The Devastation of Baal

by Guy Haley

  So the host was gathered. The sons of Sanguinius, the most noble of all the Adeptus Astartes, and the most ­troubled. Garbed in battleplate of black and red, white and gold, a diversity of livery that could not hide their unity of blood. Fire’s warm illumination brought their appearances closer. It muted the gold, enlivened the black, tinted the white, so their armour did not appear so different.

  Blood Swords stood by Angels Numinous, Charnel Guard and Red Wings waited with Exsanguinators. The savages of the Carmine Blades rubbed elbows with warrior-scholars of the Golden Sons. Those who had embraced the flaw met with counterparts who defied it to the point of destructive denial.

  If divided by custom, they were united by blood. Time had wrought its changes on their temperament and traditions, but underneath the varied colours of their skin and their tattoos, beneath their esoteric rites, they were the same.

  The scions of Sanguinius had come home.

  The blood thralls of their hosts waited on them, serving spiced wines adulterated with vitae. Other refreshments were available, from plates of exquisitely prepared food to ritual bleedings, and the blessings of Chaplains were given out to troubled souls wishing for some of the grace of the primarch.

  They spoke to one another in hushed tones. A Space Marine must strive heroically to become intoxicated, but if it was in the character of some of those present to try, none did so, though Brother Adanicio had thrown open the doors of the Chapter’s wine cellars, and there was enough drink to make raucous feast. Restraint reigned. For all the pageantry of the gathering it was funereal. A family gathering precipitated by tragedy. Warriors from Chapters who were virtually unknown to one another conversed, amazed at their differences, united by their similarities, but talk turned inexorably in every meeting to the impending arrival of the Leviathan and the impossible task ahead.

  A trumpet sang with heavenly notes so refined all paused to hear it. Not a single voice continued, not from the most cynical nor from the most aggressive. Fire crackled in the sudden quiet. A choir of angelic voices swelled over the main entrance from the mouths of the statues standing guard there, and silence was banished again.

  An ancient blood thrall, high ranked in the logisticiam, came into the hollow centre of the great white table upon a mechanised platform. His natural limbs were withered, so for support he was strapped upright into the legged ­carriage. Seven metal legs tapped and scraped on the stone, carrying him when his own legs could not. A flock of miniature cyber-angels passed and swooped overhead, adding their tiny voices to the chorus emanating from the statues by the door.

  The thrall held up a corpse-like hand. Telescopic eyes extended and whirred as they performed a semblance of blinking. The man’s body was wrecked with age, but his voice was clear and pure, preserved by his masters for its beauty.

  ‘Take your places, lords of the Blood!’ He spoke without music, and yet his voice was so fine it sounded like singing. ‘Lord Dante comes! Commander of Baal, Master of the Blood Angels, Keeper of the Blood, Lord of the Angelic Host!’

  ‘Dante, Lord of Angels! Dante, Lord of Baal! Dante, Lord of the first-born sons!’ sang the chorus of cybernetic angels. ‘Dante! Dante! Dante!’

  Melodies perfect in their complexity accompanied the exultation of the commander’s titles, while a dulcet chant of his many victories played counterpoint.

  The doors flew open. In strode a procession of the highest and the best the Blood Angels had to offer.

  The Exalted Herald of Sanguinius, leader of the Sanguinary Guard, Brother Sepharan, led the way. ‘Dante is here! All stand for Commander Dante!’ he shouted, though all in the room were standing already. Behind Sepharan marched the fifteen Sanguinary Guard presently on Baal. In their footsteps followed the company captains. Six were present, for four were at Diamor in battle against the black fleets of Abaddon. Machiavi of the Third, Castigon of the Fourth, Raxietal of the Sixth, Zedrenael of the Eighth, Sendroth of the Ninth, and finally Borgio of the Tenth, the master of recruits. The fleet captains were next, led by Asante, captain of the battle-barge Blade of Vengeance, walking side by side with Asimuth of the Bloodcaller. Then came the Chapter Ancient Behelmor carrying the colours of the Blood Angels proudly before him, a sacred relic depicting Sanguinius. The cloth of the banner had not faded since its weaving thousands of years in the past.

