No matter the cost, humanity will defeat Chaos.
Within the great hall on Fenris, every gaze was once again frozen, transfixed by the appearance of the Fallen Primarch, Fulgrim, on the screen. The Black Templars had departed too quickly for the Space Wolves to see their combat footage, but the battle on the surface of the Space Hulk was thrilling enough. The appearance of an arch-enemy of the Imperium, one who had plagued humanity for ten millennia, created a suffocating tension in the room.
Although Mortarion had also been a Fallen Primarch, he had started fighting Zhou Ye the moment he appeared. The two had then tumbled into the heart of the Nurgle legions, and the Space Wolves had never gotten a clear view. They couldn't get close to the battlefront at that time. But this time, Fulgrim was right there before their eyes.
The instant he saw the creature, Logan Grimnar's hand shot to the battle-axe at his hip, but he quickly relaxed his grip. He knew the terror of a Daemon Primarch. Every appearance of Magnus was a catastrophe for the Space Wolves. Most warriors had never faced one directly. Even Volvo and his squad, who had witnessed Mortarion, couldn't claim to have truly experienced it. Zhou Ye had absorbed all the frontal pressure back then, and by the time the two were dueling one-on-one, no other being could have offered assistance.
So, Logan knew Magnus would return. He just didn't know when.
There was, however, some good news. The batch of gene-seed that had returned with the Ancient, Lemont Icefang, was abnormally stable. For the first time in a long while, the Space Wolves could begin mass recruitment again. The only issue was that the new recruits were all a bit... eccentric, but that wasn't a major problem.
Just as the oppressive presence of the Daemon Primarch suffocated the hall, the familiar figure in black armor with a golden sword descended from the heavens once more. Alongside him landed several ancient Dreadnoughts. A collective sigh of relief filled the room.
That's right. As long as My Lord attacks, everything will be alright.
But…
"NO!!!"
Seeing the host of Dreadnoughts descending from the sky, Lemont Icefang let out a blood-curdling shriek.
Every Space Wolf in the room instinctively flinched. This Ancient was older than even Bjorn the Fell-Handed. He was, without question, the most ancient Dreadnought in their entire Chapter. When he lost his temper, even Bjorn had to listen meekly.
Moreover, stories of this lord's deeds had already spread. Throughout ten thousand years, he and these other equally ancient Dreadnoughts had strode across countless battlefields, searching for something—they knew not what—that could save the Imperium, all for the Emperor and humanity. To be unable to participate in such a glorious battle... that was a fate worse than death. The Space Wolves looked upon the Space Marines who had sacrificed themselves in the footage with undisguised envy.
They all understood Lemont Icefang's current state. That was why they stayed quiet. No one wanted to get thrashed.
Just as Logan was about to step forward and console the Ancient, he saw something astonishing. After letting out that tormented scream, the Dreadnought slowly rose to its feet.
Volvo and his men were already cowering in a corner. They had already been strung up and beaten by a pack of Wolf Cubs. The reasoning was that the Ancient had suffered such grievous damage protecting them, and yet they had performed the worst out of everyone. They were still undergoing brutal extra training. Now, seeing the Ancient stand up, the whole group cringed. It was because of them that the Ancient had missed his chance to participate in such a sacred battle. So…
The men braced themselves for a beating. After all, the Ancient's chassis had just been repaired; he probably needed to work out the kinks.
But Lemont didn't attack them. He remained silent, pacing back and forth in the massive hall, then breaking into a run, then rolling on the floor…
"It's fine, it's fine, it's fine…" The voice, amplified by the vox-emitter, sounded incredibly distorted.
Finally, under the stunned gazes of the Wolf Cubs, he charged out of the hall and began sprinting across the icy plains of Fenris. He howled at the sea, like a giant, mechanical husky.
"..."
The Wolf Cubs forgot all about the video log. They crowded around the doorway, staring blankly at the scene.
At last, the Contemptor Dreadnought stood up straight. Facing the frozen ocean of Fenris, he spoke in a tone filled with sorrow and conviction.
"No matter the cost, humanity will defeat Chaos...!!!"
"..."
"That Blood Angel went too far!!!"
"Exactly! How did he not inherit a single one of Sanguinius's noble qualities!!"
