Chapter 144: Cat Bed, Cat Scratcher |
Zabriel, whose secrets had just been thoroughly exposed, was covered in a cold sweat.
Those who had not yet been laid bare breathed a quiet sigh of relief, not daring to make a sound.
It was like a horror game. Everyone had secrets, and this kind of public execution was truly unbearable.
However, Arthur clearly had no intention of letting them off the hook.
"The events that transpired on Caliban back then were incredibly complex."
Bathed in the white light projecting from the ceiling, Arthur's face was starkly clear as his gaze swept over everyone present.
"And as members of the First Legion, each of you possesses excellent judgment. I imagine you will not simply take my word for it, so I have a solution."
Almost everyone instinctively averted their eyes when making eye contact with him.
It was too intimidating. That gaze practically screamed to everyone that he knew everything about them.
What is a Fallen Angel?
To the Dark Angels, the definition of a Fallen Angel was far from simple. Merely becoming a traitor or going missing did not earn you that title. In fact, going missing during Warp travel and subsequently experiencing time displacement, while rare for Space Marine Chapters, was not entirely unheard of.
Even the Dark Angels, when faced with historical instances of Chapter members disappearing only to suddenly pop back up and declare their loyalty, would choose to patiently verify their claims.
Then, after digging out all their secrets, they would toss them into some inconsequential successor Chapter as a means of wrapping things up.
But as for the Fallen Angels, the Dark Angels' definition was this: every single Dark Angel present on the planet Caliban ten thousand years ago.
Whether they were the Lion's loyalists who followed him into the boarding actions, Luther's faction that participated in the rebellion, the Terran faction who believed the Lion was the one rebelling, or even the utterly clueless faction who had no idea what was going on, they were all Fallen Angels.
And the duty of the Dark Angels was to make them repent.
They naturally knew that among these Fallen Angels, there were both loyalists and traitors—
But it did not matter.
The duty of the Dark Angels was to keep the secret that a rebellion had ever occurred on Caliban, not to sit around distinguishing the loyal from the treacherous.
Nor could they even make such distinctions.
Who knew if you had been tainted by something after soaking in the Warp for so long? Who knew what kind of detrimental rumors you veterans of the actual rebellion might spread about the Chapter?
When Arthur first met Romulus, he even suspected the man was a Daemon of Tzeentch in disguise and nearly drew his sword to cut him down.
Therefore, since there was no way to identify them, they could only adopt a one-size-fits-all approach.
But as luck would have it, the Transmigrators possessed plenty of ways to identify them.
Furthermore, to the Transmigrators, as long as you were not tainted by Chaos, your stance toward the Lion or the Imperium did not matter; you were considered loyal.
What Arthur needed to do now was cross-check the ledgers.
You suspect each other, right? You hack at each other on sight, right?
Very well. All I have to do is beat every single one of you into the ground, force you to confess honestly, and let everyone here know exactly what the others were doing at the time.
Inside the hall, the Fallen Angels lowered their heads, their expressions complex. Sitting or kneeling, their armor was locked down, strictly restricting their movements. They could manage simple actions, but standing up was utterly impossible.
It wasn't that they hadn't considered struggling and making this unfamiliar lord repent—
But the reality was that they now resembled a group of errant students awaiting a grand trial from their parents, their faces full of evasion and unease.
"You can choose to speak for yourselves."
Arthur rested his hands on the hilt of his planted sword, looking as though he were pronouncing a sentence.
"Or I can say it for you."
Rameses added, picking up the thread.
The identities and records of these Fallen Angels had been thoroughly screened.
He had stolen a bit of blood while they were unconscious. With ample data entries, combined with his search abilities and the simultaneous efforts of several Daemons from his Enclave, their secrets were gathered rapidly and packaged straight to Arthur.
But exposing people's secrets drew far too much anger. Even if, over time, the current Fallen Angels would clearly realize that Arthur knew their secrets, he couldn't be the one to state them so directly.
