Chapter 192: The Consecrators Chapter |
The Eyes of the Emperor warband, aboard the Slaughter-class cruiser "Malignant Eye".
The bridge was shrouded in the dim red glow of emergency lighting. A hololith projected twisted patterns of light above the command console, where the ethereal image of Seraphax slowly coalesced.
"Baelor."
A smile touched Baelor's face behind his helm. At the very least, Seraphax was not simply using his psychic powers to communicate.
He did not necessarily object to the practice, especially considering the nature of their current allies, but the ingrained caution inherited from the days of the old Legion constantly reminded him that psychic abilities and entities tied to the Warp were best reserved for when they were truly needed.
Furthermore, this choice by Seraphax perfectly demonstrated his bottom line—he refused to completely associate with the forces of Chaos.
"What are your orders, Knight Commander?"
"The Flawless Host has suddenly gone silent."
Knuckles rapped against the edge of a data-slate—tap-tap-tap—as Baelor furrowed his brow.
The Flawless Host was a Chaos Astartes warband that worshipped the Evil God Slaanesh.
Recently, rumors of four new Primarchs appearing within the Imperium had been spreading through the forces of Chaos. For some unknown reason, the factions aligned with Slaanesh harbored an unprecedented enthusiasm for these four beings who led the Dawn Crusade.
Naturally, the followers of Slaanesh were not the only ones drawn in; they had been lured as well.
The Eyes of the Emperor warband, a faction of Dark Angels led by Seraphax, were classified by the modern Dark Angels Chapter as the Fallen.
They had learned of this news far earlier than those other warbands.
As early as 741.M41, Seraphax had obtained this information through some unknown means and made ample preparations. He had even secretly ambushed a fleet under Abaddon's command, using the spoils as leverage to attract a massive number of Chaos Astartes.
Unfortunately, the Expeditionary Fleet was far too powerful. Their military might rivaled that of some lesser Legions, leaving the warband unable to find a suitable opening.
"Perhaps they just lost themselves to their revelries after conquering that feudal world?"
Baelor suggested.
Among Chaos warbands, the existence of discipline depended entirely on the disposition of the commander and their troops. Some still adhered to strict martial laws, while others had long since degenerated into disorganized mobs.
Fortunately, thanks to the traditions left over from the Legion era, their own forces still retained a fraction of their past efficiency.
"I would hope so, and I even wish the ones they encountered were the Primarchs we have been waiting for. But the reality is far less optimistic. I received their transmission."
Baelor knew exactly what he meant.
He was referring to the methods of communication used by Sorcerers.
When traversing the astronomical distances of Imperial communication, conventional methods were practically useless. Although sending messages through the sorcery of the Warp was imperfect, it was far more reliable than physical signals.
"Who is the enemy?"
he inquired.
"The Consecrators Chapter."
Seraphax replied with a mocking sneer.
"Or rather, the Firewing of this current era."
"I knew it."
A suppressed curse slipped through Baelor's gritted teeth.
"Do we retreat?"
he asked.
"Yes. If we have to factor the Unforgiven into our enemies, things will indeed become troublesome."
Seraphax's hologram began to flicker erratically, seemingly intentionally obscuring his own data signature.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Aboard the "Blade of Truth", Seraphax gazed down at the Planet plunging into chaos below.
The Necromunda world of Hothak.
The Eyes of the Emperor warband had repelled the Tyranid Hive Fleet's assault. Thanks to Abaddon's ruthless exploitation of the Dark Mechanicum members under his command, the Chaos Warmaster's warships at least maintained decent operational efficiency, barely lagging behind the Imperium's own vessels.
And this Planet was to be their next Sacrifice.
Seraphax was tracing the route taken by the "Primarchs".
Meanwhile, the Flawless Host was making preparations on another feudal world.
If neither group encountered the Expeditionary Fleet, then Seraphax would take this harvest of Souls to the next probable sector.
Because the "Emperor's divine power" granted them Divine Protection, masking their presence, the Eyes of the Emperor warband could only cast a wide net in hopes of stumbling upon a Primarch.
'This is the mighty power of the Emperor!'
Far from being frustrated by the countless difficulties faced along the way, an excited smile involuntarily tugged at the corners of Seraphax's mouth.
Look at it—how overwhelmingly powerful. Even the Evil Gods of Chaos could not pry the slightest glimpse of the treasure from His grasp.
Seraphax raised his staff. Droplets of blood began to steam, the smoke spiraling outward along the occult lines marked upon the deck.
A blood-red mist surfaced across the entire Planet. The surviving Mortals were stripped of their Flesh and Blood, enduring boundless agony before descending into an endless eternity of torment.
