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They had failed.
They had lost the orbital and space battles weeks ago, their remaining ships left to flee for repairs or a desperate attempt at securing further aid, or to foolishly throw their lives away battling the fleet of the Great Devourer.
When the Tyranid menace had landed on Baal Prime and Baal Secundus, some part of Dante had known they had already lost. They had fought on. Bravely. Honorably. Nobly. But they had died all the same. All the fortifications, explosives, and manpower in the world hadn't saved them from the scything blades and grasping tendrils of Hive Fleet Leviathan.
They had been on the verge of defeat when Ka'Bandha and his horde of demons had broken through to reality and taken the fight to Leviathan and the brothers who were still fighting a losing battle.
They had been forced into a fighting retreat to the Arx Angelicum. There they made their last stand. And there was the site of their most egregious failure.
They had not anticipated it. The mind of the Great Devourer was clearly far more cunning than they had ever expected. It had sent another detachment of warriors and Synapse creatures to assault the Fortress Monastery from below, burying deep into their hallowed tombs and wreaking havoc on the defenders in a pincer attack that had crushed their meager defense.
Dante had intended to meet their coordinator, this Swarm Lord, in combat in hopes to slay it and break the attack, but it anticipated his plan and left a mere decoy in its place, a puppet of flesh made in the image of the Swarm Lord but with none of its power or skill. He had only realized too late, the fight itself still having taken enough out of him that he was only barely able to force himself toward the monster's true objectives in hopes of ending its plans.
The Swarm Lord had moved on to a far greater prize than a mere Chapter Master, deep beneath the rad-scorched soil of Baal in the darkest depths of crypts of the Blood Angels, there it had found its quarry.
The shroud covering their Father's tomb was ornate. White gold and red, resplendent in its glory, crafted from the finest silk in all of the Imperium, the sigil of the Blood Angels emblazoned proudly across it. It rested on a massive stone slab, carved with utmost care to depict the life story of the Great Angel, from birth until death. Its depictions of his many battles and trials could bring the most battle-hardened and cold-hearted man to weep for their beauty. And they were being carved to pieces by the massive cleavers of the Swarm Lord to reach his true objective, uncaring of the desecration it wrought.
Dante could barely walk by the time he entered the chamber, dozens of wounds littered his body from the fight to reach it, his escort of Sanguinary Guard and whatever forces of the Blood Angels' numerous successor chapters that had accompanied him having either died or been left behind to hold the remaining Tyranid creatures at bay.
The sight that greeted him on entering this most hallowed ground had nearly broken him. The Swarm Lord, ravenous maw dripping with saliva, stood poised, ready to strike over the body of their Father, his corpse every bit as immaculate as the moment he had been laid to rest. He watched in slow motion eyes widening and hand reaching forward, though he knew he would be unable to reach it in time as the creature and its escorts dove forth and tore great chunks of flesh from his Father's corpse.
"nnnNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!" His scream could have shaken the heavens, instead, all it did was see him collapse to his knees, his wounds, old and new alike burning with fresh agony, the trauma suffered, emotionally and physically too much for him to handle.
He had failed. They all had. The visions he had seen, of a great dark dragon at the head of an army of monstrous blood-starved beasts, had come to pass. The Sons of Sanguinius had lost, and now the Great Dragon would tear apart their meager resistance as overwhelming despair crushed their spirits. And then… and then it would move on and crush the rest of the Imperium too. And there was nothing, nothing that could save them now…
Except… that wasn't the case.
For in a moment that lasted an eternity, a golden radiance stepped forth from on high. An angelic being, pure white wings splayed forth from his back, his long golden hair flowing in an ethereal breeze. One golden, armored boot made contact with the ground, his blade clasped delicately in both of his massive hands.
Dante could only watch, paralyzed by shock and wracked with grief, as the golden giant brought the blade up, and stabbed down into the mass of Tyranids, right where his Father's heart once was. And at that moment something changed once more.
A massive, screaming vortex of Warp energy exploded forth, sucking in not just the Tyranids, but his Father's corpse with it, the monster's screeching and scrabbling for purchase as they were torn into the realm of madness that scarce few could comprehend.
