Chapter 199: Repentance |
[Beware the Dawn Fleet. Firing protocols ready.]
[Requesting deployment of reserve forces. Surface combat pressure is critical; support is required.]
Brilliant lights illuminated the solemn bridge, casting a harsh glare on the blood splattered across the walls—blood that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Beep-beep-beep...
Communication alarms rang out one after another, a clear testament to the desperation of the surface commanders, yet no one moved to answer them.
The bridge remained fully operational, but everyone inside was dead.
"Mission accomplished."
A faint scent of incense filled his nostrils as Zabriel led his forces in scrubbing the bridge of any combat traces.
He leaped down the stairs, his gaze sweeping over the scattered, intact bodies of a few black-armored knights.
"Evocatus, are you alright?"
"I am fine."
Evocatus's face was pale. A power sword strike had caught him in the waist and abdomen. His Belisarian Furnace, though not triggered into full emergency overdrive, was steadily pumping out stem cells to slowly repair his battered body.
This skirmish had cost them. The Inner Circle consisted of the absolute elite of this era, and naturally, they were far from weak.
Moreover, these hunters' experiences made them exceptionally skilled at slaying their own brethren.
Clack—
The grinding sound of metallic gears engaging caused every Dark Angel currently cleaning up to freeze instantly.
Zabriel slowly turned his head, his ocular lenses locking onto the shuddering transport elevator.
The lift ascended, revealing a squad of fully armed Consecrator warriors. They carried heavy bolters over their shoulders, their chest plates scored with fresh battle damage.
The leading warrior's helmet swept the room before finally resting on the blood-soaked Dark Angels.
The air instantly thickened with tension.
"Azka."
Signaling his brothers to remain vigilant, Zabriel's gaze lingered briefly on the power armor of two Consecrators before directly calling out the name of the knight captain leading the squad.
"My lord."
The knight captain known as Azka immediately stepped forward, simultaneously signaling the Consecrator warriors behind him to stay on guard. The squad instantly fanned out into a tactical formation, the safety catches of their bolters snapping off with a synchronized click.
He continued forward, his eyes scanning Zabriel's form. Only after confirming nothing was amiss did he slightly relax his tense shoulders.
"The bridge suffered a boarding assault. It has been dealt with,"
Zabriel declared in a steady tone, briefly summarizing the events on the bridge. The way his right hand unconsciously stroked his sword hilt perfectly mimicked the Inner Circle superior whose identity he had just assumed.
"Understood."
The knight captain nodded, asking no further questions.
He quietly awaited his orders.
"Rally the troops and terminate the pre-strike sequence. Issue a centralized recall for all forces in the surface strike zone."
Zabriel's voice echoed across the bridge.
"Ansel is a vital forge city. We must protect the Imperium's assets, and at the same time, I need you to ensure the safety of the Imperial citizens."
This command perfectly aligned with the standard directives received by Outer Circle forces: protect facilities, rescue civilians, and maintain order.
Or rather, these were the only kinds of orders the Outer Circle ever received.
The Outer Circle of the Dark Angels was glorious. They were the public face of the Chapter, practically embodying every fantasy of the perfect knight found in countless Imperial novels.
Any knight who discovered the existence of the Inner Circle faced only one fate: an inquisition by the Inner Circle itself.
Pass, and they would join the Inner Circle to help keep the secret. Fail, and they would vanish from the universe entirely—thus still keeping the secret.
"Yes, my lord."
The knight captain accepted the order and immediately departed.
He did not ask why.
Since joining the Chapter, the first lesson he had learned was to never ask why.
And indeed, they knew absolutely nothing.
"This is even more terrifying than during our time,"
Evocatus murmured to his comrade, catching a glimpse of the departing Consecrators from the corner of his eye as he disarmed the strike protocols.
"Indeed."
Zabriel nodded, swiping across the auspex array panel. Ignoring the continuous stream of commands from the surface, he established a connection with the Dawnlight.