Arthur would be leading these Fallen Angels in the future; playing the bad cop did not suit him.
Instantly, everyone shot murderous glares at Rameses.
You really aren't afraid of the Dark Angels taking a cheap shot in the dark, are you?
We even dared to fight our own Primarch!
I might not be able to beat Arthur, but you think I can't beat you?
Alas, they really couldn't beat him, and besides, he wouldn't be in Deathwing armor for long.
"Of course, if anyone's account differs slightly from the facts, I will also attempt to correct it."
Faced with a bunch of Fallen Angels hissing like feral cats, Rameses wasn't intimidated in the slightest, straightening his bone-white armor.
It was only then that these Fallen Angels noticed a particular detail.
At the same time, their eyes revealed an unconcealable look of astonishment.
It was far too new.
Aside from those whom Arthur had personally cut down one by one, others present had been ambushed by Deathwing Terminators.
Those Deathwing ambushes weren't entirely impossible to deal with. Although their terrifying power output—far exceeding remembered specs—made them difficult to resist, many had still managed to leave marks on them.
And yet, right now—
They scrutinized the Deathwing members standing beside them, who had remained unnoticed, like soulless corpses.
A total of two hundred and sixty of them, and every single suit of armor was brand new.
The Dark Angels were extremely sensitive to armaments because, during the Legion era, everything was fully covered by logistics. Especially after becoming Fallen Angels, whenever they maintained their armor, they couldn't help but subconsciously yearn for the days of old.
Back then, swapping armor multiple times after a single battle was par for the course. In fact, each of them usually kept three sets on standby.
One set of ceremonial armor was used to record honors and for socializing. Whenever they had free time after a battle, they would sit in their quarters and engrave their deeds onto it in cipher.
One set of combat armor was for handling everyday battles and was kept in a ready-to-swap state.
And one spare set, kept for unexpected emergencies.
Their logistics appeared to be flawlessly comprehensive.
A Dark Angel formerly of the Ironwing swallowed subconsciously.
"Are you ready?"
Rameses's demonic voice rang out, breaking their train of thought.
Almost every Fallen Angel, save for Zabriel, broke into a cold sweat. They finally understood how Zabriel felt.
What if something truly damning actually came out?
"I am ready."
Only Gareth took the initiative to raise his hand, speaking quite decisively.
This caused the focal point of the Dark Angels' gazes to shift once more.
Is he insane?
Does he not feel an ounce of fear? Does he have any common sense left? Does he not have any secrets?
The momentary silence prompted Gareth to take a deep breath and organize his thoughts.
"Gareth. Hailing from Edinburgh on Caliban. Selected as a reserve for the Fourth Order in 002.M31. Former member of the Orkney Order. One of the masters of the Lothian Cloister. Champion swordsman of the Fourth Order. Firewing reserve."
Romulus felt a headache brewing just listening to that litany of various organizations. The thought of having to help manage such a cast of eccentric figures only made his agony worse.
Gareth then began recounting his experiences.
"During Luther's rebellion, at PM 4:32 on 07.21.014.M31, I was stationed on the perimeter of The Order as an honor guard, preparing with my peers to welcome the arrival of Lion El'Jonson."
"At PM 6:21, the surface was bombarded. The honor guard lost forty-one men entirely without warning."
"Two days later, at AM 11:56, the fortress I occupied was breached, and we engaged in close-quarters melee with the landing forces."
"A week after that, at AM 8:29, the planet was struck by an Exterminatus. The fortress I was in was swept into Warp turbulence."
"In 626.M41, exact month unknown, I and one hundred and forty-two of my peers exited the Warp. The fortress crashed onto Optus Main World. Since then, I have been engaged in mining excavation work, right up until the present."
"From the start of Luther's rebellion to now, I have slain a total of four battle-brothers and over eight thousand four hundred and sixty mortal auxiliary troops."
