Chapter 195: The Lingering Shadow of Chaos
A sudden cheer erupted in the steel corridor, startling a passing tech-priest. Warriors from both Legions had, at some point, surrounded the dueling platform.
The "first blood" rule made for a spectacular contest. Because a single successful blow could decide the victory, it often drove the combatants to attempt daring, all-or-nothing attacks. This inherent risk was the duel's most captivating element.
"That's the seventh!"
Alm spat a mouthful of blood and spun his power axe in a dangerous arc. He had to admit, this Chapter Master was skilled. In a fight to the death, Alm would be no match for him. But he had also sensed a simmering anger in his opponent, a weakness the old wolf could exploit.
After a moment's thought, he lowered his grip on the power axe, bringing his hand closer to the blade. This sacrificed his reach but gave him finer control over his attacks.
"Do you knights know only how to dodge? The weakest fisherman on Fenris has more courage than you," Alm roared, launching another assault. His taunt was a dull knife, expertly scraping away at his opponent's patience.
The spectating Space Wolves let out a timely roar of laughter. A few Blood Claws even beat their chestplates with exaggerated motions. The Dark Angels, in contrast, maintained an infuriating silence, only the tightening of their grips on their weapons betraying their true emotions.
The Dark Angels' champion, Azrael, silently adjusted his sword stance, the disruption field of his master-crafted power sword humming. But at his waist, unnoticed by all, the wooden crozius trembled slightly. This tiny anomaly was precisely what Alm had been waiting for. As the old Wolf Priests taught, even the most perfect defense cannot hide a flaw in the heart.
Alm suddenly dropped low, completely abandoning the defense of his face. Azrael, in turn, shifted from his defensive counter-stance and met Alm's wide axe-swing with his blade. The spectating warriors all took a half-step back in unison—a sign that the duel was about to be decided.
CLANG!
The sparks from the clash of axe and sword had not yet faded when Azrael's thrusting blade sliced across Alm's cheek. But just before it connected, the axe's edge had already swept across the fingers of Azrael's sword-hand. A crimson bead of blood was reduced to a wisp of ash in the crackle of the disruption field.
"First Blood!"
The cheer from the Space Wolves was a thunderclap. Several Blood Claws, in their excitement, tossed their helmets into the air.
Alm took a half-step back, laughing as he wiped the blood from his cheek. He tossed a skin of Mjod to the loser. That's more like it. This is the kind of evenly matched fight I've been missing. Damn it all, spending all this time fighting those monsters on the Silent Vow had started to erode his confidence.
The Space Wolves were already swarming their champion, clapping him on the back, while the Dark Angels silently attended to their Grand Master's injury.
"Their baseline skill is higher than ours," Zahariel remarked. He was leaning against a pillar in the shadows, his arms crossed. His gaze swept over the celebrating Space Wolves.
"Yes," Zahariel's companion, Zahariel, replied with a slight nod. His gaze was fixed on a few of the silent knights.
During the era of the Legions, recruitment had been vast, drawing from a wide pool. The quality of neophytes had naturally been uneven. In the current era of the Chapters, numbers were strictly limited. Every warrior had to pass the most rigorous of trials. From a purely individual standpoint, the average Astartes neophyte of this era was indeed of a higher caliber.
But at the same time, the intensity of the Great Crusade's wars was on a completely different scale. The warriors who had survived those great battlefields possessed a combination of luck and tactical skill that few in this age could match. And that was before considering that they had undergone the Primaris Space Marine upgrade, making them physically superior to these Firstborn Marines.
"The Prince has already gone in," Zahariel's companion stated.
"Yes. We have begun to mark the members of their Inner Circle. We can purge them if necessary. The outer circles have already been pacified. Once we have a clear picture of the Fallen's internal structure, we can attempt to take over their successor Chapters. After all—" He tilted his data-slate slightly. It displayed the necessary equipment to arm a new, mechanized legion.
They were all one family. Taking over would not be difficult. A complete "blood transfusion" could be completed in a century. And as long as the Prince was with them, they would have an endless supply of production support. If their equipment logistics didn't run through The Rock, it would be even harder for any problems to be discovered.
In the shadows of the bridge, a servo-skull silently drifted past. Its red optical sensor swept over the spot where the two had been standing, but captured only an unadorned pillar.
