For a moment, the grand and solemn Crimson Council Hall fell into an eerie silence.
In this rebuilt chamber, vast enough to accommodate hundreds, the Chapter Masters of the Blood Angels' many scions sat around a polished table of gleaming white marble. Every gaze cast toward the young man was heavy with suspicion and simmering rage.
From their perspective, this was a travesty. They saw the legendary Lord of Angels, Dante himself, being damnably deceived by a silver-tongued mortal.
To them, the order was madness: abandon the 'Crimson Line' they were sworn to defend to the death, and instead squander precious lives and materiel in the Pluto Sector—a region already condemned to the Great Devourer. It felt like a betrayal, a push that would send the beleaguered Sons of Sanguinius spiraling further into the abyss.
Every commander present was a hero of the Imperium, decorated in the blood of a thousand wars. Among them stood figures of terrifying repute, such as Seth, Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, whose grim visage made no secret of his thirst for violence.
Feeling the weight of hundreds of transhuman stares, Emrys felt his pulse quicken.
How did it come to this? He mused bitterly.
His original plan had been simple: arrange a meeting between Dante and Morgana. Banking on the Emperor's divine reputation, he had hoped the Blood Angels would hold the line for just a few days—enough time for him to evacuate the industrial hubs and populations of the nearby systems.
He hadn't expected Dante to summon him directly to Baal, nor did he expect to be thrust into the middle of the 'Crimson Council' without a moment's notice. Emrys had imagined his role would be a mere formality—a witness at most.
Instead, he realized he had been maneuvered by the oldest Living Legend in the Imperium. Dante hadn't just given him the authority of an envoy; he had tasked him with taming these unruly masters of war.
Are you joking? Emrys thought. I am a Rogue Trader, not the Lord Regent. How am I supposed to command these monsters?
But the die was cast. He had proposed the strategy; now he had to own it.
"The plan to defend the Pluto Sector was my proposal," Emrys stated.
The moment he spoke, he became the singularity around which the room's hostility orbited. Several Flesh Tearers bared their teeth in feral snarls. It was clear that only Dante's presence prevented them from leaping across the marble to tear Emrys limb from limb.
A low, dangerous murmur rippled through the hall. Dante's gaze, cold as interstellar space, swept the room. His voice, amplified by his vox-grille and weighted with millennia of authority, cut through the noise like a power sword.
"Silence!"
The word fell with the weight of a mountain. The commotion died instantly.
Facing the predatory stillness of the Flesh Tearers, Emrys forced himself to remain steady. "I understand your confusion. Why waste blood and blade on a sector already marked for death? Why not fortify the Baal Sector and the Crimson Line, where the final stand must be made?"
The Chapter Masters remained silent, their icy expressions providing all the answer he needed. They would bleed for the Imperium, but they would not throw themselves away on a battlefield they deemed worthless. To them, every Space Marine was a priceless relic, a seed of the Chapter's future.
"My lords, I suggested this delay to Lord Dante precisely because it is the only way to ensure the Crimson Line holds," Emrys said, his voice deepening with conviction. "During the month we buy in the Pluto Sector, I will use every vessel at my disposal to evacuate the industry, the strategic minerals, and the billions of souls currently abandoned to the Hive Fleet."
He leaned forward, looking them in the eye. "You all know the truth of this shadow. This will not be a single glorious battle; it is a war of attrition that will last years. We need those resources. We need that manpower."
"If we rely solely on the strength of the Baal Sector, then even if we win, it will be a pyrrhic victory. A victory of ashes. A dwindling population, no new recruits, and Baal itself reduced to a scorched husk. Is that the legacy you wish to leave Sanguinius?"
Emrys slammed his fist onto the marble table. The crack echoed like a bolter shot. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a roar of defiance aimed at the silent giants.
"No!" someone barked back—a low, guttural response from the crowd.
Emrys exhaled, his gaze softening as he saw the hostility in the room begin to shift into calculation. "If we want to win, we must preserve the foundation of our strength. We cannot let the Tyranids consume the very tools we need to kill them."
