Fulgrim freed

Chapter 1 introduction

In the forty-first Millenium, there is only war. humanity is beset on all fronts by the vileness of the Xeno, the lies of the heretic and the foulness of the mutant.

Despair colour the hearts of men and beauty is eroded away by the sands of time. Humanity's greatest defenders, the Astartes are spread thin over the galaxy outnumbered by the countless of creatures baying for the destruction of humanity's bulwark.

The imperium of man is not yet hopeless for after 10,000 years a son of the Emperor, a Primarch was returned to the galaxy.

Roboute Guilliman the avenging son, master of the thirteenth legion and lord commander of the imperium. The imperium rose from the ashes of the destruction of Cadia and fought back, launching the Indomitus crusade taking back large swathes of conquered imperial territories saving the souls of billions of loyal imperials and bringing them back to the fold.

After 100 years of fighting the Indomitus crusade came to an end. The new Astartes the primaries unleased by the Biomagus Cawl proved instrumental to the success of the crusade and survival of the imperium and after their duty ended as the unnumbered sons they were distributed around to their own primogenitor legions.

Yet all was not well. As with the resurgence of the master of Ultramar came the traitor Primarchs, they began for the first time in Millenium to play upon the Materium once more.

First came Mortarion the prince of decay, chosen by the plague father to come and spread his love and devotion the citizens of the galaxy.

Then came Magnus the red, the crimson king to finally reclaim his lost home of Prospero bringing the planet of sorcerers into the Materium.

With the emergence of his fallen brothers from the warp, Guilliman was sat in the fortress of hera on macragge, planning his defence of the imperium from his warp-ridden kin.

The ancient wood of his chair creaked under the weight of the giant, his focus occupied by the multiple data slates in front of him as well as the news feed of the planets defences and other planetary news. His brow creased in concertation as he moved to ease his war-weary gaze, yet he could not rest there was too much to do, too many things needed his clearance, too many things needed his input.

The Primarchs hair had greyed since the beginning of the Indomitus Crusade, Roboutes proud face once looked as if perfect without flaw, now looked more human with lines growing across it as if the proud marble of his face had cracked with the stress of age.

His souls matched his appearance, resolute yet weary. he felt out of place no one he new lived, the beauty of the imperium of man, founded on the imperial truth and the power of science had rotted away into a dark and hopeless place filled with everything his father had tried to cleanse from the galaxy, religion and superstition now rule humanity and in its heart the Emperor of mankind nothing more than a corpse. Nowhere was the father he had once known, Roboute was alone.

There were but one, one not wanted but sorleý needed, yet he did not know it yet.

Deep down under the surface of a barren planet, nothing lived on this planet above ground nor in its depths for its eternal guardians do not live. This place is Solemnace, a Necron tombworld, home to Trazyn the infinite, the collecter.

This is the repository of the galaxy's history, filled with technology, ancient and powerful relics which if the imperium knew of its existence would stop at nothing to reclaim its treasures. Yet, not all that lingers in this place are dead in the deepest parts of this museum lay the Prismatic galleries, where Trazyn the infinite recreates the notable parts of history, or at least what catches his fancy.

in the deepest part of the prismatic galleries stands a giant, a perfect giant. Beauty and perfection looks as if it's ingrained into his very soul even separated from time by Trazyn's prismatic field his aura glows and radiates from within the stasis field. Then the glow intensifies as the field flickers as the tremors of orbital bombardment flow down through the bedrock and destabilise the field.

The Clone of Fulgrim falls to his knees as the field sputters and fails. he inhales the stale air in the bowels of the tomb world and shudders.

For he had the memories of what had happened in the great heresy and with the memories of times gone.

He screamed

so what did you guys think please tell me if I should continue