In an instant, the entire Fang erupted into chaos. They weren't idiots; it was obvious that the Blood Angel Dreadnought had done this on purpose. But, as the Ancient had told them, he and that other one often traded barbs. It was best for them not to get involved in the small amusements between the Ancients.
---o---
Meanwhile, in stark contrast to the chaos on Fenris, the Dark Angels' fortress-monastery, the Rock, was deathly silent.
The Dark Angels, when not dealing with their sordid little secrets, were the very picture of legendary knights. They perfectly embodied all the virtues of Western mythology: Humility, Honesty, Compassion, Valor, Justice, Sacrifice, Honor, and Spirituality.
Of course, the moment their little secret was involved, they became unhinged fanatics. Scarcely a single one of them wasn't.
But now, upon the main docking bay of the Rock, the Chapter Master and Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels, Azrael, along with Chief Librarian Ezekiel and all the other high-ranking officers, were gathered. Not just them, but the entire compliment of the Dark Angels and their Chapter serfs were assembled.
This was a moment of glory. According to the astropathic message, they had been part of a great battle, driven off a Fallen Primarch, and brought back a fragment of the Blade of the Laer—the very weapon that had killed Ferrus Manus—as a symbol of their victory.
For such a glorious and radiant moment, the Dark Angels naturally had to make a grand display. As always, when their secrets weren't on the line, the Dark Angels were the model knights of Western fantasy, and they valued honor just as much.
Soon, as a massive Battle Barge slowly approached the port, a ramp was lowered. Several Space Marines in dark green power armor emerged, carrying a tray upon which rested a shard covered in blasphemous symbols.
The Blade of the Laer.
The catalyst for Fulgrim's fall, a weapon stained with a Primarch's blood. Now, this profane artifact, which had existed for ten millennia, had been shattered, and a piece of it was here. Upon seeing it, the Dark Angel neophytes gasped. They felt the same radiance of glory and yearned to achieve such magnificent honors as their Chapter veterans had.
However…
"?"
Looking at Asmodai—his expression sincere, his eyes clear and noble—Azrael had a very strange feeling. It was as if his old senior had changed. He was no longer as volatile as before but was filled with a kind of rational beauty.
What happened to him? This was Azrael's first thought. An astropathic message could only carry so much information. All they had received was a single sentence: Repelled Daemon Primarch, obtained trophy.
Therefore, he could only bring the entire Chapter here to welcome them. The specific details would have to be discussed later in the Inner Circle meeting. But for this moment, at least, the Dark Angels were glorious.
---o---
Soon…
"You're saying you exposed our little secret? The Fallen are known to an outsider?"
During the Inner Circle meeting, the entire chamber exploded.
"The Fallen!!!"
Upon hearing those two words, Asmodai instinctively looked up at Azrael. A memory surged into his mind—the true culprit behind Caliban's destruction was right before him, and he himself had been an accomplice.
And then…
Aba, aba, aba…
"???"
Azrael tilted his head in confusion, watching as Asmodai quickly returned to a state of calm. What's wrong with him? Why is he so placid today? In the past, hearing the words "the Fallen" would turn him into a raving lunatic. He had nearly brought great disaster upon the Chapter several times, and Azrael had been the one to clean up his mess.
"You failed to keep the secret?"
"We could not keep it. Here is the combat footage."
Another member of the Inner Circle who had been with Asmodai glanced at the drooling Interrogator-Chaplain and projected a segment of the recording. It was edited, but one could also say it wasn't. Because Zhou Ye had forcibly painted their armor black, the members of the Deathwing were in an extremely strange state of mind—out of sight, out of mind. It was only when they were compiling the footage later that they were surprised to find their own helmet-cams had never focused on their black-armored brethren. All they had to do was slightly trim the moments where they met the actual Fallen face-to-face. Since the Fallen didn't appear in their line of sight afterward, there was no fear of them being seen.
The recording began. They boarded a Space Hulk. Before they got far, they ran headlong into a very Waaagh-looking big guy in black and gold armor.
Seeing this figure, the members of the Inner Circle instinctively reached for their weapons, but they quickly relaxed. This was clearly not one of the Fallen, just someone with a black paint scheme. Plenty of Chapters used that color; the Black Templars, for one. They could tell the difference.
