Romero's Own: Thank you! And glad I could be useful to your creativity.
CHAPTER SIX
Another audience. Another speech. Azkaellon wasn’t sure if his gene-father could get exhausted from public proclamations, but the bodyguard had become so just listening to them.
But this was different. This time, the darkest secret of the Blood Angels was about to be aired to the galaxy, and the Legion’s soul bared to the blade of hatred. Both the Black Rage and the Callidus invasions could be construed as lies, inventions to clear the Astartes of blame for their missteps. But Azkaellon knew, like few others on the
Red Tear, that these speeches were not lies.
And now, again, Sanguinius was speaking black truth to the teeming crowd.
“Flaws,” the Primarch of the Blood Angels continued, “are present in much of the physical. Much of what is not physical, too. But the Blood Angels are both, both a brotherhood and an idea; and our greatest flaw is one that, until now, I have chosen to keep secret, for fear of retaliation from my father.
Now that danger is past, and the weakness grows ever-stronger. So I will admit that a biological defect in the IX Legion’s gene-seed has been causing some among its members to lose all control, to turn into mindless assaulters… to die in a blaze of rage. This tendency has been detectable for some time.
This was a matter of which I had to speak, but which is too panful to speak much of it. Thus, I thank you for your time, and bid you good fortune in future fate-swirls. Glory to the Warmaster!”
And Sanguinius was walking off, and the filled hall shook in confusion, even in shock, with the recognition. Azkaellon could guess what they were going through; he had gone through it himself, long ago. A tectonic shift in trust.
“They will think,” the Commander of the Sanguinary Guard told his Primarch, “that you are dangerous.”
“Not precisely,” Sanguinius replied. “But they will think worse of me. Sanguinius did not tell us the full truth, they will recognize. The Blood Angels hold a caged monster. Horus alone is perfect. And that is better for them to think- better, by far, than that Horus is replaceable.”
“He is not,” Azkaellon accepted, “but neither are you. And you have a better claim to perfection than Horus.”
“Perfection,” Sanguinius said, “is not what matters. Horus is more human. The most human of us all, always.”
“Horus was defined by being raised by the Emperor, was he not?”
“Not primarily.” And then there was the Grand Expanse above the
Tear’s core, and the Primarch of the Blood Angels soared again. “But there are other worlds. What of the
Accursed Eternity?”
“You know better than me. My investigations have been limited to the Callidus assassins.” Azkaellon glanced around. “Incidentally, you should keep cautious of them. They do, after all, carry the title for a reason.”
“They are not after me,” Sanguinius said. “My visions have made it clear they have another primary target.”
“Who?”
“Who knows? But the possibilities are quite narrow.”
Azkaellon nodded. Kane, Sanguinius, and the Warmaster himself were the only feasible targets for such a large assault- though nothing said there had to be only one target. “Couldn’t it be all of you?” Azkaellon asked.
“I would know if my life was in danger,” Sanguinius said. “Although this is not certainty.”
“Though that is doubtful,” Azkaellon concluded. “But as I said, of the Eternity I know nothing, save that you should not accept your invitation to go there.”
“I will accept it,” Sanguinius said. “My mind is made up. And you will stay here, to lead the hunt for the Callidus in my absence. The intersection is too important.”
“At least I suppose you’ll be safe from the Callidus,” Azkaellon joked, even as footsteps echoed through a perpendicular corridor leading into the Expanse. A second later, Aalitton of the Sanguinary Guard emerged. His armor was slightly blood-marked, and his face joylessly excited.
“Lord Primarch,” he said, “Commander Azkaellon. Another Callidus has been found. This one… this one killed Admiral Krawell.”
Admiral Krawell. Azkaellon needed several moments to match the name with a human. An experienced commander of the Imperial Army’s Navy, Krawell was seen as an inspiring leader. She had started her career in the Unification Wars, and many said that she desired to return to the Emperor’s side; but Lupercal had trusted her, and it was her troops that provided the primary security forces for the Council of Catachan (outside the Astartes).
The Commander of the Sanguinary Guard slowly shook Aalitton’s hand, feeling every microfracture, every bulge. It was a normal golden gauntlet, but here it shone with the history of the IX Legion.
It was not enough.
“Now Nryor the Goldtouched will inherit the ships,” Azkaellon concluded. “Krawell… she was loyal after all.”
“It is peaking,” Sanguinius said. “A war is starting, in forests and caverns and mountains. The skies… the skies are going berserk, an accursed eternity watching our defiance. It will all end suddenly.”
“What?” Aalitton asked.
“You remember, Azkaellon, don’t you?”
Azkaellon did, and said so. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “you did not see that vision. Something is odd about all this.”
“Everything,” Sanguinius said, “is odd about all this. But Horus has sent for me, Azkaellon; take Aalitton and meet Nryor. We will continue our discussion later.”
The departure was swift after that. Aalitton didn’t even get a chance to bid farewell to his gene-father before Sanguinius ascended, wings beating in rhythm with ship’s hum. The Sanguinary Guard strode off, through crimson halls and hallways, through hospitals and forges. They did not speak. Azkaellon was not one for idle chatter, and Aalitton was even more silent.
