Chapter 273: It Has Come (Patreon)

The Blood Angels and the Lamenters had left the inner fortress-monastery, moving to intercept the approaching bio-titan that loomed ever closer across the scorched, blood-red plains of Baal. The ground shook with each monstrous stride, dust storms blooming in its wake like the breath of some primordial beast.

Meanwhile, Chapter Master Phoros made his way to the strategium.

It was a war council.

Present were the Librarians, company captains from the Blood Angels and their scattered successor Chapters, Sisters of Battle, and General Dhrost of Cadia with his assault officers. Each face bore the marks of endless war: sunken eyes, battle scars, and the weary weight of knowing that survival was a luxury they could not afford.

Compared to the last war council, their number had thinned.

Several Chapter Masters had fallen with their warriors, entire successor Chapters consumed by the Tyranid swarm beneath endless waves of chitin and claws.

Since the Tyranids had redoubled their assault with terrifying ferocity, countless noble sons of Sanguinius had perished.

Dante had not spoken of it, yet all understood: this would be their final meeting.

A heavy silence hung in the chamber.

Every warrior bowed his head, some in grief for fallen brothers, others in grim acceptance of what awaited them.

Even Commander Dante no longer wore his golden death mask. His aged, scarred face, etched with the history of countless campaigns and the burden of leadership, the face of a legend made mortal, was laid bare before those assembled.

“We make our last stand,” his voice, deep and grave as thunder, filled the strategium. “If the fall of Baal is fated, if our destiny is extinction, then let our end be glorious. We will die as sons of Sanguinius.”

He rose from the Throne of the Blood and lowered the mask over his face once more.

“I will lead you into battle."

In that moment, the frail elder was gone; in his place stood the Lord of the Host, the Angel’s heir who had led the Blood Angels through a millennium of nightmare and fire.

The commanders bowed, grim resolve hardening their features.

“For the Blood of Sanguinius!” Dante cried.

“For the Blood of Sanguinius!”

“For the Blood of Sanguinius!” the others answered, voices like thunder rolling through the hall.

The cry repeated again and again, until the marble trembled with its echo.

Then, abruptly a sharp, amplified voice cut through the chorus.

“Forgive me, but I must interrupt.”

Heads turned. The voice came from the doors.

Inquisitor Bellona and her acolytes entered, their black robes trimmed with brass sigils of the Inquisition, the air around them crackling faintly with psychic wards. Her words were amplified by a vox-projector so that they sliced cleanly through the shouts.

“Lord Commander Dante, why have I not yet been authorized to execute the Extermination Protocol against the Tyranids?”

A month prior, Dante had granted her permission to test her radical plan, one that might have turned the tide against the Tyranid swarms. She had even requested the aid of Chapter Master Phoros himself.

But weeks had passed. Her preparations were complete, yet the order had never come. Phoros had been forced to the tunnels to hold the line against the xenos, and the command to proceed had never followed.

Now Dante was preparing for a glorious death, and Bellona’s patience had reached its end.

“My apologies, I was negligent,” Dante said softly, his voice humble despite the weight of command. “Two weeks ago, Mephiston foresaw disaster should your plan be carried out. His vision showed a horror that would eclipse the Tyranids themselves. Thus, I delayed it, and in the chaos, failed to inform you.”

Bellona turned her gaze upon Chief Librarian Mephiston, her voice sharp. “What did you see, Lord of the Librarius?”

“Your plan would tear a breach between realms,” Mephiston said calmly. “Through it, daemons long barred from reality would spill into Baal. I saw them slaughtering us. I saw my head and Dante’s, mounted upon the spines of a greater daemon, and the screams of the living echoing endlessly.”

Bellona’s response was swift, sharp, and defiant.

“Impossible! After Cadia, the Eye of Terror was halved in size! There are even children born on Cadia whose eyes are no longer warp-tainted. How could daemons cross into realspace through my design?”

Mephiston and Dante remained silent. Her words stunned even General Dhrost. Such births had occurred before, but rarely, and some believed those children were perhaps the mark of nascent blanks, soulless nulls.

If the Eye had truly shrunk to such extent, Cadia’s future might one day be free of the warp’s curse. But that was not the concern now.

Bellona stepped forward, her voice cold and forceful.

“Even if my plan could draw forth such horrors, so what? The Eye is weakened. The warp’s strength wanes. What daemons could manifest now that would rival the Great Devourer?”

She paced before them, her words igniting whispers among the commanders.

“We are doomed to die regardless. But with my plan, we might win before we fall. Yet because of one Librarian’s fear, we are denied even that chance.”

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. For the first time in months, hope, however dangerous, glimmered.

Few cared if the cost was their lives. None on Baal expected to survive. What mattered was that Baal itself might yet stand.

The council began to divide. Most sided with Bellona. A few remained neutral. Only Mephiston and the Librarius held firm in refusal.

It was not her rhetoric that swayed them, it was the forbidden promise of victory, the whisper that the Tyranids could be driven back, even if it damned their souls.

“Tell me, Mephiston,” Bellona said. “Do you oppose me for Baal’s sake, or for your own? Is it fear of death that stays your hand? I can shield your minds from the backlash.”

Mephiston met her gaze impassively, then turned to Dante.

“I propose a vote. I shall abstain.”

Dante nodded. “So be it. All in favor of executing the Psykana-plan, raise your hand.”

One by one, the hands rose. Some rose hesitantly, others with desperate conviction.

There was no need to count. Inquisitor Bellona had clearly her majority.

Even if the Flesh Tearers and Knights of Blood were present, their dissent could not have outweighed the support.

A Captain, his armor marked with the sigil of the Angels Encarmine spoke aloud: “I know the Inquisitor’s plan may damn us all. But if it keeps Baal from falling, if it spares the holy relics of our gene-father from corruption, then my Chapter will bear the consequences gladly.”

Mephiston inclined his head slightly. “Then, Inquisitor, how do you propose to begin?”

Bellona’s confidence softened; even she feared what might follow.

“We begin small,” she said. “Recall the warriors from Baal Primus and Baal Secundus. Concentrate all remaining forces within the fortress-monastery. The Librarians must prepare to resist the psychic backlash.”

“And if we gather all within the fortress,” Mephiston asked quietly, “who then stands against the swarm?”

Bellona hesitated. She had not considered that.

Before Mephiston could press her further, the doors burst open.

Captain Karlaen strode in, unarmoured, his form marked by battle grime. The scent of ozone and ash clung to him. His expression was that of one who had looked into the abyss and returned changed. The dimensional warhead once slung on his back was gone.

“Commander,” he said, voice raw, “you must come to Defence Point Seventeen. Now.”

“What has happened?” Dante asked.

“Do you recall, my lord,” Karlaen said breathlessly, “during the Cryptus campaign, the metallic abominations who unleashed that flame-spewing horror?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Karlaen met his gaze. “It’s here.”

The chamber fell silent.

They all remembered. Before the defence of Baal began, the Blood Angels had fought beside the Necrons in the Cryptus system. When defeat became inevitable, the Necrons had unleashed something beyond comprehension, something divine and terrible.

A shard of a Star God.

The Necrons, under the Nehcron Overlord Anrakyr the Traveller and the Royal Court of the Mephrit Dynasty, unleashed a shard of a Star God, a Transcendent C’tan, to channel and control the stellar energies required to power the Magnovitrium.

And when the system burned, the Necrons vanished… along with the C’tan fragment itself.