Chapter 200: Today Is the Day You Die |
Impeq Prime.
Today was destined to be a long one. The modern Dark Angels, the Dark Angels of ten millennia past, the Dawn Fleet, and various Chaos warbands.
Entities of different allegiances and disparate desires slaughtered one another in a chaotic melee.
The roar of artillery drew near. Zabriel, having taken over command, was striving to restore order to Ansel City. With the assistance of other Space Marine Chapters, their progress was remarkably swift.
The Adeptus Astartes entering the city committed no atrocities against the populace, going out of their way to stabilize the situation. The Inner Circle, on the other hand, was entirely predictable in their destructive intentions.
Wearing armor stripped of all identifying marks, they advanced through the corridors. Unable to contact the Inner Circle, they could only act upon their own veteran instincts.
They raided armories, gathered heavy weapons, and attempted to overload the city's void shield batteries to trigger a catastrophic explosion.
Driven by an instinct to annihilate, they advanced toward any critical sector capable of reducing the entire city to ashes.
The din of battle shook the heavens. Countless oblivious soldiers, and even Outer Circle members, were slaughtered by the silent, impatient knights. Roars like tempest winds and agonized screams echoed through the night sky.
Next came the Dark Angels' internal war. Arthur and Rameses were tasked with executing targeted assassinations against the more troublesome Chaos Lords.
——
Kai leaned against the bulkhead, sitting in the dim glow within the Stormbird's troop bay.
Heavy black wrappings cloaked his power armor, while a voluminous hood shadowed his face, concealing the bottomless, blazing fury in his eyes.
Beside him, dozens of warriors shrouded in pitch-black garb maintained absolute silence.
The deck of the Stormbird shuddered violently as it pierced Impeq Prime's atmosphere. He kept his head bowed, immersing himself in the steady vibrations.
"Atmospheric entry successful. Prepare for landing. Arriving at the destination in three minutes. Enemy forces—"
A servo-skull drifted past Kai's ear, broadcasting the enemy's strategic deployment and tactical characteristics.
He had no need for these situational reports. This was far from his first time facing these fully armed Fallen Angels.
He had stood beneath war-torn, burning skies countless times before.
Back then, his armor had been shattered, the fuel in his Power Pack had to be strictly rationed, and the only functioning optical instrument in their squad was Lohr's sniper scope.
Now, simply by feeling the subtle adjustments and deflections of the gunship, he could pinpoint his exact location and calculate the precise time remaining until touchdown:
Two seconds less than the servo-skull's estimate.
For the same reason, Kai had already disabled his external visual feeds and tactical projection displays.
He no longer needed to survey his surroundings, nor did he need to heed the habitual muscle memory repeated countless times within his body, or review the tactics that had already flashed through his mind via neural transmission.
Kai knew these enemies—the ones who had forced him into a life of wandering exile—better than anyone.
"One minute to drop."
Kai leaned back in his seat.
He rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, his knuckles cracking sharply as he clenched his fists.
The displaced air from the gunship's hull licked against the earth below.
He disengaged the locking clamps securing his boots.
The Stormbird's deployment ramp slid open.
He stood motionless for a moment. The roaring thrusters of the gunship tapered off into a low whine, while the thrumming of boiling blood within his veins crescendoed into a savage howl.
"Commence operation!"
As the assault ramp slammed down, Kai roared the command and vaulted forward, plunging headlong into the battlefield.
Behind him, countless black knights descended.
Thud!
An ash-white stone corridor stretched out beneath Kai's feet. Towering monastic arches cast web-like shadows, the interwoven darkness feeling as though a myriad of unseen eyes peered out from within.
This was a corner deliberately erased by history, a Sanctum forged from shame and sin. It marked the site of an unspeakable massacre orchestrated by the Adeptus Mechanicus against the native populace.
Above the Dome, the ancient heroes of Impeq Prime stood eternal.
Their stone-carved faces had long weathered away, yet the twin swords in their grasps remained menacingly sharp. One blade pointed toward the stars, as if swearing an oath to The Emperor, while the other angled down toward the earth, as though suppressing some unspeakable entity.
Faint traces of dark crimson rust were visible within the soot-blackened cracks of the pedestals, looking like wounds that could never scab over.
Kai's cloak swept over the accumulated ash on the ground, sending the fine grey-white powder dancing in his slipstream.
Kai took another step, then abruptly halted. His gaze locked onto a subtle movement near the closest statue.
Standing atop the rivets of the colossal statue's pauldron was a squad of Firewing Strikers.
Five Dedicant Chaplains lurked in the shadows, having trailed him all the way to the shattered temple.
All honors and insignias had been stripped from their pauldrons, leaving only the Chapter's heraldry. They appeared as the twin shadows of the Firewing Strikers who stood in the light.
Even their helmets were painted in the bone-white hue of death. In the gloom, only the faint crimson glint of their optical sights betrayed their positions.
Kai shot them a glare brimming with Killing Intent, slowly baring his Blade.
Crack!
In the next fraction of a second, his lunge shattered the floor beneath him into a spiderweb of cracks.
Kai vanished.
Until a shower of sparks suddenly erupted in the dark.