"Report concluded."
Gareth quietly finished recounting his past, then waited for judgment.
He had held something back, purposefully omitting the various organizations he was currently part of.
Arthur nodded in acknowledgment.
"Next."
"?"
A flurry of question marks instantly popped up in the minds of the numerous Dark Angels.
Wait, that's it?
What about your evil schemes, the dark master you serve, your dirty little secrets?
He actually passed with just that?
"Me!"
Kai hurriedly raised his hand, speaking up immediately.
"Kai. Dueling Champion. During Luther's rebellion, I was assigned to board The Order—"
He was interrupted by Rameses before he could finish. His psionically altered voice was unnaturally deep, sounding as if it came from the abyss.
"Kai. Knight Commander. Name inherited from a master of the Broken Crown Cloister. Sent to Caliban alongside Astelan to monitor Luther's actions. During the Great Rebellion, served under the command of Lord Cypher."
As the words fell, Kai's face grew paler and paler.
Zabriel snapped his head around, fixing Kai with a death glare.
Wait, brother, you too?
No wonder you were so eager to wipe out the Caliban loyalists! It turns out you were just afraid of being recognized, weren't you?
Stared down by Zabriel, Kai stubbornly craned his neck and glared right back.
What are you looking at? You're a traitor, too.
And the rest of you!
He then began to shoot death glares at the other members from the fleet.
Toward these comrades who had braved wind and rain together for so many years—
Kai's sense of mistrust peaked at this very moment.
Him too, and Zabriel too...
Every single one of them claimed to have boarded with the Lion, yet they were all Caliban Loyalists?
You lot sure know how to hide.
Beneath the table, several hands began to repeatedly clench and unclench.
'I have never seen such a fascinating Chapter in all my life.'
Rameses was practically rolling with laughter in his mind.
If looking at the Blood Angels made one feel quite sympathetic, then a single glance at the Dark Angels revealed an entire roster of absolute maniacs.
If anyone else encountered something like this, they'd want nothing more than to forget their secrets entirely and take them straight to the grave.
But he wasn't afraid.
He specifically wanted to dox these Fallen Angels for the entertainment value. The universe was already rotting to the core; if you didn't find amusement in the misery, you simply couldn't survive.
Besides, exposing these lunatics came with zero moral burden—damn it, fighting to the death over such trivial nonsense! If this had happened with the White Scars, it wouldn't even be an issue.
Furthermore, this bunch couldn't beat him anyway.
Leaving the anomaly that was Arthur aside, in the Warhammer universe, a psyker was truly the lord of the battlefield.
Rameses curled his lips into a smirk and launched into a lengthy monologue.
The vast majority of them could only listen to the sorcerer's declarations, their faces turning paler by the second, before casting pleading looks at Arthur.
Arthur remained entirely unmoved.
He had already reviewed their records. The locals on Caliban had absolutely no idea what was going on, and those who came down from the ships were undoubtedly loyal to the Lion.
He had no clue what these Dark Angels were so afraid of. Were they really this easily triggered?
And the final result exceeded the expectations of every Fallen Angel present.
With Rameses's continuous supplementary details and the resigned, self-defeating confessions of some Fallen Angels...
The Fallen Angels finally realized where the true problem lay.
Because it seemed there really wasn't a problem at all.
Those who came down from orbit were unlucky bastards bombarded into becoming traitors by friendly forces, while those on the ground were clueless bastards who had no idea what was happening.
Everyone was just following orders. The vast majority were completely in the dark; they simply fought back when they found themselves under attack. Very few actually had any concrete awareness of a rebellion.
As for credibility—if the man in the middle could somehow find hundreds of Fallen Angels just to put on a play for them, they would accept their fate.
"Evocatus. Knight Captain. Unaffiliated with any cloister. Grand Master of the Templar Order. Apprentice of the Order of Silence. Outer circle member of the Ravenwing. Inner circle Grand Master of the Ravenwing's Third Assault Group."