During the Legion era, the Dark Angels had numerous secret lodges and fierce factional rivalries, but they had always remembered their direct accountability to the Lion. No matter how intense the competition for cultural and martial supremacy became, it never devolved into the twisted hierarchical dynamic of today.
If anyone had dared to establish such a neurotic system within the Legion back then, the Lion would have literally punched their heads off.
"Targeted extermination of Inner Circle members complete. Partial identity substitution achieved."
His message, embedded within standard strategic data exchanges, was transmitted via heavily encrypted channels.
"A total of seventy-two Adeptus Astartes and over thirteen hundred mortal armed personnel aboard the ship have been eliminated. We have sustained five casualties. We are now in full control of the warship's operations. The strike sequence is terminated."
On the bridge of the Dawnlight, Romulus received the report with a solemn expression.
His fingers danced across the holographic star map, covertly dispatching strictly vetted mortal officers to seize command of the captured warships.
Simultaneously, the Tech-Marines of the Ironwing were carefully decrypting the captured databases of forbidden weaponry.
He harbored a deep aversion to conflict, but since hostilities had broken out, he lacked no decisiveness.
Besides, dealing with the Dark Angels tested everyone's patience to the breaking point.
Romulus looked up as several more progress reports flashed across his screen. Similar takeover operations were unfolding simultaneously across thirteen Consecrator warships.
In merely fifteen minutes, the Dawn Fleet had seized control of the Consecrators' vessels.
Violent, but effective.
Naturally, conflict brought inevitable death.
None of them had originally intended for things to get this ugly.
"Phew..."
Zabriel shook his head and let out a soft sigh. He deactivated the spell of the Conclave of the Five Points, allowing his own mannerisms to return to his body.
Soon, another operative would take over this stolen identity, cooperating with their peers to conduct long-term deep-cover espionage.
There were many branches of the Aeldari Path, one of which was the Path of a Thousand Faces.
It was a discipline of mimicry and learning, a Path specializing entirely in infiltration and combat.
Through psychic and technological means, they could read an individual's soul and completely adopt their personality, mastering all the memories of their target. They could even mimic non-sapient life forms.
Like a spider.
Originally, Aeldari, like humans, only had four limbs. But as they ventured deeper down the Path of a Thousand Faces, they could physically reconstruct the necessary neural nodes within their own bodies. Simply by attaching auxiliary limbs, they could use them with complete freedom, as if they had entirely transformed into another species.
Naturally, the Dark Angels had studied this art.
However, they were still novices. Even as superhuman Adeptus Astartes, bound by the rigid differences between their souls and flesh, they struggled immensely to grasp the Aeldari's soul-arts, which had been perfected over tens of millions of years.
But it did not matter.
Because they possessed genuine Aeldari tutors.
With the guidance of those ancient xenos, combined with the Dark Angels' generational accumulation of infiltration experience and their unique bloodline gifts, they were more than capable of pulling off this dangerous masquerade.
And that was enough.
'We are acting more like the Alpha Legion by the day.'
Zabriel could not help but sigh under his breath, his fingers unconsciously brushing over the deliberately obscured Legion insignias of the Fallen's Inner Circle etched into his chest plate.
He finally understood why His Highness refused to let the vendetta between them and the Fallen drag on endlessly.
His Highness had summoned him privately, acknowledging the deep blood debts shared by both sides and even tacitly permitting an eye for an eye—but he strictly forbade twisting personal grievances into sweeping accusations of treason against the entire group.
Because as long as this hatred persisted, as long as it remained a secret the Dark Angels desperately buried and a truth they refused to face...
...Then they would only ever be fit to scurry in the darkest shadows.
"Make them repent!"
A comrade's voice echoed through his mind via vox. The council adjutant simply lowered his eyes.
The fanaticism in that voice was truly grating to the ears.
——
[Weapons charging...]
"If we intend to honestly confront this history, then we cannot elevate it to the level of an entire group's rebellion."
