Reading some of the Warhammer: End Times fluff has really got the juices flowing for adventure. So this is my version of what I would like to see as the Warhammer 40,000: End Times. There may be some fluff discrepancies (I don't read much 40k anymore) so please be gentle. If you would like to add ideas, improve ideas or whatever put them below. If I like them I will happily review mine :)
I want this to be the story I WANT TO HAPPEN. I did it quite quickly so please forgive the numerous spelling and grammar mistakes you are likely to find. Eventually I will edit it and explain what I see happening next! So here it is:
The Emperor sits on the Golden Throne, life ebbing as a bright light cuts the darkness. A huge, mutated and changed, yet recognisable figure steps through the portal, into the Great Hall and smiles at his decrepit father. His skin is golden and bristles with both decay and vitality, love and hate. Inscribed across his bare flesh are words and symbols that make the material world distort and bleed. His voice is hard and soft like biting into a lemon. He explains, to his once beloved and worshipped father, that he has spent long years being shown the future, growing in power and of his lust to manifest himself here and now to witness the last beats of the Imperiums heart. He leans in close and smiles vindictively at the husk of a God, who sheds a silent solemn tear. Paralysed for long years and in a constant unquenchable pain, the Emperor moves his hand and places it on his sons. The smile fades from the demi-gods face as an image of his father shows him of his folly and what his heretical actions and lack of true faith have destroyed. Knowing with the certainty of ones eyes opening into sunlight that he has been deceived, Lorgar falls to his knees and places his head in the Emperors lap begging for forgiveness. There is a book there. The last words he hears from his father are 'Here is a copy of your finest work. The Lecticio Divinatus. I have taken the honour of writing the final chapter for you,'. Lorgar remembers his original writings and recognises the truth in them. The Emperor vanishes.
The Emperor, fully cut off from the material world, feels a hand on his shoulder and turns. He is greeted by a smile he never thought he would see again. Horus.
Across the known Imperium a darkness spreads, one of physical and mental origin. The Astronomican has gone out, the Emperor is dead and the galaxy shall fall. Dark ships that have been waiting in the unreality of the Warp, like predators beneath the darkest oceans, erupt from the Eye of Terror and other warp storms, scatterering across the galaxy. Some follow strange trajectories and are hounded by others, seeking to destroy them.
Moments later the Astronomican flickers into life and shines brighter than it has in years. But the damage is done. The realm of Gods has manifested numerous gates to the material realm.
The first ship, adorned with brass skulls and trailing blood, lands on a war scarred planet. A giant charges out immediately and into the Imperial defenders. Every movement kills soldiers in droves. Angron has come to take Armageddon once and for all!
A strike force of Raven Guard, White Scars, Iron Hands and Blood Angels, including numerous successor chapters, all make haste to fortify the worlds around Terra. Bracing for the inevitable attack, their morale is boasted as a hero from the Great Crusade makes contact. Launching vicious and daring strikes at major traitor a daemonic vessels. One word reinforces the defenders hearts more than any other. 'Nevermore'. The Raven Guard and other equally capable chapters rush to their ships at the behest of Corvus Corax, who co-ordinates counterstrike after counterstrike effortlessly, buying the Imperium further time to fortify.
The Vengeful Spirit breaks through the blockade and rushes towards Terra, chased by an Astartes ship with the Blood Angels livery. A smile creeps across the Warmasters face.
Against such overwhelming odds the defence begins to crack and the defenders prepare for a last stand. Reality distorts and a combined fleet of Eldar breathes into Imperial space and slams like a fist into the back of the Chaos extermination force. Many torturous vessels, daubed in anquished shadow, launch precision board and assault strikes, inflicting as much pain and death as possible before their forays are extinguished, leaving ships undermanned and deciding between fight or flight. The enemy fleet, still many times outnumbering the Eldar and Imperium, divides and seeks a defensive foothold against the new attack. A combined alliance of the remaining Eldar race has come to the End Times, desperate for their own pain to finish and a rebirth to begin.
Magnus the Red descends on Fenris, determined to destroy the Sons of Russ. Marching towards the Fang with Ahrimman, Logan Grimnar brandishes his axe and strides to meet with the Daemon Primarch and his sons, with the whole chapter of Space Wolves, their armour painted a dark grey in honour of Russ. The skies part and numerous ancient strike vessels descend upon the snow covered ground. A being who was renowned for his fury 10,000 years ago walks clear. Every Space Wolf drops to their knee, including Bjorn who Leman Russ gives a proud nod. 'Brother?' He starts. 'What have I done to you?' there is raw power and aggression in his voice, but it is tempered. He falls to his knees, hands turned towards the snow-birthing sky. He explains of the treachery, of the changed orders. He implores his brother 'It is not too late! Come back from this. You have been used as I was. Our enemies are the same! Forgive me.' He stares at his brother. 'Please...'