And then for a moment, there was silence. And Dante could only stare, so broken was he at his failure to even preserve what was left of his Chapter's most sacred relic.
A beeping from his communicae sounded out through the empty mausoleum. For a moment he contemplated simply letting it go, so that none may know of his shame. Though surely the rest of his brothers had felt such a great disturbance.
Instead he brought his arms, heavy like lead, to his helmet, and listened.
"Chapter Master, the Tyranids… they're gone. Each and every one of them has disappeared. In a flash of golden light…" The deep, resonant voice of one of his brothers spoke through the micro-vox speakers in his helmet.
For a moment all he could do was shake his head in bewilderment. What? How could this be? Had the Emperor seen fit to grant them some final mercy for their failures? Was this some sort of Xeno trick so they would lower their guard?
Questions swirled in his mind, a cocktail of doubt, confusion, hope, and sorrow leaving him fraying at the seams, mentally, and physically.
The stomping of power-armored boots caught his ear as dozens of his brothers arrived to his aid. They sprinted in from all sides before stopping and staring in shock at the empty sarcophagus where their father once lay. Silence dominated the room.
"Chapter Master, we must leave. The Chief Librarian has alerted us to a disturbance above the walls of the Arx Angelicum." Though he hid it admirably, Dante could hear the waver in his brother's voice, shock and grief buried beneath the certainty of duty.
Dante forced himself to stand, nodding along with his brother's words. Duty did not end at failure. Only in death. They were not dead yet.
"Take me to the Chief Librarian, there is still work to be done." He commanded, the vox speakers lining his helmet echoing his words down silent halls.
"As you will, Chapter Master." His brother nodded his ascent, half a dozen marines following behind them as they left, the rest of their brothers staying to guard the mausoleum in case of another Tyranid incursion.
As they walked through the hallowed halls of their mortuary temple, Dante couldn't help but wonder what that curious vision he'd experienced had been about. Whether it was a curse or salvation had yet to be seen, but he didn't hold out much hope either way.
///
When he arrived at the meeting hall, vaulted ceilings decorated with golden Aquilas and red, tear-shaped drops of blood, he found himself the last to arrive.
Already Mephiston stood, silent with a brooding look about him as Astaroth, Sepharam, Incarael, and Karlaen stood with him.
"Brothers." He acknowledged with a mod as the five of them nodded back.
"Chapter Master. I come bearing grave news." Mephiston spoke, the short horns and reddish tint of his skin almost made Dante flinch, but he knew now that the mutation of his brothers had little bearing on personal valor or commitment to the Imperium. Just another difference between Astartes and humanity he supposed.
"Speak, Chief Librarian, it cannot possibly be worse than mine own failure." He intoned, the vox casters of his helmet masking the despondency in his voice under their crackling. Mephiston gave him a look of pity as he spoke.
"A new eddy in the Warp has opened, and it grows larger and stronger by the second. It has grown powerful enough that it is visible in realspace. Whatever lies on the other side, it cannot be to our benefit. We must prepare ourselves for another incursion." He spoke with grave certainty, and Dante watched as his brothers and cousins reacted, weariness, grief, and grim determination all on display. He could only feel emptiness. What he said next would surely break them.
"My news is no less grave. Brothers, cousins, I am sure you felt it as I did… an emptiness, a pain in your soul so deep it felt as empty as the Void itself. Our Gene-father… His corpse has been defiled, taken from us through base trickery by the Tyranid menace. I have failed in my duties as Chapter Master… the blame lies at my feet." His voice was solemn as the grave, the faintest waver almost imperceptible to those few non-Astartes present. He could not contain himself any more, as he fell to his knees in front of his brothers, silently awaiting their judgment.
The room was soundless. He'd expected chaos, weeping, raging, perhaps one or more of his brothers or cousins would come for his head. But there was nothing. Until the stomping of power armored boots broke the stillness and a hand lifted his helmet up to stare upwards into Mephistons face.