The Xenos skull atop his staff flickered with a terrifying light, as a bloody spectral blade grew increasingly corporeal within the mist.
They did not need to achieve victory, nor did they even need to survive; they merely required this brief moment of contact.
Therefore, they had to ensure their plan was absolutely foolproof.
Seraphax ordered the fleet to set sail. The Chaos armada, composed of multiple warbands, plunged into the void.
'One of the Imperium's many mistakes was imprisoning the Master of Mankind upon the Golden Throne. He should have been allowed to properly die. For a being such as Him, death is nothing more than the beginning of another great undertaking.'
'Only by dying in the material realm can He fully ascend to The Empyrean as a true god. Once there, no longer bound and weakened by His shattered mortal vessel, He will manifest as a devastating force to annihilate the Xenos species. He will become a deity who leaves the Daemons wailing in eternal despair, overseeing humanity's second Great Crusade.'
'He will undoubtedly lead us once more, to make humanity great again.'
---
An utterly unremarkable feudal world.
Romulus's original plan had been brilliantly simple: execute an orbital bombardment, purge the surface, and then depart.
However, the unexpected arrival of a fleet had completely shattered his deployment strategy.
An unforeseen armada.
When a battle barge bearing the insignia of the Firewing materialized in the Planet's orbit, Romulus was genuinely taken aback. He had never imagined he would run into the 40k-era Dark Angels all the way out here.
"All hands, combat alert."
he commanded in a low voice, simultaneously opening the broad-spectrum vox-channel.
"This is the Dawnlight, serving under the Wings of Dawn. I am Romulus Quirinus."
Given his deep understanding of the Imperium, Romulus carefully weighed his words. He deliberately formulated his phrasing to appear largely ignorant of the Dark Angels. After all, in this dark millennium, knowing too much about certain Space Marine Chapters could invite unnecessary suspicion.
"Unidentified fleet, state your identity and your current objective."
These fanatics were nothing like the downtrodden Dark Angels veterans of the 30th Millennium.
They commanded larger fleets, hoarded more forbidden technologies, and boasted greater numbers of Astartes.
And they were much quicker to bare their fangs.
He swiftly opened a link to Arthur.
"Arthur."
"I am here."
The response over the vox was startlingly fast, as if the man had been waiting for the call. The clattering friction of power armor could be heard echoing in the background.
On the command deck behind Arthur, his own Dark Angels had already entered combat readiness. The Firewing had begun drafting tactical engagement plans, the Conclave of the Five Points was preparing for psychic boarding actions, and every monastic order and Astartes strike force was braced for war.
Deep within the Relic cruiser, inside a firing tube that spanned nearly the entire length of the vessel, a devastating payload capable of accelerating to the speed of light in a fraction of a second completed its loading sequence.
This weapon, a masterpiece forged from ancient technology, could reach lightspeed instantaneously. The stasis field generator mounted within its warhead possessed enough sheer power to freeze the local time of an entire fleet.
"Annihilation protocols have been activated. The stasis bomb strike sequence is armed and ready. I can guarantee a breach into the enemy flagship's command center within five seconds of engagement."
Meanwhile, inside the command Sanctum of the Relic—
"Lord Ezekiel?"
Inside the battle barge, Supreme Grand Master Nakir bowed his head slightly, seeking the counsel of the Chief Librarian.
Although he held the esteemed rank of Chapter Master, within the Inner Circle, he still had to defer to the authority of the six Grand Masters.
"They are not the enemy."
His crimson bionic eye whirred and clicked. Ezekiel believed they should not initiate hostilities with this Imperial force.
They had only recently arrived in the Ultramar Segmentum and were not yet familiar with the tactical situation in this sector.
However—
Ezekiel scowled. The violent backlash of his precognitive visions instilled in him an unprecedented sense of dread.
"Initiate first contact protocols, but arm the annihilation contingency simultaneously."
"Preliminary preparations are already complete."
Nakir nodded, not asking a single question.
The battle-hardened warrior was all too familiar with the grim implications behind such contradictory orders. In the dark Galaxy, diplomatic courtesy and lethal vigilance were two sides of the exact same coin.
Especially for their kind.
Almost at the exact same moment, the silent void was shattered. Both fleets simultaneously activated the pre-launch sequences of their ancient technological Creations. Macro-cannon batteries completed their targeting calibrations in perfect silence, while the outer blast doors of Torpedo tubes slid ominously open.
'...That is not what I meant.'
A throbbing headache gripped Romulus.
Watching the perfectly synchronized hostile postures mirroring each other on his mental tactical display, he could feel his temples violently pulsing.
'Though I suppose the precaution is entirely necessary.'
They truly were cut from the same cloth.
"Space Wolves."
he called out, offering a reminder.
"Have the Space Wolves sound off."