In a twisted starship suspended above Terra, the scorching light of a star shone before a throne.
On the throne sat a twisted dark shadow, vaguely retaining some human traces, but within its massive body, there was mostly writhing, blasphemous power.
It let out a sharp roar, cursing the dazzling starlight and scolding the source of that light.
That was a mummified human, standing like a revenant before the dark shadow, its shriveled flesh emitting a blinding light, its eyes burning fiercely, like a cold black star.
Before that mummified human stood an Archangel in polished golden armor, its pure white wings slowly unfurling, shielding the mummified figure from the dark shadow's wrath.
Dante had seen this scene countless times, this vision that seemed both a prophecy and a past event.
It was said that this was the prophecy Sanguinius had once seen, symbolizing his hope for the Emperor and his fall beneath the claws of Horus.
However, Dante often felt that this prophecy might not have truly come to pass, and that one day he, too, would be like the Archangel in this vision, falling before some dark entity for the Emperor and humanity.
This thought often amused Dante; he knew it was the part of his soul belonging to the child of the salt-seller at work, that child yearning to be a hero, to make a great sacrifice at the end of his life.
"You yearn to sacrifice yourself like the Archangel. What could be more presumptuous than that?" The voice of the Flesh Tearers' Chief Librarian seemed to echo in Dante's ears.
He shook his head, knowing the dream before him was about to end—
However, the scene suddenly rippled, and a fourth force appeared between the mummified figure, the Archangel, and the dark shadow.
Dante heard the souls of many machines singing praises, and the rustling sound of the Tyranid devouring food.
He saw countless Necron singing emotional songs, their glowing eyes filled with emotions accumulated over millions of years, the Silent King and countless Phaeron bowing their heads, worshipping a sacred figure.
He saw a pitch-black abyss, like a realm not belonging to reality, where countless daemons dissolved, and the rustling sounds of the Tyranid devouring echoed within it. Some kind of round pastry was constantly multiplying like stars, and the Tyranid devoured these pastries to expand. This realm then dissolved the newborn Tyranid, forming an ouroboros.
Then these scenes Dante saw gradually settled down, transforming into a blue, round figure.
That figure extended its round hands towards both the mummified figure and the dark shadow.
Dante only heard the roars and howls of the Dark Gods, and only saw a semicircular pouch flying through the air, falling into a deep well.
Darkness, and then only endless darkness.
Dante clutched his head, his fingers touching his age-loosened skin.
It took him a second to realize he was lying in his bedroom in Angel Keep, not in that starship suspended above Terra.
Another dream. Dante often dreamed, dreaming of being in that starship above Terra, witnessing the battle between the mummified figure, the Archangel, and the dark shadow.
But this time the dream had changed; Dante saw Doraemon.
He recognized the blue figure in the dream as the Doraemon he had seen last night. That Alexander.
Doraemon extended his hand towards the mummified figure and the dark shadow. Was this some kind of hint or metaphor?
If the mummified figure symbolized the Emperor, and the dark shadow symbolized Horus or the Dark Gods, did this mean that Doraemon would one day in the future be an enemy to both the Emperor and the Dark Gods?
And why did the Archangel ignore this? Why did the Necron praise him? What was that ouroboros made of constantly multiplying pastries, Tyranid, and a black space?
And finally, the white semicircular pouch he saw, falling into a deep well. What did those symbolize?
Did it perhaps portend that Saint Doraemon ultimately failed? Did he not achieve his goal?
Dante was not good at interpreting omens. Perhaps he should tell Mephiston?
As soon as this thought arose, Dante quickly dismissed it. Mephiston had clearly sided with Saint Doraemon.
"Of course, I can't tell him." Dante slowly got out of bed.
Last night, after Alexander left, Dante tidied up his documents and, finding some rare free time, fell into a deep sleep. This was his first good sleep in days.
Dante glanced at the clock by his bed; he had slept for about three hours. This was not enough to alleviate Dante's fatigue; he was truly too old.
Chief Blood Priest Corbulo had even warned him not to go to the Blood Coffin, as it would be very dangerous for him in his current condition.
Dante looked at his muscles and skin. The Emperor granted immortality to his sons, and this immortality flowed through the blood of the gene-father into every Astartes' body.
Now his body was still full of strength, his nerves still agile, his mind as quick as ever, but Dante could still feel the aging. Perhaps it was not just physical aging; Dante's soul might also have aged.
Dante recalled the scenes he had seen in his dream, looking for more detailed changes in the dreamscape.
