Dark Crusade (Forty-Six: Hope)

"My lord," Dante said softly.

"I'm listening," Sanguinius said without looking up.

As always, he sat on his Throne, and a dazzling beam of light, refracted by hundreds of gems, descended from the sky and shone upon him, making his golden hair gleam.

Two strong mortal servants lifted his bloodied and mangled wings so that their companion could remove the bits of flesh hanging from the angel's bones.

This was Sanguinius' own will, so even if they were unwilling and reluctant, these loyal people had no choice but to wield sharp knives and carry out bloody work on the angel's sacred white wings.

The Primarch's blood meandered down the ground, staining the stone bricks engraved with patterns and stories a deep crimson, and the smell of blood lingered for a long time.

Dante stared at his Primarch, at the brand-new armor, the bloodstained blade leaning against his hand, and the Emperor statue held by an angel, his brows furrowing even more.

He composed himself before speaking.

"The fleet is attacking the enemy, but their firepower—"

"--Very strong." Sanguinius looked up and continued, "Therefore, it's difficult for destroyers and our carrier-based aircraft to approach the target, and the situation with the torpedoes is also not optimistic."

"Yes, I know about this, Dante. The lifeblood of war is information. Long before you were about to provide me with this intelligence, I had already analyzed it through the observation window."

Dante paused for a moment, then replied, "I'm sorry, Primarch."

I'm not scolding you.

As the angel spoke, he rose and descended from his Throne. His wings had lost their former luster, and his pale bones were exposed. Numerous holes and cuts that had resulted in the loss of flesh made him look extremely gruesome.

The servants followed him in fear and uncertainty, unsure whether their work should continue. Sanguinius made a simple gesture, signaling them to leave.

After that, his voice became unusually cold, completely different from the Sanguinius that Dante knew.

"The Primarch's intelligence far surpasses that of any Astartes. I mean no insult or judgment; I am simply stating a fact."

"And this means that if I need to, I can completely transform my mind into an invincible weapon. I can process torrents of data in just a few seconds and turn them all into intelligence and information for my own use."

"This is what I was meant to do, my son, a precise, efficient, and powerful war machine. This is what I was meant to do, unwavering and indifferent to difficulties."

He paused, his expression becoming complicated again. Dante tried to press for an answer, but Sanguinius did not give him the chance.

The angel turned back to his Throne and raised the sword with one hand. The horrific wounds on his wings had begun to stop bleeding with astonishing speed. Suddenly, with a bang, the angel threw down the scabbard hanging at his waist.

The sturdy scabbard, wrapped in animal hide and jewels, fell into the pool of blood, splattering blood and creating ripples. The angel himself stared at the blade, saying nothing.

From the few parts not obscured by blood, Dante saw the Primarch's eyes and met their gaze. He forced himself not to look away, but the emotions contained in Sanguinius's eyes were beyond his comprehension.

The angel lowered his right hand, and the sword fell. The blood that had not yet dried on the blade did not slide to the ground, but stubbornly remained on it.

He twisted his wrist, reversed the blade, strode past the silent Dante, and left the small Throne room filled with the smell of blood.

In that instant as they brushed past each other, Dante discovered that the statue that the Primarch had been holding had vanished.

He hurried to catch up. The outer deck was a horrific scene. The bodies of the loyalists had not yet been collected and lay alongside the filthy Ethereal spirits of the Daemon after their deaths.

This is a last resort. Now is not the time to let the dead rest in peace. The war is not over yet; it has only just begun. Everyone who is still alive must contribute their strength to this war.

Servants were conscripted into soldiers, soldiers were promoted to sergeants or platoon leaders, and former officers were now promoted further, having to coordinate the preparations for several battle positions, leaving them overwhelmed.

Batch after batch of emergency supplies were transported out of the warehouse and laid out in the narrow or wide corridors, waiting to be used. Sanguinius walked past them, accepting people's greetings, but made no attempt to explain anything to Dante.

At this moment, the only thing the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels could do was follow closely behind his Primarch, traversing this hell paved with the corpses of his brothers and brave warriors, and standing tall to inspire the people.

Their similar golden armor was stained with endless crimson during this journey. Dante's brow furrowed more and more, while Sanguinius' breathing became increasingly slow and long. The silence was only broken when they stepped onto the nearest boarding deck about ten minutes later.

Between the empty tarmac and the massive cables sparking with electricity, Sanguinius turned to look at his son.

"I must join the war, Dante," the angel spoke slowly. "I should have done so long ago."

"The Primarch? But there are no shuttles here anymore. If you wish to issue commands, I suggest you move to the Mother of Tears Battle Barge of the Lamenters, who received Mechanicum eleven years ago."

Seeing Sanguinius' calm expression, Dante's voice grew softer and softer until it completely disappeared.

"I don't need a shuttle. This war must be ended as quickly and directly as possible, and I am the best candidate."

What do you want to do?

"Win."

Having said that, the angel turned around, grabbed the helmet from his belt with one hand, and put it on. It fastened perfectly to the neck guard, and pale white steam billowed out from the connection point.

Sanguinius' face was thus hidden behind a visor made of gold, steel, and rubies, making it impossible to see any of his true features.

At the same time, the outer doors of the boarding deck began to rise, and the air pressure changed abruptly. Dante's pupils contracted, and he finally realized what his Primarch wanted to do, but it was too late.

A burst of deep blue Radiance swept across the angel's hand, and then the magnetic device on Dante's steel boots was suddenly activated, fixing him firmly in place. No matter how he tried to turn off the magnetic device using his neural connection, it was to no avail.

Then came his helmet, which floated up from behind his waist, broke free of the magnetic hook, and gently fastened to his armor. The breathing grille activated instantly, supplying him with ample oxygen.