They walked into the shuttle, and then Catachan glimmered outside once again, and the sun was glowing, and the peace of the constellations reigned; but not for long enough. Within scant minutes, the Blood Angels were on the
Blue Shadow of Arcatase- Nryor’s flagship, currently navigated by Wu Zatee.
It was, in fact, a blue shadow- well, a blue blob, at least. The paint scheme was atrociously contrasting; Azkaellon couldn’t imagine that not being on purpose. The shape was odd, too.
At least the geometry was of realspace.
Aalitton and Azkaellon strode through the hallway, the taller Aalitton having to slightly bend to a roof not designed for Astartes. The bridge door shrank from them in the distance, but it could not help but be tugged towards them, even as the ship’s engines ignited a rumble in the distance.
Then they were in. Nryor the Goldtouched, a round man with a well-decorated uniform and a bottle of Cthonian wine, nodded to the entering Blood Angels.
“I assume,” he said, “that you’re here to tell me Kespee is dead.”
“Indeed,” Azkaellon said. “You’re Admiral now.”
“So I have heard,” Nryor said, putting down the bottle- Azkaellon saw it was barely touched. Nryor was not as heavy a drinker as rumor would suggest, he knew; the Goldtouched tended to present the image to be more relatable, but in reality his demeanor concealed a sharp, determined mind. Unlike Krawell, he was well-liked, although also not free of treasonous rumors.
People- including much of the security force- gradually trickled onto the bridge. “They’re expecting me to give a speech,” Nryor said. “Can you imagine? So annoying.”
“Hardly an unreasonable desire, though,” Azkaellon observed. “Aalitton, go talk to Navigator Wu Zatee.”
“I’ll send an honor guard with him,” Nryor said. “Might as well, after all.”
“That will hardly-”
“He can go berserk at any moment,” Nryor said, eyes suddenly freezing. “I don’t want to lose my Navigator, especially when my navigator is one such as Lady Zatee.”
That was… valid. To be sure, the opportunity of the Flaw striking was astronomically small, but the Commander of the Sanguinary Guard knew he would do the same in the Admiral’s place.
More than two hundred men of the Imperial Army came with Aalitton; the standard estimate for killing a Space Marine was a hundred, though a Sanguinary Guard was more than a normal Astarte. Either way, Azkaellon couldn’t help but feel some suspicion that, were Aalitton to lose himself, he would be the only one that could kill the Guard.
And, incidentally, vice versa.
Men and women of the Army continued to sluice into the bridge; Azkaellon considered talking to Nryor further, but there was little to say. And then the Admiral was on the podium, and Azkaellon first of the crowd, and the first speech of a new age for this fleet was beginning.
“People of the Imperium!” Nryor said. “We live in an age of shocks. The rebellion was plenty for a time; but now the starquake penetrates into our lesser lives. The Astartes are entrenching their dominance over us all. Warmaster Horus Lupercal has turned from the Emperor of Mankind, and the Legions begin their plots to kill us all! They make excuses- the Blood Angels can’t control themselves, they say, assassins lurk among us, they say. Who do they take us for?!” To Nryor’s credit, the traitor- or merely loyal?- general continued speaking even as the first shots were fired. “We know the truth. Krawell trusted them until the end, and she was killed for it. For the Emperor, then! And for humanity!”
Azkaellon had fired the first shot at Nryor, and the second into the crowd, even as his other hand slammed on his helmet. There was barely a sign of melee; clearly most of the Imperial Army either agreed with their Admiral or was afraid to defy him.
“Kill Zatee,” the Commander whispered into his vox to Aalitton through the gunfire. That was the most important thing of all. If the
Blue Shadow escaped, with the rest of the fleet….
Azkaellon’s armor buckled under the massed fire, even as his jumppack vaulted him roofward. Killing Zatee was the important thing. He was too outnumbered here to fight until the end, and Nryor was well-protected. The thunder of lasguns and bolt pistols continued, even as Azkaellon punched upwards, through the ceiling-
Into another chamber, of course. It would have been too much to hope this strike took him, and the entire bridge, directly into space. Weaponry pattered below, and Azkaellon sprinted through the hallways, sniping every one of the few people he saw. From his helmet readouts, the Navigator’s sanctum was close.
Lesser minds, Azkaellon reflected, would be shocked or frustrated that the betrayals were still not over. He was hardly happy about it, either. But the treachery never ended, he knew, not really. The best humanity could do was to transcend them.
The dash continued; the sanctum was two hundred- one hundred- straight left. Azkaellon kicked open the door, using his pack to decelerate. It swung open, fluorescent yellow turning to the whole rainbow.
The first thing his genehanced eye spotted was Aalitton’s form. It sprawled on the curved floor, dead to all appearances- but, Azkaellon could tell, actually in deep sus-an sleep. Then there was Navigator Zatee.
