Baal, the Arx Angelicum.
Dante stood upon the towering ramparts, his gaze fixed on the expeditionary fleet slowly translating into the system.
That magnificent martial force glimred with a cold light against the starry void, like an ocean of steel slowly surging into the star system. As the weary, ancient warrior watched this spectacle, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, revealing a faint smile.
That smile was a mixture of complex emotions—a yearning and envy for honor, as well as resignation toward fate.
Like every Space Marine who pursued death and honor, Dante—a Chapter Master who had held his position for nearly eight hundred years, leading the Blood Angels for even longer than their Primarch had—had always thirsted for his own honorable death.
However, fate seed to delight in playing joke after joke on him.
While his friends and predecessors passed away one after another, he remained anchored to the position of Chapter Master, guarding the Blood Angels century after century.
Such a future seed to have no end in sight.
"My Lord, I will take my leave."
By his side, a Sanguinary Priest from the Flesh Tearers Chapter spoke in a low voice.
He had just received a transmission from the fleet and, knowing that a sacred eting was about to take place, instinctively planned to excuse himself.
A hint of exhaustion laced his voice, and his eyes revealed a deep anxiety for the future.
"You may accompany ."
Dante said gently. His voice was deep and calm, as if trying to soothe the other's anxiety with his mild deanor.
"There is no need, my Lord. They still require my supervision."
The Sanguinary Priest shook his head, offered a crisp salute, and then turned to leave.
His retreating figure appeared heavy and solitary, simply because he carried the fate of his entire Chapter on this journey.
The Flesh Tearers Chapter was besieged by an intense outbreak of the Bloodthirst and the Black Rage within their ranks. The warriors were continuously taking casualties from enduring the genetic instinct for blood and the influence of the Warp over long periods. For the sake of his Chapter's future, he had been forced to bring their four remaining companies here to seek the aid of their founding Chapter.
Yet, the results had been far from ideal.
The Blood Angels themselves had no real solution for the curse that plagued them. The examples of Dante and phiston offered no reference value; not everyone possessed their willpower and innate talent to resist the genetic instincts and the influence of the Warp.
"Sigh."
Dante let out a long sigh, looking back down the empty, golden corridor. Icons of Sanguinius were inlaid upon the walls on either side, and the golden light spilling across the floor cast his solitary shadow.
Endlessly suppressing the genetic instincts of a Blood Angel had left Dante's body frail and his spirit decaying. This made him feel deeply exhausted much of the ti, even when handling routine Chapter affairs.
He walked to the end of the corridor and accepted the golden helm offered by a blood thrall, hiding his aged face beneath the furious visage of Sanguinius.
The weight of the golden helm pressed down on his head, feeling as though the destiny of the entire Chapter had been hoisted onto his shoulders alongside it.
"Tell phiston to co see ."
Dante instructed in a low voice.
The Sanguinary Guard hesitated for a fraction of a second, but out of imnse respect for Dante, he earnestly accepted the command.
"Yes, Lord Dante."
He replied quietly, then turned away.
phiston, the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels. Matching his exalted status was his abysmal popularity. On more than one occasion, battle-brothers had requested an audience with Dante to demand the execution of this Chief Librarian who had returned from the Black Rage.
There was no shortage of mbers who even attempted to go rogue while out on missions because of it.
No one knew exactly what the Chief Librarian had witnessed within that dark fury, but Dante instinctively felt that phiston's death would drag the Chapter into an abyss.
However, he could not share this revelation with those around him.
If the rank and file found out that a Chapter Master actually believed in a so-called revelation, those problematic children would undoubtedly spiral into utter chaos again.
A rare grimace touched Dante's face behind his golden mask. He took a deep breath, suppressing the worries in his heart.
The decay of his flesh and the decline of his vitality naturally ca with a waning grip on the Chapter. Although they all respected him as Chapter Master, there were always those who acted on their own authority.
In that brief mont, he desperately wished he had a helper.
He dared not dream of finding a proper successor for the Chapter. Even just another progeny of the Angel who could shoulder the burden during the Blood Angels' tis of crisis would have been more than enough.
And yet, throughout those long, grueling centuries, he never had a single companion with whom to share the pressure.
"..."
Tucking away the lancholy in his heart, Dante looked up at the sky. A massive transport fleet was slowly descending, casting a colossal shadow over the ceremonial plaza.
Down in the plaza, the warriors of the Blood Angels had already completed their preparations. They stood in perfectly disciplined formations, waiting to welco the arriving envoys.
Dante strode toward the plaza, his golden armor gleaming dazzlingly under the sunlight.
Duty drove him forward. Now was the ti to greet the envoys.
—
"It has been ten thousand years."
Sepatus looked at the planet below. The Crimson Paladin's grip tightened slightly around his power glaive, an unexpected trace of lancholy touching his own heart.
"It looks no different than it did ten millennia ago."
Sanguinius had always believed that things would evolve in a positive direction. He had planted grapes on Baal, hoping that one day, this planet would beco like a garden world, using erald greens and cerulean blues to fill the boundless expanses of red.
But ten thousand years later, in an era where the Primarch had long since departed, the planet remained exactly the sa. It had never changed.
Salt farrs still struggled in the harsh environnts, and the various tribes holding faith in the Angel Sanguinius still fought chaotic wars for survival across Baal and its moons.
Undoubtedly, the countless realities unfolding before them seed to prove their Primarch wrong.
Things had not gotten better.