Clang—
Blade clashed against Blade, sending sparks flying. The Inner Circle knight froze instantly.
Before the torrential rain of bolt fire could descend, Kai had already pulled back.
Slash!
A razor-sharp edge swept neatly across a neck, sending a headless corpse dropping to its knees.
Retreating, Kai ducked low, savoring the wet tearing echo of the Blade slicing through Flesh and Blood.
Keeping his head down, he pivoted and cleaved the space behind him.
Crunch.
Another massive helmeted head sailed through the air.
The eyes beneath its lenses still held a lingering trace of profound confusion.
Confusion over why their enemy was so absurdly powerful, and why the Inner Circle squads had failed to provide timely fire support.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Stray rounds ricocheted nearby, gouging shallow craters into the floor. Kai did not break stride; he fluidly sheathed his Blade and continued his sprint.
Undercover operatives had disrupted the enemy's tactical layouts, veterans had secured their one-on-one duels, and the Librarians were already tracking the next target.
In that brief, explosive engagement, everyone had flawlessly executed their roles.
Because they were heavily armed. Because they were vastly superior.
"Where is His Highness?"
Kai asked.
"His Highness will not interfere with how we handle the enemy, just as he will not allow this hatred to interfere with the Legion's future."
Gareth replied, chewing over the words His Highness had spoken to the entire formation.
"They are enemies, and there is bad blood between us. That is all."
"I understand."
Kai nodded.
The pitch-black squad pressed on, marching against the freezing wind over the ash-grey pavement.
Deep inside the forge city, an Imperial cathedral had collapsed. An ancient plaque, hammered together from countless Gears and Steel Plates, bore an ancient inscription.
"What Mortals cannot achieve, The Emperor sends his warriors to accomplish.
"They are the antidote to feeble Flesh and Blood and disastrous ideologies, the very sins that prevent man from achieving greatness.
"He sends his warriors to bear the heavy burden of life and death, so that humanity may flourish in resplendent glory.
"Such a burden acts as a Lethal Toxin in the blood of his warriors. Therefore, The Emperor sends his executioners to grant the tormented their deliverance."
——
The biting wind howled. The sub-zero temperatures wrought by Warp weaponry whipped up a blinding blizzard, further obscuring the landscape.
Nagir and Ezekiel rallied the last reachable unit. Over ninety Inner Circle knights deployed in a circular defensive formation, advancing steadily toward the Starport sector.
Surrounding them were Dark Angels who had concealed themselves through psychic means, slowly converging on this ragged remnant force.
These knights, standing nearly three meters tall on average, watched the marching troops in dead silence.
They were waiting for a signal.
"Are you ready?"
High up in the Stratosphere, Rameses raised a hand.
Ezekiel, who was forcefully channeling psychic energy to guide the squad forward, suddenly froze.
Whoosh!
The snow wedged into the folds of his hood was abruptly shaken loose as his massive, heavily muscled frame was violently yanked into the air by an invisible force.
Smash!
All the Librarians, Ezekiel included, were seized by unseen hands and hurled brutally against adamantium load-bearing pillars. The impact instantly triggered their sus-an membranes, knocking them into a state of suspended animation.
"Avengers."
Kai growled, the first to draw his Blade.
Behind him, the black-armored warriors manifested like living nightmares from the shadows. They unsheathed their freezing weapons in terrifying unison. The unified hum of dozens of activated Power Weapons resonated down the corridor, vaporizing the falling snow into a pale mist.
"Kill them!"
The bellowing roar unleashed a storm.
A black tide immediately engulfed the corridor, the thunderous footfalls of master-crafted power boots shattering the floor tiles like pounding war drums.
The first Fallen Angel to react had barely raised his Bolter before he was shredded by three intersecting flashes of steel. The splattering gore was vaporized by disruption fields before it even hit the ceiling.
Slumped against the pillar, Ezekiel twitched. Even in suspended animation, his nerve bundles instinctively tried to sound an alarm.
Yet all comms channels were drowned in an eerie silence, broken only by the precise tactical exchanges of the black-armored warriors as they slaughtered their way through. They knew their enemies' tricks far too well.
Ten thousand years had passed, yet these foes had only regressed.
The two pitch-black Iron Flows collided. Every sidestep, every parry played out like a dance of death rehearsed for ten millennia.
As Kai's Blade punched through a defender's throat, the tip rested perfectly against the legion insignia.
As the enemy's corpse slowly slid off the steel, the blood-soaked winged sword emblem snapped in two beneath the edge.
"..."
He flicked the ash from his blade, pointing it distantly at Nagir, who had already succumbed to blind fury.
"Repent!"
Resentment, hatred, agony.
Nearly every negative emotion condensed in that single moment, erupting from his throat as a feral bellow.
However, noise could not turn the tide of battle.
If shouting the loudest could alter a war's outcome, what would be the point of training and equipping an army?
Crash!
Disruption fields crackled violently as Nagir struggled to parry Kai's heavy blows.
He attempted to slip to the flank, aiming for the joints in the armor—areas that were notoriously difficult for an individual to maintain over protracted campaigns, making them naturally vulnerable.
