Chapter 433: And Thus, the Dark Angels Were Broken
We still do not know who truly struck the spark that burned it all down.
We of the First Legion had presided over the death of countless worlds, yet Caliban possessed no defense capable of withstanding the orbital bombardment raining down from our own brothers above. To strike first would have been suicide; yet for the vast majority of those stationed on the surface—those who harbored resentment over their exile—the only emotion they could muster was a desperate refusal to die of old age on this forgotten rock.
When we thumbed off the safety catches with trembling fingers, struggling to steady our breathing, we could hear the hum of plasma generators and the shuddering of walls. The air recyclers filled with the acrid stench of toxic fumes and promethium.
Fear.
The vox-channels were a torrent of fury and confusion. It was a sound we had never heard before—the voice of the First Legion, warriors renowned for their icy stoicism, cracking under the strain of their own breaking hearts.
No commander stepped forward to take charge.
None.
Luther, Astelan, the Castellans and Chapter Masters who spent their days accusing one another of treachery, ceased their bickering. A cold consensus settled over them like a shroud.
If the Lion returns only to destroy us, it must be because he has already judged us as traitors. He fears we have turned to his enemies, or that we are a stain he must scrub away to appease the other Primarchs.
We did not know why he believed this of us. But as the drop pods screamed through the atmosphere, carrying our battle-scarred brothers down to kill us, the reasons ceased to matter.
We had fought for the Emperor. We had fought for Humanity. We had fought for the First Legion. We had fought for our brothers.
And now, we fought them simply to survive. We took shelter within the fortress-monastery of the Order, once the Lion's own home, protected by powerful void shields. But against a fleet that had remained pristine even through the horrors of the Horus Heresy, our defenses were pitifully fragile.
Though he surely believed us already dead, our leader, our Lion, chose to descend in person.
Not to save us. But to end us.
As Ramesses' voice narrated the unfolding tragedy, presenting the clear, processed data as formal tactical reports, the veterans of the 41st Millennium tasted the bitter ash of empathy. They knew how their opponents had felt in the campaigns of the past.
Whether on Cadia or amidst the desolate chaos of the Ghoul Stars...
To be attacked by the ghosts of dead memories was a wound that armor could not deflect.
"What is this..."
Gareth murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of self-reproach and fury as he shook off his initial paralysis. "What am I afraid of?"
He closed his eyes, seeking the steel in his soul.
But the cold light in his grey eyes lingered, a nightmare branded into the deepest recesses of his memory.
"I know you are anxious, but hold your fire!"
Kay shouted at a group of veterans who, acting on instinct, had almost authorized a Cyclonic Torpedo strike on Caliban. Galahad and Kay were monitoring those brothers suffering the most severe psychological trauma.
Among them were the Neophytes of Caliban from that era.
These warriors had grown up on tales of the Lion, dreaming of the day they would crusade across the stars. Fate, however, is cruel. Their first true battle was against the most ruthless legion in the galaxy—their own gene-father.
Beside Kay, Veteran Zabriel shook uncontrollably, unable to speak.
"What is Nurgle planning?"
Ramesses watched the unfolding anomaly with curiosity, unfazed by the emotional turmoil around him.
"Whatever he intends, we need only stop it," Arthur said, his gaze fixed on the hololith. The rift's aperture was located in Caliban's mid-atmosphere, widening as the Ouroboros exerted its power.
The star charts showed a direct correlation: the chaotic corruption manifesting on Wyrmwood was mirrored by a buildup of warp energy in the corresponding zones of Caliban's past.
Did Nurgle intend to rewrite history?
The unstable rift began to stabilize under the Plague God's relentless pressure.
"Your Highness!"
Kay abandoned Gareth, sprinting toward Arthur three steps at a time, ignoring the bewildered looks of Kamael and the others. He was terrified Arthur might jump into the rift himself.
