The plains of Chogoris stretched before him, endless fields of emerald and amber grasses. Hawks circled lazily in the clear cerulean sky, and Subotai could not tell which was louder, the thundering engine of his assault bike or his laughter. He could hear a dozen other roars behind him, as his brothers followed through the fields. Exalting in the thrill of their homeworld, newly returned from another valorous campaign. He lowered a hand to brush the veridian stalks and was surprised to feel no sensation. The breeze began to howl, chill for this time of year. He realised there was only silence in his wake and turned to find his brothers gone. There were neither tracks nor clouds of exhaust. Forward he drove, no longer laughing, frigid air biting his flesh. He went faster, reckless across the plains, now shadowed and icy. He was blind and could only feel the cold stinging wind.
It’s not wind, he realised, sloshing frantically in the life support chamber. Never wind again. His coffin was lightless. Or did he not have eyes? He wasn’t sure.
He felt the life-sustaining liquid of the tank begin to warm. Were they waking him?
‘No, let me dream! Let me ride across the plains again!’ he screamed. Did he have a mouth?
Chogorian runes bypassed his eyes and displayed themselves directly into the exposed matter of his brain. He could not avoid understanding them.
*Brother. Dreadnought of the Uhaan Solban.*
*Hasten your awakening.*
*Traitors of the XVIIth have boarded our vessel.*
A sharp hum pierced into his brain and he could see. Before him stood an Iron Khan in white and red, hands and servo-arms working quickly to prepare his body. Another piercing hum and he could hear. The decks below his ceramite feet rumbled with violence. Diagnostic symbols burned into his mind.
+What vessel is this?+ he bellowed through his vox-grill.
The Iron Khan did not look up from his work. +It is called Lightning from a Clear Sky.+
+Never heard of it.+
+I have heard of you, Subotai of the Uhaan Solban. You have slept for many decades, but today your brothers have need of you.+
+I shall fight for them. I shall fight for the Khan.+ His power claw, now activated, began to twist and clench. +And when the days fighting are done, I shall return to my dreams.+
+As you say, Brother.+ The Iron Khan continued his work.
As Subotai lumbered down the corridor, he could feel his teeth start to crack in frustration at his hobbled pace. The barrels of his assault cannon spun and slowed with impatience as chapter servants ran past in panic. Targeting sigils painted their faces one by one. His frame even prevented him from taking the most direct route to the breach, instead being forced to travel along the main thoroughfares and down cargo elevators towards the conflict.
His electric ears sensed the din of battle long before he reached it. Boltgun fire. Screams of wounded mortals. Laughter. He pressed his metal body to its limits.
Subotai stomped into the cargo bay and into a scene of utter pandemonium. Brothers in white and red ceramite held defensive positions along the inner wall of the massive room, now filled with smoke and bolter fire. He caught Chogorian curses flittering across vox comms, frustration at the static combat. The bodies of loyal serfs lay sprawled about where they’d been burst by bolter fire, slumped over gantries or strewn about the bay in pieces. A thunderhawk lay before him, white ceramite turning black as it burned to slag. A warrior spirit that would never again soar. Another wound by the Traitors.
+For the Khan!+
+Death to the traitors!+
The decks shook with his furious bellows as he strode forward into battle. His assault cannon spun rapidly with a wrathful whine. Runes of death and hatred locked onto his foes, humans and Astartes. Above the cacophony of battle, a new sound arose. A roar of unrestrained fury as hundreds of white-hot rounds scythed through flesh and crimson plate as easily as smoke. Blasphemous curses and prayers were cut short in wet explosions. Unholy symbols shattered.
Ceramite armour crunched under his immensity as he continued forward.
+Face the wrath of Chogoris!+
He felt his human remains shaking with painful laughter and exalted in the sensation.
Stomping through more billowing smoke, he saw how the Traitors had breached his ship. A boarding pod of immense size and archaic design had burrowed through the outer hull. Slimy cabling pulsated around it like diseased intestines and more troops emerged from within.
His assault cannon, barrels still red and smoking, began to spin again.
+Weep Traitors! Weep an—+
His threats were halted by a violent whoosh of heat and pressure. Subotai felt the life support liquids around his body began to boil with the intensity. He shuddered, turning his immense frame to discover a hulking shadow emerging from acrid smoke. A sarcophagus of ceramite, clad in crimson. Mind-rending symbols and corrupted fetishes covered its hull. It walked more fluidly than Subotai ever would, veins and muscles heaving incongruously with its metal body. Inhuman eyes and mouths tried to escape through rents in its coffin.
He fired his assault cannon at the Traitorous dreadnought, but no roar arose. His arm was gone. Without hesitation he charged, power claw forward. He unleashed a flamer at the Word Bearer, hoping to burn away daemon flesh along with its grisly trophies. The multi-melta thundered again, but Subotai was already upon it, stabbing. They slammed into the outer hull, thick metal crunching under their weight. It fired again and he felt the liquid around him turn to scalding vapor.
For silent days he floated. Slowly spinning through the black void. Drifting towards a planet of azure seas, billowing clouds, and endless emerald plains.
As the atmosphere burned away his ceramite tomb, he reached a char-blackened hand out to feel the wind one last time. He hoped this was Chogoris.
