The Rubicon Primaris: The River No Astartes Crosses Twice
They cut him open from crown to heel, cracked his ribs apart, and then — deliberately, methodically — they let him die. That was only the middle of the procedure.
They cut him open from crown to heel, cracked his ribs apart, and then — deliberately, methodically — they let him die. That was only the middle of the procedure.
Before Baal was a shrine and before the Angel had a Legion worth the name, there was a nameless world of dust and gunfire — and a host of grey…
A single dataslate, stuffed with files in no discernible order, sequestered by the Holy Ordos — and within it, the confession of the Imperium's most beloved fraud.
One is brutally cunning. The other is cunningly brutal. The Orks have fought wars over which is which — and neither god has ever bothered to settle the matter.
Four to five Astartes lay dead about each of the hulking carcasses. The Imperium buried the arithmetic, and then it buried the men who had done the counting.
He was made to break what his enemies built — and in the end, the thing he broke was his own oath. This is how the Hammer of Olympia came…
The Emperor cast down every god and every altar — then commanded that no man call Him one. The archives whisper that the greatest fiction of all wore the mask…
Among twenty sons, only one was born with wings — and the Angel could never be certain whether they were his father's gift or the Ruinous Powers' brand upon his…
Ten thousand years it has cradled a dying god. But the sagas whisper that the great engine beneath the mountain is faltering at last — and no one living knows…
They promised the Warmaster something he would want to see. What they showed him on the fever-tables of Davin was a lie dressed as revelation — and he swallowed it…