The situation was unknown. What if His Highness couldn't return? What if he altered history irrevocably? What if the Lion survived this crisis intact?
Perhaps an Exterminatus would be a mercy. A clean end to a dirty history.
The rift was positioned perfectly for a localized Exterminatus, just eighty kilometers above the surface. If they could breach the void shields of the monastery below, they could guide a Cyclonic Torpedo straight down the throat of the past.
"I understand," Arthur said calmly. He had no intention of recklessly jumping. Ramesses' research into the Warp indicated that their ability to interfere was unique; any intervention had to be surgical to avoid a paradox that could unravel reality.
His gaze swept over the fleet formation.
Although the anomaly had caused some crew members to panic—some looked ready to execute themselves for heresy—the majority remained disciplined. The extensive historical re-education and Ramesses' desensitization training had paid off. The fleet held its blockade of Wyrmwood, unwavering.
"In accordance with Protocol: The Dawnlight will approach the rift to gather telemetry and assess orbital bombardment vectors. The Rock will deploy boarding parties. Teams will consist of pairs—one member from the 31st Millennium, one from the 41st. Unit cohesion must be maintained; if one falls, the other must ensure mission continuity."
"Each squad will be assigned three members of the Pentagrammaton. The ratio of historical to modern personnel will be one to two. Ramesses will maintain a real-time psychic link. Standard vox-checks every minute. Begin system diagnostics now."
" concentrate all vehicles with temporal-shielding modifications..."
Arthur recited the orders with absolute clarity.
Time travel was an open secret within the upper echelons of the Legion. Though the trauma of the past stung, the protocols were in place. The psychological screenings had been done.
Arthur would oversee this personally. He would ensure no one smuggled a virus bomb onto Caliban to blow the Lion to kingdom come.
Clap.
A hand capable of crushing daemon engines rested gently on Gareth's pauldron.
"Gareth. Are you with us?"
Arthur's voice, audible only to him over a private channel, broke through the haze.
"Ready to serve," Gareth replied, his voice firming.
"Good. Relax. This strategy is the culmination of our collective wisdom."
Arthur's words infused the Dark Angels with strength.
Yes. They were the First. Their plans were peerless. This operation had been drafted by them, approved by the Lord of Knights. They could not doubt their own competence now.
If His Highness wasn't worried about running into the Lion of the 31st Millennium, why should they be?
As time ticked by, Arthur continued to issue commands with methodical precision. These were standard Dark Angels tactics, yet delivered with a sincerity and care that felt alien to the veterans of the Long War.
Gareth felt the tension leave his shoulders. The suffocating dread receded.
The responses from the fleet became crisp, professional.
occasionally, a battle-brother would look up, catching a glimpse of those emerald eyes—calm as a forest pool.
What if... what if this is the true Lord of the First?
The thought terrified those who had served under the Lion.
They were here to save the Lion, not to replace him. The Lion was the rightful master by law and blood. Arthur had never shown any desire to usurp him.
But...
The golden light of the rift spilled into the command hall, bathing the strategium in an ethereal glow. Arthur's decisions flowed like water, calm and decisive. Commanders chimed in with tactical refinements, and under his guidance, the discordant notes of the Legion harmonized once more.
The Lord of Knights stood with one hand on the pommel of his blade, his gaze peaceful yet commanding. That look of concern, that faint smile that offered unparalleled reassurance, that genuine care—none of it was feigned. It was something they had never received from their old masters.
In that moment, a hazy thought formed in their minds.
What do the Dark Angels truly seek? The Lion of old? Or a life of safety and honor?
If this miracle, this Lord who walked among them, could give the Dark Angels the care they had starved for, was finding the original Lion truly that important?
A bold, heretical thought rose in the collective consciousness.
If His Highness is the true Master of the First now... would that be so bad?
Lord Cypher ran a thumb over the hilt of his sword, silent.
Ramesses smiled secretly.
Once the heart has made its choice, the outcome is inevitable. Their worries were redundant.
