Over the centuries of loyal service to the Imperium, the Master of the Sons of the Anathema had accumulated a rich history of dealings with the descendants of the Lion.
Even back in his days serving in a tactical squad, Dionysus had taken part in the siege of the Dyakor hive on one of the border planets of Segmentum Obscurus.
A local Chaos cult had seized power during a successfully staged uprising.
The planetary governor, flayed by the time the Fifth Company of the Sons of the Anathema arrived, had managed to send out a plea for help in time, thanks to which the spread of the heresy had been contained to just the capital hive, preventing the Chaos filth from consuming the Imperial world entirely.
Trapped in the hive, the Tzeentchian cult “Wind of Change,” as had already been determined on-site, quickly got its bearings and began preparing a complex sacrificial ritual as a gift to their Emperor-cursed god.
Learning from intelligence data of the abominable plans of the dark god’s servants, the captain of the Fifth Company of the Sons of the Anathema gave the order for an immediate assault on the fallen city.
The plan proposed by the Space Marine was extremely simple, but it was the best the loyalists could offer in such a short time.
While the local PDF, after a hurricane artillery barrage, simulated an assault attempt, thereby luring significant heretical forces to the city walls, the Angels of Death rained down upon the caught-off-guard cultists like a storm of hardened steel, destroying their leaders, prophets, and champions with a single swift blow.
From the very beginning, there was definitely something wrong with these cultists.
Too organized for a gang of degenerates and mutants from the lower levels of the underhive.
Too much knowledge for a paltry cult on an Emperor-forsaken planet.
As if someone behind the scenes had been pulling invisible strings from the very start.
A hot reception awaited the Space Marines in the landing zone.
In that battle, Dionysus lost his sergeant-brother and was forced to take his place.
Nevertheless, the Sons of the Anathema chewed their way through the cultists’ fierce defense.
Losing their brothers, the sons of Guilliman methodically advanced towards their goal — the Temple of the Emperor God, in which the blasphemers had decided to conduct their dark ritual.
His brothers were close to success!
They were close… when the fleet of one of the Dark Angels’ successor Chapters appeared in orbit.
In the next few minutes, the strike cruiser of the Sons of the Anathema, which had taken several serious hits, was forced to retreat to the far side of the planet, after which it made an emergency Warp jump.
When the Fifth Company forces deployed on the ground lost their support from space, they were hit with a powerful blow from behind by Terminator-armoured units of the Lion’s sons.
It was a real slaughter.
Caught between the Chaos cultists on one side and the Terminators of their “loyal cousins” striking from behind, the Fifth Company was soon broken into pockets of desperate resistance, which were methodically suppressed by the forces of the First Legion Astartes’ successors.
Only a small handful of survivors, led by Burton, managed to escape that meat grinder alive.
That day, Dionysus killed a “loyal” Astartes brother for the first time.
The Chaplain of the Lion’s sons was a far more experienced opponent than Burton himself.
The crozius in his hands, with movements honed to perfection, broke Burton’s leg, opened his ribcage, and nearly crushed his skull, but it was the future Chapter Master who emerged alive from that fight.
Even if luck was partly the reason, what is “luck” if not the Emperor’s justice?!
The cultists of the “Wind of Change” managed to complete the ritual and summon a daemonic invasion to the planet Dyakor Tertius.
Tens of millions of the Emperor’s faithful servants, soldiers of the planetary PDF, and ordinary civilians died in the brutal slaughter unleashed by the Warp predators that had broken into the material world.
Only the timely arrival of the Black Templars crusade managed to save the situation, preventing the planet from turning into a daemon world.
Thus began the deep enmity between the Sons of the Anathema and the children of Lion El’Jonson.
The Dark Angels successor Chapter vanished as suddenly as it had appeared on the Chaos-infected planet.
As was discovered somewhat later, the Lion’s sons were looking for something or someone specific on the planet.
And by attacking loyal Astartes, these heretics had decided to eliminate unwanted witnesses.
Learning of the treachery of the Lion’s genetic degenerates, the Sons of the Anathema blazed with righteous anger, beginning their hunt for their “brothers.” The Chapter actively cooperated with the Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus, who were interested in exposing the betrayal that had long been brewing in the ranks of the former First Legion.
This mutually beneficial cooperation soon bore fruit.
Long-awaited sweet vengeance caught up with the offenders one hundred and thirty standard years later on the devastated mining world of Arcadia 9.
By spreading several false rumours, the Ordo Hereticus lured the traitors to this bare rock of a planet, once attacked by an Ork “Waaagh!,” where the disembarked sons of the Lion were waiting in a carefully planned trap.
The forces of the Inquisition, together with the Third Company of the Sons of the Anathema, led by Captain Dionysus Burton, were patient and gave no sign of their presence until the main forces of the heretics had descended into the abandoned mines of the dead world.
