Chapter 170: Blood Angel

"My Lord, the Star Whisper Court's crime does not deserve death!"

"Has the Grand Master of the Star Tongue Court lost control of his psychic power to commit such an act?!"

Aboard the Phalanx, the mighty fortress-monastery of the Imperial Fists, stationed in the void between Terra and Luna, the news sent ripples of disbelief through the assembled warriors.

The assassination attempt on the Primarch of the Blood Angels—Sanguinius, their lost father returned—had sent his sons into a frenzy. For ten thousand years, they had suffered under the Black Rage, their souls tormented by echoes of their Primarch's final moments. Now, they had seen their father's blood spilled once more.

The last time such a crime was committed, it had condemned the entire Chapter to an eternity of suffering.

And now, just as Sanguinius had returned and the Blood Angels had begun to heal, the Grand Master of the Astralis had committed an atrocity beyond comprehension.

Had it been anyone else, the Imperial Fists might have suspected some deeper conspiracy at work. But a psyker's mind is ever in peril, tethered precariously between reality and the whispers of the Warp. It was entirely possible—perhaps even likely—that the Grand Master had been bewitched by daemonic influence... or had simply lost his mind.

"What are our orders, Commander?" one of the Imperial Fists finally asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil surrounding them.

The Imperial Fists' Chapter Master was silent for a long moment.

Terra had not faced such a crisis in centuries. The Blood Angels, lost in their fury, would heed no reason. If this matter was not handled with absolute precision, the consequences could be catastrophic—an internecine war between two of the Emperor's own gene-lines.

Worse still, four Primarchs now stood upon Terra. Blood bound them together, and none of them would stand idle while their kin were threatened. If hostilities ignited here, the Imperium itself could fracture beneath the weight of its own demigods.

"We focus on mediation," the Chapter Master ordered, his voice as unshakable as the bastions of Dorn. "Send our most experienced diplomats. We must de-escalate this before it spirals out of control."

Then, after a pause, his expression hardened.

"At the same time, deploy the Third and Fourth Companies. They are to infiltrate Terra quietly and begin reinforcing key locations. If diplomacy fails, we must be ready."

Though the Imperial Fists had no desire to be dragged into this conflict, duty demanded that they prepare for the worst.

With the orders given, the Chapter Master himself departed, boarding a vessel bound for Terra. His first destination: the Blood Angels.

As their ship cut through the void, a sudden radiance engulfed the solar system.

A golden light, thick and ethereal, cascaded over the throne world like an immense celestial tide. A vast skyborne eagle, its wings outstretched in majestic splendor, loomed over Terra, suffusing the planet in its divine glow.

The Imperial Fists' ship was caught within its embrace, the golden radiance washing over the vessel, painting it as though dipped in liquid sunlight.

The Chapter Master narrowed his eyes. The light was unmistakable.

"The banner of the Lord of the Second Legion... What is he planning?"

Before the thought had fully formed, a figure approached—a saintly being with flaming wings, a battle standard clutched in her grasp.

A subordinate turned, reverent but wary.

"My Lord, this saint requests an audience with you. She comes in the name of her master."

The Chapter Master remained silent, his mind racing. This was not an invitation he could refuse.

If the Lord of Destruction had chosen to intervene, then the fate of Terra—and perhaps the Imperium—hung in the balance.

"Deactivate all weapons," he ordered grimly. "If the Lord of Destruction extends his hand in peace, we will not be the ones to strike first."

Turning, he strode from the bridge, prepared to face the unknown.

The saint descended upon them, her radiant wings stretching wide—far greater in scale than they had appeared from a distance. They were formed of pure flame, yet they did not burn, instead casting a warmth that settled deep into the souls of those who beheld her.

Her eyes gleamed with a white, ethereal glow, her entire form suffused with otherworldly brilliance.

She bore a flag, massive in size, its surface inscribed with sigils of power. As she descended, the Imperial Fists instinctively braced themselves—not for battle, but in deference to the sheer weight of her presence.

From within their ranks, the Chapter Master stepped forward.

"She is a warrior of immense power, but we are sons of Dorn. We do not falter."