"Some feel the Prince is too lenient," the second Zahariel suddenly said, his tone flat, but the implication clear. There were those among them of a more violent temperament. For these long-suffering lions, nothing could soothe the pain of ten thousand years better than a cathartic revenge.
"Hmph!" A cold snort escaped the first Zahariel. His gaze fell on Azrael, who was now in conversation with Ezekiel. "If they are Fallen, then they had better pray that the Prince maintains his calm and restraint for as long as possible."
"I agree," the second Zahariel nodded again.
The Prince had brought much to their Legion. A place to stand, a powerful backer, a grand ideal. But most importantly, he had, by his own example, rebuilt the trust and the principles that had long been shattered within the Legion.
A nostalgic look appeared in Zahariel's eyes. The suspicious glances between former comrades, the tense atmosphere of the secret conclaves, the truths that could never be spoken. Now, they could finally, once again, trust their backs to their brothers, certain that the weapons in their hands would never be turned against their own.
It had been a very long time since they had possessed such a thing.
"I have lost."
Azrael caught the proffered Mjod-skin and sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice. He had been too focused on Alm's earlier taunts, wanting to scar his face to humiliate him, and in doing so, had given the old wolf an opening.
"It matters not," Ezekiel said. He was privately disappointed that he had been unable to pinpoint the source of his death-premonition, but he didn't dwell on it. Such duels were always a matter of win or lose. He had seen many, and he met the outcome with equanimity.
The Consecrators Chapter was known for its dogma and fanaticism. Its upper echelons were composed almost entirely of Interrogator-Chaplains. When faced with an "enemy," they did not typically ask "why." The Inner Circle needed their single-mindedness. Aside from the Ravenwing, the Consecrators were the main force in the Dark Angels' hunt for the Fallen.
"Congratulations, Alm Iron-oath," Ezekiel said, displaying the grace befitting a Knight of Caliban. He was the first to raise the wolf-brew in a toast. As the stopper was pulled, the strong, sweet scent of Mjod filled the dueling ground. Alm took the "Calibanite Red" offered to him and drank deeply, the liquid spilling from his lips and mixing with the still-fresh blood from the duel on his cheek.
The interaction between the two leaders instantly dispelled the earlier tension.
Romulus watched as Alm claimed the master-crafted power halberd, the victor's prize. He gave a distant wave, offering his own blessing. For a moment, he felt that these Dark Angels were quite magnanimous, not nearly as fanatical as he had imagined. This dueling culture would continue, until a day in the far future when a rising Wolf Lord named Ragnar would take first blood in a duel, but then, in a fit of rage, would treacherously strike off the head of the Dark Angels' champion.
That would be when the true rift between the two Legions would form. And the series of scandals that would follow for the Wolves, such as the emergence of the Wulfen, would only widen that rift, leading the Dark Angels to conclude that their cousins had truly fallen. And on the eve of the Thirteenth Black Crusade, under the machinations of a Tzeentchian Changeling, Magnus, the Dark Angels, and the Grey Knights would once again drag all of Fenris into the flames of war.
'Chaos,' Romulus thought, his gaze returning to his work. An astropathic dispatch tube in his hand displayed an urgent request for aid from the Carcharodons Chapter. He frowned.
'A truly lingering shadow.'
[OPERATION: BEHIND ENEMY LINES, PHASED MISSION BRIEFING]
TIMESTAMP: 746.M41 (Exact time unverifiable)
INTEL LEVEL: SECRET (III)
CARCHARODONS CHAPTER
OBJECTIVE: In coordination with the Mantis Warriors, conduct harassment operations against the Hive Fleet via guerilla tactics.
STATUS: Severely Impeded
DETAILS: Industrial World: Erebos has suffered a severe Chaos incursion. A spatio-temporal distortion barrier has appeared on the planet's surface, rendering it immune to naval bombardment. The internal time-flow has been measured at 6x that of the materium. Multiple Chaos warbands have entered the planet via warp portals.
CURRENT SITUATION: The void war has been won. Surface population casualties have reached 95% or higher. 800 Astartes of the Carcharodons and Mantis Warriors are holding a highland fortress, protecting 27 million souls from being sacrificed. Enemy forces identified as the Warband of a Thousand Eyes, the Flawless Host, the Black Legion, and others—
FOLLOW-UP: Our forces will continue to hold the fortress and await support from the main fleet.
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