Chapter 119 - The Thousand Eyes Warband
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The Dark Imperium. The Chaos Warband of the Thousand Eyes.
Aboard the flagship Blade of Truth.
Bael, a Fallen Angel, once a member of the Dark Angels Legion, was having an audience with his Knight-Captain, Seraphax, current master of the Thousand Eyes Warband, and a Fallen Angel himself.
But where Bael had merely fallen, Seraphax had plunged. Half his face burned perpetually, the flesh never consuming, never healing.
"Bael, my friend. I trust you bring me news from Karmas."
Seraphax welcomed him warmly.
Bael was his last companion from that age, not simply a contemporary, but a brother of the same Legion. That bond ran deep.
Seraphax trusted him.
Not long ago, Karmas, a world the Thousand Eyes had conquered, had gone dark. The garrison had stopped responding. The warband had lost contact entirely. The planet mattered to Seraphax more than most. He had captured the Vermilion Crescent Chapter there, the Sons of Sanguinius, and was using them as key material for something called the [Blood Rage Project].
Bael saluted.
"I am sorry, my Knight-Captain. Karmas has fallen. The Imperial defenders have retaken it."
The bridge of the Blade of Truth went silent.
Then Urianz, a Supreme Raptor, broke it.
"Did you destroy them?"
"No."
Bael answered plainly.
That single word drove the already undisciplined warriors into a frenzy. They rounded on him, hurling accusations of weakness, roaring their contempt. Bael could read them easily enough. They weren't angry about losing Karmas. They were seizing an opportunity, punish him, impress Seraphax, two birds with one bolt.
Vakarn was the loudest. Crimson-armored, Terminator plate, a self-styled World Eater who wore the title like a crown he'd never earned. He glared at Bael with open fury, calling his retreat the mark of a coward. Bael gave it back without flinching. A warrior who kept his tactical mind intact would always outclass a brainless butcher, and they both knew which one Vakarn was.
The argument curdled into violence.
Bael drew and fired. The bolt round froze in midair, caught in Seraphax's psychic grip.
"I do not wish for this kind of conflict aboard my ship." Seraphax's voice was quiet. He stepped forward. "I have placed my full trust in you, Bael. Was I wrong? Tell me what you know."
The Knight-Captain stood before him now, close enough to read his face.
He could see it. The thing Bael hadn't said. The reason he'd left Karmas standing instead of burning it to cinders. Bael hesitated. Then he answered.
"The Blood Rage Project is gone. The fortress housing it has been destroyed. The near-orbit defense platforms are in the hands of local militia." He paused. "And they said something."
"For the Lion."
A sharp breath cut through the bridge.
Seraphax's brow furrowed. "For the Lion?"
"Yes." Bael drew a slow breath. "Not in the Lion's name. For him. As though our father had personally set foot on Karmas."
"Standard Imperial horseshit!"
Urianz snarled.
"They have no spine of their own, so they drag out long-dead heroes to prop themselves up!"
Bael looked at him. His smile was cold.
"Then explain Abaddon's message. The one he broadcast across the Supreme Heavens. Lupercal's return. Guilliman's awakening."
He let that land before continuing.
"I can feel it. Something vast and strange is reaching into this era, pulling back Primarchs who should have been swallowed by history. Especially the Wolf Shepherd." His voice dropped slightly. "I do not think the Lion's return is impossible."
"Hmph." Jetanah the Remorseless cut in with a cold snort. "You sound like a child sobbing at the sound of his father's name. How do long-dead ghosts frighten you this badly?"
"That Lupercal is a clone at best. Don't forget what Fabius Bile can do. The Apothecary of the Emperor's Children has made copies before. It's probably nothing more than that. And Guilliman's awakening? Perfectly reasonable. I've heard that among all the Primarchs, he was one of the weakest."
Bael's eyes narrowed. When he spoke, the contempt was barely veiled.
"That's because you've never seen a Primarch. Everything you know is secondhand. I know my gene-father's name. I know what the other Primarchs are capable of. I fought alongside them." He let his gaze settle on Jetanah. "But you, Jetanah, you don't even know who your own forebear was. You horseless wretch."
That was hardly polite.
But Bael had the standing to say it. Seniority counts for something.
The new generation — loyalist or Chaos Astartes, it made no difference — none of them had ever witnessed a Primarch with their own eyes. They either treated the Primarchs as myth, or figured they were oversized tin cans, maybe a step above a Dreadnought. Nothing more.
Only Bael and Seraphax knew the truth. They had seen it firsthand. And because of that, they carried a quiet, persistent fear that the others simply didn't.
Jetanah looked ready to explode. A single glance from Seraphax stopped him cold.
The Sorcerer Lord began to pace.
"This is not good news." He looked around at the assembled warriors. "I will say this plainly: if the Lion had a hand in the fall of Karmas, I would not dismiss it. Where Primarchs are concerned, I don't care how absurd it sounds. I don't jump to conclusions. Caliban was destroyed. Bael and I were swept into a Warp storm. After that, the Lion simply vanished. No trace. No word." He paused. "It is entirely possible he was caught in that same storm, just as we were, and has only now resurfaced."
The room went quiet in a different way.
They exchanged glances, and in each other's eyes, they found the same thing. Unease. The creeping kind.
A dead man was a dead man. Nothing to fear from a corpse. But a living Primarch? The Lion? They still had enough self-awareness to know what that meant.
Bael watched them and felt something close to satisfaction.
Seraphax settled back onto his throne. His expression gave nothing away.
"That said, Lupercal must be a fabrication. The Emperor killed him long ago." He did not say 'False Emperor.' Even now, some remnant of respect for his former liege lord remained in the phrasing. It was a peculiar loyalty. Seraphax's ambition was not to destroy the Master of Mankind, but to free him from the Golden Throne, to help him ascend, to make him a god.
"Sorcerer Lord! Sorcerer Lord!"
The voice was wrong. Too high, too rough, not an Astartes throat.
Every head turned.
A grey-furred Beastman burst onto the bridge at a dead run. Korsatz, the one responsible for managing the twisted Astropaths aboard the Blade of Truth.
"Silence." Seraphax's growl was low and flat. "Korsatz. Report."
"The void-whisperers have spoken, my lord!" The Beastman dropped into an awkward approximation of a formal posture. "Two messages. One from Avalons. One from Baal."
"Baal?"
Seraphax and Bael frowned at the same moment. The homeworld of the Great Angel. The Blood Angels' cradle world. What could possibly be coming out of Baal right now?
"Give me Avalons first." Seraphax waved a hand. Baal was surrounded by Tyranids; whatever signal was coming from there was almost certainly a distress call bleeding into the void.
The Beastman looked up, urgent.
"They say: the Lion is here."
Both Fallen Angels drew a slow, deep breath. They looked at each other.
"And Baal?"
"Uh..." Korsatz shifted. "They say... the Great Angel has returned."
"...What?"
The silence that followed was total. Not just the two Fallen Angels. Every soul on that bridge stood frozen. Then, somewhere in the back, a voice murmured what they were all thinking.
"Didn't Abaddon, that top-knotted fool — say the age of Primarchs was over?"
➤ Next: The Lion's Attitude
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