention of Raptor's Shroud and the condition of Obsidian Talons. Sure, he could replenish the Spawns endlessly without much cost, which was the sole reason he still had anything worthy of being called a warband, but Kalron, as someone who had worked closely with Savardin for a long time, clearly was well aware how realities were for a lord of the XIXth Legion. The Spawns were in endless supply, but their equipment and means to carry end deploy them onto battlefields were another thing. Raptor's Shroud carried only so many Spawns, and Rukiel did not have the means of arming them with much.

"How are you acquainted with Savardin anyway, I am curious? It seems to me you two go a long way back," Kalron continued.

"We fought together during the Heresy," Rukiel replied with a faint shrug. "And we fought against one another once or twice on the Legion's homeworld during the long years once I took the command of the Obsidian Talons. And then we reconciled and fought together against our brother Arkhas Fal for a while before the three of us went our separate ways. The two of us have been keeping in contact after that and dealt together with other internal matters of our Legion."

"I see," Kalron said as he adjusted his position on his grand throne.

"That is a quite a armada you have gathered in this system," Rukiel said, glancing around to chamber to see if there were any viewports offering a view to outside the ship, but there were none. "I see I am not the only one you have summoned here. White Scars, Space Wolves, Salamanders, Iron Hands...Even the Black Legion." Rukiel said with a faint hiss in his voice.

"Seventeen warbands have already pledged themselves to my crusade host. You are the Eighteenth," Kalron said.

Damn, so close. "No Blood Angels though, as far as I saw it?" Rukile mused.

"I have fought besides even Blood Angels before, but we have never parted in conciliatory terms," Kalron grunted dismissively. "And ever since I had to defend my worlds against 200 sons of Sanguinius, the XIth Legion has stayed far away from me."

"200 Blood Angel Astartes?" Rukiel mused with some mild disbelief. "Blood Angel warbands do not come in those numbers."

"That is what I thought too when they started raiding my territory," Kalron continued. "Then I found it was not a single warband, but seven different one, lead by champions who were all competing against each other who could claim my head for the Dark Prince."

Rukiel let out a small chuckle. Now that sounded more like Blood Angels. "What happened to them?"

"They were divided, got ineach other's way, and their mortal slaves were no match for my Blood Korps. I slew the leaders of three of their warbands myself, I know one was killed by another of his bloodline, and two escaped. I have no idea what happened to the last one." Kalron said, motioning to three skulls hanging from the same chain above him.

"Your Blood Korps seem quite useful," Rukiel said rather dismissively. He had never really seen the value of mortal armies, since he had an endless source of Spawn Marines at his disposal. Mutated clones or not, they were still transhumans and far superior than mere mortal cannon fodder. Basic humans were easily broken, lacked in every imaginable category, and died easily, whereas Spawn Marines were versatile, had an acceptable quality and cost balance, and endured better and longer conditions that would render mortal filth useless. But Rukiel could see why some lesser Legions not blessed with the genius of Corax found value in mere human slave armies.

"Wars have always been won by the blood and sweat of well forged armies," Kalron said with a firm tone. "For millennia since our species crawled out of their caves, it has always been strong warriors made of regular men that have dictated the course of history. If not for the Heresy, we would still be fighting the Great Crusade after all these years to claim the stars if not for the mortal armies under our rule. We would have succeeded eventually of course, but no true warlord is blind enough not to see the place of our slaves. We Astartes are the mightiest warriors the galaxy has ever known, but we are not the only warriors that matter. The immutable reality of all our history is that numbers win wars. And that is the one quality mortals do not lack."

"Mortals have their uses," Rukiel replied like a god talking about ants.

"There are always lords who delude themselves into a search of some magical artefact or super weapon that they hope will help them win the galaxy. There are those who believe the power of the Warp and learning to use it will grant them the ways of their triumph over all others. Those who believe they can do better job than the Corpse Emperor when he created us, who believe they can create better super warriors than the False Master of Mankind to conquer the universe..."

Rukiel felt a slight sting in his mind at the mention of the last one.

"The False Emperor did not conquer the galaxy or even Terra with his might over the Warp or some mythical secret or a relic of the past. He did create the ancient Thunder Warriors and then the Legiones Astartes, but he only enhanced what was already present in humanity, and despite everything, there will be no one who will ever eclipse His work. He conquered the stars, and he did it with iron willed and iron armed warriors, like you, me, and countless mortal slaves. He did it with humanity he had leashed under his will."

"I dare to bet his knowledge of the Warp and secrets that I cannot even fathom did not exactly hurt His rise either," Rukiel said with a slight smile, but did not continue further. He was not going to argue with the Fist warlord over anything like this.

"So until the day the mortals cease to be a vital part of warfare, till the day when they stop winning me victories, until that day I will keep raising armies of them and waging war in the name of the Lord on the Skull Throne," Kalron said with a cruel smile.

A day like that may come, Rukiel thought to himself. War was eternal, Chaos was eternal, but Mankind was not. At least in its current form. "So you have a lot of mortals under your command and all these small warbands bring you a quite large Astartes force as well," Rukiel continued.

"Savardin and you add yours Spawnkin into the crusade, and Du'rhan brings his warmachines and daemon engines, as well as provides other additions to our armories from the forges of the Salamanders," Kalron said with a powerful voice. He had a strong force to be reckoned with under his command and he knew it.