"Rise Dante, we can ill afford to give into despair now. Losing our Father is perhaps the heaviest blow our brotherhood has ever faced, and there will be time to grieve later. For now, we must fight, and we need you to do that, Lord Commander." His friend, his brother spoke to him, his words laden with ethereal power, emotions barely kept in check. Dante felt himself stand, his back straight. Yes, Mephiston was correct, the time for his self-pity would come but now was not it.
"Aye, you are correct Chief Librarian." He nodded to his Psyker brother, before turning to address the rest of his kin. "Brothers! Cousins! We have survived much, independently and as one. We are bloodied, we are bowed, but we are not broken. Whatever infernal presence seeks to end us once and for all shall not find us wanting! We shall fight, and die to the last man to defend Baal, as our forefathers once did, as our Genesire once did! Here we stand, the Imperium's finest and we will bare our fangs, we shall not go quietly into the jaws of death and we shall rage with the righteous fury of the Great Angel!" He proclaimed, his speech met with raucous cheers and riotous stomping. Today may very well be the last day of his life, and he would spend it gladly sitting in the eye of death itself.
///
They stood on the battlements of Arx Angelicum, lined up to form perfect arcs of fire. Shoulder to shoulder as still as stone watching the sky as from a dark vortex into hell itself the sky bled a bloody crimson red. Dark lighting cackled from the void, peels of thunder like the sound of a Basilisk cannon firing rumbling through the air. Yet for all its terrifying presence, nothing had happened yet. The air was still, his brothers waited with bated breath for something, anything to happen so that they might release this horrid tension.
Their salvation came a moment later, as with a flash of unholy crimson light, swarms of creatures began to dislodge themselves from the hole into unreality. They came chittering and screeching, crimson and black beasts with bat-like wings, covered in chitinous plates with scything claws and horns they flew down to the ground in front of the Arx Angelicum before stopping to stare directly at them, golden eyes staring unerringly at them, inhuman intelligence reflected in golden radiance.
Even larger creatures began to emerge now, more heavily muscled and taller by half than any Astartes Dante had ever seen, crests of horns on bulbous heads with oversized fangs, bearing multiple golden eyes landing next to their smaller cousins as more tiny bat-like beings filling the sky in swarms too numerous to count more and more beasts disgorging themselves from the rip in realspace at an alarming rate. With horror, Dante realized that the monsters he'd seen were Tyranids, and worse still the ones present were merely equivalent to Warriors, and yet they were the size of a Tyrant Guard and just as heavily armed and armored.
His brothers awaited his order to fire, and yet something stayed his hand as he looked down upon the ravenous horde surrounding them. None of them had made a move, hostile or otherwise, simply staring at him and his brothers as if they were waiting for something. What they were waiting for became abundantly clear only moments later.
A massive clawed hand reached forth from the void, black chitin and crimson talons almost gripping the edge of the vortex as it pulled itself from unreality. Its head pulled forward, an odd mix of reptilian and insectile, a dozen golden eyes staring out from under a heavy black brow with an elongated crest of horns, almost in the shape of a crown encircling its head. Four leathery batlike wings pulled forth, spreading out in an x-shape as its digitigrade legs made themselves known, a lengthy prehensile tail swaying in the breeze, a massive scything blade attached to the ends of it. This being… This dragon exuded a terrible aura of majesty, dread, and awe intermingling with a faint emotion that Dante couldn't quite identify. It stared down at them, a golden and crimson aura surrounding its head, a strangely tender look in its eyes. But that could not be, the Tyranids felt no emotion let alone love or sentimentality.
To his side he saw Mephiston double over in pain for a moment, clutching his head in agony before his body went slack, and a golden glow emanated from his eyes. He turned to Dante and spoke with a thousand voices, but only one Dante would recognize above all others.
"Lay down your weapons my sons, your father has come home." The voice of Sanguinius emanated from his Chief Librarian's mouth. With that proclamation, the creatures on the ground broke into rapturous cries, a terrible mockery of a choir. Dante felt himself take a step back before darkness claimed his vision, his last sight the tender golden eyes of the Dragon staring into his own.