Under the terrifying presence of the Sanguinary Guard, the treacherous thoughts of the nobility were momentarily suppressed.
But as Emrys spoke, the more cunning among them felt a cold premonition take hold. Their eyes widened in disbelief.
"You... what madness is this? What do you intend to do?"
"What do I intend?" Emrys tilted his head, his voice dripping with icy indifference. "It is simple. I expect the high nobility of this world to contribute their strength to the defense against the Great Devourer. You will hold the line to buy time for the transfer of the industrial hubs and the loyal citizenry."
"This is... this is a violation of the Lex Imperialis!"
An old, bloated aristocrat, his skin as pale and soft as a corpse-grub, trembled with indignation. "We are the Peerage of the Imperium! We are the first to be evacuated by divine right! Why should the low-born and the dross of the hives be given priority over us?"
"Oh?" Emrys turned his gaze toward the man, his disgust undisguised. "The 'dross' you speak of can forge the bolter shells the Imperium requires. They repair the Manufactorums, extract the promethium, and bleed in the trenches. Tell me, Lord Governor, what do you contribute to this war effort?"
He had tested them. He had watched them. Not a single one had shown a shred of the fortitude required of a leader of Men. In the grim darkness of this era, killing them all was not an act of cruelty—it was an act of efficiency.
Emrys did not despise the concept of nobility; he was of that class himself. But he knew what true nobility looked like. On the worlds of the Segmentum Solar, he had seen lords who refused to bow even before the corruption of the Archenemy. He had seen Knight Houses who squeezed every drop of sweat from their serfs, yet were the first to charge into the jaws of a Hive Tyrant to prove their honor in blood.
True glory.
But these creatures before him were parasites. They enjoyed the tithes of the Imperium and the sweat of the poor, yet when the shadow fell, they were the first to hide. To Emrys, a single hive-worker carrying ammunition crates to the front was worth more to the Emperor than this entire room of gilded leeches.
"We... we are high-born!" they stammered, still clutching to the delusion that their status protected them. "We will petition the High Lords! This is heresy! This is a crime against the Throne!"
"Don't think your Rogue Trader charter allows this! Even the Lord of Angels, Dante himself, must respect the protocols of evacuation! We are the elite of Terra's law!"
"Silence."
Emrys sneered. Without warning, he drew his bolter and fired.
BANG.
The bolt shell detonated inside the chest of the fat, screaming noble, painting the expensive tapestries in a macabre spray of gore and bone.
"Petition the High Lords?" Emrys' barrel swept toward the rest of the council. "You'd have to be alive to reach them."
BANG.BANG.BANG.
The hall fell into a stunned, horrific silence.
They had expected a political debate, a negotiation of bribes and favors. They never expected this young man to simply flip the table and begin the execution. In less than a minute, a dozen of the most powerful men on the planet lay in cooling pools of their own blood.
The survivors were paralyzed. Some collapsed, the stench of their terror filling the air as they realized their 'divine right' meant nothing in the face of a bolt-round.
"Who agrees?" Emrys asked, his eyes burning with murderous intent. "And who objects? Step forward now if you still have an opinion. I would hate for you to leave this room with something left unsaid."
No one moved. No one spoke. The headless corpse of their peer was a more eloquent argument than any legal scroll.
"Excellent. Since we are all in agreement," Emrys nodded, "it is settled. As nobles of the Imperium, you shall lead by example. You shall take your personal house guards to the outer bastions and stand at the forefront of the defense. It is only right, is it not?"
The nobles looked ashen, their faces masks of despair.
"My Lord Count," a wizened elder knelt, kowtowing until his forehead struck the marble. "I beg of you... spare my grandchildren. I will stay. I will die for the Throne! But the children are innocent. Let them take the transports!"
"Innocent?" Emrys walked down the steps, his boots clicking on the blood-slicked floor. "From the moment they drew breath, they lived on the labor of others. They wore silks while the hive-scum starved. Now, when the bill is due, you speak of innocence?"
He stood over the old man, his voice a low growl. "Where in the galaxy did you think such a bargain existed?"
The old man's face twisted. Resentment replaced fear, and he shrieked with hysterical rage. "Don't push us! If we refuse to cooperate, your evacuation will fail! You cannot move the industry of this world without our codes!"
"Are you threatening me?" Emrys smiled, but the coldness in his eyes made even his own guards shift uncomfortably. He looked at the others. "Do you all share this sentiment? Please, be honest. I am a generous man."
"He's right!" another shouted, emboldened by desperation. "We have millions of house troops! If we go for broke, you'll have a civil war on your hands before the Tyranids even arrive! Let us go, and we will help you!"
"Did you hear that, boy?" The old man, Korga, stood up, his face a mask of venomous spite. "This is our world. Our territory. If you push us, we'll drag every manufactorum into the abyss with us!"
SLAP.
Emrys backhanded the old man with such force that teeth shattered and flew across the room. Korga hit the floor, his mind reeling.
"You... you dare strike a peer of the realm?"
"Old man," Emrys leaned down, patting Korga's swollen cheek. "Do you really think I called this meeting to negotiate?"
Korga's heart sank. A sudden, chilling realization dawned on him.
"What have you done?"
"I'm not going to do anything, Korga. I've already done it." Emrys' smile was that of a daemon. "While we were 'chatting,' my strike teams were visiting your estates. By my estimate, your families have already been processed. Your private armies have been disarmed or executed. You have nothing left to bargain with."
Emrys had not spent his life studying the ancient terrors of the void only to be outmaneuvered by planetary bureaucrats. He had orchestrated a 41st Millennium 'Purge,' and the nobles of this world had walked right into his trap.
"You... you monster..." Korga stammered.
"Threaten me again," Emrys stood and shook his head at the trembling crowd. "It's a pity. I expected a challenge. But you are all so... predictable."
"Lord Emrys, mercy!" "I'll give you everything! My wealth, my lands!" "It was a joke! A misunderstanding!"
The room dissolved into a cacophony of pathetic wailing.
"Not a single spine among them," Emrys muttered. He turned his back on the group and walked toward the exit, waving a hand dismissively.
"Kill them all. Leave no one."
The hall erupted with the thunder of bolter fire.
The Sanguinary Guard and the Rogue Trader's personal huscarls moved with clinical efficiency. They did not just kill; they erased the ruling class of the planet in a matter of minutes.
This night would be remembered for centuries in the dark chronicles of the Hades Sector. It would be whispered of in the gilded halls of other worlds as a warning.
They called it—The Bloody Council.