Calibrating the weapon launch modules, the Dark Angels had completely commandeered the frigate. Arthur was casually chatting with his companion.
"So you support them continuously executing the Dark Angels' Inner Circle?"
Rameses leaned against the console, scrutinizing the Soul Circuits in his hand.
"On the battlefield, everyone relies on their own skill. After the battle, we settle accounts by the book."
Arthur finally paused his calibrations, looking up at the slowly scrolling progress bar.
"It is not that I forbid them from taking an eye for an eye. Preaching about letting go of past grudges in this universe is absurdly naive. If I demanded that of them, I would be a fool blind to reality."
He let out a soft sigh.
"But regardless of which side they are on, Dark Angels love slapping labels on people—especially on themselves."
Arthur's tactical database stored countless contingency plans, but he had never once considered the option of labeling the entire Dark Angels Chapter as traitors.
He understood all too well the crushing burden this ancient Chapter bore. Every member inducted into the Inner Circle was forced to shoulder a blood-soaked history, one that fiercely contradicted the glorious teachings they had been raised on.
The gilded holy texts still radiated splendor in the monastery corridors, yet the newly initiated Inner Circle reserves were forced to embrace a diametrically opposed, pitch-black creed.
Many of these reserves died during the loyalty trials.
Because they harbored doubts about the Inner Circle's true purpose. The culture and past glories they had been steeped in made it impossible for them to stomach such vile shadows.
And that hesitation was deemed disloyalty.
Thus, an eternal silence would descend upon them.
Their nerves would violently convulse from the torture of psychic mind-flaying, and their voices would be sealed forever.
The number of Outer Circle members executed by the Inner Circle was likely no less than the number of Fallen they had actually captured.
The internal contradictions within the Dark Angels Chapter were monumental.
One could even argue that the very foundation of the Inner Circle stemmed from the Dark Angels in orbit suspecting that they were the ones who destroyed their Primarch's homeworld, shattering the Legion. They were utterly terrified that the surviving Fallen would spill the truth and trigger an Imperial Inquisition.
Imagine if the Imperium found a loyal knight of Caliban, who claimed he had boarded a ship alongside the Lion, only for an orbital bombardment to suddenly blow their entire planet to pieces.
Faced with the Imperium's interrogation, they could hardly say:
'I followed the Lion's orders to bomb Caliban, and then I have no idea why the planet exploded, the Primarch vanished, the Legion fractured, and our legacy was broken.'
And then try to claim they were perfectly loyal?
As the saying goes: 'Once suspicion arises, the crime is already established.' The moment they suspected themselves of being the traitors, they effectively became them.
Every action they took revolved around the singular goal of covering up anything that might prove their treason. This ingrained mindset doomed them to absolute paranoia and extremism.
Because of this, the ten-thousand-year veterans grew increasingly convinced that these men were the true traitors. It was no wonder the Inner Circle had lost their minds.
"The Inner Circle should not exist. I completely agree with that. In fact, if every member were dragged before a tribunal and executed, not a single one would be innocent. But they absolutely cannot be tried under the charge of fracturing the Legion and inciting rebellion."
Arthur pointed toward the surface, though his words felt intended for a broader audience:
"How are the strict, Codex-compliant warriors of the Outer Circle supposed to cope with that? What does that make them? Accomplices to traitors? Enemies of humanity? If they suddenly become a traitor faction, I will just end up having to deal with a whole new wave of crazed Inner Circle fanatics."
If the Transmigrators truly wanted to sow chaos, they could have just broadcasted the Inner Circle's deeds across the galaxy from day one. They would not even need the various Imperial factions to verify the truth—the Dark Angels would simply tear themselves apart in a massive civil war.
And then what?
The Dark Angels had over a hundred Successor Chapters. Many Inner Circle members were not even listed on Codex rosters, and keeping veterans in stasis was practically standard procedure for them. Conservatively speaking, that was a baseline of at least a hundred thousand Adeptus Astartes.