That day, the Apostles of Caliban paid with their blood for their crime against the Emperor and the Imperium.
Of the four Space Marine companies that landed on the surface, not one managed to escape the ambush alive.
Their fleet hanging in orbit was attacked by the fleet of the Sons of the Anathema and the Ordo Hereticus, which outnumbered the sons of El’Jonson threefold.
That day, the sons of Guilliman celebrated their victory and remembered their avenged brothers.
Only one pathetic frigate managed to slip away and report the catastrophe to the Rock.
* * * The Angels of Retribution… Dionysus Burton had immediately suspected something was wrong when they volunteered to join the crusade, despite the bloody enmity between the Chapters that had dragged on for centuries.
Nevertheless, their presence was approved by the command of the Tertius fleet, and the Master of the Sons of the Anathema had no choice but to keep a close watch on these mutant degenerates who had betrayed the Emperor’s light.
The betrayal of these heretics came as no surprise to Dionysus whatsoever.
On the contrary, he got rid of them quietly, avoiding a disastrous split in the crusade fleet.
For the time being, the problem with the Dark Angels receded into the background.
The time for the Warp-cursed sons of the Lion to face their punishment would surely come.
For now, the Chapter Master was concerned with far more pressing matters.
A conversation with the witch, on which the entire future fate of the crusade might depend.
* * * The sight of the xenos silently waiting to receive Burton made the Angel of Death’s fist clench involuntarily.
He would hardly ever get used to the sight of xenos aboard his Nemesis of Punishment.
“The Seer Iralith is ready to receive you,” the Howling Banshee reported in a voice devoid of emotion, in perfectly polished Low Gothic.
The master had visited the witch several times before to coordinate certain details of the upcoming operation.
The high social status of the Seers in the society of the pointy-eared xenos was no secret to Dionysus.
The Eldar protected and revered their witches, and those played the role of leaders of their people, nevertheless… The quarters Dionysus had assigned to the xenos aboard the Nemesis of Punishment looked austere even compared to the cells of Burton’s battle-brothers.
“I greet you, Master,” the xenos greeted Burton with a slight nod of her elongated helmet.
Unexpectedly, Dionysus caught himself thinking that this was the most respectful gesture he had ever witnessed from a representative of the pointy-eared people.
“Witch,” Burton returned the courtesy.
“You have laboured well this past week, Master,” the Seer said, tilting her head slightly.
“To keep the destructive nature of man in check… Such a feat deserves… respect.” The voice synthesizer in the xenos’s helmet made it impossible to tell whether the witch was speaking seriously or whether her words hid venomous sarcasm.
Dionysus assumed both conclusions were, to a certain extent, correct.
“Is the power of the Warp still subject to you?” the master asked after a brief pause for thought.
Dionysus remembered well the words of his Chief Librarian, Feranor, about the unusual behaviour of the local empyrean.
“Your Librarian is only partly right.” The Space Marine could have sworn he heard a faint chuckle behind the matte surface of the helmet.
“The veil he sensed is harmless in itself, though it possesses the rudiments of consciousness.” Had the witch rummaged through his head, predicted the future, or simply guessed his thoughts?
So much trouble with these pointy-eared people… Burton once again regretted that he was dealing with Eldar instead of Orks.
With those mushrooms, everything was much simpler.
“There is an obvious contradiction here.” It was the Space Marine’s turn to smirk.
“Though, nothing new.” Having satisfied his curiosity, he needed to move on to the main course.
“Master, you came here to ask a completely different question, didn’t you?” the xenos anticipated the Angel of Death.
The Seer’s relaxed demeanor was unsettling.
Whether it was due to arrogance or confidence in her own abilities… it didn’t matter.
The Eldar Seers were reputed to be powerful psykers.
Many of them, besides their psychic gift, were distinguished by notable skills as skilled warriors, but Burton was confident that at such close range, he could snap the Seer like a dry twig before she could do anything.
He knew it, the witch knew it, and yet… “Is our arrival in this Galaxy your doing?” The metal in Burton’s voice was colder than the void of space.
“Witch, thanks to your warning, most of my men were saved, and that is the only reason I am asking you this question here, instead of in the torture chamber, starting from the fifth level of interrogation.” An awkward silence fell.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dionysus saw the hand of the Banshee standing guard carefully rest on the hilt of her sword.
“I will be frank with you,” the Seer began, slowly enunciating each word.
“I will tell you everything I knew.” “Just like that?” The xenos was playing with fire if she thought she could lead him by the nose.
“No riddles, metaphors, ambiguous hints?” “There is no need for that.” With a smooth motion, the witch reached her hands towards her helmet.
“I believe that in my position, the truth will bring me far more benefit than a skillfully crafted lie.” With a characteristic sound, the Seer’s elongated helmet was removed, and for the first time, Dionysus had the opportunity to see his “guest’s” face.