Aside from the appearance of the blue figure, Dante also vaguely noticed that the fiercely burning Emperor's Sword, which hung by the mummified figure's knee, had also disappeared. Was this also a bad omen?
Dante couldn't say for sure or understand it. He dismissed these thoughts and then sighed.
There were still many things to be busy with and to think about today. In the Angel's Well gladiatorial arena, Sanguinius' warriors would end all disagreements through combat, and Dante had to hurry there.
He wanted to call for his old blood-slave, Alpheus, who had accompanied him for over a hundred years. However, Dante remembered that it was meaningless; Alpheus was gone.
The transition from a mortal's youth to old age now seemed so quick in Dante's eyes, as if it had passed in an instant.
He sighed, took out his robe, and put it on. The robe was embroidered with an Archangel motif. It had been hand-woven by a Chapter brother.
Dante knew that many Space Marine Chapters lived an ascetic life.
But the Blood Angels still remembered some of the gene-father's teachings. Beyond the skills a warrior should know, many Blood Angels also understood art, poetry, cooking, handicrafts, and winemaking. Some Chapter brothers even cultivated vegetable plots within Angel Keep, growing crops.
This helped Sanguinius' sons suppress the Red Thirst and the Black Rage within them. Unfortunately, Dante himself was not proficient in any of these arts.
"If one day there is no more war in the galaxy, Dante would probably be one of the most difficult people in the Chapter to re-employ." A bitter smile crossed Dante's lips.
"That day will probably never come."
Suddenly, Dante heard a bloody roar, coming from the tall spire directly opposite his bedroom window.
The Lost Spire, where those Blood Angels who had succumbed to the Red Thirst, their appearance almost alien-like, were imprisoned.
"They've woken up too." Dante walked to the window, looking at the Lost Spire in the distance.
The spire was so sharp, piercing the clouds, almost touching the crimson rift in the sky, like a sharp fang, drawing blood.
The crimson screams continued. Dante found a bottle of unadulterated red wine, opened it, drank a glass, and then strode out of his bedroom, passed through the ebony door, stepped on the ruby mosaic, and followed the passage within Angel Keep towards the Angel's Well.
As he arrived outside the spire, the crimson screams from within the Lost Spire became clearer and clearer.
Those prisoners, those ghouls, those brothers, were screaming, craving blood.
Their howls often heralded war.
The Tyranid were very close, extremely close. Dante did not have much time left.
The problem facing Dante now was to end the disputes between the various Chapter brothers through duels in the Angel's Well.
This was simple; there would be almost no surprises. Using gladiatorial combat to end disputes was a common method.
Dante could also use this time to spare some thought for Doraemon's matter.
That Warp entity wanted to go to the Archangel's tomb, and he hinted that he wanted to use the Archangel's remains to resurrect the Archangel.
Dante's mind still echoed with his words from last night, and the scales of his heart were slowly tipping towards believing him.
However, the rationality of a Chapter Master still controlled Dante, reminding him that even if he trusted him, he could not be unprepared.
But how should he do it?
"No! This is our Chapter's relic! Absolutely not!"
Before he even reached the Angel's Well, Dante heard a commotion.
A hint of confusion appeared in his eyes; the formal duels had not yet begun.
Dante quickened his pace and walked into the Angel's Well.
The Angel's Well was a converted shaft of an extinct volcano, with a circular pit in the middle. Normally, it was a small lake, but when duels were needed, it would be drained like this, revealing a deep battle pit and the washed sand at the bottom.
Surrounding the duel pit were layers of hexagonal tables, and behind the tables were over ten thousand seats.
The Angel's Well was a structure from the Legion era, preserved to this day, fully capable of accommodating the more than twenty thousand Astartes who had now arrived at Baal.
Dante quickly entered from a high vantage point, and the warriors around him immediately turned their gaze towards him.
Dante nodded slightly to them, then looked into the duel pit.
He saw a Space Marine in metallic blue power armor standing in the duel pit.
Opposite him was Erlwin, the Captain of the Lamenters Chapter. Erlwin was somewhat reluctantly handing his master-crafted power axe to the blue-armored Space Marine before him.
"This is our Chapter's relic!" Erlwin's voice was filled with apprehension.
"Which Chapter are you from?" the blue-armored Space Marine asked. "A bet's a bet. You don't want people to know your Chapter reneges, do you?"
"We are the Lamenters. Can I give you something else? I'll give you two other power axes, as long as it's not a Chapter relic!"
"The Lamenters, huh? You won't need it anyway in the future! Hand it over!"
"Ah? Ah!"