Mezarius entered the Council Chamber.
The spacious room at the ship’s bow, lit only by a few portholes, had almost no decorations.
Only statues of the Order’s ancient heroes watched him from the shadows.
“Ah, the Captain of the 3rd Company finally shows up!
I was beginning to think you couldn’t handle the Warp transit!” “You never change, Haruil, so don’t remind me of your foul character, brother.” His answer was the laughter of the Master of the Apothecarion.
Being among the few surviving neophytes from their intake, these two shared a particularly close bond.
A strong friendship that had been tested by centuries of endless struggle against the enemies of humanity and the invisible hunt for the Fallen, whose very existence, even a hundred centuries later, defiled the honour and dignity of the Sons of Lion El’Jonson.
Shaking his friend and brother’s hand, Mezarius took one of the empty seats.
Scanning the hall, he counted seven other members of the Inner Circle.
Unlike Haruil, their faces were hidden under hoods, as the Order’s traditions demanded.
“Why are you late, brother?” one of those assembled asked Mezarius.
“A pack of ship revenants broke out from the lower decks.
They were led by a very cunning alpha.
They managed to reach the scout firing range through the ventilation.
The youngsters fought them off, but two of them are seriously wounded,” he turned to the one seated at the head of the table.
“We need to conduct a cleansing before the filth from the black holds gets completely out of hand.” “Of course we will.
But I’m more concerned about the scouts’ fate.” “We’re doing everything we can,” all trace of the Chief Apothecary’s earlier cheerfulness was gone.
“One of them will definitely lose an arm and an eye.
The second has lacerations all over his body, but that’s quite fixable.” The Space Marine at the head of the table nodded, then rose from his seat, surveying those assembled.
“You may remove your hoods, brothers.
There is no need to hide your faces,” making sure he could see all the “initiated” brothers, he continued.
“In the absence of the Chapter Master, I will lead this meeting.” A heavy atmosphere settled among those present.
And no wonder — for almost a millennium now, the two halves of the Order had been in a state of undeclared cold war.
What had begun long ago as a conflict of ideologies between the Master of Battle and the Master of the Hunt had turned into a full-blown schism between once-united brothers.
Fortunately, the Lion had spared his sons from shedding blood — the sides had parted “amicably,” deciding to hide the very fact of the Schism from the other Unforgiven and, especially, the rest of the Imperium.
Keeping this shameful secret was not difficult — it was not uncommon for Astartes chapters to split their forces into several autonomously operating strike forces.
Since then, the Chapter Masters had always been the bridge connecting the two different parts of the Order.
Otherwise, only the fulfillment of the “Great Duty” (the hunt for the Fallen or a task received directly from the Chapter Master) could bring the entire Order together again.
Mezarius looked around the hall, studying the Order’s leaders.
There was Attius, captain of the 4th Company, surveying the hall with a thoughtful look in his amber eyes.
Farail, the Chief Librarian, staring at one spot and muttering something inaudible.
Order veteran Ritorol, captain of the 6th Company, with a martyred expression, passed something to Haruil.
And finally, the Master of the Hunt, Casimir, towering over all the Astartes.
He remembered Azrael himself calling him a “son of the Lion” for his almost complete physical resemblance to their great primarch.
“We’ll have to start with the worst news.
As we all know, half the fleet was lost in the Warp.
With it, we lost the Supreme Grand Master, the Master of Battle, the High Chaplain, the Master of the Forge, the commanders of the remaining five companies, and the forces under their command.” “This is a heavy blow for the Order,” Ritorol summed up grimly.
“Even though we still have enough chaplains and techmarines at our disposal.” The brothers of the Order, who by fate’s whim found themselves on opposite sides of the barricades, could dislike each other as much as they wanted, but no one wished for their death.
Not to mention that perishing in the Warp was an inglorious death.
Especially since, to fulfill the duty placed upon their shoulders by Azrael himself, the master of the founding chapter, the “Angels of Retribution” would need every available force and resource.
“However, we must turn to the present, for we must act without delay.” Casimir surveyed the members of the Inner Circle seated around the table.
“What is the state of the forces under our command?” “Third Company is at full combat readiness,” Mezarius replied without hesitation.
“Fourth is ready to march, but most of our wargear was in for repair with the Master of the Forge, so there will be problems with that,” Attius put in.
“Sixth is always ready, Master of the Hunt,” Ritorol said with a smirk.
“My warriors are ready to support the main force, and we always try to keep our equipment with us.” “The Apothecarion is at your disposal, Master.
Though some of our brothers remained with the lost fleet, the main body is in place.” “The Librarians are already working to contact the missing forces.
Before departure, I sent several brothers to the second flagship.” “That pleases me, brothers,” Casimir answered them.
“I think we should move on to our main problem — our location.
This is a different space, without the Astronomican and without relatively accurate charts, which creates a serious problem, solvable though it may be.” “So we really are in another Galaxy, just as the Navigator said?” Captain Attius of the 4th Company asked, his voice thick with skepticism.
“Yes, brother.
We are indeed in another Galaxy,” Farail, the Chief Librarian of the Lion’s sons, replied.
“And we are here because that is our duty.
However, the forces of the crusade we have joined may hinder our goal.
And in particular — our ‘cousins’ from the Sons of Anathema chapter, may the Lion curse them…” At that moment, every member of the Circle remembered that story.
Mezarius remembered it too.
And his entire being once again felt revulsion toward the heirs of the Ultramarines.
Back then, their chapter was bogged down in battles with the renegades of the Angels Ecstatic and could not take part in the Hunt.
The Apostles of Caliban were a friendly chapter to them, which made the news of the conflict that had erupted between brothers and cousins of a different gene-line all the more bitter.