  Only after Behelmor and this honour guard of noble heroes did Commander Dante himself arrive. To his right was Brother Corbulo, bearing the Red Grail itself, the very vessel that had caught the dying Sanguinius’ blood. On his left was Chaplain Ordamael, Paternis Sanguis, second only to Astorath the Grim in the order of the Reclusiam, carrying Amit’s Reliquary out of the Basilica Sanguinarum, wherein the last feather of the primarch was kept in permanent stasis. Behind him walked Mephiston, Lord of Death, Chief of Librarians, and Incarael, Master of the Blade, huge in his Martian priest’s battlegear, then Brother Bellerophon, Keeper of the Heavengate, the Blood Angels fleet commander, and at his side Brother Adanicio, master of the logisticiam. In Adanicio’s train were the leaders of the Chapter’s human servants from every division, scholiasts of the librarius, equerries to the Chapter councils, logisticiam adepts, the captain-ordinary of the blood thrall warriors, Master Leeter of the astropaths, and those navi­gators who could bear the gravity of Baal.

  Finally there were champions of each of the companies at that date on Baal, all clad in armour of the most ancient sort. These suits had seen service in the Horus Heresy and were lovingly decorated. The name of the warrior who had worn the armour those many thousands of years ago was emblazoned upon their chestplates and helms. The armour waited for days like this, guarded against decay by arcane sciences. Today it was worn again in remembrance of who the Blood Angels once were, and the weapons of legendary heroes were clasped in the hands of the champions also. After them servitors shepherded velvet padded grav-sleds bearing other relics: the sword Valour’s Edge, the plasma pistol Fury of Baal, Gallian’s Staff, the Angel’s Wing, the Crown Angelic, sitting easy upon a polished skull, and then the Veritas Vitae, the machine blessed enough to record the words of Sanguinius himself, then repeat them upon the field of battle.

  A column of armed blood thralls twenty strong, their small human forms lost in ornate half-powered carapace suits, followed their masters in their storied battleplate and the relics in their train. Behind them walked a mighty Librarian-Dreadnought, decked with honours, and four more of his kind. Lastly were robed blood thralls bearing golden censers spilling the most wonderfully fragrant smoke, and five thralls in black bearing representations of the Five Virtues, and five in white bearing similar gold objects depicting the Five Graces. All about the procession was heavenly singing, and glory, and they walked into the Chamber of the Great Red Council in a blaze of golden light.

  At the table the procession peeled apart, one stream heading to the right, the other to the left. Those Blood Angels granted seats at the table stood behind their appointed places, while the rest went to stations around the hall. The champions and Sanguinary Guard went to recesses in the walls to watch over the gathering, while the warrior thralls turned and stamped their feet, forming an avenue for their baseline human brothers to negotiate before they too went to their duties about the hall, whether to serve, advise, or to burn their holy smokes by the effigies of celebrated heroes.

  The Chapter Lords of the Blood watched in respectful quiet as the mightiest of their number went to stand at his place at the table. The artefacts his comrades carried – the blood, the feather, the standard, the ancient armours – were of the most sacred kind to all the Chapters of the Blood, but it was Dante’s gleaming, golden presence that held all their attention.

  Over Dante’s face was the death mask of Sanguinius, the righteous anger of their lord father frozen in gold, and his blood preserved in the bloodstone upon Dante’s forehead. These were more than symbols the Blood Angels brought, they were tangible links to the past and the
Chapters’ shared origins.

  Corbulo handed off the grail to a thrall of the Sanguis Corpusculum. Ordamael gave Amit’s Reliquary to a black-robed, tongueless servant of the Reclusiam Citadel. As these human serfs stood behind their masters, so did Brother Behelmor stand behind Dante’s chair. The flag’s silk rippled liquidly. The music ceased. True silence fell again. The brothers of a score of Chapters remained standing as Dante surveyed his allies with Sanguinius’ unblinking, shining eyes.

  ‘My brothers!’ said Dante, his pronouncement startling in the sepulchral quiet. ‘These artefacts that my warriors and their servants bear date back to the time of Horus’ great betrayal of our beloved Emperor. These relics here, these suits of armour, these weapons my brothers carry, date from the most terrible war in our history. And these,’ he pointed to the Red Grail and to Amit’s Reliquary. ‘They bore witness to our lord’s death, for both are vessels for his mortal remains. No greater shock have the Chapters of the Blood experienced than when our lord fell to the blades of his hateful brother, not when our forebears were sundered from one another’s company, not in those times when our Chapters have faced annihilation, as my own has three times within the span of my life. Sanguinius’ loss echoes to this day in all of us. It is a pain that is immortal.