The woman’s face, so similar to a human one, yet immeasurably distant, could captivate a mere mortal, but such things did not interest a Space Marine.
Far more eloquent were her emerald-coloured eyes, her gaze… the gaze of a being that had already lived countless centuries.
The picture was completed by a cascade of bright red hair, which in its appearance reminded him of the Chapter fleet master, Genevieve Permilot.
Burton sharply cut off that thought.
Comparing a faithful servant of the Emperor to a xenos… “Really?” An Eldar found it advantageous to tell the truth… What next?
Would an Ork take up charity, and Abaddon the Despoiler sincerely believe in the God-Emperor?!
The witch placed her helmet on the table before continuing.
Without the synthesizer, the Seer demonstrated her Low Gothic, devoid of even the slightest hint of any accent.
As if the master were now conversing not with an alien xenos, but with an aristocrat from a spire of one of the hundreds of thousands of Imperial hive cities.
“In the days of my distant youth, like many young Eldar, I was fated to follow the Path of the Outcast.” The xenos must have been testing the limits of his patience.
“In my quest to learn about the outer world, I spent about thirty standard years in the retinue of… a human, one of those you call Rogue Traders.” In the hundreds of years Burton had led the Chapter, the master had fully mastered his emotions, not allowing a single muscle to betray the anger seething within him.
“Save your anger for the living.” The witch, capable of reading another’s mind, was impervious to the composure tempered in the crucible of centuries.
“That man has been dead for a very long time, his bones have turned to dust, and his House was destroyed with the first arrival in our Galaxy of the spawn of eternal hunger, which your kind named Tyranids.” The Chapter Master could have sworn he heard a note of regret in the Seer’s voice for a fraction of a second.
“From him, I learned how much you humans value trusting relationships.” The Chapter Master wisely remained silent, waiting for an answer to the question he had posed earlier.
“The relocation to another Galaxy was hidden from my sight…” The Seer hesitated slightly, carefully trying to choose the right words.
“I think the reason for this is the veil your Librarian discovered.” Burton continued to remain silent, closely watching the slightest movement of muscles on the xeno-witch’s face and body.
The master did not need a psychic gift to determine whether a person was lying to him or not.
Everything, from body language to an accelerated heartbeat, could give a liar away, but reading a xenos was a completely different story.
“My sight showed only a black shroud awaiting me ahead,” the witch continued calmly.
“Usually, such a future means inevitable death.” Perhaps for the first time, Burton felt that the xenos was telling him the truth.
The Seer knew that death awaited them ahead, and yet she led them to Mivantis Secundus like sheep to the slaughter.
Such an admission would, in nine cases out of ten, have cost the witch her life, but… “Something doesn’t add up here,” the Space Marine muttered.
“If you knew death awaited you, why did you go through with it yourself?
Since when did xenos stop valuing the lives of their Seers?” For a fraction of a second, surprise was readable on the witch’s face, but then the xenos pulled herself together, and her face regained its former wise and calm, slightly melancholic expression.
“I have dedicated my soul and life to the god of the dead, Ynnead.” The Seer was indifferent to how the master’s eyes flared in response to her words.
“On the other hand, I have always, throughout my entire life, been accustomed to challenging the impossible.
I think you mon-keigh call people like me adventurers; hence the nickname my people gave me, ‘Dreamer.'” Iralith “the Dreamer” of Kaelor Melok.
A Seer who openly opposed Ran Dandr, earning a reputation as at best an eccentric, and more likely half-mad among the Eldar living on craftworlds.
Dionysus Burton knew little about his guest’s biography, so he had to request her personal file from the Ordo Xenos (when beings like her live for several thousand years, there is nothing surprising about the existence of such a thing).
“I set myself the task of intervening in the flow of time and changing the fate hanging over ‘your’ crusade.” The witch looked the master straight in the eyes.
“It seems I did quite well.
At least, we are all still alive.” In his thoughts, Dionysus had already expressed a few choice words about this “quite well,” but… The master decided to believe the witch’s words.
Did he trust her?
Not in the slightest!
Was she hiding personal motives behind her truth?
Definitely!
However, at that moment, the Seer was telling the truth.
“Alive,” Burton confirmed.
“Alive, but we are floating alone, cut off from the rest of the Imperium, no… rather, the Galaxy, in an unknown and hostile cosmos, having failed to fulfill the task entrusted to us.” Not one of the above words could Dionysus utter before his brothers, allies, or enemies.
What they might perceive as weakness, the master used as bait, wanting to hear the answer of the witch, who could read the future like an open book.
“People are afraid of the unknown,” the Seer replied, adjusting a stray lock of hair.