According to the chronicles, the then-Master of the Apostles had arrived on a planet in search of a group of Fallen psykers who were moving to link up with the forces of the Thousand Sons and their local Tzeentch cult.
But they were too late: the Sons of Anathema had already landed on the planet.
Despite the threat of their secret being exposed, the Inner Circle decided to make contact with the forces on the surface.
And their Epistolaries were horrified, for one of the Librarians answered them from the surface.
Only he was no longer loyal, having fallen to the side of the ‘God of Change.’ That was why the fateful decision was made — to attack the sons of Guilliman who were waging their campaign on the planet’s surface.
The Terminators of the Apostles of Caliban, supported by two more companies, launched a swift assault.
But after the first bursts of bolter fire, an order was given to cease fire.
For the Lion’s sons saw that their ‘cousins’ bore no marks of corruption.
On the contrary, they were fighting cultists and demons with the Emperor’s name on their lips.
The Chief Librarian realized the rashness of their decision.
But it was too late: the Sons of Anathema had opened return fire on them.
The bloody battle claimed many lives, but nonetheless, the strike groups of the 2nd Company managed to catch the Fallen, and the Unforgiven withdrew.
But what awaited them afterward was a truly treacherous blow.
On one of the planets, they were ambushed, and nearly half of the chapter’s brothers perished.
That trap was set by the Sons of Anathema, avenging the attack on their brothers, and by Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus, who had long wanted to uncover the secrets of the Lion’s children.
After that, the Unforgiven (including both parts of the Angels of Retribution) clashed repeatedly in minor skirmishes with the ‘lapdogs of the Inquisition’ and the forces loyal to them.
“Smug fools,” Haruil broke the silence.
“May they burn in the abyss for the blood of our brothers.” “And yet we need allies,” Farail continued.
“We don’t know what dangers await us here.
Therefore, I believe we should continue on with the Crusade.” “Never!” Attius roared.
“I’d sooner throw myself on my own sword than fight alongside those hypocrites who can’t think with their own brains!
I’ve had enough!” “To be fair, Guilliman’s children never learned about the brothers who fell to heresy…” “So what?” Haruil voiced the thoughts of nearly the entire Circle.
“To this day, whenever they find our brothers, they report it to the Inquisition, and the persecution follows us almost all the way to the Rock!
On the other hand, we really are in a trap right now.
What irony…” “Perhaps Farail is right,” Captain Ritorol of the 6th Company spoke up.
“We lost half our fleet in the Warp; it will be much harder for us to conduct the Hunt.
But we still have enough strength for independent action.” “And still, there are those who abstained,” the Chief Librarian noted.
“Mezarius, Gideon, we haven’t heard your word yet.” “Why do you need the opinion of a humble leader of the 9th, Farail?” A voice came from the far corner of the room.
“Has anyone ever told you that you joined the wrong chapter?
You would have made an excellent Raven Guard!” “With all due respect, ‘vicar’ of the Apothecarion, you will be the last person I ask about my purpose,” Gideon said, stepping out of the shadows and approaching the table.
“I will abstain.
I don’t have much experience in the duty that has fallen on my shoulders along with the rank of captain, and I would rather trust you, my more experienced brothers.” “I will also abstain.
However, we should resolve this matter now, and in that case, I propose, following the example of our founders, that we hold a vote, similar to the one that decided the fate of our chapter during the Schism,” Mezarius said.
“A wise decision, brother,” Casimir replied with a half-smile.
The Master of the Hunt lifted a cup and a small pouch from a recess in the table.
From the pouch, he distributed one white and one black ball to each.
“If you place a white ball in the cup, you agree with the need to support the crusade.
If a black one, you agree to leave the allies and continue on our own.
Nothing has changed.” Mezarius didn’t need the reminder.
He had already made his choice.
Farail dimmed the lights, and one by one, each placed their ball in the cup.
A minute later, the lights came back on, and everyone looked at the center of the table.
Four black against three white.
“The decision is made.
We will leave the crusade for the sake of our Hunt.
In that case…” A vox-transmitter hissed in Casimir’s helmet.
“Master of the Hunt speaking, what happened?” “Master, this is Admiral Kaur, I have an urgent report.
We cannot establish contact with the strike cruiser Sunset Blade.
It drifted significantly from the main force after emerging from the Warp.” “That’s my company!” Attius exclaimed.
“We need to inform them of what’s happened!” “Also, our auspexes have detected a ship flying from the main fleet,” the admiral continued his report.
“It’s a frigate of the Inquisition’s forces, specifically the Ordo Hereticus, heading toward the cruiser.” “Viola,” Casimir smirked.
“Still can’t let it go… Send escort ships to them.
Have them relay the order — destroy the frigate, and take the Inquisition’s representatives prisoner!” “Yes, sir!” Casimir cut the transmission and surveyed the hall.
“Well then, brothers, we have entered a dangerous game.
A game that could cost us… everything.
Despite that, we must emerge victorious.
Therefore, disperse to your subordinates.” Casimir pulled his hood over his head and began issuing orders: “Attius — prepare your men; you and Gideon may have to storm the Sunset Blade.
Farail — have your Librarians continue trying to contact the lost ships,” the Master of the Hunt finished.
“I declare this council adjourned.” Bowing, the members of the Inner Circle began to disperse, one by one leaving the meeting chamber.
Mezarius headed toward his waiting lieutenants.
With a gesture ordering them to follow, the Captain of the 3rd sank into his thoughts: “Can we manage?” he asked himself.
“Will our chapter endure against the abyss that holds unknown dangers?” No one paid attention to the faceless servitor that, instead of repairing wiring, followed the officers of the Angels of Retribution.