  ‘Yet those times passed, no matter how dark they appeared. Through the sacrifice of our lord, the Emperor was triumphant, and order was restored. From this I draw hope.’ He paused. No one spoke. ‘I have lived a long time. I have seen things I thought never to see. Every century I survive presents a new horror to test our Imperium. I have seen the Necrons awaken. I have witnessed the Tau emerge. I was there when the hive fleets first came out of the intergalactic void to prey upon the worlds of our species. I have fought Ghazgkhull, the great beast of the Orks, upon the thrice-damned world of Armageddon. I have seen Chapters fall. I have seen worlds die. I have seen the flower of the Imperium’s martial might laid low by the perfidy of traitors. I have seen the ambition of vain men deliver the innocent into the obscene hungers of the endless dark.’

  The glowing eyes of Sanguinius’ mask swept over the crowd of warriors. ‘I have seen all this. I have faced every manner of enemy, and I have slain them all!’ he said, his voice rising. ‘The Imperium stands! We are the Angels of Death, the Emperor’s appointed champions. We are the lords of battle, the bringers of vengeance. We are the sons of Sanguinius, the red line of blood which none shall pass.’ He placed his hands on the table, and leaned forward. ‘What is to come will test you. You will look to the sky in search of the stars and you will not see them. The tyranid swarms will block out their light. You will marvel at the number of creatures they shall land upon these worlds, and you will doubt it shall ever end. You shall speak with your psykers and your Librarians, and they will tell you of the shadow that blinds and pains all those who look into the warp. You shall see all this, and you shall believe that we cannot prevail. But I tell you this – prevail we shall!’ he shouted. ‘By blade, bolt, plasma and las-beam we shall cut them down. By the strength of our blood will we throw them back. We shall make a virtue of our curse, and release the unbounded savagery of Sanguinius upon these trespassers. We will do this because it must be done. We will do this because there are no ­others to do it. Hive Fleet Leviathan comes against us with a great portion of its strength. If these worlds of Baal fall, the whole of Ultima Segmentum will be open to its swarms. The hive fleets will pour north, devouring everything in their path, and the Imperium will be dealt a grievous blow.’

  He slammed his fist down onto the perfect new marble of the table, cracking its surface. ‘This shall not be so! This will be a victory where there have been only defeats. Here, on Baal, the Leviathan shall die!’

  His shout resounded around the chamber. He drew in a deep, ragged breath. His fury affected all those near to him, and, as their thirst awoke, it provoked that in others further still, and so the red rage of Sanguinius radiated out from Commander Dante like slow ripples in a pool of blood, until all felt its touch, and the urge to do battle grew keen in the twin hearts of the warriors in the hall.

  ‘The Imperium will endure,’ growled Dante. ‘By the blood of Sanguinius that I bear upon my brow and that I carry in my veins, I swear it shall be so.’

  He sat heavily. Silence held for a moment, and broke suddenly.

  ‘Dante!’ screamed someone. His cry was taken up. ‘Dante! Dante! Dante!’ the Space Marines shouted, raw and raging, so very different to the pure angelic singing that had ushered the commander in. ‘Dante! Dante! Dante!’ they roared. They each beat one fist upon their chestplates, filling the chamber with the raucous clash of metal. ‘Dante! Dante! Dante!’ There were warriors in the hall who felt their rage burn hot and crimson, and struggled to contain themselves, so great was the outpouring of emotion in that place.

  Dante held up a hand. Behelmor slammed down the staff of the Chapter banner. The sharp crack of metal on stone broke through the applause like a stone through ice.

  ‘I pray for your indulgence a little while longer,’ said Dante. Quiet returned. ‘And I bid you sit.’

  A strange chorus sang, the whine and scrape of five hundred suits of power armour lowered into five hundred stone chairs.