Upon hearing the latter half, Evocatus simply gave up. Before Rameses could even apply any pressure, he deflated like a punctured tire, rapidly spilling everything about his identity, his mission, his whereabouts during the rebellion, and his actions after exiting the Warp.
His tone carried a hint of exhaustion, as if these secrets had weighed heavily on his heart for too long and had finally found an outlet.
The nature of the Dark Angels was completely different from that of the Blood Angels.
The Dark Angels were far too independent. Everyone was overly mature, practically capable of handling an entire operation solo from start to finish.
They placed immense faith in their own judgment. Given the same event, differing access to information often led them to entirely opposite conclusions. Then, stubbornly convinced of their own deductions, they would even come to blows over it.
In this regard, perhaps only Alpharius could compare.
However, once a matter was verified by sufficient evidence and backed by authoritative confirmation, their own reasoning would eventually allow them to figure it out.
Arthur looked at this group of Fallen Angels. The more they cross-checked their stories, the more their expressions shifted to: 'That's it? We've been fighting to the death for ten thousand years over this?' They looked as though they had collectively swallowed something foul—their faces full of bewilderment and remorse, their eyes revealing a trace of helplessness and speechlessness.
The Caliban loyalists hadn't even seen the Lion's face; they simply assumed he had orchestrated a massacre against them.
And the Lion's loyalists had finally realized: 'Damn it, the Lion was on the planet! How the hell did the planet blow up?'
In truth, while the events on Caliban were certainly a major ordeal, it shouldn't have escalated to this extreme. The main issue was that the explosion of Caliban had outright obliterated the Lion.
This was far too grave a matter, so grave that even within the Dark Angels, it was a closely guarded taboo.
The fleets that experienced the event back then, along with every cloister, inner circle, and knightly order, all had their own versions of the story. The layers of deception were so thick it truly seemed as if some earth-shattering secret existed, when in reality, everyone was just completely clueless.
Furthermore, due to Caliban's destruction, many internal lines of communication were completely severed, making it even harder to clarify anything.
In the end, everyone was left feeling insecure, viewing everyone else as an extremist, until they all went utterly mad.
Arthur thought a certain metaphor was quite apt: they were a group of startled cats with no mother cat to comfort them, so they ended up transforming into Spinosauruses, fiercely hissing at each other.
Hissing for so long became a habit, and they instinctively began clawing at each other on sight.
Some hadn't even figured out how they ended up in this state. They simply assumed the other party was a traitor, that the other party definitely harbored unspeakable secrets, and thus concluded: 'I must make the traitor repent!'
While the other party was generally just as oblivious, knowing absolutely nothing.
An oppressive atmosphere filled the air, as if even drawing breath had become heavy.
Arthur's gaze swept across these Fallen Angels, their faces etched with complex emotions: remorse, anger, bewilderment, and even a faint sense of relief.
In truth, the only ones who had genuinely rebelled were the core leadership like Luther, and the faction under Astelan who believed the Lion had betrayed them.
Factoring in the twenty thousand troops the Lion had brought to board Caliban, out of those fifty thousand Astartes, it was hard to say if even five hundred had truly turned traitor.
How many new recruits enlisted by Luther over the years had grown up listening to the legend of the Lion, hoping to join his magnificent crusade, only to be greeted by the Lion's naval bombardment and the butcher's blades of their own allies?
Honestly, the Lion during the Great Rebellion was an absolute madman.
Even Arthur couldn't help but sigh; he really couldn't blame Astelan for constantly drawing comparisons to Horus and Guilliman, openly and covertly mocking his own Primarch.
If only the Lion hadn't initiated a full-scale orbital bombardment and had instead brought his troops directly to the monastery, this civil war on Caliban wouldn't have even started.
The cross-checking process proceeded swiftly with the increasing cooperation of the Dark Angels.
