The skies over Baal had long since been cleansed of the Hive Fleet's acidic shroud. Even now, the fractured nebulae cast a roseate glow upon the towering spires of the Blood Angels' monastery.
"This is a miracle illuminated by the Emperor's light."
Dante stood to the side and slightly behind Roboute Guilliman. Before them, a liquid shimmering with brilliant radiance rippled within a specialized containment vessel provided by the Iron Men.
"End your suffering with this, Dante."
Dante reached out to touch the container. The liquid churned gently. Though Guilliman had already briefed him on the nature of the Panacea, seeing such a staggering quantity of the cure rendered him speechless.
From the contingent of Ultramarines accompanying the Primarch, an Apothecary stepped forward. He extracted an injection device and pressed it to the docking port beneath the container. With a faint hiss, the transparent injector filled with the substance.
The Apothecary handed the device to Dante with reverence. The man before him was a legend even greater than Calgar; his experiences were eclipsed only by the Primarchs themselves. His life had been a tapestry of endless glory, worthy of any soul's respect.
"My Lord?" A member of the Sanguinary Guard standing behind Dante spoke, a cautious tremor in his voice, hoping to advise his Chapter Master to exercise restraint.
Dante, however, did not hesitate. He took the injector and pressed the nozzle against his own carotid artery.
Hiss.
The painless injector left a faint mark on his neck as the serum, reduced to a stream thinner than a hair, bypassed his resilient skin to surge directly into his bloodstream.
Instantly, Dante's white hair erupted into a blaze of crimson gold. The veins beneath his skin began to flow with the molten intensity of volcanic fire. His power armour's logic engines shrieked in alarm; the vitals-monitor broadcast a cascade of anomalies, with every metric rising at an unnaturally rapid pace.
Creak.
The expansion of his own flesh felt alien and uncomfortable. Guilliman seemed to perceive the shifting reality of the situation and raised a hand.
"Techmarine, assist Dante. Remove his power armour."
Obeying the Regent's command, an Ultramarines Techmarine stepped forward. After offering a silent apology to Dante, he immediately set to work stripping the plate. Yet, he had barely undone a few locking mechanisms before the armour was forced outward by the internal pressure.
Dante caught a glimpse of absolute blackness through the widening gaps.
"By the Emperor, why is his Black Carapace reacting in this manner?"
The onlookers were stunned. The Black Carapace, which should have remained beneath the skin, was now adhered to the surface of his body like a tight-fitting garment stretched to the point of rupturing. The Techmarine had to carefully control the laser-cutter on his auxiliary arm to slice through the material.
Beneath the resilient, unnaturally expanded Black Carapace lay a physique of brawny, blemish-free skin. The power armour, stripped of its internal anchor points, fell to the floor with a dull, heavy thud.
Guilliman wore an uncharacteristically perplexed expression. After all, only Jaghatai and Vulkan had administered the Panacea to their own sons, and they hadn't mentioned this particular side effect. In truth, the two Primarch brothers hadn't imagined that Guilliman had yet to bestow this legendary cure upon his own genetic lineage.
Meanwhile, Dante's face, once gaunt and withered by the weight of millennia, was reconstructing itself. The bloody crimson in his eye sockets churned with renewed vitality.
Dante stepped out from the scattered remnants of his power armour and the sundered implants. The sudden, overwhelming surge of power made him unsteady. The sensation was entirely foreign, forcing him to one knee. In his reflexive movement, his fingertips sank deep into the sturdy floor of the monastery; the reinforced stone, designed to bear the weight of tons, was rendered as brittle as glass before his renewed physical might.
"Lord Guilliman... I feel as though I can hear... the heartbeat of my Master."
Dante's voice was laced with an exhilaration he had never known. He stood abruptly, and an invisible current seemed to hiss and crackle in the air around him. The power axe, which once required the support of his power armour to wield with ease, now felt weightless in his unadorned hand.