"You have gathered a lot of allies," Rukiel remarked.

"Success draws allies to you," Kalron replied. "I have always thought that all war should be for even greater war. Every victory should add to your capacity to wage war." The warlord glanced away with far looking eyes. "I had only my strike cruiser and what was left of my company when the Destroyer shattered our Legion. Now you are standing onboard my battleship, surrounded by my fleet and warbands pledged to me, surrounded by my realm in the Eye."

"You certainly have had more success than many of your brothers."

"And I intent to have more success in the future as well," Kalron said as he returned his blue eyes to look at Rukiel. "When the end of the Imperium dawns, when we once again tread on the surface of Terra, when we once again fight on the walls of the Imperial Palace, I intent to stand as a someone who did not waste the years of the Long War. I intent to return with more than what I left the Throneworld with, when my Primarch once more leads my Legion to war."

"The Lord of the VIIth has not very active in leading his Legion for a long while as far as I know," Rukiel said, trying to not to think about his own father in hateful isolation upon the tallest of the dark spires.

Kalron regarded Rukiel with his blue eyes. "Our fathers may not have ventured outside to wage war against the Corpse Emperor's realm many times during the long years, but make no mistake, when the time comes, they will call upon their sons to make war against the Imperium like never before."

Kalron took a short pause. "Have you heard of the world of Armageddon?"

"Armageddon?" Rukiel asked, going through his memory for a planet of that name. "I can't say I have heard the name. What of it."

"I am not surprised if you have not heard of it. The War for Armageddon happened relatively recently, at least for me. It is hard to keep a track of things in the Eye as you know," Kalron said, taking a deep breath and looking into nothingness again.

"I was on Armageddon," the Astartes on the throne said with a dreamy voice. "I was there when Grimnar of the Space Wolves came up with his plan to sacrifice the cities of Armageddon to summon my Primarch from beyond the veil. And it worked. The great lord of my Legion was summoned upon the plains of Armageddon, and we of his sons rallied to him… It was glorious."

Kalron still looked away, clearly going through the memories of the events in his mind. "I will never forget the day lord Dorn lead us into battle on that world for the glory of the Blood God. There was no battle plans, no chain of command, but when the master of the VIIth called, his sons answered. There were thousands of us, thousands of Crimson Fists taking up weapons to spill blood of the imperium alongside our lord. Some were there when he was summoned, and more arrived when they heard his call. The world burned with our wrath, the Warp storming around us to witness our war, our enemies crushed under our might and their skulls claimed for the great Throne…" Kalron returned his gaze to Rukiel. "I wage my wars to be part of that again one day."

"And this crusade host you have gathered is for that goal as well?" Rukiel asked. "You have something in the works that will increase your might even further. I am here to lend myself to your cause, so share your plans."

Kalron smiled and motioned towards the map of the galaxy behind Rukiel. "It is not as it used to be in the empire of the Eye. Millennia ago, there was just us of the eighth Legions, in our exile from the empire that betrayed us. It is not the same Eye that we entered in. The power of the Primogenitor and his lot has grown over the millennia, and now we share a Iron Cage with a new power calling itself a Legion."

Rukiel felt his anger rise a bit at the mention of the Legion without a number. "The Black Legion is nothing but a ragtag group of desperate turncoats and deluded servants of Bile, held together by nothing. The Black Legion is not a Legion despite its name, it was not here at the beginning of the Long War and it has no Primarch. It even worse than the Ultramarines, who are a failed Legion that has lost its Primarch and should have died with him."

"Believe what you want to believe, but you have to face what is the situation in the Eye," Kalron said, clearly not anymore pleased about what they were discussing than Rukiel. "The truth of the matter is that the Black Legion has grown more than rival us of the true Legions." Kalron looked downwards, a tired expression on his face. "They have many things that are lost to us, sometimes I wonder how we could have let things end up the way they are now..."

Kalron raised his gaze to look at the Eye of Terror marked on the galactic map. "There are three great Warp storms in this galaxy, three kingdoms of sanctuary for us followers of the Gods, two of them caged by the Lord of Iron in an age long past. And in such realms, there is always a dominant force. In the Ruinstorm, it is and has always been the Ultramarines. Today, that dominant force in the Eye of Terror is the Black Legion."

Rukiel looked at the great warp rifts of the galaxy displayed on the map before him. "And in the third storm?" he asked as his eyes were drawn near the center of the map.

Kalron's smile could be heard in his voice. "Work in progress…"

So yeah. I am utterly incapable of not thinking about continuation for my stuff, so here it is: Sequal to Ravan's Feast, and the return of Rukiel Varkhian. Hopefully there is at least one guy out there somewhere who looked forward to seeing him again.

This story will probably be a bit longer than its prequal, I don't have as a solid plant for this as I did for Raven's Feast. So that means if you'd like, you can make suggestions of what you would like to see, and I will think about it. Do take into account that this story will be taking inside a Warpstorm, so that might slightly limit what can happen.

I have one chapter of Chaos is the Prize halfway ready, so that will probably come out next, but after that the story will be on a hiatus until I get done with this one.

I hope you liked this chapter and I will see you next time.