A civil war involving a hundred thousand Astartes, unleashing ten millennia's worth of devastating Archaeotech against each other... did anyone really think the Chaos forces would just sit back and ignore that?
How many would die? How much ruin would it cause? How many fresh recruits would it spoon-feed to Chaos?
From beginning to end, the modern Dark Angels placed their Chapter's honor and self-interest far above the Imperium. Ultimately, the two factions walked fundamentally divergent paths. The only reason they currently coexisted peacefully was simply because the Imperium had not yet uncovered the Dark Angels' dark secret.
"I have a plan. By infiltrating the various Successor Chapters, we will gradually inject the new generation of Primaris Space Marines we have been cultivating. Primaris Marines carry no historical baggage. They have no need to inherit this bitter hatred."
He fully intended to make sure every new recruit learned the unfiltered truth about the Great Betrayal. The next generation of Dark Angels would not have to cling to the hollow glories of the past to survive.
"Moreover, the turnover rate among Space Marines is actually quite high. With the constant cycle of attrition and reinforcement, it will not even take a century for them to naturally dominate the Chapter's prevailing ideology. When that time comes, cleaning house will be vastly easier."
"But for this to work, I need at least one side to cooperate."
Arthur rubbed his temples, fighting a headache. But quickly, the progress bar ticking over to 99 percent snapped his attention back to the battlefield.
"You really have it rough, Master Arthur."
Rameses leaned casually against the edge of the observation port, cradling a steaming cup of tea in his hands.
Watching the chaotic catfight unfold, while simultaneously using his psychic power to grant vision to his allies, snatching up the stray souls of a few unlucky bastards, and listening to his companion's venting, Rameses felt his resolve to never raise kids solidify even further.
Compared to Arthur, who was constantly walking on eggshells to prevent an even bigger catastrophe from detonating, Rameses honestly felt that the Blood Angels—who followed Karna around like a bunch of needy ducklings—were far more endearing.
The angel cubs had their fair share of flaws, but at least those kids listened.
As for the Inner Circle... honestly, even if Arthur stood right in front of Ezekiel right now and laid out the entire truth from start to finish, the Chief Librarian would just roar:
"Make Arthur repent!"
And then fight to the death to prove his conviction.
Would he believe it?
Even if he did.
Would he listen?
Absolutely not.
These Dark Angels were far too easily triggered. They were basically hissing superhumans.
And do not even get him started on the Thousand Sons. From their impossibly brilliant Daemon Primarch Magnus at the top, down to Tzeentch's genius Chosen, Ahriman, it was glaringly obvious just how deranged that entire Legion was.
He wanted no part in babysitting them. Anyone else could have the job.
Rameses glanced over at the Enclave. The Aeldari Farseer was busy dissecting the extracted memories of the Inner Circle, aiding the Librarians of the Conclave of the Five Points in forging flawless cover identities for their deep-cover operatives.
Things with the Daemons were much more routine: transcribing arcane knowledge, running spellcraft experiments, and—oh, yes—drafting blueprints for various manufactured goods.
Rameses stroked his chin and casually bumped up their production quotas.
The Bloodletter cracked its whip with renewed zeal, forcing the squealing Nurglings to pump their stubby little legs even faster.
The sorcerer retracted his gaze with satisfaction. Watching the grand farce unfolding on the planetary surface below, a smirk crept back onto his face.
Delightful.
Why would anyone voluntarily stress themselves out?
Was being a Daemonic slave driver and a Xenos capitalist not entertaining enough?
——
[Charging complete. Ready to fire.]
A servitor's cold, mechanical female voice echoed through the metal hull, while crimson warning lights bathed the command console in the color of a blood pool.
Smack—
Two armored hands slammed down almost simultaneously, striking completely opposite control panels.
[Command received. Initiating strike protocols.]