He tried to fight them the same way he had hunted down other Fallen Angels in the past.
But his opponents were clearly far different than they had been in the old days.
Peerless swordsmanship, unmatched physical prowess, and vastly superior power armor.
Despite Nagir's centuries of battle experience, Kai's sword grazed his chest in a brief flurry of strikes, carving a deep gouge into the hardened ceramite and forcing him to retreat in a panic.
Kai surged forward again, ruthlessly ramming his pauldron directly into Nagir's freshly opened wound, physically driving him down onto the floor.
By now, the rest of the warriors had finished their respective duels. Watching an arrogant Chapter Master like Nagir get utterly humiliated, their faces carried expressions of vindictive glee. Not a single one felt Kai was wasting time.
Investigate his crimes. Force him to face judgment.
There was no need to brand him a traitor. A ten-thousand-year hunt and six blood debts were more than enough to solidify the burning hatred between them.
"Traitor."
Nagir was pinned securely to the ground. A power sword swept across the back of his neck, cleanly severing his spinal cord.
Thanks to His Highness's rigorous training, every one of them possessed a flawlessly precise understanding of Adeptus Astartes anatomy.
"Who is the real traitor? Who subverted the Legion? Who betrayed the Primarch? Who hunted down their own brothers?"
Kai's voice ground out from between his clenched teeth, every syllable steeped in ten millennia of festering resentment.
He brutally yanked off Nagir's fractured helmet, exposing a face caked in blood and grime, then drove a devastating punch directly into Nagir's jaw.
Gareth approached, dragging a restrained Fallen Angel. Blue electrical arcs danced across the captive's armor from the stasis bindings as Gareth threw him heavily onto the ground beside Nagir.
"We do not know why Caliban shattered, but we vividly remember every single hunt launched against us."
Gareth's tone was terrifyingly calm. He crouched down, forcing Nagir to look directly into his helm's crimson lenses.
"You should consider yourself lucky. You will be executed as a persecutor, instead of going down in history as a despised traitor."
Nagir spat a glob of bloody phlegm, staining Gareth's knee guard:
"Lies! The sons of the Lion will never—"
"I don't need your validation!"
Gareth snapped, suddenly grabbing Nagir by the throat and hoisting him up. The armor's servo-motors whined in protest under the immense application of brute strength.
"Did you think I wanted to see the regret on your face when your Faith collapsed? Did you think I wanted you to agree with my ideals?"
The wall fractured into a spiderweb of cracks from the impact, sending shards of ancient frescoes showering down.
Gareth's faceplate was nearly pressed against Nagir's contorted face.
"All I want is for you to die. For you to disappear. For me to finally give closure to all my brothers who suffered the same unwarranted Suffering."
Nagir met his gaze with a look of icy defiance.
His Faith would never shatter. He would never accept the ideals of these traitors.
Nor did he care about the truth.
All he cared about was ensuring that his Chapter remained loyal, that the Chapter remained entirely free of blemish.
It had to be so. It could only be so.
Even covered in gore, the paranoid fanaticism in his eyes remained sharp enough to pierce steel, burning with an inhuman, mechanically stubborn flame.
That wasn't a warrior's fury. It was the absolute madness of a zealot burning a heretic at the stake.
"..."
Staring down at Nagir, staring deeply into those eyes.
That chilling, demented rage made him look like something far removed from a true Adeptus Astartes.
He finally understood His Highness's concerns. This was never a debate about loyalty or betrayal; it was an eternal, venomous struggle between two battered fragments ripped apart by the tide of history.
"He's all yours."
Tossing the prisoner to the Librarians, Gareth knew that Lord Ramses's advisors situated within The Warp would meticulously extract every sliver of his secrets. Following that, their grand infiltration of the Dark Angels would commence in earnest.
Things were never meant to be this violent, nor should those incidental casualties have occurred.
But what was done was done.
The guards moved in and dragged Nagir up. A hoarse, grating laughter squeezed through his mangled larynx, sounding horribly like a malfunctioning vox-caster.
'His Highness was right. This is a personal blood feud between us; it shouldn't be elevated to a debate over which side represents the true loyalists.'
Witnessing Nagir's wretched state only cemented Gareth's resolve.
If they continued desperately clinging to the debates of the Fallen's loyalty, the Inner Circle's hypocrisy, and the lost Honor of the ancient Legion, they would inevitably end up just as broken as the zealot before them.
Fortunately, they still had a chance.
Averting his gaze, Gareth looked up toward the heavens. Behind the dense cloud cover, the running lights of the orbital fleet flickered faintly like distant stars.
They still had His Highness.
"Let's move."
Gareth turned on his heel, his power armor emitting a deep, resonant hum in the dead silence.
"Our mission is not over yet."
Aboard the Stormbird, the Librarians had already rigged up the soul-splicing apparatus. Nagir was bolted to an adamantine chair, his skull enveloped in mechatendrils as his memories prepared to be stripped down and dissected inch by agonizing inch.
Gareth strode away. From behind him came Nagir's final roar, sounding simultaneously like the dying howl of a cornered beast and a horrifically warped Oath.
He did not look back.
They still had a chance.
They still had a future.
And that was enough.