He reached down and easily tore away the remaining shards of Black Carapace and leg plating. The last vestiges of his armour fell away from the discarded carapace, leaving him standing entirely bare. Dante examined his reborn form, a bronze-skinned body pulsing with the rhythm of raw, potent life.
Guilliman smiled at this reborn son of his brother before waving a dismissive hand.
"Do not fail the expectations of the Emperor, nor those of your father, Dante."
With that, Guilliman turned and departed from the monastery with his Victrix Guard and several accompanying veteran brothers. The Iron Men were already in motion, and Jaghatai would likely be departing soon as well, he needed to return to Terra with all haste.
The reborn Dante had no time to beseech him to stay before the Primarch boarded his Thunderhawk gunship and ascended toward the orbit. Left behind, Dante had to find a robe to cover his naked form. He immediately summoned the High Sanguinary Priest to conduct a comprehensive examination of his body.
Upon receiving the shocking results, a singular, world-altering idea took root in Dante's mind.
Deep within the Tower of the Lost, the wails of the gene-curse and the echoes of the Tyranid Hive Fleets had been sealed away by the passage of time. When the Sanguinary Priests injected the Panacea into those brothers long consumed by the Black Rage and the Red Thirst, it was as if stars had ignited within their rotting flesh.
"Look at their eyes!"
Chief Apothecary Astallan's trembling finger traced the monitor.
"The crimson light of the Rage is fading! Their fangs are receding to natural proportions!"
On the holographic display, the warriors' pupils were shifting from a baleful blood-red to the same soft, noble blue of Sanguinius. The maddening psychic glare was gradually dissipating. A warrior who had lost his right arm watched as new muscle rippled like living silk; bone re-knit within the flesh to form a hand. Nerves sprouted at a visible rate, weaving through the muscle, followed by the skin. The intense, rapid regeneration caused him to howl with a mixture of agony and ecstasy.
"My... my hand! It itches so terribly!"
The original bionic prosthetics, along with the implanted alloy studs and the Black Carapace, were forced out of the body by the sheer vitality of the regenerating flesh. At that moment, Dante finally understood why his own carapace had been displaced to the surface of his skin.
A warrior, newly recovered from the Black Rage, suddenly seized Dante's hand.
"Lord Dante, I do not know how I have escaped the Fury, but I am sound of mind now. Give me a mission, give me a task from which there is no return. I fear the phantoms of the Rage may yet return, and next time may be my final end. Grant me this last duty. I shall not fail the blood of Sanguinius!"
Dante's face was wet with tears as he embraced his battle-brother, his voice thick with emotion.
"There is no more Black Rage, no more Red Thirst. The Emperor has granted us mercy."
…
The golden statue of Sanguinius looked down from the dim light of the prayer chamber. Dante knelt at its base, clutching his helm, while fragments of power armour from millennia of Chapter Masters formed a crimson carpet upon the floor.
"Father... your lineage has finally cast off the shackles of the curse."
Dante's voice choked with emotion. His fingertips traced the cracks upon the statue, remnants of the scars from the Battle of Baal.
"Those brothers who fell to the Hive Fleet... their sacrifice was not in vain."
In a fleeting trance, Dante saw countless transparent souls emerging within a golden radiance, the Blood Angels of ages past who had been lost to the Black Rage. Their faces were no longer twisted in torment; instead, they smiled, circling the silhouette of an even greater, more magnificent Angel.
Dante reached out to touch the fragments of power armour on the floor, seemingly witnessing the final moments of every Chapter Master who had fought to his last breath, crying out that he would not fail the blood of Sanguinius.
"Assemble every Death Company warrior, every Sanguinary Priest, and every Apothecary. Issue the summons: all sons of Sanguinius must return to Baal to be purged of this genetic taint."
"I swear it upon the Holy Blood: from this day forward, the Emperor's light shall burn within every drop of Sanguine blood!"
Dante rose to his feet, turned his back to the statue of Sanguinius, and once again donned the helmet with the face of an angel.
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