“Knowledge can drive away fear, and I think I know where you can obtain that knowledge.” Dionysus Burton, Master of the Sons of the Anathema, smiled almost imperceptibly.
“Besides, it is far too early to give up on your mission.” The witch held a small dramatic pause.
“A few days ago, I sensed the presence of the Flame of Vaul here, in this Galaxy new to us all.” Aboard the Star Kraken The richly appointed chamber stood out sharply against the backdrop of its “brethren” from the Imperial Navy.
Not every admiral could afford such luxury, which for a Rogue Trader was… something mediocre… Relaxed, with one leg crossed over the other, Alrik Eyvor, humble servant of the Emperor of Mankind and, by the will of fate, the modest holder of a Rogue Trader’s Warrant, sat in his lavish office aboard the Star Kraken, a Tyrant-class cruiser, reading yet another summary of riots and deaths on the “whales.” A bottle of vintage amasec, which the trader had received as a gift from a grateful planetary governor, helped the captain in this rather boring task.
“15,000 on one, 25,000 on another, and, of course, a certain number missing in action… The main thing is that these squigs don’t start a dark cult… Heretics on board is the last thing I need,” Alrik thought grimly as he scrolled through the reports of losses among the crews of his own small squadron.
There were about a hundred such reports in total… Only after two hours, about a hundred million words in High Gothic, and an emptied bottle did the Warrant holder finally manage to fully compile his report on civilian losses on the “whales” and send the report to the Fleet Council, which was headed by the Master of the Space Marine Chapter “Sons of the Anathema,” Dionysus Burton.
To be honest, Alrik disliked Burton.
Just like all the rest of the Space Marines in principle.
Of course, duty, honour, and loyalty were good.
Service to the God-Emperor in defense of Humanity was even better.
But in their endless wars, they fail to see the main value, which our “Angels of Death of the Emperor” are destroying with their own hands.
The treasures of thousands of planets had perished in the fire of eternal war due to the completely dismissive attitude of the Space Marines, and indeed all other military structures of the Imperium of Man.
The fanatical bitches from the Adepta Sororitas were especially distinguished in this field… Of course, brave warriors and soldiers are the blood of the Imperium, but its breath… Its breath is money, money, and more money.
The Space Marines never think about that.
These blockheads, on full state support, probably have no idea that every day of their “war” is paid for by years of backbreaking labor by billions of people on countless planets.
On the other hand, only thanks to Alrik and people like him does the Imperium obtain the vital resources for its countless wars.
The ruined worlds of xenos, human colonies long lost to the Emperor’s light… All of them became Alrik’s targets; their planets were absorbed and expanded the borders of the Imperium (well, and their treasures replenished the long-suffering treasury of the Administratum, partially lingering in the Rogue Trader’s capacious coffers).
Capturing xeno-worlds, establishing contact with lost human colonies, fierce battles with pirates… a life full of adventure.
Few men in the Imperium could boast such a rich life.
Alrik’s official calling, as a Rogue Trader, was the recolonization of worlds lost during wars, prolonged Warp Storms, and sometimes separatist uprisings… Oh, the Emperor saw, he was good… In almost 50 years of his trade as a Rogue Trader, Alrik had recolonized dozens of planets, brought at least 13 back into the fold of the Imperium, and captured 5, while committing xenocide against the local god-abhorrent creatures.
It was no wonder that such an impressive list of achievements had a positive effect on his well-being.
Extensive arsenals of weapons, rejuvenation treatments, mercenaries, and even several frigates — he could afford all of this.
A little later, he even thought about buying himself a light cruiser, but all these plans for the future, along with a considerable portion of his movable and immovable property, remained there, far away, in the native Galaxy, now hidden from the servants of the Emperor by the sinister veil of the treacherous Warp.
Right.
Because of that damned Warp Storm, he could no longer count on the brand-new cruiser, the repair docks, and in fact any other equipment was out of the question, for here, amidst these unfamiliar stars, there was no Imperium but themselves.
A completely new galaxy, cut off from the light of the Emperor.
At first, Alrik hadn’t even believed it.
It simply boggled the mind how such a thing was possible.
But on the other hand, perhaps no one had ever heard of it because there was no one to tell.
In any case, Alrik also considered the other side of the coin.
An entirely new galaxy meant new worlds, new treasures, new opportunities!
Alrik’s breath caught in his throat when he roughly estimated how much could be taken from the local xeno-worlds.
And there were also plenty of other free, habitable planets to colonize.
His personal paradise worlds.
Or forge worlds, loyal to him alone.
Perhaps the Tech-Priests would deign to build him a cruiser for such an occasion.
Or even a battleship.
In any case, the Rogue Trader was a realist and understood that the work would be endless, but the rewards for completing it would be truly immense.
And so the Emperor had not cursed them by sending them here — He had blessed them.
At least, Alrik for sure.