The veterans in the room understood the cold logic of logistics. If they could salvage the industrial heart of the sector, they would be far better prepared for the Leviathan's main thrust.
Gabriel Seth, the Master of the Flesh Tearers, crossed his arms. His voice was like grinding stones. "A noble sentiment. But the reality? Even a single civilized world holds tens of billions. To move an entire sector's worth of industry and people in a month is impossible. On what basis do you claim you can achieve this?"
Agreement rippled through the council. It was a feat beyond the capabilities of even the Imperial Navy's transport fleets.
Before Emrys could answer, Dante spoke.
"My brothers, have no doubt. He can do it."
"Great Lord," Seth replied, his tone respectful but unyielding, "this concerns the lives of hundreds of battle-brothers. Forgive me, but we must know—why do you place such faith in this man?"
Dante remained silent for a heartbeat, the golden features of his mask inscrutable. "Because the Emperor's chosen 'Apostle of War' is among us, and she has brought a prophecy of the flame."
The Chapter Masters were stunned. Skepticism was their first instinct; the Emperor's direct manifestations were legends of a bygone age.
But Dante wasn't finished.
"This is not just the Emperor's will," Dante declared, his voice rising. "It is the will of our Progenitor. Sanguinius speaks through this path!"
The hall erupted. Even the ancient Dreadnoughts, usually the most stoic of the host, voiced their outrage.
"Dante, enough!" one roared. "Do not use the Great Angel's name to shield a mere mortal!"
To the Blood Angels, Sanguinius was a figure of absolute sanctity. To see his name used as political leverage for a Rogue Trader's plan was an insult they could not stomach.
Emrys felt a cold sweat break out. Dante, you've gone too far, he thought. They're going to kill us both.
Dante, however, was a statue of golden resolve. He turned to Emrys and spoke softly. "Go. Take up the Blade of Courage. Prove your worth to the blood."
Emrys stared at the relic. Are you insane? Sanguinius was dead; his relics were silent. Grabbing the sword would be seen as the ultimate sacrilege if nothing happened. He suspected for a moment that Dante was punishing him for the stress of the last few days.
"Go," Dante repeated, his eyes burning with a strange, prophetic light.
With no other choice, Emrys stepped toward the altar where the relic lay. Under the murderous, bated breath of the scions of the Angel, he reached out and wrapped his hand around the hilt of the Blade of Courage.
The world turned white.
A brilliant, solar radiance erupted from the steel. It wasn't just light; it was a presence. Starlight bled from the blade, forming the shimmering silhouette of great, ethereal wings behind Emrys. He stood bathed in a divine glow, the sword humming with a power that vibrated in the very marrow of everyone present.
Emrys stood frozen, his mind racing. How? He's dead... isn't he?
Dante's voice suddenly boomed, filled with an uncharacteristic, fiery passion. "Do you see? This is the Great Angel's sign!"
He stood and slammed his gauntlet onto the table, shattering the marble.
"Under the witness of our Progenitor, we shall fight! For fallen Sanguinius and for the Imperium! We shall not fail the blood that flows within us!"
"Here! On this ground!"
"We will not retreat! We will fight with bolter and chainsword, with plasma and fire! We will tear the heart from these xenos abominations and cast them back into the void!"
"We are the Blood Angels! The Sons of Sanguinius! In this darkness, we shall be the light that brings the dawn!"
Dante's mask seemed to glow with an inner fire. "By the blood of the Angel and by my own name, I swear: the Imperium shall endure!"
The silence that followed was brief, shattered by a roar that shook the foundations of the fortress-monastery.
"WE SHALL NOT FAIL THE BLOOD!"
"FOR THE ANGEL!"
"FOR BAAL!"
The cries were deafening. Within the Crimson Council Hall, surrounded by the ghosts of their history, the hundreds of Chapter Masters drew their weapons and swore their lives to the defense of the Pluto Sector. The war for the soul of the galaxy had truly begun.