In the end, Lohr sat there with a dumbfounded expression, his gaze sweeping over Kai, Evocatus, and Zabriel one by one.
His expression shifted from bewilderment to shock, finally settling into an indescribably complex emotion.
So out of the four-man crew on the Relic Cruiser, he was the only one who had actually boarded with the Lion?
What happened to trust between brothers?
A surge of indignant betrayal welled up in Lohr's heart.
'If I had known, I would have let you three die in the jaws of those xenos back then!'
"It was Lion El'Jonson who betrayed us."
Gareth, having finished verifying his story and truly confirming he hadn't rebelled, growled low, his voice thick with long-suppressed resentment.
That resentment acted like an invisible wave, instantly striking a chord with countless others. Even Kai, who had originally intended to forcibly "loyalty" him, was infected by the sentiment.
It was truly an unjust tragedy—all of this resulting in the current mess over a simple misunderstanding.
"The Lion never betrayed us. It was you who betrayed His Highness. Furthermore, His Highness never gave the order to destroy Caliban; he was on the planet at the time."
Lohr said in a deep voice, his tone laced with conviction, though deep down, he already faintly suspected that half the blame for this mess really rested on the Lion's shoulders.
'Secondly, there truly were traitors within the Legion!'
But even so, he could not relent. Lord Arthur had not yet spoken, and he could not let this matter be prematurely classified.
"We never betrayed him!"
Gareth glared at Lohr, eyes burning with the flames of fury. His voice was low and hoarse, seemingly forced out from the depths of his chest.
He had watched helplessly as his father grew increasingly haggard under the Imperium's rule, and as his mother became frailer by the day.
And so, he pushed himself through grueling training, absorbing knowledge from the knightly squires, hoping that becoming an Astartes would bring about change.
And change did occur. At the very least, his family's circumstances improved significantly after he became an Astartes.
Lord Luther permitted them to visit their families after completing their daily training because, aside from training, they couldn't even leave Caliban.
Of course, Gareth was indifferent to that. He had never truly wanted to be an Astartes anyway; spending more time with his family was perfectly fine by him.
However, all of that was annihilated beneath the Lion's artillery fire.
"The Lion betrayed us!"
Gareth roared, his voice filled with endless rage. He instinctively tried to stand up, only to find that he could actually move.
Immediately, he glared at Lohr, fists clenched tightly as if he were about to lunge forward in the next second.
Lohr also realized that he could move.
He cast a quick glance at Arthur, a hint of inquiry in his eyes.
Gareth likewise shifted his gaze, his eyes brimming with complex emotions: anger, indignation, and a faint trace of anticipation.
"No killing."
Arthur waved his hand, commanding the Deathwing to release their restraints.
Romulus had written a small program. Arthur had no problem controlling these Deathwing squads to exert normal combat power, though their upper limits were capped.
No longer able to contain his fury, Gareth stood up, vaulted onto the table, and charged, throwing a vicious punch at Lohr.
The center of the round table hall was spacious; they had plenty of room to let loose.
Lohr barely managed to block the punch, only to be struck in the chest by a swift, variable-speed elbow strike.
He stumbled back several steps, his previously nonchalant gaze suddenly turning grave.
'This new recruit is no simpleton.'
But recognizing an opponent's skill level did not magically improve his own.
Within a few exchanges, Gareth had Lohr in a chokehold, violently driving elbows into his head.
This unknown model of armor was incredibly tough. Striking it caused a massive recoil force, yet inflicted hardly any damage.
'Brilliant, truly brilliant.'
Rameses watched with keen interest, pleased that his urging Arthur to release the armor locks had paid off.
They should have brawled ages ago. This grudge couldn't be resolved without a fight.
It was perfect that he and Arthur were there to ensure no one died.
"Will they beat each other into serious trouble?"
Watching Gareth mercilessly elbowing Lohr, Romulus couldn't help but ask.
"They know their own limits."
