Sanguinius leapt forward through the halls, his twin hearts pounding loudly in his chest. The interior of the
Vengeful Spirit was especially labyrinthine, debris and fallen crewmen littering the halls. He ran for what seemed like an eternity, his mind set only on one thing.
Horus.
He was close now.
Another corner, another hallway. Strobes of light revealing and concealing the gore of the combat that had taken place here. More running. Endless running. He felt tired. So very tired.
Until finally, he reached the command bridge.
There he was.
Horus.
Horus.
HORUS!
He felt his blood boil, every inch of his body screaming for vengeance. The rage swept and coiled within his mind, and with a bloodthirsty howl he leapt at his brother. Blades spun and clashed, bolters snapped, armor cracked and blood spewed from inflicted wounds. His vision went red as the rage overtook him, the adrenaline screaming in his veins as he took wound after wound, his own blade cutting and stabbing his opponent in blind fury.
Until he heard an unfamiliar sound.
His opponent screamed.
And fell.
He saw Horus, sliding to the floor in pain. He saw his own blade sticking deep in Horus’ chest, and watched as he pulled it gently out of the wound, the edge covered in thick, crimson fluid.
It was almost unreal.
He had done it. He had ended the heresy. He had ended the heresy! Horus was dead! His Father- He had to tell his Father! The war was over!
He turned around, joy filling his entire being, and he saw his Father, the Emperor, and several of his marines enter the room. His mouth opened to speak, but the words were cut off when he felt a sharp pain in his chest.
He looked down, and stared at the blade sticking through his flesh.
But, how did- Horus was dead, he was-
Suddenly, the room disappeared, as if sucked away by a vortex. For the first time in five decades, Brother Ervelo saw the world as it truly was. The
Vengeful Spirit was gone; Praxhia VII remained. The endless hallways changed into ruined hive-blocks, and the command bridge turned into a great battlefield, caked with gore and debris. The Emperor, his beloved Father, was gone. Instead of those dark, powerful eyes, he stared into the emotionless lenses of a skull-shaped helmet.
As he sank to the ground, the Chaplain fired his plasma pistol at the traitor who had struck Ervelo from behind. The Aspiring Champion fell down, finally dead after hours of dueling the crazed Blood Angel. Ervelo slid onto the debris, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His ruined body felt numb, the adrenaline wearing off as quickly as it had risen.
He looked up and he saw the Chaplain standing over him, blood-stained Crozius in one hand and smoldering plasma pistol in the other. The Chaplain calmly holstered his pistol, and reached for his helmet, never losing eye contact with Ervelo as he did so. There was a soft hiss as he removed the ornate helmet from his head, and a clank as he mag-locked it to his belt. His face was heavily scarred on one side, burn marks stretched across his cheek to his ear. The Chaplain kneeled over Ervelo, his stark eyes filled with regret and empathy.
H-have I done well, Brother-Chaplain?, Ervelo asked, his voice trembling as his ravaged lungs tried to grasp the few bits of air they could still take.
You have made the Chapter proud, Brother Ervelo. Many a traitor has fallen by your hand today, the Chaplain spoke softly.
I fear I can s-serve the Chapter n-no longer, Brothe-er-Chaplain… Ervelo’s voice stuttered with each word, as his consciousness began to slip away.
Your gene-seed shall return to the Chapter, Brother. And through it, you shall serve the Emperor again and again. Your legacy will live on, long after you have passed, the Chaplain continued, as he put down his Crozius and used his left hand to support Ervelo, who was slipping further downwards.
Ervelo’s eyes watered, his vision blurred as his consciousness gave away completely. He looked into the Chaplain’s eyes, comforted by his presence. The last words he heard before the light went completely dark, were perhaps the most fitting for one as lost as he had been.
May you find in death what you could not in life, Brother.
-+Incoming data+-
-+sender= Chaplain Leon+-
-+subject= Praxhia VII, Position Alpha-Gamma-XII
-+data=+-
Traitor position overrun. Enemy in full retreat. Forward command post established.
Casualties:
Death Company Squadron II: all members killed in action
Death Company Squadron III: 3 casualties: Brothers Avelon, Matteus and Ervelo
Request transport for surviving members.
The Emperor protects.
-+data_end+-
Came up with this story while studying, so the writing style is a bit different than in
An Archon's End. Comments and critique are always welcome
