Chapter 187: They Are the First Legion |
The Crimson Paladins would pass down their hard-earned experience to the Lamenters.
In the future, the Lamenters Chapter would officially take over the duties of the Crimson Paladins. This handover brought about a cultural exchange that bridged a gap of ten thousand years, necessitating modifications to various Chapter elements, such as armor liveries and distinctive heraldry.
Furthermore, the warriors of the Lamenters needed to adapt to completely new patterns of wargear under the strict guidance of the Dark Angels.
The "Silent Oath" would dispatch its Apothecaries to train the Lamenters. Once these newly trained medics received detailed surgical data, their Chapter Master would make the final decision on whether to accept the Primaris Space Marine augmentations.
The commendation ceremony finally drew to a close, enveloped in a complex tapestry of subtle intrigue, quiet envy, and genuine blessings from the assembled factions.
Throughout the Dawn Fleet, every faction steadily set to work, bustling with newfound purpose.
Down the Apothecarion corridors, a supposed "Dark Angel" pushed a grav-cart loaded with gene-seed storage units.
Following rigorous rounds of screening, the first phase of Adeptus Astartes augmentations had finally commenced. This initial batch included recruits destined for both the Blood Angels and the Dark Angels.
'But they never anticipated that the venom of the Hydra had already seeped within.'
He was supposed to be cultivating the genetic legacies of two historically glorious Chapters, but the Creation he was currently transporting clearly belonged to neither.
'...'
A ripple of doubt surfaced in his mind. The "Dark Angel" furrowed his brow, sensing that something was fundamentally wrong.
However, reality afforded him no time to question it.
Thud-thud-thud.
He pushed the gene-seed cart a fraction faster, glancing around only to notice an unnerving, eerie silence swallowing the corridor.
Squelch!
Two figures materialized to pin his limbs, while a third lunged forward with a Combat Knife, driving the blade cleanly through his skull.
The harsh lumnators illuminated the freshly slain corpse. Yet, in the blink of an eye, both the spray of arterial blood and the heavy body were swiftly dragged away and scrubbed from existence.
Click—
They interfaced with the gene-seed containment system. As the authentication chime rang out, The Hydra let out a quiet sigh of relief at the beautiful sound.
The Dark Angels had detected the intrusion into their medical mainframes early on, rapidly locking onto the identities of the Alpharius operatives.
This supposed transport detail was nothing more than bait. Whoever took the job was marked for death.
'But they never realized that the Hydra never employs just a single strain of venom.'
The Alpha Legion's gene-seed possessed extraordinary mimetic properties. Aside from the Space Wolves and the Blood Angels, the other Legions would find it nearly impossible to detect any anomalies.
But that hardly mattered; their sole objective was to quietly blend into the ranks of the Dark Angels.
All it required were a few minor, expert adjustments.
Recently, as his clearance levels steadily rose, he had been able to interject himself into more operations, successfully securing a comprehensive batch of Dark Angel genetic data.
Once that data was spliced into the manifest, even a Tech-Priest's most specialized Instrument would fail to detect any irregularities.
The escort squad, consisting of over a dozen operatives, filed into the lift.
This particular batch of gene-seed, deployed as bait, would never actually see use.
Yet it was of no consequence to him. His only responsibility was to override the genetic registry.
As for everything else—
Watching the floor numbers tick steadily upward, a calm, confident smile graced The Hydra's lips.
He simply had to leave the rest to the intricate web of contingencies he had woven long in advance.
Hiss—
The very next moment, the heavy lift doors parted. Pushing the grav-cart laden with swapped gene-seed canisters, The Hydra's composed smile instantly froze on his face.
In the broad corridor ahead, it wasn't just the anticipated contact Apothecary waiting for them. Twenty Dark Angels, clad in Mark X power armor, stood in absolute solemnity, their cold gaze fixed silently upon the operatives.
'Unexpected.'
The Hydra instantly narrowed his eyes, rapidly analyzing the identities of the imposing figures before him.
Their pauldrons lacked the distinctive silver trim of the Angels of Redemption. Instead, the encrypted sigils etched into their ceramite declared them to be the Ironwing—the specialized formation dedicated to technical superiority and armored warfare.
