Chapter 198: Repent
[MAINTAIN VIGILANCE OF DAWNLIGHT FLEET. PREPARE LAUNCH PROTOCOLS.]
[RESERVE FORCES AWAITING DEPLOYMENT? SURFACE-LEVEL COMBAT PRESSURE IS EXTREME. SUPPORT REQUIRED.]
The bright lights of the bridge illuminated the solemn chamber, and the blood that had splattered on the walls, now vanished without a trace.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The comms alarms blared one after another, a testament to the urgency of the ground commanders, yet no one answered. The bridge was still functional, but everyone on it was dead.
"Mission complete."
The faint scent of incense filled his nostrils. Zahariel led his unit in cleansing the bridge of any signs of combat. He leaped down from a gantry, his gaze falling on the few black-armoured knights whose bodies had not been vaporized. Our own.
"Askelon, are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Askelon's face was pale. A blow from a power sword had caught him in the side, and his Belisarian Furnace, not yet in emergency mode, was slowly pumping out stem cells to repair the damage. The skirmish had cost them. The Inner Circle were the best of the best of their era; they were not weak. And their experience as hunters made them experts at fighting their own kin.
Click-clank—
The sound of engaging metal gears made every Dark Angel in the room freeze. Zahariel slowly turned his head, his helmet's lenses locking onto the trembling transport lift. The lift ascended, revealing a squad of fully armed Consecrators. They shouldered heavy bolters, their chestplates bearing fresh battle scars. The lead warrior's helmet scanned the room, his gaze finally settling on the blood-spattered Dark Angels.
The air solidified.
"Azkael," Zahariel said, signaling his comrades to remain on alert. His gaze paused for a moment on the power armour of two of the Consecrators, and then he addressed the squad's Knight-Captain by name.
"My Lord." The knight named Azkael immediately stepped forward, simultaneously gesturing for his men to maintain their guard. The warriors behind him spread into a tactical formation, the safety catches of their boltguns clicking in unison. He advanced, his eyes scanning Zahariel's form. Only after confirming there were no anomalies did he relax his tense shoulders.
"The bridge was boarded. The situation has been dealt with," Zahariel stated, his tone calm as he summarized the events. The way his right hand unconsciously caressed the hilt of his sword was a perfect mimicry of the Inner Circle officer he had replaced.
"I understand," the Knight-Captain nodded, asking no further questions. He waited silently for his orders.
"Consolidate our forces. Terminate the pre-strike protocol. Recall all units from the surface strike zones," Zahariel's voice echoed through the bridge. "Ansel is an important forge-city. We must protect the Imperium's property. At the same time, I need you to ensure the safety of the Imperial citizens."
The order perfectly matched the standard directives given to the outer circle forces: protect facilities, save civilians, maintain order. Or rather, the outer circles only ever received such orders. The outer circles of the Dark Angels were glorious. They were the public face of the Chapter, encompassing every fantasy a citizen of the Imperium could have about a perfect knight. Any knight who discovered the existence of the Inner Circle would face an immediate review. If they passed, they joined the Inner Circle and shared the burden of the secret. If they failed, they vanished from existence, and the secret was kept all the same.
"Yes, my Lord," the Knight-Captain said, accepting the order and departing without another word. He would not ask why. The first thing he had learned upon joining the Legion was to never ask why. And in truth, they knew nothing.
"They're even more severe than we were," Askelon remarked to his comrade, his peripheral vision catching the departing Consecrators.
"Indeed," Zahariel nodded, scrolling through the auspex array, ignoring the string of incoming commands from the surface and connecting to the Dawnlight.
Although the Legion-era Dark Angels had been rife with secret societies and factional infighting, they had at least all remembered their direct responsibility to the Lion. The competition between their cultures and martial traditions had never devolved into the twisted command structure they saw today. If anyone had dared to implement such a paranoid system within the Legion, the Lion's fist would have sent their head flying.
"Inner Circle members have been eliminated at designated points. Several identities have been successfully replaced," he sent his message, encrypted along with standard strategic data. "Total casualties: 72 Astartes, 1300+ mortal armsmen. Our losses: 5. We now have complete control of the warship. Strike protocol terminated."