The inner doors of the boarding deck were opened wide at that moment.

A chilling aura from the void surged in, causing a thin layer of frost to form on Dante's golden armor. The Radiance of gunfire and explosions from the warships swept in from afar, illuminating their armor, and the destructive power was presented to Dante in the most direct way.

He wanted to say something more, but the words that should have flowed out remained like ashes on his lips. In that instant, a sudden burst of light emanating from the tattered wings behind Sanguinius destroyed Dante's ability to speak.

He stared blankly at the pure golden, breathtaking Radiance, momentarily forgetting everything.

He watched as they flowed out like water from the depths of the angel's bones, filling the holes in his wings, smoothing over the wounds, new and old, and in an instant making the entire boarding deck as bright as day.

"The Primarch?" Dante managed to squeeze out the words.

Sanguinius did not answer, but slowly raised his sword, gripping it tightly with both hands. The mottled bloodstains on the sword finally faded slowly under the Radiance.

With this movement, his wings unfurled, gleaming with golden light, and the flowing water seemed to boil, then silently began to burn on his feathers.

Dante stared at his Primarch's retreating figure, witnessing this miraculous scene, clenching his fists tightly, trying to confirm if he was dreaming, his gauntlets creaking.

"Just as I have expectations of you, my son, my father also has high hopes for me."

In the Radiance, Sanguinius slowly turned his head. Dante could only see half of his helmet and a pair of visors that were being dyed gold by the boiling golden flames. Suddenly, a premonition rose in Dante's heart.

He felt that the angel was about to say something to him, something he had never said to anyone before.

His hunch was right.

"He had envisioned this scene long ago. He shaped my essence with unspeakable horror and believed that I would reverse it with a human heart, dispelling the darkness."

"His trust in me was too heavy a burden, but he always held firm to it. He always believed that I could be a symbol, a symbol of hope, courage, and justice."

"But I disagree. Even now, I don't believe I can represent those qualities that are more precious than gold. Besides, I failed, my son. If Calistarius hadn't risked his life to save me and bear my fall, I would never have been able to say these words to you."

"But he's lost in the depths of the Warp, and he can't come back, at least not until he's tamed those two terrifying beasts. How can he do that alone? I want to help him, but..."

The angel turned his head to face the void, flames spreading from his back to the tip of the longsword.

"But my father told me I had other things to do. I am a symbol; I don't need to believe whether I'm really that Radiance. I just need to do what I'm supposed to do. That's all, Dante."

His lips trembled; Dante wanted to ask a question, yet he didn't want to disturb his Primarch. The word "Father," filled with doubt and worry, was swallowed back down his throat.

The next second, a golden light flashed before his eyes, and the angel flapped its wings, rushing straight into the void at an indescribable and incomprehensible speed, like a sharp sword radiating infinite brilliance, easily cleaving through the darkness.

The Radiance emanating from his wings illuminated the surrounding void, and as he flew, his figure was visible to every warship in the Red Tear fleet.

A thunderous roar of cheers surged from the very edge of the light toward Red Tear, Dante was on the boarding deck of the Red Tear, carrying his spirit into a brighter world.

He was stunned, and it took him a while to realize that he was surrounded by an excited crowd. Radiance shone down from above, and a dazzling humanoid figure with wings on its back glided over their heads in the surging air, heading towards the darkness in the farthest distance.

The crowd erupted in shouts.

The devout chanted the Ecclesiarchy's scriptures, praised the names of the God-Emperor and Sanguinius, wept bitterly, and thanked them for their grace.

The brave warriors brandished their weapons, gazed upon the figure of the angel on the ground, prayed for him, and wished him victory. Their courage was thus integrated into the Radiance of Sanguinius, making his power even greater.

The surroundings were incredibly noisy, Dante was extremely confused because, amidst the shouts, he could faintly hear a voice that was different from the others.

The voice was neither devout nor fanatical; it contained only one emotion. Dante listened for a long time before he dared to be certain that the speaker was filled with sorrow.

Who is it? Who is so bold?

He turned his head and searched around against the flow of people, finally spotting an ordinary yet aged face—an old man dressed in linen clothes. His hair and beard were all white, his face was covered in wrinkles, and he was tightly clutching a nearly broken the Emperor statue in his hands.

His face was full of a father's worry for his child, pure, straightforward, and undisguised.

In an instant, Dante was struck dumb. He stood there, the shouts around him fading away, leaving only a buzzing in his ears.

He wasn't sure.

His discovery was enough to drive anyone mad, even Dante. So he dared not confirm his guess, yet dared not deny it either. He stood there, his heart pounding, the air looming over his body, making it almost impossible to breathe.

In the crowd, an inconspicuous old man looked at him.

"He is indeed a sword," the old man said. "But he is also a bridge, Louis Dante. He doesn't understand how important he truly is, but I will tell him, and he will tell everyone. The light has come; hold onto hope."

He turned and left.

A flash of light appeared before Dante's eyes, and the illusory scene vanished, suddenly returning him to the real world.

Was it just a dream?

But the still-shining golden light on his retina told him that it wasn't.

Dante took a deep breath, looked up and gazed into the distance, just in time to see it charging towards the enemy ship with unstoppable momentum. Ignoring cannon fire, melting torpedoes, tearing through the flames of explosions, even the Void Shield could hardly stop it.

The feeling of transforming into a sword began to become clearer, Dante raised his hand to his chest, the dizziness in his head making him take a deep breath.

He didn't understand where this feeling came from, but it was undoubtedly correct, because that Radiance had indeed swept across the enemy's captured warships like a sharp sword, instantly splitting the three destroyers in two and turning them into metallic debris in the explosion.

But Sanguinius did not stop.

He crashed headfirst into their flagship.