Pain, the likes of which the galaxy has never known flashes across Magnus' lone eye. Russ' heart breaks at what he has done, what he was used to do. The pain fades and Russ see's the truth of the facade. He growls 'My brother is a warm and powerful being, of rationality and love. You are not him. You are a mockery, a puppet. I will save your soul, brother' He rises to his feet, his battered armour shunking into place. He loostens the muscles in his shoulders with a shrug and slides a spear and giant chainsword from a harness round his back. Like liquid lightning he darts at the shadow of his brother.
On the Planet of Sorcerers Magnus watches the fight and feels his broken body mend as his power returns. Betrayal had crippled him, only the love of his brother could fix him and his soul. 'Our enemies are the same...'
The Tau, temporarily, settles back into its Empire and prepares for inevitable invasion.
The 500 worlds are beset by multiple Hive Fleets, bred for destruction they attack across the length of Ultramar. Marneus Calgar calls in the successor chapters to create a united front under the Ultramarine banner. Against insurmountable odds, even Calgars tactical genius struggles. Hope arrives in the shape of a lone ship, origins unknown, which manages to sneak inside the planetary defences of Macragge and it's commander makes for the shrine of the Avenging Son. The figure steps out of darkness and attaches an ancient data crystal to the controls of the stasis field which blooms and then collapses. A brotherly hand reaches down and touches Guilliman. 'Well done brother. You killed the right head of the hydra.' Minutes later fingers, that haven't moved in millennia, reach to staunch the bloody flow of a woundless neck. Eyes light up with purpose and Roboute Guilliman finds the nearest vox. Though Calgar has never heard his fathers voice, his hands tremble as a fathomless mind directs and co-ordinates the defence before making haste to his sons side.
Orks, unsettled by the increased warp activity, create even larger warbands, the likes of which have not been seen since Ullanor and spread through out the galaxy and craft a new empire of worlds. They let out deep and beastial roars that form in concert with each other. The voices of Gods, of Gork and Mork. What the Orks believe shall come true, and 2 giants are birthed into existence as the fabric of reality is completely rewritten.
The Salamanders find the final relic of Vulkan and establish the location of their father.
A fleet of Iron Warrior vessels break from the chaos invasion and head to Mars as Perturabo envisages launching the Bane of Toll on another, more significant Forge World. As he breaks into orbit he unleashes a devastating attack on the planets defence forces. Crippling much of Mars' might. A Despoiler class battleship with a massive regal fist emblazoned on it leads a counter-assault from the depths of the Sol System. The Daemon Primarch smiles as Boarding torpedoes hurl across space, into the Iron Warrior vessels. A reckoning will be had for ancient pains. A vile treacherous beast will meet Imperial and righteous fury. The Sword of Sacrifice has returned with the Praetor of Terra.
The Vengeful Spirit anchors above Terra, lowers it's shields and waits for the Blood Angels. Commander Dante fights like an angel through the ever-changing corridors of the once beautiful ship. He comes at length to the bridge. He feels the soul trapped there. His father. 'This is where it happened. Isn't it?' He screams at the face of a traitor, before launching a furious assault on the Warmaster. Though a veteran of the Great Crusade, Heresy, Scouring and the Millennia of battles in between The Despoiler is eventually beaten by a mortally wounded son of Baal. As the final blow is landed the bridge is overrun by Black Legionnaires and Blood Angels, both retrieving their commanders. The Gods intervene and the whole ship is sucked back into the Warp.
Daemon Primarch Mortarion finds Kaldor Draigo in the Warp and defeats the Grey Knight in combat. He engraves his name over every inch of Kaldors flesh, muscle and hearts. The pain itself being enough cause his life to give out.
The Necron dynasties unify into the Empire of old and begin taking planet after planet of the Imperium back for their old Gods. With the Emperor gone something stirs beneath Mars. The C'tan shards start reforming and gaining power rebirthing the Gods of Stars one by one.
On Armageddon lightning fires across the blackened skies illuminating the planet in mocking daylight. Angron pauses to look at the sky. A lone fork of energy batters the ground and a Golden Armoured hero walks out. Since ascending none, not even one of his brothers, could consider being the better of a transfigured Angron. He roars at the new interloper who just walks towards him. Raw and powerful energy flickers off of the hero. None could best Angron, except a father, a God who knows his real name. The Emperor effortlessly bests his son and condemns him back to the warp, not bringing himself to destroy the pitiful soul.
The forces of the Imperium rally and staunch the flow from the warp rifts. The Eldar, even fewer in number launch into the Eye of terror, minds set on rebirth.
On Terra, Lorgar sits on the Golden Throne, a purpose at last in his tortured soul. The Gods still whisper, but now they fall on deafened ears.
Tell me what you think below :)