  ‘Firstly, I thank you all for responding to our call for aid in this darkest hour,’ Dante said. ‘Loyalty to Sanguinius’ home is admirable but not demanded of our bloodline. I am gratified and humbled by the numbers you and yours have brought to the defence of this system. Never since the breaking of the Legions have so many of our kind been present in one place at one time.’ He looked around the room gravely. ‘However, the scale of this Angelic Host brings its own problems. Every one of us in this room is a lord among angels. We are the masters of the Chapters of the Blood. Each one of us bears great responsibilities, be it for a hundred men, a fleet, or a system of worlds. We are equals, you Lords of Blood and I, and so there is a matter that must be settled, a question that must be asked.’ He paused. The words were important. They must be put well.

  ‘The question I would ask of you is one of command,’ said Dante. ‘You may think that I would take the lead without your explicit approval. I would never presume to do so. I ask instead that you permit me to lead the defence of Baal and in any military action that might be required to break the hive fleet thereafter, that you submit your warriors and yourselves to my command alone, and that you shall swear to do my bidding no matter the cost or how much you may disagree with my course of action.’

  Quiet again.

  A warrior in black and gold stood from his chair. A swift-moving servo-skull went to hover over his head, bathing him in a soft lumen glow.

  ‘Captain Cantar of the Golden Sons,’ it said. ‘Keeper of the Wheel, Slayer of Danrane of the Fifteenth Path, Bloodlord of Kathoi, Exterminator of the Skaal.’

  Cantar let the herald skull say its piece. In the light the skin of his bare head was a deep, nut brown of lustrous hue, and his hair was tightly plaited and gathered into a short braid at the back. Golden tattoos glimmered in the light. ‘I am but second captain, no master am I,’ he said. ‘I was sent here with my own warriors and two half companies of my brother-captains at the command of my Chapter Master Erden Cleeve. He gave me express orders to follow your will to the letter. You need not ask if we shall follow you, Commander Dante.’ He banged his fist upon his chest, then made the sign of the aquila. ‘I hear at Armageddon the generals of the Imperium appointed you as lord commander, but they debated first. There is no need for that here, you are among your kin. You are our lord.’ He bowed his head, and sat. A cheer went up around the room.

  ‘My thanks for your words, brother,’ said Dante. ‘But there will be warriors here who perhaps think they should have ultimate say in the deployment of their Chapters, as is only right. I believe that only in unity shall we prevail. I cannot proceed until I am assured that my orders will be obeyed by all. Our lives, our victory, depend upon it.’<
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  Another warrior stood, this one helmed and in parti­coloured armour of black and red. The herald skull’s light lit gorgeously worked trim. Upon his shoulder a winged skull glared out imperiously.

  ‘Castellan Zargo, Chapter Master of the Angels Encarmine, Fleetlord, Far-Wanderer, Master of the Gloried Reach.

  ‘We of the Angels Encarmine commit ourselves wholly to your cause.’ Through his helm emitter his voice was hard and rasping. ‘I am sure there are many more here who would agree. I feel I can vouch for the sentiments of Chapter Master Seth. Though we have had our differences I am sure we are of mind on this matter. Chapter Master Glorian, and Chapter Master Voitek, among others also. Is there need for this, Dante? You are the great hero of the Imperium. Your name and exploits are known to all of us, even those who have never been within a thousand light years of Baal before.’

  ‘Aye! Aye!’ men shouted. ‘It is true!’

  ‘Let us be about this war, without this charade. You bear the blood of Sanguinius on your forehead,’ said a warrior in sombre grey.

  ‘Paracelius, First Captain, Charnel Guard, Giver of the Bones, nineteenth of the title,’ said the skull.

  ‘You wear Sanguinius’ mask on your face. We shall all follow you,’ Paracelius said.

  ‘Yet I am not Sanguinius,’ said Dante. ‘You all must understand this. I have achieved much, but my legend is different to my story. I am only a warrior, like you. Know this. Know also that this war may be the doom of your Chapters. I will command only by consent, and not by some supposed right. For who but the Emperor could confer that on me? Therefore in His absence, I must ask my peers for their approval.’

  ‘So we will die!’ shouted a captain of the Blood Swords, surging to his feet too quickly for the herald to reach him and call out his name. ‘What of it? For what other reason did the Emperor create us than to die in battle performing service to Him? If our deaths will aid victory, then so be it! Life is fleeting, the blood is eternal. We fight not for ourselves, but for our geneline and the Imperium.’