The End of Purgatory

by Chris Brent

There was much news, and all of it bad. Tech-Adept Custodes Karlsen scanned the glowing data screen: Orks rampaging down though Ultima Segmentum. Tyraid Hive fleets sighted within 500 light-years of Terra. Chaos fleets detected mustering in the Eye of Terror. Eldar Pirate depredations at an all-time high... Karlsen sighed. Still, at least here in the Imperial Palace on Terra, at the heart of the Empire's power, he would be safe...

DANGER! DANGER! Suddenly, the alarms blared into life. DANGER! INTRUDER DETECTED IN THRONE ROOM! EXTREME DANGER!

Karlsen leapt to his feet with an incredulous curse. The Throne Room! The Golden Throne of the Emperor! Emperor preserve, this could not be happening! He sntached his sidearm up as he sprinted from the room, bellowing incoherently to a squad of Dark Angels that were lounging around for no discernable reason. The Throne Room! He would nee all the guns he could find. Any enemy that could penetrate, undetected, to the very heart of the Palace must be a mighty foe indeed.

********

The Throne Room. The sealed sarcophagus of the Emperor, where none could enter save the High Lords themselves. The arcane, organic machinery of the Golden Throne almost filled the chamber, writhing across the walls and reaching almost to the height of the titanic ceiling. Alone, almost forgotten in the midst of the alchemical madness, sat the Emperor Himself, a shrivelled husk of what had once been a man.

A figure knelt before the shrivelled carcase, its head almost touching the floor. The figure wore dark black robes the hid its features, but underneath could be seen a glimpse of dark green power armour. A bolter and plasma pistol dangled from a waistbelt, next to a large and ornate scabbard. "My Lord," said the figure. His voice cracked, rasped -- he had not spoken as many words for a long, long time... "My Lord, I come here before you, to pledge my forgiveness to you, and tell how our long purgatory is finally at an end..."

********

Karlsen flew down the corridors, shouting frantically to anyone within earshot. Alarms must be sounding elsewhere by now, but he had to protect the Emperor! With his life if need be. Two dozen Dark Angles clattered along the ceramite floor behind him.

********

"...For your suffering and my suffering have been the one and the same. for ten thousand long years, we have both paid the price for our one moment of pride, and foolishness. And yet, I now decree that the price has been paid in full..." The cowled head lifted fractionally. The figure lifted the scabbard from his belt, and took it in two hands.

With a crash, a dozen scret entrances to the Thorne Room burst open, disgorging a horde of Dark Angels and Adeptus Custodes. Dozens of boltguns trained upon the crouching shape. "Stop, heretic!" cried Karlsen, awash with adrenaline. "You shall not harm one hair upon the Benificent Emperor, or your soul shall be damned for all Eternity!"

********

At that, the figure threw back its head and laughed, laughed uproriously as if it was the finest joke of all time. And with one swift movement, he drew the sword from its scabbard, and lo, it was broken, snapped cleanly into two pieces. A murmur of shock and amazment rose from the massed ranks of Dark Angels. "O Lord!", cried the figure, his voice rising in volume as he went, "In you infinite mercy and compassion, I Cypher, your most humble servant, ask for a pardon upon deeds done a thousand centuries past. Emperor Magnificent, I come to seek your forgiveness for Luthor and all those who followed him! Have mercy upon us Fallen, for our purgatory is almost over!"

********

Karlsen stared on, open mouthed. What was this madman babbling about? He raised his bolt pistol, and sighted it upon Cypher's head...

When suddenly, something happened.

The Emperor, who had not moved nor spoken for millennia, lifted a finger. A deep graon issued from the convoluted machinery of the Golden Throne.

Karlsen's bolt pistol clattered to the ground.

And a glowing, golden light surrounded Cypher, waxing stronger and stronger. The light's glory grew so great that even the superhuman Marines covered their eyes and turned their heads away...

And then it was gone. Where Cypher had been kneeling lay only a small pile of dust and ashes. Karlsen stared, thinking: Who was he? We never knew, and now no-one ever never shall...

********

A tall figure stepped forward from the unmoving Dark Angles. Karlsen, still struggling to assimilate what he had seen, still found the time to be surprised... it was Commander Azarael, Chapter Master of the Dark Angels. Azarael looked towards where Cypher had let the sword fall, and what he saw made him draw his breath.

The sword was reforged. Whole once more.

"The Emperor _has_ forgiven!" he gasped under his breath. "My visions and portents that led me here did not lie... Our darkest, most shmaeful secret... and he has forgiven us all." He stepped towards the sword lying on the ground, but as he did so, a small figure emerged from the shadows.

There was no mistaking the tiny, robe covered shape. Ever Karlsen reconised it, from his childhood story books. A Watcher in the Dark. It grasped the sword as if its enourmous weight was of no concern. "For a long time now, my kind has guided and guarded Cypher. Now, through his one sacrifice, he has atoned for all. For all the sins of the Fallen, he paid the price. And the Lion Sword is reforged, as your Chapter is reforged."

Karlsen strained his eyes, and made out the head of a snarling lion worked onto the hilt of the sword. Lion El'Jonson's sword?

********

The Watcher helf out the sword to Azarael, hilt first. Azarael took it and bowed deeply to Watcher.

"And now, you must return the Lion Sword to the Rock, chosen one. There is a sleeper there who will be very grateful for its return."

Azarael's eyes widened. "Who? Ah... The Lion Himself! Truly?"

"Yes!" hisssed the Watcher. "Go forth and free those you hold in torment in the Rock! Awaken your Primarch! For the Final Battle is coming swiftly, and all your strength is needed. All Mankind's strength is needed, if we are to survive the long, cold night..."