She was dead. Very dead, curled in her golden seat hanging in the geometric center of the room, arms frantically thrust towards her holster. Azkaellon breathed a sigh of relief at the recognition that Aalitton had- predictably- succeeded in his mission.
The third thing Azkaellon noticed was the group of surviving humans. There were about ten of them, the rest having drifted off one way or another.
“For the Warmaster,” Azkaellon announced, “yield.”
Their sergeant fired the first shot.
The Commander of the Sanguinary Guard slammed into the gathering, body-crushing the impactee instantly. He turned around, punching another guard against the wall, even as a couple of others lost their nerve and fled.
Grabbing his power-blade, Azkaellon swung left with fist and right with sword, neatly decapitating the sergeant. Four men- well, two men and two women- remained. All young, all desperation-faced.
“Until the end, then,” one of those women said, raising her face to look Azkaellon in the eye. “What is dead can never die-”
“Just yield,” Azkaellon commanded. “Give me my brother and run. I tire of killing humans.”
That was a bit of an exaggeration. Still, he would hardly lose anything by letting them go- he couldn’t exactly take on the entire ship by himself, now that Aalitton was incapacitated. Fear to be spread, shock to be lost- a fair trade, for a tad of mercy.
They took his offer, of course. First the back two, and then even the praying woman rushed off. Two lasguns clattered to the floor.
Clipping them to his belt with his left hand- he had the room- Azkaellon swung Aalitton over his shoulder with his right. Then he ran again, charging across the width of the
Blue Shadow of Arcatase. Golden banners surrounded his flight, oddly providing some camouflage. A pair of security officers gave him a wide berth. Another crewman, apparently feeling suicidal, fired. It mattered little. Right now, Azkaellon was divine; it was an illusion, he knew, but a convenient one.
He headed into the ship’s belly. He could hardly get to the shuttles, especially given that a large portion of the crew would be defending the primary exit. But it didn’t look like the bridge was too successful at tracking his blazing route, and so he shot towards the escape pods. There was no time to look around, now, except for the most basic tactical appraisal. Metal dust fluttered up from the floor. Doors were punched shut. Others were cut through.
Azkaellon ran. It was an unfortunate thing to be doing, as glorious as it seemed in the moment; but he believed in doing what one must. The good of the Legion required his and Aalitton’s survival, and their untrackability could only last for so long.
His vox opened.
“Brother-Commander?” Zuriel’s voice asked.
“I’m busy. How are matters?”
“As expected. We are firing on Admiral Nryor’s assembled traitor fleet; they are vastly outnumbered. Just survive, Brother-Commander.”
“Same to you,” Azkaellon said, and cut off the conversation.
He emerged onto a balcony above the escape pods. A few workers were milling about, but a single shot into the air was enough to send them screaming off. Azkaellon flipped his jumppack open, the glided off the edge, into the shadows.
He sprung upwards even as he landed, Aalitton precariously balanced on his shoulder. The Commander ran forth, tossing his brother into the pod before falling in himself. He initialized the launch sequence, then locked the door and considered the possibilities.
Above, the first guns were fired, even as the
Blue Shadow fell away and Azkaellon again shot through the heavens. Taking a deep breath, the Space Marine secured his brother, from eye-corner watching Catachan unfold. Perhaps he should have run to the shuttles- Nryor’s response was worse than usually tolerated in the Imperial Army.
Or perhaps there was a sizeable rebellion on the ship, one he had abandoned to escape- a chilling thought.
It was past, now, either way. Green Catachan lit up below, and the pod dove in. Azkaellon took a last look around the room to check for deficiencies-
And found one.
Not good.
“You’ve been listening in on me all this time,” Azkaellon voxed, “haven’t you?”
“Of course,” Zuriel responded. “That’s how we first found out about the betrayal. A few Sons of Horus- I mean Luna Wolves- joined them too. Led by Targost.”
“Serghar Targost of the Seventh?”
“That one.”
“Well, let him rot, then. Listen- the landing mechanism on my escape pod is jammed. I’ll be jumping, and even if I survive, my armor might be wrecked.”
“On Catachan? That would be bad.”
“But survivable. Either way, if I should go offline, remember this: truth is ever forged in the crucible of doubt. For the Warmaster! And for Sanguinius!”
And smashing the pod walls open, Azkaellon jumped.
They were in the low atmosphere by that point; yet the fall was still significant. He toppled through, the pod crashing to a fiery doom in the distance. Aalitton dangled in his arms, even as his eyes moved to select the jump pack, on a low power setting. And then Azkaellon veered, and the fog was coming up, and the heavens spun overhead; and somewhere there, the
Red Tear hung, looking at the falling angel.
The pack worked, even as it wound down its last reserves of energy. Azkaellon crashed through titanic branches, but there was armor for that. With amusement, he noted that a particularly tough branch had scratched his vox; it seemed his prediction to Zuriel had been correct.
And then, kneeling, Azkaellon, Commander of the Sanguinary Guard, landed in the unmapped forests of Catachan.