The Dark Angels' internal auspex network showed zero logged activity for this particular Ironwing deployment. This meant they were either executing a clandestine mission entirely off his radar, or—
A dark suspicion flashed through his mind, but The Hydra immediately forced it aside.
There was only one opportunity here. Their infiltration could not be compromised under any circumstances—unless these newcomers could definitively prove their allegiance.
In a fraction of a second, his decision was made. His right hand subtly drifted down to grip the hilt of his Combat Knife.
Shing!
Blades cleared their sheaths and bolters were raised in perfect unison. The Alpharius operatives didn't hesitate—reality simply wouldn't afford them the luxury.
Kill!
"We are Alpharius."
But just as the tension reached its breaking point, Evocatus spoke.
His voice was entirely alien, distinct from any dialect currently spoken within the Imperium. It sounded more like the abrasive hiss of grinding reptilian scales—a sibilant frequency completely impossible for basic human vocal cords to produce.
The Hydra froze in his tracks.
He analyzed the strange sensation blossoming within his own consciousness. This hyper-specific auditory cipher—a specialized trigger phrase exclusive to the Alpha Legion used to awaken dormant sleeper protocols—was utterly impossible to forge.
His eyes swept across the corridor, rapidly synthesizing tactical data and silently transmitting standing orders to the infiltrated Dark Angels under his command.
Once again, his security clearance was exceptionally high, granting him unfettered backdoor access to the vast majority of the Dark Angels' internal networks.
'Multiple anomalies detected. A mix of phantoms and actual threats, primarily designed to bleed the Dark Angels' operational bandwidth.'
As the encrypted sitreps from his 'colleagues' cascaded through his mind, The Hydra gazed at this squad of Ironwings with genuine professional appreciation.
They were exceedingly competent.
Although this aggressive operational tempo would inevitably burn a few embedded Alpharius covers, it mattered little as long as their overarching objective was achieved.
Even if he himself didn't currently know the exact endgame of this specific Alpha Legion cell.
Regardless, it didn't matter.
"We are Dark Angels."
With a decisive shove, The Hydra propelled the storage canister forward.
The heavy metallic cylinder glided across the smooth deck plating, emitting a cold, grating scrape.
[Gene-seed extraction protocols complete. Data uploaded to the Knight Master.]
The contact Apothecary shot a glance toward Evocatus. The harsh overhead lighting cast sharp shadows that conveniently obscured a few completely unrelated structural lines on his armor.
Having silently received his confirmation, the Ravenwing Grand Master gave a curt nod before stepping purposefully into the lift.
The two ostensibly opposing factions stood together in suffocating silence, the only sound between them the low, mechanical hum of their power armor's servo-motors.
Clunk.
The heavy sound of the lift doors sliding open shattered the heavy tension. Moving with unspoken synchronization, both groups stepped out into the wider concourse and seamlessly went their separate ways, heading toward the domains of their respective wings.
[The Firewing has concluded its tactical analysis of the various Chapters' combat doctrines. The 'Broken Sword' cohort has initiated combat simulations and is currently adapting to the tactical realities of the modern era.]
[The Stormwing has finalized its infiltration of the 'First Returned' logistical offices on Talsar. Personnel substitution is complete. Primary authentication protocols have been bypassed successfully.]
The twenty Dark Angels marched in immaculate lockstep. Their massive ceramite frames flickered in and out of the corridor's strobing lumens like phantoms drifting between reality and the shadows, continuously feeding critical telemetry back to their unseen handlers in the dark.
The Ironwing's designated rendezvous point lay just ahead.
"We are Dark Angels."
—
The Ironwing delves into arcane research, while the Deathwing hones the edge of the blade.
The Dreadwing tempers the body through annihilation, while the Firewing orchestrates the grand theater of tactics.
The Stormwing shatters enemy lines in relentless assault, while the Ravenwing hunts the shadows for secrets.
They were unstoppable warriors, shadow operatives, master commanders, and relentless researchers.
They stood together as a completely self-sufficient and independent military superpower.
They were the First Legion.
A legion of a thousand faces, masters of all.