Chapter 236: This Too Is a Kind of Angel
In truth, the 30k-era Dark Angels were not as mysterious and terrifying, nor as... deranged as the rumors made them out to be.
Or at least, he hoped that was the case.
At the very least, as long as things weren't too overt on the surface, these lions wouldn't go around actively digging into the secrets of other Legions like Alpha Legion would—at least, not without some prior hinting from the Emperor.
So, just a bit of surface-level work would be enough. There's no need to panic.
First, Hades repeatedly instructed those oily Tech-Priests not to blurt things out recklessly. Then he dispatched the Hadeshound units to Rust's capital planet to assist the Mechanicum with cleanup, since he had a vague sense that something was off with the Hadeshounds lately.
But now wasn't the time to deal with that. First, they needed to fool the Dark Angels.
The Death Guard didn't need to be told anything. They'd hide their green-glowing weapons on their own.
In fact, the Death Guard didn't have all that many secrets.
It's just… they knew a bit about the future. Had access to some Necron technology. Fielded anti-psyker units. Partnered with a certain group of peculiar oily Tech-Priests...
Yeah...
Hades sat in his chair, burying his head in his crossed arms, nearly buried by the pile of precariously teetering documents on his desk. The command screen before him glowed faintly blue.
"Not much. Not much. Really, not that much—"
Not that much, my ass!
Just knowing about the Heresy and the Fall was a massive deal. Never mind that what they called "Necron technology" was really just unsanctioned xenos research. Add to that the madcap Mechanicum partners of the Death Guard…
And worst of all, there were even whispers of proselytizing starting to happen within the ranks.
Any one of these alone was enough to see the Death Guard burned at the stake.
Hades turned his head to glance at the massive scythe-wielding Primarch, who was currently reviewing battle reports. Mortarion was clearly puzzled by the contents of one particular report, squinting suspiciously at the pile of garbage his subordinates had submitted.
Looks like someone's in for it.
Hades covered his face. How had it come to this?
What exactly went wrong?
All he ever wanted was to shake off the threat of Nurgle. Developing Necron tech, creating anti-psyker units—those were good things! But somehow...
[Commander Hades, the Dark Angels have arrived.]
Garro's voice came through the comms, and Hades immediately straightened in his seat.
[Ahem, Garro, just greet them normally.]
Yes, Hades had sent Garro to receive the Dark Angels. He and Mortarion remained aboard the Endurance, drafting the battle report summary.
Why?
Well… because he didn't want to deal with them.
No, really—it was because the one leading this detachment of Dark Angels was Merir Astelan. So, Hades decisively sent Garro.
Because Astelan was a Terran-born as well.
More than that—he was one of the original 5,000 Astartes, among the first to follow the Emperor, even participating in the purging of the Thunder Warriors. He was personally blessed with an anti-Chaos aura by the Emperor himself.
And yet, this walking bundle of buffs eventually betrayed the Lion, becoming a Fallen Angel with a truly awful reputation.
Though from what could be pieced together from the tangled web of the First Legion's internal politics, the man seemed to be an extreme egoist—but possibly not a real traitor to the Imperium.
Truth and lies, layered and blurred further by the existence of the Inner Circle.
The only thing Hades was certain of was that Astelan absolutely hated the Lion, and was currently being marginalized by him—otherwise, he wouldn't be here on such a minor front.
Also, the man was incredibly shrewd. After Astelan fell and was captured, the giants in the Rock had chained him up and interrogated him for fifteen years, demanding repentance.
Not only did he refuse to repent, he even reverse-brainwashed the chaplain interrogating him.
Now that's talent. That's a man of skill.
So, Hades decided to send Garro to test the waters first. It's better for him to not show up himself—if he couldn't bluff his way through, things could get ugly.
But Garro would be fine. He was especially good at engaging people with a blank, expressionless face.
As long as he didn't show any expression, he wouldn't reveal any flaws.
In fact, Hades had a very reasonable suspicion that Garro might be facially paralyzed. Not just him—other Death Guard warriors also showed similar tendencies: silent, withdrawn, emotionally unreadable...
Hmm... Hades glanced thoughtfully again toward Mortarion.
Mortarion always wore a mask—who knew if he wasn't also facially paralyzed?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Welcome, brothers of the First Legion."
A handshake between two stark contrasts: the pale, bone-white of the Death Guard, and the deep, shadowy black of the Dark Angels. The grip was firm—cold and utterly devoid of emotion.
"Death Guard, Garro."
"Dark Angels, Astelan."
Garro silently observed the Dark Angel. His power armor had clearly been meticulously maintained, yet signs of age remained—minute scuffs, shallow dents, faint etchings left by time.
Garro's own armor wasn't exactly pristine either. In fact, none of the Death Guard's armor was ever particularly clean.