On the bridge of the Dawnlight, Romulus received the report, his expression grim. His fingers moved quickly across the hololithic star-chart, secretly dispatching rigorously vetted mortal officers to assume command of the captured warships. At the same time, the Techmarines of the Ironwing were carefully analyzing the database of the confiscated forbidden weapons. He despised conflict, but once it began, he would not hesitate. And the Dark Angels... they truly tested one's patience.
Romulus looked up. Several more reports, with varying degrees of success, popped up. Similar takeover operations were underway on thirteen other Consecrator vessels. In just fifteen minutes, the Dawnlight Fleet had seized control of their entire fleet. It was violent, but effective. Of course, conflict was inevitably accompanied by death. No one had wanted it to get this ugly.
"Haaa—" Zahariel shook his head and sighed, dispelling the Pentaculum Wing's spell. His own mannerisms began to return to his borrowed body. Other operatives would soon take over this identity, coordinating with their comrades for a long-term undercover mission.
There were many Paths for the Aeldari, and one of them was the Path of a Thousand Faces. It was a path of mimicry and study, specializing in infiltration and combat. Through psychic and technological means, they could read an individual's soul and completely become that person, acquiring all their memories. They could even mimic non-sentient life, such as a spider. The Aeldari, like humans, originally had only four limbs, but a master of this Path could grow the necessary neural nodes from their own body, and with the attachment of auxiliary limbs, could use them as if they had always been another creature.
The Dark Angels had, of course, studied these arts. But they were still novices. Even as Astartes, limited by the differences between their souls and bodies, their progress in mastering these soul-arts, which the Aeldari had perfected over millions of years, was slow and difficult.
But it didn't matter. Because they had true Aeldari tutors. With the guidance of those ancient xenos, combined with the Dark Angels' own centuries of infiltration experience and the special talents inherited through their bloodline, it was enough to pull off this dangerous performance.
It was enough.
'We're becoming more and more like the Alpha Legion,' Zahariel sighed under his breath, his fingers unconsciously tracing the deliberately obscured Legion sigil of the Fallen Inner Circle on his chestplate. He now understood why the Prince did not want the feud between them and the Fallen to continue. The Prince had once summoned him in private, acknowledging the blood-debt between them, and had even tacitly permitted them to seek an eye for an eye—but he would absolutely not allow a private vendetta to be twisted into an accusation of betrayal against an entire group.
Because as long as that hatred remained, as long as it was a secret the Dark Angels had to bury, a truth they dared not face, they would forever be confined to the shadows.
"Make them repent!"
The voice of a comrade echoed in his mind. The Vice-Councilor lowered his eyes. The words were grating.
[WEAPON CHARGING—]
"If you intend to face this history, then do not elevate it to the level of a group's rebellion," Arthur said. He was calibrating a weapon's launch module. The Dark Angels had already taken control of the frigate, and he and his companion were chatting idly.
"So you approve of them continuing to execute the Dark Angels' Inner Circle?" Ramesses asked, leaning against a console, studying the Infinity Circuit in his hand.
"On the battlefield, it's every man for himself. After the battle, we will settle accounts according to the law," Arthur said, finally stopping his work and looking up at the slowly scrolling progress bar. "I am not forbidding them from seeking vengeance. The old saying that a gentleman does not hold a grudge is frankly absurd here. If I were to demand that of them, I would be a fool who ignores reality."
He sighed softly. "But both sides of the Dark Angels are too fond of pointing fingers, and of pointing them at themselves."
Arthur's tactical database contained countless contingency plans, but 'designate the entire Dark Angels Chapter as traitors' was not one of them. He knew all too well the heavy burden this ancient Chapter carried. Every member who joined the Inner Circle had to bear a bloody and heavy history, one that was a far cry from the glorious education they had received. The gilded tomes and sacred texts still shone in the monastery's cloisters, while the newly inducted members of the Inner Circle had to face a dark and contradictory creed.
Many Inner Circle candidates died during the loyalty tests. Because they had doubts about the Inner Circle's duties, because their culture and their glorious past made them unable to accept its darkness. This was disloyalty. And so, silence would fall upon them forever. Their nerves would twitch under the torture of psychic soul-scouring, but their voices would be permanently sealed.