And then…
"REPENT!!!"
Seeing Asmodai charge the big guy in black, the Inner Circle members who hadn't been there couldn't help but twitch. This wasn't the first time; they were used to it. All they could do was offer a silent prayer for the tall-looking Space Marine. What rotten luck to run into Asmodai.
But…
THUD.
They watched as the figure caught Asmodai's crozius with one hand, then lifted the Terminator-armored Chaplain into the air and slammed him brutally onto the deck.
Hssss.
A collective sharp intake of breath swept through the room. What monstrous strength was this? And to catch a power maul with a bare hand… what kind of mighty warrior was this?
Before they could even finish marveling, they witnessed a scene that left them utterly dumbfounded. The big guy in black dragged the unconscious Asmodai toward them, weathering their storm of bolter fire—including rounds made from the ashes of Blanks—and stopped right in front of them.
Through the first-person perspective of the helmet-cam, they could clearly feel the terrifying pressure generated by the height difference. Honestly, seeing this, many of the fanatics in the room sobered up considerably. A single thought echoed in all their minds.
Holy shit, a Pri—!!!
In their understanding, only a Primarch could pull off such a feat. So…
"Is that a Primarch? Which one? What is his name?" Azrael paused the recording, looking at the returned members of the Inner Circle, and at the once-again prim and proper Asmodai.
"My Lord."
"Huh?"
The whole room was stunned.
"My Lord?"
"My Lord."
"Err..."
"The Primarch's name is 'My Lord'."
"You have no idea who he is, do you?" Azrael waved his hand, a headache building. "Fine. So, it was he who learned our secret?"
If a Primarch knew their secret, it would be a massive problem. Even more troublesome was that many of their forbidden weapons had been lost when Caliban exploded. While they still had some, killing a Primarch would be exceedingly difficult. The political fallout would be even worse, enough to bring about the doom of the Dark Angels. And even with all that, they probably still couldn't kill a Primarch.
Azrael signaled for the recording to continue. In the very next moment…
"I'll teach you to run around screaming 'Repent'!!!"
"Lion El'Jonson didn't discipline you, so I will!"
Watching their brethren get strung up and whipped, while the stranger listed off every single one of their secrets as if reading from a shopping list, the eyes of every Dark Angel in the room turned red. The blood pressure of many shot to its absolute peak.
We'll fight him to the death!!!
That was everyone's first reaction. Especially after hearing that sentence…
Making a psyker send a message to the Astronomican!!!
Aba, aba, aba…
Hssss…
But before their rage could boil over, they saw something that made their hearts hammer in their chests: a Contemptor Dreadnought. A ten-thousand-year-old Dark Angel Dreadnought.
Is that… a Fallen Angel?!!
Click.
Just then, Asmodai, his eyes once again clear, paused the recording.
"Aldrich O'Connor. An ancient of the Dark Angels. One of the five hundred honor guards who welcomed the Lion's return. Was later seconded to Horus's command during the Great Crusade."
"He's alive?"
The group snapped back to their senses. This one was definitely not one of the Fallen, but shouldn't he be dead?
"Yes, he's alive. He survived the traitors' massacre of the loyalists and went on to participate in the Siege of Terra…"
"Hsss, such an ancient being. And he must have been interred in a Dreadnought in the most glorious fashion." Azrael took a deep breath.
A possibility had just occurred to him. Perhaps this Ancient was the one most qualified to decide who was loyal and who was a traitor. After all, he had nothing to do with the Caliban incident and was one of the oldest Dark Angels in existence. He might even be older than Lion El'Jonson himself.
According to the records, he was not on Caliban at the time, nor was he on any of the ships in orbit. He was a hero whose existence could be openly celebrated. If he could be brought back into the fold, it could solve so many of their problems.
And surely, such an ancient being must have been entombed within a Dreadnought after performing some incredibly glorious feat. That story must be told, sung to the heavens. It would prove the legitimacy of the Dark Angels.
All they had to do was confirm how he was finally interred, and where he had been all this time.
Author's Note: Update complete. Once again, asking for all your support.
---o---