Their Primarch never cared much about appearances, and those Death Guard who were influential enough to shape the Legion's ethos didn't care either—so naturally, maintenance wasn't a high priority for the rank and file.
Other Legions might have trouble understanding such neglect, but just as the Death Guard didn't care for their armor's looks, they also didn't care how others looked at them.
Just like now—Garro could detect something... unusual in Astelan's silent gaze.
More like... mutual recognition?
Garro knew Astelan. That was why he stood here, not Hades.
The moment they found out Astelan was aboard the opposing fleet, Hades had decisively appointed Garro to handle things.
Garro still remembered how Hades froze for a rare moment upon hearing that name.
Sometimes, Garro really wondered—how could a recruit who had joined the Legion less than a hundred years ago be more familiar with these kinds of matters than he was?
Even if one tried to explain it away with "He spent time on Mars," Garro had never seen any other Master of the Forge quite like Hades. Those types usually got along better with gears than with people.
But then Hades had come bounding over, howling with excitement, cutting off Garro's train of thought:
"Garro! I'm counting on you! Play the diplomatic long game! Our little secrets depend on you!"
Hades gripped Garro's hand with a bizarrely intense look on his face, spouting nonsense as usual.
Garro silently stared at him, already accustomed to the commander's intermittent eccentricities. At least it meant Hades had some confidence in how this meeting would go.
"Since you came from the same place, I'm sure you can take care of him."
Yes—Astelan was also Terran-born, just like Garro.
More than that, Astelan was one of the very first Astartes, a veteran who had followed the Emperor since the earliest days… and one who knew the most.
But it seemed that, despite his loyalty to the Emperor, such dedication hadn't earned him glory within the First Legion.
His carefully maintained armor, dented and scarred—it meant something. Garro understood all too well. Their Legion didn't really care about them; resupply was rarely timely.
Garro stood in silence. That truth... was once one of many possible futures for him as well.
Though the work of reviewing documents nowadays wasn't exactly thrilling, at least the Primarch and Commander still trusted him enough to throw classified files onto his desk.
"I recognize you... brother from Terra."
Astelan finally spoke, slowly.
"Yes," Garro nodded.
"For the Emperor."
The two said in unison, then shared a faint, knowing smile.
"I'm glad to meet you. At least we can speak of past glories."
Astelan smiled again. Garro wasn't sure whether it was genuine… or a calculated probe.
He hesitated, then spoke slowly:
"...Glory walked with the Great Crusade, ever present."
But Garro's earlier silence had already made his position clear to Astelan—they both perhaps harbored some grievances about their respective Primarchs.
No—while Garro did think Mortarion should really process more paperwork, the Primarch could still be considered competent. His care for the Legion was something tangible, even if he didn't always do things perfectly.
That's why Mortarion needed the rest of the Death Guard—to help him improve. In that regard, Garro didn't hold any real dissatisfaction toward him.
But he still had to appear that way—thankfully, this mission's review officer was Hades, so Garro had no further concerns. A commander as unconventional as Hades could absolutely read the atmosphere without needing anything spelled out.
Astelan nodded slightly, continuing to press deeper into the topic.
"We arrived in pursuit of the xenos, fully aware of their danger and cunning. Brother Garro, allow me to ask—how much blood and sacrifice has your Legion shed for this cause?"
Garro fell silent.
Only after a long pause did he finally speak, slowly, with difficulty:
"A great deal. Far more than I had imagined."
In terms of ammunition alone, they were practically bled dry.
Astelan blinked, and without a moment's hesitation, solemnly bowed to Garro:
"The Dark Angels should have been here, to share in your pain. But we arrived too late—"
"No, brother. It was your pursuit that drove the Rangda fleet into our carefully laid traps. Without your support, this campaign would not have ended so swiftly."
Meanwhile, Hades was listening in on their increasingly polite back-and-forth, full of mutual praise and self-deprecation.
Keep it going. Keep acting.
In reality, according to the surveillance Hades had placed within the Death Guard fleet and on the third mining moon, the Dark Angels had already conducted a rough scan of the Death Guard's forces during this whole conversation between Astelan and Garro.
Otherwise, why would Hades still be sitting here? If he were truly on break, wouldn't it be better to launch a surprise boarding operation or something?
Of course, the Dark Angels didn't discover anything. After all, unlike warp sorcery, the Black Domain didn't leave behind strange sigils or markings after use. It was on-demand, and clean.
The Rangda flagship had already been flooded with toxins by the Death Guard. The corpses inside, unmarked by external wounds, were now quietly rotting in the gas. Even if someone came to investigate, there'd be no way to tell how they died.
The wild, ranting Tech-Priests on Rust had also shut up. And while they usually acted unhinged, when it came down to it... their performance was second to none.