"Commander of the Imperial Fists," the saint intoned. "I am Efilar, Saint of the Lord of Destruction, Grand Sister of War."

He did not react outwardly, though her words carried an undeniable weight.

"I come bearing my master's will," she continued, her voice both gentle and unyielding. "Go home, knights. My Lord will bring peace to Terra."

The Chapter Master frowned.

"We cannot simply abandon our duty."

Efilar only smiled. "Then stay in orbit. Watch from above. You will see soon enough."

The Chapter Master hesitated, then nodded solemnly.

"Very well. We will remain."

With that, the golden light dissipated, fading from the void.

Meanwhile, the City of Horizon stood in silent dread.

The Blood Angels had gathered outside the Obsidian Gate, their rage barely restrained. They had come for vengeance.

Inside, the psykers of the Star Whisper Court cowered.

"We had nothing to do with this!" one of them pleaded desperately. "We do not know why the Grand Master did this!"

"Silence, wretch!" a Blood Angel snarled, his fangs bared. "I will rip out your spine and drink fine wine from your skull!"

The psykers shuddered. They knew the Blood Angels did not speak in metaphor.

For a moment, it seemed that all would be lost.

Then, from the heavens, a red comet blazed through the night sky.

It struck the Obsidian Gate with the force of a meteorite. The impact shattered the reinforced adamantium doors—barriers that even the Blood Angels had struggled to breach.

Amid the wreckage, a towering figure emerged, wreathed in fire.

His presence alone sent a ripple through the assembled warriors. His fury was not a mere battle cry—it was an undeniable force, an inferno of wrath incarnate.

Dukel had arrived.

"Blood for blood," he declared, his voice a thunderous roar. "Blood debt must be paid in kind!"

Behind him, the Doom Slayers advanced, their massive twin-barreled shotguns gleaming with crackling destruction. They twisted the priming knobs, igniting their weapons with righteous fury.

The Blood Angels faltered.

For the first time since the crisis began, their rage found a match.

They had come to claim vengeance.

But now, standing before them, was a force even angrier than they were.

And in the face of such fury, their own fire began to cool.

Many among the Blood Angels who had succumbed to madness found their vision clearing at the sight before them.

What followed was an overwhelming tide of emotion. They all knew Dukel—the benefactor who had saved their Holy Father. Had it not been for his intervention, their gene-sire would still be entombed beneath the surface of Baal.

And now, that very benefactor had returned, once more for their Holy Father. But this time, he carried a fury greater than their own. He had turned wrath into fire, his vengeance a burning force that sought to annihilate his enemy.

When the Blood Angels swore vengeance for Sanguinius, they did so knowing it would lead to bloodshed. They had prepared themselves to fight against other Legions if necessary, regardless of the consequences.

They knew Terra would not remain idle. The Lords of the Imperium would move to stop them.

They had been ready to become enemies of Terra itself.

But Dukel had shown them something else. Through his actions, he made it clear—his wrath was greater than theirs. The Lord of Destruction burned with even greater fury over the Archangel's assassination. The Second Legion stood with the Blood Angels. No, they stood before them.

What a kindness!

More and more Blood Angels felt their rage give way to something deeper. Some warriors even wept tears of blood.

But Dukel did not halt. He moved forward, deeper into the City of Sight, leaving a path of fire in his wake.

A cry of disbelief echoed from a nearby tower staircase.

"This is impossible!"

A robed psyker, his garments dark green, stood trembling, pointing a shaking finger at Dukel.

"You—why can you still use psychic power?!"

Dukel turned to look at him. He said nothing. He made no move.

A voice rang through the mental network.

"Your Highness, according to the Lion's intelligence, this is the Director of the Scholastica Psykana. He trained alongside the Grand Master, holds ties to the nobles, and secretly trades in psykers' organs. Many psykers who were reported dead in training were, in truth, sold to the fringes of the galaxy."

Shivara's words carried no doubt.

Dukel's fury ignited. An immense surge of force exploded outward.

"This isn't psychic power," he growled.

He stretched out his hand, grasping at the air.

"You will die in the most agonizing way imaginable. This is the price you pay for harming my brother."

"CRACK!"