Arthur glanced back at Ramesses.
The golden sorcerer immediately turned his attention to the Tuchulcha Engine, which had been cowed into submission by brute force. He also began nagging Romulus for support to maintain the temporal rift, ensuring Nurgle didn't pull a fast one and trap them all in the past.
"Kay. Galahad. Azrael. You will lead three strike teams," Arthur ordered the commanders who had regained their composure.
Kay would take the ground. Galahad, as a Knight of the Inner Circle, would handle the void assets. Azrael would act as the variable.
"We must prevent anomalies. Time travel may scatter our formations. Each team needs a commander capable of adapting on the fly. You are the best suited."
"Understood," Kay responded instantly.
"Now. To your stations."
Arthur looked away from the hololith and addressed the assembly.
"Remember. I am with you."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
The Rift, Stormbird Wing
The elite of the Dark Angels gathered within the transports.
Zabriel of the Dreadwing. Knight-Lord Kay leading Team Crown. Knight-Consul Galahad leading the Inner Circle Knights. And finally, the new generation led by Azrael and Belial.
The modern Astartes made up the bulk of the force. To mitigate temporal paradoxes, they were needed to crew every vehicle.
Approximately two thousand Astartes.
Azrael had no desire to participate in such a reckless mission, but the stakes were too high to entrust to anyone else.
Peering into the space between times, Azrael marveled at the structure of the rift. It looked as thin as a sheet of parchment.
Watching Ouroboros retreat under Arthur's pressure, he couldn't help but ask.
"Do we need to establish contact with the Lion?"
Kay was the primary mission commander. Galahad had a separate objective: to seize control of a portion of the historical Dark Angels fleet with the help of veterans who had participated in the original boarding of Caliban.
Once the temporal anchor was secure, the main force could cross over. Even Arthur himself might make landfall.
There was a simpler way.
If they could contact the Lion, reach a consensus, and end the civil war on Caliban, Nurgle's plot would collapse instantly.
"No, Azrael. Do not entertain such fantasies," Kay replied sternly over the vox.
He gripped the safety rail, ensuring the Neophytes were monitoring the critical systems. He repeated the mission parameters.
"Secure communications. Run diagnostics. Report everything you witness to His Highness. And pray you don't die too quickly."
Azrael opened his mouth to speak, but the Knight on the other end of the feed vanished.
Many of the ten-thousand-year-old veterans simply disappeared, erased like pencil marks on a page, leaving empty seats in the Stormbirds.
"Report! The Elders are gone!"
As the Stormbird wing crossed the event horizon, reports flooded in.
It was expected.
Azrael paused, understanding the mechanics.
"Adjust vox frequency. Initiate Protocol Three. Librarians, report in."
"Link with Lord Ramesses is stable. Link with the Elders is stable. They have been displaced to their respective locations in this timeline. The Council's hypothesis was correct."
A Librarian reported immediately. The temporal transit had not severed their connection to Ramesses.
"Link with 'The Garden' is normal. The souls of the fallen are being archived. Nurgle corruption is currently dormant."
"..."
Azrael's expression darkened. He had an estimate of the war's intensity now.
"Signal the follow-up waves to enter the rift. We are initiating landfall. Regroup the squads—"
BOOM!
A heavy plasma bolt slammed into Azrael's transport.
The Stormbird's void shields overloaded instantly. The pilot, taking the brunt of the plasma discharge to save the hull, executed a violent evasive maneuver, but the tail section was shredded by a follow-up volley of heavy bolter fire.
Thanks to Luther's decades of preparation, Caliban was a fortress-world bristling with guns. A super-heavy hedgehog of death.
Almost everyone's understanding of the battle was fragmented. Even with hindsight, the war felt illogical, absurd. To Azrael's knowledge, Luther had holed up in the Lion's fortress, while the majority of the Calibanite Dark Angels were massed there.