The number of outer circle members executed by the Inner Circle was likely no less than the number of Fallen they had captured. The Dark Angels Chapter itself was rife with massive contradictions. The Inner Circle had been founded because these Dark Angels suspected they themselves had destroyed their own homeworld, causing the Legion to fracture, and they were terrified that the surviving 'Fallen' would reveal the truth and trigger an Imperial investigation.
Imagine an Imperial inquiry discovering a loyal Knight of Caliban who claims he boarded the flagship with the Lion, and then a strike from the heavens blew the entire planet to bits. When questioned, you can't very well say, 'I followed the Lion's orders to bombard Caliban, and then I don't know why the planet exploded, the Primarch disappeared, the Legion fractured, and our heritage was broken,' and then claim to be loyal, can you?
Just as the saying goes, 'once suspicion is born, guilt is established.' The moment they suspected themselves of being the traitors, they became them. All their actions revolved around 'concealing any possible evidence of our treason.' This mindset doomed them to paranoia and extremism. And so, the ten-thousand-year-old veterans became more and more certain that these new guys were the traitors, and the Inner Circle's fanaticism was no surprise. The absolute authority of the Inner Circle and the objective existence of the Fallen had temporarily suppressed this fatal contradiction.
"The Inner Circle is the one thing that should not exist. I agree with that completely. You could execute every single member and not one would be innocent. But they absolutely cannot be judged on the crime of fracturing the Legion and treason," Arthur said, pointing at the planet below, but his words were meant for others. "What would that do to the warriors of the outer circles, who still adhere to the Codex? What would they be? Accomplices to traitors? Traitors to humanity? Suddenly they're part of a traitor legion, and then I have to deal with another wave of crazed Inner Circle members?"
If the Dawnbreakers truly wanted to cause trouble, they could have just broadcast the Inner Circle's secrets across the galaxy from the very beginning. They wouldn't even need the other Imperial factions to verify the truth; the Dark Angels would tear themselves apart. And then what? The Dark Angels have over a hundred successor chapters. Many Inner Circle members are not even on the official rosters. The practice of putting veterans in stasis is common to almost all of them. A conservative estimate would be over a hundred thousand Astartes.
A civil war of a hundred thousand Astartes, fighting with ancient technology passed down for ten thousand years. Would the forces of Chaos just sit back and watch? How many would die? How much destruction would be wrought? How many new recruits would Chaos gain? The contemporary Dark Angels have always placed the honour of their Chapter and their own interests before those of the Imperium. They are not on the same path. The only reason they can coexist now is that the Imperium has not yet discovered their secret.
"I have a plan. Through infiltration of the various successor chapters, we will gradually introduce the generation of Primaris Space Marines we have cultivated. The Primaris have no historical baggage. They do not need to carry this hatred," he said. The events of the Great Heresy, he would make sure every neophyte knew them in full. The new generation of Dark Angels would not need to live in the shadow of a past glory. "And the turnover rate for Space Marines is actually quite high. With a little subtraction and addition, in less than a hundred years, they will naturally become the dominant ideology. Then, it will be much easier to sort things out."
"But I need one side to cooperate."
Arthur had a massive headache, but the progress bar, now at 99%, brought his focus back to the battlefield.
"Master Arthur, you really have it rough," Ramesses said, leaning leisurely against the observation window, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. He was watching the Lion's forces fight, using his psychic powers to provide battlefield intelligence for their allies, scooping up the souls of a few unlucky individuals, and listening to his friend's words. All of it only strengthened his resolve not to raise any 'pups' of his own. Compared to Arthur's careful maneuvering to prevent a bigger explosion, he found the little ducklings of the Blood Angels, who clung to Karna, to be much cuter. The Angel's children had their flaws, but at least they listened.
As for the Inner Circle... honestly, even if Arthur stood before Ezekiel right now and explained everything, the Chief Librarian would just roar, "Make Arthur repent!" and then die to prove his point. Would he believe him? As if. Would he listen? Absolutely not. These Dark Angels were too easy to set off. They were hiss-at-everything supermen.
The Thousand Sons were no better. From the world-shaking genius of the Daemon Primarch Magnus to the world-shaking genius of the Tzeentchian champion Ahriman, you could see just how 'special' they were. He wasn't going to get involved. Whoever wanted to could have them.