The psyker let out an inhuman wail as his body twisted grotesquely. A sickening series of cracks and snaps rang out as his bones shattered. His flesh contorted, his organs imploded. His very being was crushed under Dukel's inexorable force—so utterly compressed that not a single drop of blood was spilled.

Dukel only released his grip when the psyker had been reduced to a sphere no larger than a centimeter.

With a dull thud, the tiny, compressed mass hit the ground.

More information flooded the mental network. Shivara had compiled the names, portraits, and crimes of others within the City of Sight.

"Children, burn them all."

At his command, the Doom Slayers dispersed.

The blood-red flames roared higher, consuming the Court of the Astronomican.

The Blood Angels watched in silence, the firelight reflected in their eyes, the wails of the dying filling their ears. And for the first time in a long time, they felt a twisted sense of peace.

Then, a voice cut through the carnage.

"But the Archangel once told me—"

Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, stepped forward, his voice hesitant.

"My father once said there are innocents among the Star Whisperers. Would Lord Dukel truly—"

"They deserve to die!" a company captain snapped, cutting him off. But even he lacked confidence in his words.

The Blood Angels did not slaughter indiscriminately. For all their fury, they were noble warriors at heart.

Before, their rage had blinded them. But now, as their clarity returned, some could not help but wonder—had Dukel gone too far?

"Lord Dukel is acting in grief," another Blood Angel murmured. "Our Holy Father was his true brother by blood. He is angrier than all of us."

"Should we stop him? If this continues, I fear he will regret his actions once his wrath fades."

"We must not let him bear such a burden alone!"

"Even if we are punished for it."

"At any cost."

Their determination solidified.

Then—

"Let me go! Let me go! Don't stop me from avenging my brother!"

The voice thundered through the night.

A figure stepped from an arriving aircraft—his golden hair luminous even in the gloom.

Sanguinius.

He had set foot on Terra.

And the first thing he saw was Dukel, raging, surrounded by an entire company of Blood Angels restraining him.

"My lord, please calm yourself!"

"Forget it, my lord!"

"The Astronomican's crimes do not warrant their extermination!"

Sanguinius: "?"

For a moment, the Archangel simply stared at the bizarre sight before him. Then, he regained his composure.

"Brother, what has happened here?"

With Dante's careful support, the young Sanguinius moved forward. Though pale and weak, his voice carried authority.

Dukel turned to him at last, concern flickering in his burning eyes.

"Sanguinius? How did you get here? Are you still wounded?"

"I'm fine," the Archangel coughed, wincing slightly.

"This is 'fine' to you?!"

The crimson flames flared higher, Dukel's fury rising once more.

"Calm yourself, brother," Sanguinius said gently. "The Grand Master has been executed. We cannot let hatred consume us further."

"There are no innocents here," Dukel shot back.

The Archangel's expression remained compassionate, but before he could respond, a rustling sound filled the air.

Figures emerged from the darkness. Astropaths, their robes tattered, their faces pale with fear. They moved cautiously, avoiding the fires, before kneeling at the Archangel's feet.

"Great One, we have done no wrong! We knew nothing of the Grand Master's treachery. Please, have mercy!"

Sanguinius turned to Dukel. He studied his brother's expression. Then, at Dukel's slight nod, he understood. These people were innocent.

Most were mere apprentices. Only a handful held any authority within the Star Whisperers. And if they had been guilty, they would not have been able to evade the Doom Slayers.

Sanguinius stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on the leader's head.

"I believe you."

His voice was soft, yet absolute.

The Astropaths trembled, their terror melting into relief. They fell to the ground in gratitude, unable to stand.

Dukel scowled.

"I'll be watching you."

His words sent a shudder through the Astropaths. Then, without another word, he turned and departed with the Doom Slayers.

After this, young Sanguinius would take his rightful place as Grand Master of the Star Whisperers.

The Imperial Guard would oversee the Inquisition.

The Lion would assume command of the Officio Assassinorum and the Adeptus Arbites.

Guilliman would control the Departmento Munitorum.

Dukel lifted his gaze to Terra's night sky.

Five hours had passed since his arrival.

The first light of dawn stretched across the horizon.

It was time to face the High Lords.