Clearly, the defense was effective.
"Azrael! Respond! Azrael!"
CRASH!
A bone-white fist punched through the twisted hatch of the Stormbird. Belial, having dragged himself out of the wreckage, hauled his Supreme Grand Master into the dirt. He dropped Azrael and turned to pull another battle-brother from the burning fuselage.
"Cough! Cough!"
Azrael ripped off his deformed helmet and spat blood. He keyed his vox.
"This is Azrael. I am alive."
"I warned you, Little Brother," Kay's voice crackled with dark humor. "We have secured the anti-air batteries north of Aldurukh. Your wing can land in that sector. We will rendezvous there. Coordinates sent. It's fifty kilometers out, but be careful. Aldurukh is the largest hive on Caliban. The Fortress of the Order... Luther and the Lion are there."
"Where is the Lion?"
"The Paladins were left behind. No one can keep up with the Lion in his fury. Just as we cannot find Luther, we cannot pinpoint the Lion."
"Understood."
Azrael nodded. Belial, having finished the casualty count, walked up and extended a hand.
Slap.
Azrael grasped his brother's arm and hauled himself up. "Move out."
It was a harrowing march.
As the column pushed east through a landscape of ruin, the saturation bombardment began. Even miles away from the target zones designated by Kay, the ground shook violently.
The further they went, the worse it got.
Massive convoys were deadlocked on the roads, paralyzed by the sudden assault. Dark Angels dropping from the sky attacked Imperial Army positions. The panicked mortal soldiers, unable to distinguish between loyalist and traitor Astartes, opened fire on any giant they saw.
This only escalated the conflict. The Exiles, already bitter, raised their weapons and fired indiscriminately.
The First Legion, wielding weapons capable of extinguishing stars, slaughtered one another, screaming oaths to the Emperor, the Lion, or whatever ideal they clung to as they snuffed out their brothers' lives.
The spaceport was burning. The southern horizon was a jagged EKG line of fire. Screams echoed through the broken wasteland. Acid rain pooled in craters, rippling with the tremors of war.
The fifty-kilometer trek was a journey through hell.
Mountains of corpses. Civilians fleeing in terror.
The Librarians, guided by Ramesses, carefully shepherded the souls of the dying, preventing them from falling into the maw of Chaos as they slipped into the Warp.
"Damn it."
Azrael swallowed hard. Watching loyalists butcher each other with such ruthlessness felt like a fever dream.
What madness caused this?
But with only a hundred men, there was little they could do. Azrael glanced at the silent Librarians and pressed on.
They were lucky. They encountered no major threats. At a mountain pass, they had to skirt around a squad of First Legion Dreadwing Destroyers marching west through the ruins. A veteran embedded in that unit spotted Azrael, skillfully maneuvered his squad into an ambush, and neutralized them with minimal fuss.
The two groups merged.
The worst they faced were scattered Auxilia or local militia, who fled at the sight of them. Azrael pushed the pace, leading his force onto a highway overpass in the central city district, finally bypassing the heaviest fighting.
As they crossed the overpass, escorted by Kay's Knights, Azrael caught a glimpse of the Lion.
Through the smoke and the years of wondering, the first time the Dark Angels of the 41st Millennium saw their Primarch... he was carving a bloody path through a formation of Neophytes who had never even seen him before.
These young knights, wearing the Legion's plate and wielding its weapons for the first time in battle, faced their gene-father and his executioners. They died by the score as the Lion hunted for Luther.
Azrael locked eyes with the Primarch across the battlefield.
There was only pure, unbridled rage.
A singular thought burned in those eyes: Kill everything.
And in that moment, Azrael understood. More clearly than anyone else.
This is the Lion.
He is a beast.
A furious beast that, once committed to a path, can never turn back.
☆☆☆
-> SUPPORT ME WITH POWER STONE
-> FOR EVERY 400 PS = BOUNS CHAPTER
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you