Ramesses glanced at the Industrial Park. The Aeldari Farseers were analyzing the memories of the Inner Circle members to help the Pentaculum Wing Librarians create flawless disguises for their undercover operatives. The daemons were up to their usual business: copying knowledge, experimenting with sorcery, and oh, designing various product prototypes. Ramesses stroked his chin and raised their KPIs again. The whips of the Khorne Bloodletters cracked with renewed vigor, and the Nurgling assembly line, yelping, had to pick up its pace.
The sorcerer looked back at the farce on the planet's surface and smiled again. Happy. Who in their right mind would put themselves under this much pressure? Was being a daemon-slaver and a xenos-capitalist not enjoyable enough?
[CHARGING COMPLETE · AWAITING LAUNCH CONFIRMATION]
The cold, synthesized female voice of a servitor echoed in the metal chamber. The crimson warning lights bathed the control console in a pool of blood.
SLAP—
Two armoured hands came down almost simultaneously, each on an opposing control panel.
[COMMAND RECEIVED. INITIATING STRIKE PROTOCOL.]
The system logged the data and began to execute the final protocol. A hololithic display automatically projected the battlefield, countless points of light representing the lives about to be extinguished.
[THREE. TWO. ONE.]
The electronic countdown was sharp in the dead silence of the bridge. Arthur's helmet lenses reflected the ticking numbers.
[LAUNCH!]
The ship shuddered violently, and a deafening roar shook the very foundations of the void.
Hoooowl—
A strong, cold wind blew. Almost in the same instant the frigate sank into the atmosphere, a chill fell over the planet's surface.
Are they here?
Flesh was devoured. When the sharks bared their fangs, the knights who had abandoned their virtue and hidden in the shadows were torn apart. In their last moments, as if they finally understood, they sent out a warning.
"I thought you would be more cautious," Tyberos sneered, dropping the headless body of an Inner Circle knight. The chain-glaive in his hand spun, spitting out bone and metal fragments. "That you would resolve the conflict at hand before coming to me to look for new trouble."
"The order has been given," Te Kahurangi said, the psychic light in his eyes flaring as the one-way communication block was established. He relayed the message: "Lord Romulus orders us to withdraw and assist the Blood Angels in their assault on the Chaos targets on the surface. The security of the city will be handed over to Lord Arthur."
"And if someone tries to stop us?" Tyberos asked, his massive form seeming to merge with the shadows, becoming almost impossible to track visually.
Te Kahurangi received the information. They had spent a long time with the Dawnbreakers and knew the nature of the four lords well. They were resolute in whatever they did. Once they had decided on a course of action, they would do their utmost to see it through. But they were also exceptionally cautious with the lives of their men. So, when their wrath was finally unleashed upon those who deserved to die, it was always a memorable occasion.
They said:
"Kill."
Dense snowflakes struck the lenses of his helmet. Ezekiel stared at the artillery in the sky. The Inner Circle's tactic had been to use the destruction of infrastructure to tie down the Carcharodons and the Mantis Warriors, withdraw their forces to a safe location, and then use the forbidden weapons aboard the frigate to completely pulverize the port area, including the forge-spire where the Mechanicus Magos resided. Then, the assembled outer circle of the Consecrators would launch their attack on the Chaos forces, and the Inner Circle would use the opportunity to purge any presence on the planet that had been tainted by the Fallen. With the frigate's firepower, it would have been easy.
But he could no longer consider such tactics. His robes whipped in the wind. Ezekiel drove his force sword into the ground and stared up at the sky he could no longer touch. A vortex had appeared there, like a giant eye suddenly opening. It was the prelude to a Rift Cannon firing. He had seen it many times before.
This eye was looking down on the land. Its gaze swept the area, and finally locked onto the distant Chaos fortress. Without warning, the vortex tore open. The moment it locked onto the Chaos fortress, the structure of reality groaned under the strain. There was no explosion, no flash of light. The iron-forged fortress simply collapsed like a child's building blocks. The wreckage and the traitors within disintegrated in the warp rift. The traitors, fused with the flesh of Chaos, were devoured by the void before they could even scream.
This was not part of the plan.
He silently tried to contact the frigate, the fleet, the Inner Circle members in the sky and on the ground. Silence. Silence. And more silence.
That suffocating threat had returned. He glanced at Azrael, who was at his side, his honour guard already in battle formation. The snow was falling harder now.
Ezekiel suddenly realized.
They were in deep trouble.
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