When they run a cursory check, the Dark Angels naturally find nothing. Sure, if they dug deep enough, they'd eventually uncover some irregularities—but they had no reason, and no motive, to investigate that thoroughly.
Hades continued monitoring the dialogue between Garro and Astelan while reading the incoming data on his command screen. It was clear that these Dark Angels, "exiled" to this backwater warzone, harbored considerable resentment toward the Lion.
As for their suspicion—
"My 'brother'... he's still too sensitive."
Mortarion had finally finished processing the towering stack of reports. The Primarch walked over and glanced at the screen in front of Hades.
"Perhaps the Rangda have put their nerves on edge. They are indeed difficult to deal with."
Hades replied casually, still listening to Garro and Astelan reminiscing over the conquest of the Sol system.
"Difficult to deal with?"
Mortarion gave a brief mental review of the Death Guard's campaign against the Rangda. No matter how he looked at it, it really couldn't be described as "difficult."
But then again, without Hades...
Mortarion thought it over—an enemy capable of psychic manipulation was troublesome.
This campaign had indeed seen some mortals fall under enemy control, causing pockets of chaos.
Still, it hadn't risen to the level of "truly troublesome."
Which could only mean one thing.
That Lion El'Jonson was just—
Hades, mid-sip, nearly spit out his drink on the spot.
Mortarion shifted his gaze back over.
"What are you doing?"
"Cough, cough—nothing, nothing."
Hades waved his hand dismissively. He had been listening closely to Garro and Astelan's conversation.
In truth, Hades had underestimated Garro's interpersonal skills. Apparently having received some kind of heads-up from the Dark Angels, Astelan had begun subtly expressing that they didn't want to get involved in the Death Guard's campaign any further.
The guy was going on and on—boasting about how many troops and ships they'd brought—but to Hades, it all just sounded like a pitiful monologue, laced with a passive-aggressive jab or two at the Lion.
Naturally, Garro picked up on it too, and with a calm demeanor, he assured Astelan that the honors of the campaign would be shared with them—
Obviously, that line came at Hades' suggestion. After all, they didn't care about such things anyway.
Maybe Mortarion used to care—once. But now, after dealing with several of his "brothers," Mortarion had come to realize that sharing glory with them might actually be a form of disgrace.
The other side caught on to Garro's subtext as well. The two of them continued their duet like seasoned performers—one line here, one line there—until the terms were quietly settled:
The Dark Angels would receive credit for the battle.
The Death Guard would resupply their fleet with ammunition for the journey back.
And, due to their "heavy casualties," the Dark Angels would not participate in the cleanup operation.
Hades tapped the table thoughtfully.
These Dark Angels really did sound like they were trying to get something for nothing—though to be fair, they hadn't demanded anything particularly significant.
If it weren't for the fact that he and the Death Guard didn't want to draw too much attention…
Still, Hades couldn't help but admire them a bit. "Real talent," he thought. Their ability to slip away cleanly, their artful feigned ignorance—truly worthy of the First Legion. Their acting skills were top-tier.
From Astelan's point of view, being "exiled" to some remote battleground had already caused him to breed resentment toward the Lion.
Then, upon encountering the Death Guard—clearly harboring their own "little secrets"—the Dark Angels had conducted a basic scan, assessed Garro's stance, and immediately decided to back off, take a few perks, and get out while they could.
After all, every Legion had its secrets, more or less. Except for those lunatics in the Alpha Legion—unless the Emperor gave a direct order, the motto was: see nothing, say nothing.
Still, Hades couldn't help but wonder—what would Astelan report when he returned to the First Legion?
He was already preparing for the possibility that the First Legion might become wary of them after this.
As Hades was thinking, Mortarion suddenly reached over, apparently dissatisfied with Hades' vague response, and tried to switch the comms to external speaker.
Whoa—no, no, no! Hades couldn't just let Garro get sold out like that—
"Hey now, I was listening to that."
Mortarion paused.
"What are they saying, Hades?"
Hades took a deep breath.
"They were complaining about their superior officer."
"Lion El'Jonson?"
Hades stared wordlessly at Mortarion.
Called it. This guy had zero self-awareness, or rather, it never even occurred to him that he might be the target of criticism.
Mortarion's tone held a trace of schadenfreude.
"I knew it."
Hades tried to maintain his composure, nodding solemnly.
"Exactly. So... I don't think it's appropriate for you to listen in on these... soldier grumblings."
"After all, the Primarch of the First Legion is your brother."
"Ah, right. He is."
Mortarion casually withdrew his hand.
Even though he really did want to hear exactly how they were complaining, as Hades reminded him—he was still his "brother", after all.
And as his "brother," even if he really wanted to quote those complaints to the Lion later, he had to at least pretend to save face for Lion El'Jonson.
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