Arthur reminded him.
Gareth's proficiency in close-quarters combat was exceptional. In Arthur's eyes, he was roughly on par with Kai, merely lacking the experience of true battlefield slaughter.
That was why he could beat Lohr senseless in a melee bout.
But that was the extent of it; even his force control was still capped at the level of a Firstborn Space Marine.
This indicated that they themselves could recognize the issue.
Arthur had quietly performed the Primaris Space Marine surgeries on these Fallen Angels, extracting their original gene-seed in the process.
His clinical skills were now exceedingly high, making the removal of the chest progenoids a breeze.
Though the implantation of the additional three organs didn't actually require this extraction, it was done mostly to instill a sense of crisis in these Dark Angels, sparking their interest in investigating the Primaris surgeries.
As for organ cultivation, one could only say the Aeldari truly had exceptional expertise in psychic applications. Rameses had struck gold.
At the very least, the Transmigrators could currently utilize these technologies with zero risk; how it would fare on the locals remained to be seen.
Thud!
Lohr was violently thrown over Gareth's shoulder, his body slamming heavily onto the marble floor, fracturing it into a web of cracks.
"Again."
He struggled to his feet, a defiant fire burning in his eyes, and swung a vicious punch at Gareth.
However, Gareth nimbly sidestepped and smoothly swept his leg.
Lohr lost his balance once more, crashing heavily to the ground.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Gareth mercilessly mounted him, raining down punches like a torrential downpour, brutally battering Lohr's face and torso.
Lohr felt he was being beaten horribly, and in truth, he was.
His head was ringing, his vision blurring, yet he surprisingly found that he still had strength to spare.
For some unknown reason, he distinctly felt that ever since recovering from his last severe injury, his body had actually become much stronger.
The surrounding Fallen Angels formed a circle, observing the scene with detached coolness.
The unfortunate souls of the Caliban Loyalists wore fervent expressions, their eyes gleaming with excitement, wishing they were the ones dishing out the beating.
Meanwhile, the Lion's loyalists looked indignant, their fists clenched tightly as if ready to charge in and settle the score at any moment.
"If you want to fight, then step up. The arena is large enough; brawl to your heart's content."
Arthur's icy voice rang out, shattering the brief silence.
As his words faded, the armor lock mechanisms unlatched with a sharp click, and everyone's power armor was instantly freed.
The Dark Angels simply needed a good brawl. They spent every day with their nerves stretched taut, never throwing a punch, but the moment they did, it was always a fight to the death. Arthur knew this well, so he simply decided to let them vent to their hearts' content.
"The only rule: no killing."
Tossing out that command, he turned and left, leaving behind only a few Deathwing as a symbolic gesture.
The entire conference hall instantly boiled over.
Blazing fire ignited in the eyes of the Fallen Angels. Rising in unison, they quickly picked out their opponents. The air was thick with the heavy scent of gunpowder, as if a single spark could detonate the whole room.
"Repent, traitor!"
Kai roared, grabbing Evocatus by the skull and slamming him to the ground. Zabriel, meanwhile, scooped up the bench beneath him and smashed it mercilessly against Kai's head.
"I am forever loyal, traitor!"
Lohr broke free from Gareth's suppression and launched a flying tackle, bringing Kai crashing to the floor.
"Lion El'Jonson is the true traitor!"
Gareth sneered, randomly grabbing an unfamiliar face from among the fray and brutally pummeling him over the head.
Every single Fallen Angel went completely mad, clashing together in a cathartic, chaotic free-for-all.
Fists, knees, elbows, and even hastily snatched chairs and table legs were all viciously driven into each other's unhelmed faces.
Yet, despite the absolute chaos, everyone exercised a surprising amount of restraint.
Because they were all certain of one thing—
Luther, and those Dark Angels in orbit who had unilaterally blasted Caliban to pieces, were the true traitors!
"Brilliant, truly brilliant."