Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 172: The Maelstrom Rebellion

Six colossal horns simultaneously unleashed a piercing, guttural bellow, their deafening roar echoing throughout the orbital spaceport.

Then, their harsh roaring slowly faded, like the dying call of an ancient behemoth fading into myth. In its wake came a sharp, bright melody—two hundred silver trumpets and bugles striking up a joyous, triumphant march.

Clad in full ceremonial armor, Soshyan and Malakim stood upon the dais like demigods wreathed in thunderclouds. This was the northern entrance of the spaceport.

For this grand occasion, the banners of both Chapters had been draped across the vaulted crossbeams, flanked by the pennants of numerous Imperial military detachments.

Guilliman drew a deep breath. He heard the grinding of the massive bulkhead rising.

The time was nearly at hand.

The blaring fanfare shook the hangar, and a single shaft of artificial sunlight spilled across the intricate stonework.

Then, amidst the shrieking friction of grinding metal, the distant sea of stars was revealed to Soshyan. And with it came that man—

Malakim emerged from the shadows, his head bare, his face a mask of stoicism.

His long blonde hair fluttered in the artificial breeze—so handsome, so melancholic, so utterly unfathomable.The Chapter Master of the Lamenters carried his helm in the crook of his left arm, advancing with measured, perfect strides.

His most trusted adjutant walked in lockstep slightly behind him, gripping a power spear with both hands, its haft topped with a pallid skull.

Every warrior accompanying him bore pauldrons painted in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern, emblazoned with a weeping, blood-red heart.

Trailing slightly further back was the Chapter's Standard Bearer, proudly holding aloft a Banner of Tears that perfectly matched the coloration of their Chapter badge.

They descended the stairs into the grand plaza and marched across the spaceport, offering almost no reaction to the cheering soldiers lining their path.

Seeing the newcomers arrive, Lord Malakim's face remained utterly impassive, yet anyone standing near the Excoriator could sense his palpable, undisguised disgust.

Soshyan, however, displayed an attitude of absolute, hundred-percent welcome.

He stepped forward, descending from the raised dais to greet the Lamenters' procession.

But after taking only a few steps, he halted.

For he had detected the faint, distinct snick of a blade sliding from its scabbard.

He then resumed his forward stride.

"I am Malakim Phoros."

The Lamenters' Chapter Master spoke. His salute was more akin to a curt nod, while his left hand held a drawn, gleaming blade in a reverse grip.

"Welcome. I am Soshyan Alexey."

Soshyan replied, gripping Malakim's hand.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation. I understand you arrived with several warships in tow?"

"Our Chapter's flagship, and two frigates."

Malakim's tone remained decidedly lukewarm.

"Nothing more."

"I still bid you welcome, in the spirit of brotherhood."

Soshyan released the man's hand, his tone tinged with genuine regret.

"Yet you come to meet me with a drawn weapon in hand?"

"Indeed. But my other hand is empty. We do not know what exactly is contained within your 'spirit of brotherhood,' Master of the Astral Knights. Therefore, I offer one empty hand, and one hand upon my sword."

"And what are your thoughts on it now?"

"I find it quite agreeable..."

Malakim said, his voice laced with melancholy.

"...At the very least, it is not the trap I feared. I am well aware that many desire to see us dead, eager to broadcast their loyalty to the Emperor by slaughtering traitors."

"I have never viewed you as traitors. Despite what transpired... I still believe in the loyalty and valor of the Scions of Sanguinius."

"Is that so? But I note a certain tone in your voice. It reminds me of someone else."

The name hissed from Malakim's lips like the warning of a venomous viper, as if he were trying to spit out a vile curse.

"Huron. He, too, once deceived us with promises of 'brotherhood.'"

"I am somewhat familiar with that rebellion."

Soshyan nodded gravely.

The Lamenters Chapter, as a Successor of the Blood Angels, had once possessed two Battle Barges, nine Strike Cruisers, and twenty-two frigates. Such a void fleet was far more powerful than what the vast majority of Chapters could boast.

Yet now, they possessed only a single, solitary Battle Barge and two ragged frigates.

The cause of this devastating loss stemmed directly from a massive rebellion several years prior.

It was also the largest Astartes rebellion since the Horus Heresy. The architect of this treason was the very man Malakim had just named: Huron—Lufgt Huron, Chapter Master of the Astral Claws.

This rebellion erupted in M41.901 and formally concluded in 912—coincidentally, the very same year the Astral Knights were annihilated upon the World Engine.

The catalyst for the rebellion was Huron's tyrannical rule over the Maelstrom Zone and his blatant refusal to pay the Imperial Tithe. The High Lords of Terra could not tolerate a single Chapter challenging the absolute authority of the Imperium, and thus, a massive war spanning over a decade ignited.

Throughout its course, the Badab War dragged in dozens of Astartes Chapters. A portion of these Chapters, driven by a desire to defend the autonomy and dignity of the Adeptus Astartes, or bound by oaths of alliance (unlike Abaddon, Huron was truly a master of timely assistance and famously hospitable before his treachery, successfully winning the loyalty of several Chapters), joined Huron's faction and waged war against the Chapters loyal to Terra.

The Lamenters were one such unfortunate Chapter that had picked the wrong side.

This disastrous choice led them to a tragic conclusion. In 909.M41, while fleeing an engagement with the Minotaurs Chapter, the Lamenters' main fleet was ambushed and nearly annihilated; the Daughter of the Storm, one of their two Battle Barges, was captured as a prize.

Left with no alternative, the Lamenters were forced to surrender.

Post-war tallies revealed they had fewer than 300 warriors remaining.

The reason why they chose the wrong side was, paradoxically, both pathetic and tragic. Because the Chapter had been founded during the Cursed Founding, they had always been ostracized by other Chapters and Imperial factions, receiving no fair treatment anywhere they turned. Only Huron had been willing to call them brothers.

There had been no ulterior motives of profit; it had been purely out of a shared sense of "brotherly camaraderie."

It was precisely this desperate yearning for acknowledgment and acceptance that blinded them, ultimately leading them to stand in opposition to the Imperium.

The sole saving grace was that their underlying loyalty to the Imperium had never wavered, affording them a chance at redemption following their surrender.

Under the judgment of the Inquisition, the vast majority of their Chapter assets were confiscated, and they were sentenced to undertake a perilous, century-long Penitent Crusade upon the deadly frontiers of the galaxy.

The Penitent Crusade was a relatively standard form of punishment levied against errant Astartes. Chapters sentenced to such a crusade typically had their homeworlds confiscated and were dispatched to the most dangerous warzones imaginable, strictly forbidden from recruiting neophytes or receiving material resupply for the duration of the crusade.

For the Lamenters, this punishment was actually the best possible outcome, as they were already a fleet-based Chapter.

However, the horrific losses in manpower and warships remained a devastating blow. Even worse, the Lamenters' already poor reputation had deteriorated further—every single Imperial force they encountered openly spat upon them.

This relentless assault on their pride was the true source of the Lamenters' agony.

Their loyalty remained steadfast, yet they could find no acknowledgment from anyone.