Ten millennia ago, under the leadership of their Primarch, the Blood Angels had swept through the galaxy like an indestructible blade, safeguarding the future of humanity.
And now, although the warriors remained loyal and brave, they seed to have lost so core strength. They had beco isolated, struggling with every step.
His gaze swept across the faces of the warriors, trying to find a glimr of hope in their eyes.
Yet, all he saw was exhaustion, confusion, and uncertainty about the future.
A wave of sorrow welled up in Sepatus's heart. He knew these warriors were still enduring, still fighting, but the world they faced was far more cruel than the one ten thousand years ago.
"Perhaps, we were truly wrong."
Sepatus muttered to himself. His voice was nearly drowned out by the chanical roar of the bridge. His palm slowly released the hilt of his power glaive, his fingertips gently tracing the etchings on the blade as if searching for so form of solace.
However, his heart remained empty, as though he had lost sothing deeply vital.
Having lost the Primarch, everything seed to be spiraling toward a much worse direction.
"No."
A voice echoed beside him. Karna stroked the windowsill, looking out at the crimson lands.
"It has already begun to change."
"..."
"Why the long face?"
Karna placed a platter of fruit in front of Sepatus.
"Have a taste."
His tone was languid, but to Sepatus's ears, it carried an undeniable command.
Furthermore—
Looking at that face bathed in radiance, like a child of the sun, Sepatus had no desire to refuse.
So, he reached out, plucked a dark grape, and popped it into his mouth.
"Is it sweet?"
"It is."
Sepatus could not speak a lie against his own heart.
"In the future, Baal will produce these fruits. Industry will gradually replace backbreaking labor, salt farrs will not have to worry about their livelihoods, and tribes will no longer need to pillage to survive. The azure and erald will slowly blanket this barren red."
Karna simply could not understand this universe's logic when it ca to population managent. They had the technology and the manpower; why did they insist on making life so utterly miserable?
Harsh regions did theoretically produce high-quality recruits more easily, but enforcing hardship purely for the sake of hardship was genuinely absurd. It wasn't as if the Ultramarines suffered from poor recruitnt quality; during the 30k era, many great heroes hailed directly from the respectable families of Ultramar.
The transmigrators had always felt that the recruitnt chanisms of the vast majority of Chapters were nonsensical to an extre degree—they were tragic purely for the sake of being tragic.
"The progeny of the Angel should not live like this. They, too, have the right to advance toward sothing better."
Rases's research results were already out. The channel he had forged for the Black Rage could indeed be spliced into the connections of other Blood Angels within the Warp, installing a controllable valve over the endless venting of Sanguinius's death upon his progeny.
Entities like Sepatus, who could freely control the Black Rage, were the perfect proof of this.
And with the influence of the Black Rage suppressed, the Blood Angels would find it much easier to control their Bloodthirst, freeing them from bearing the dual burden of these two flaws.
Sepatus paused, recalling the miracle of his own resurrection. He rembered the connection that isolated the deep-seated yearning in his heart, and he thought of the various lords who scattered the light of humanity like the sun itself.
This managed to pull him slightly out of the grief over the Primarch's passing, lacing his words with a sliver of hope.
"Yes, Lord Karna. We will, just as we did ten thousand years ago."
—
"The Blood Angels welco your arrival, Supre High Marshal Ledodes, and Warlord Elon Lasus."
Dante had co personally to the spaceport to receive this grand expeditionary fleet. Looking at the leaders of the Chapters and the fully ard honor guards behind them—looking as if they were ready to step onto a battlefield at any mont—he could not help but dream of how wonderful it would be if he were one of them.
"Thank you for welcoming us in person, Lord Dante."
Out of respect for the elderly warrior, Ledodes used formal honorifics.
"The Arx Angelicum will shine all the brighter for your presence."
Dante did not rush to lead the group inside; instead, he chose to exchange pleasantries.
This was because he had keenly noticed that the transport Ledodes had disembarked from was not parked in the primary position. At the very center of the landing pad sat several newly landed Stormbirds, their Chapter insignias wiped completely clean.
This was a breach of protocol. Was it possible that there was an entity whose status was even more exalted than the leader of a First Founding Chapter?
"Are you ready?"
Romulus looked at the seemingly conflicted Blood Angels.
This was a stark contrast to the Invincible Iron Guard's open-mindedness toward the current state of Ultramar. After all, even though the Greater Ultramar had been divided, the living standards in their holand were still top-tier across the galaxy, and Macragge's prosperity had endured to the present day.
These Blood Angels, however, had genuinely suffered quite a shock upon witnessing the current state of Baal. Had Karna not shared the channel for the Black Rage, they likely would have succumbed to the affliction by now.
"We are ready."
The hatch of the transport ship slowly opened. Sepatus took a deep breath, suppressing the turbulent emotions in his heart.
He knew he could not halt his steps here. No matter what the future held, he had to keep moving forward—for the ideals of the Primarch and the lords, for the honor of the Blood Angels, and for those who were still struggling to survive.
Following in Karna's footsteps, he strode toward the hatch. His strides were firm and heavy. Twelve Crimson Paladins followed closely behind, their armor glinting brilliantly in the sunlight.
Greeted by the cheers of countless Imperial high commanders, the Crimson Paladins, who had been absent from the galaxy for ten thousand years, once again set foot upon this familiar land.
?
Dante, who had been watching the front intently, froze in sheer disbelief.
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