The system logged the data and began executing the final protocols. The Holographic Projection automatically expanded into a tactical battlefield map, where countless glowing dots represented the lives about to be extinguished.
[Three, two, one.]
The electronic countdown rang with chilling clarity across the dead silent bridge.
Arthur's ocular lenses reflected the ticking numbers.
[Fire!]
Accompanying the violent shudder of the hull was an ear-splitting roar.
——
Whoosh—
A fierce, biting wind swept through. Almost the exact moment the frigate descended into the atmosphere, a freezing chill blanketed the planet's surface.
Are they here?
Flesh and blood were devoured. When the Sharks bared their fangs, those knights who had forsaken their virtue to hide in the shadows were torn apart by the frenzied swarm. As if suddenly realizing the truth, they desperately broadcasted warnings.
"I thought you all would be more prudent. I expected you to resolve your current conflicts before coming here to find new trouble."
Tyberos sneered coldly. He discarded the headless corpse of an Inner Circle knight, the chainblades attached to his gauntlets roaring as they spat out a bloody mist of pulverized bone and shredded metal.
"Orders received."
Psychic light flickered in Kahurangi's eyes. They had already established a one-way communications blackout. He relayed the message aloud:
"Lord Romulus has ordered us to relocate and assist the Blood Angels in their assault on the surface Chaos targets. The security of the city is being handed over to Lord Arthur."
"And if anyone stands in our way?"
He stood tall as he spoke. The shadows clinging to him acted like a second skin, rendering his massive frame almost impossible to track with the naked eye.
Kahurangi processed the incoming data. They had spent a long time working with the Wings of Dawn, and they understood the temperaments of the four lords intimately.
Whatever those four set out to do, they did with absolute conviction. Once they committed to a path, they would execute it to perfection—but they were always exceptionally cautious when it came to spending lives.
Therefore, whenever their wrath finally descended upon those destined to die, it was always a profoundly unforgettable sight.
Their response was simple:
"Kill them all."
——
Dense snow battered against his lenses as Ezekiel stared up at the orbital artillery in the sky.
The Inner Circle's tactic had been straightforward: destroy the infrastructure to pin down the Devouring Sharks and Mantis Warriors, extract their own forces to a safe distance, and then utilize the frigate's forbidden Archaeotech to utterly annihilate the entire port sector—including the Mechanicus Magos's Forge Tower.
Afterward, the rallied Outer Circle of the Consecrators would launch an assault against the Chaos forces, while the Inner Circle used the chaos to silently purge any presence on the planet tainted by the Fallen.
Under the overwhelming firepower of the frigate, all of this should have been effortlessly achieved.
But now, these tactical plans were no longer his to consider.
His robes whipped wildly in the wind. Ezekiel drove his sword into the ground and tilted his head up, gazing at the distant firmament he could no longer reach.
A swirling vortex had materialized up there, resembling a gigantic eye that had suddenly snapped open.
It was the firing prelude of a Rift Cannon. He had seen it many times before.
This eye gazed down upon the earth, sweeping its terrifying gaze across the landscape before finally locking onto the distant Chaos fortress.
Without warning, the vortex tore wide open.
The moment it zeroed in on the Chaos bastion, the very fabric of reality groaned under the unbearable strain.
There was no explosion. There was no blinding flash.
The steel-forged fortress was simply overturned like a child's scattered building blocks. Architectural debris and traitors alike disintegrated into the Warp rift. Those heretics, deeply fused with chaotic flesh and blood, were swallowed by the void before they could even utter a single scream.
This was not what they had agreed upon.
In stony silence, he attempted to hail the frigate, the fleet, and the Inner Circle operatives both in orbit and on the ground.
Silence. Silence. Nothing but dead silence.
That suffocating, familiar sense of impending doom washed over him once more.
He shot a glance to his side, where Nakir had already readied his honor guard for combat.
The howling blizzard grew fiercer.
Ezekiel suddenly realized a grim truth.
They were in deep trouble.