The Lament That Came Too Late
"No--!!!"
A shrill, distorted roar tore through the still-simmering energy ripples and the whistling of falling insect debris across the battlefield.
The grief and despair contained in that voice were so intense that they temporarily overshadowed the slight clamor brought by victory.
A dark blue figure, like a bird with broken wings, staggered and fell from the sky in an almost out-of-control manner.
He should have been Superman warrior soaring through the skies, possessing the new blood of the holy Guilliman, able to fly with his will, tear apart ships with his bare hands, and possessing power far exceeding that of the past.
But at this moment, this power, enough to shake the stars, made him feel an unprecedented heaviness and powerlessness.
In the chest, those two hearts, far stronger than those of ordinary people, were convulsing and pounding wildly in a spasm-like manner, each contraction bringing suffocating pain.
"Why... why?! Chapter Master! I'm here! We... we, the offspring of the Blood Angels, have all come!!!"
Malakim, the Chapter Master of the Lamenters, crashed heavily onto the soft, blood-soaked sand, raising a cloud of dust.
He did not stand up immediately, but rather seemed to have lost all support.
He staggered a few steps across the scorched earth, a mixture of Tyranids remains and the blood of his comrades, before finally managing to prop himself up with his trembling legs.
Every step felt like walking on an invisible blade, unsteady and shaky, as if I might fall again at any moment.
He had never felt so powerless.
Even at the moment when the Lamenters Destiny at its most perilous, nearly wiped out, with only eighty-three members struggling to survive in the abyss of despair.
He had never experienced such a soul-wrenching weakness before.
It was resentment towards Destiny, hatred for the enemy, and a desperate last stand, but not...
The deep-seated helplessness and regret of watching hope and support extinguished before one's eyes, while one is a step too late.
In the current Lamenters, only he, Malakim, has had the privilege of meeting and interacting with Dante, the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.
Other, more ancient Lamenters had long since perished amidst countless misfortunes and curses.
Everyone once thought that this sub-unit, born in the dark period of the "Cursed Founding" and seemingly forever plagued by misfortune, had long been forgotten or neglected by the glorious parent unit.
But Malakim knew that this was not the case.
Across the vast sea of stars, across the bloated and inefficient bureaucracy of the Imperium, and even across the obstruction of certain ill-intentioned individuals, this Chapter Master, Dante, never truly abandoned them.
He has been doing everything in his power to help.
Even if that help seemed so insignificant in the face of the vast Imperium machine.
It could be a shipload of valuable ammunition, a batch of replacement weapon parts, or a brief but confidential letter filled with concern and encouragement.
It could even be just a weighty statement of proof from the "Chapter Master the Blood Angels" at a crucial juncture.
Malakim knew all too well the rigid, corrupt, and resistant labyrinthine systems of the Imperium.
To secure even the most basic support for a distant subgroup plagued by the "curse," how much effort would be required, and how many open and covert attacks would need to be navigated?
But Dante did everything he could.
A Bolter, a Chainsword, a Power Armour spare part... these are insignificant supplies for a vast Imperium.
But for those Lamenters, struggling on the edge of survival, it may be the hope of continuing the fight and preserving the flame of life.
Dante, however, never showed prejudice against those Lamenters because they came from that disgraceful history. He offered them equal care, a care that stemmed from the bloodline of the Gene-Father.
"Please... I still want... I still want to fight alongside you... This is... the first time I've truly seen you..."
Malakim's voice choked and broke, tears streaming down his face like a burst dam, mingling with the dust and bloodstains on his mask.
Only on such a brutal battlefield, one that strikes at the very depths of the soul, could two "angelic" offspring, renowned for their resilience and sacrifice, shed such scalding tears.
The tears of angels are far rarer than the tears of mermaids who weep for disillusionment or despair in legends, and they carry a deeper and more sorrowful weight.
Those tears were a testament to a blood bond that spanned millennia, an eternal regret for not being able to stand shoulder to shoulder, and the heart-wrenching pain of a guardian witnessing the collapse of their pillar.
The mermaid's sorrow stemmed from personal feelings, while the suffering borne by Malakim and Dante at this moment was a grand elegy concerning inheritance, responsibility, and the survival of their race, far more profound and weighty than the former.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I should have come sooner... But I tried my best... I really did my best..."
Malakim knelt beside Dante's growing cold body, reaching out a trembling hand to touch the tattered red-gold armor, as if touching a fragile dream:
"I shouldn't... I shouldn't have begged Lord Guilliman to spare those few minutes... If only I hadn't wasted that time..."
If I could have been a little faster... you wouldn't have... it's all my fault... it's all my fault, Lord Dante! It's all my fault!!!
He wept uncontrollably, self-reproach gnawing at his heart like a venomous snake.
Those few minutes of pleading were magnified infinitely in his mind, becoming an irreparable mistake, the last straw that broke the camel's back.
Malakim raised his blurry, tear-filled eyes and gazed at Dante's peaceful face.
He had imagined that face countless times in the records of the Imperium and the legends of the Chapter, and now it was so close, yet in this way.
It looked so real, so calm, even... the faint curve of its lips.
It was as if he was recounting his last moments before death, when he was not immersed in pain and resentment, but rather encountered something that brought him comfort and even joy.
Even so, even knowing that the Chapter Master may have already achieved his wish and found his own home and peace...
The sorrow in Malakim's heart continued to spread endlessly like a cosmic abyss, with nowhere to be placed or vented.
Even the "Black Rage" that is the hallmark of the Blood Angels' offspring, born of extreme grief and anger, seemed pale and powerless at this moment, unable to be ignited.
The deepest sorrow transcends the realm of rage, transforming into a more profound and utter emptiness and coldness.
"Aaaaaaahh...
The Lamenters, kneeling before the body of the Mother Chapter Master, raised his head, gazing at the Baal sky, which was tinged with eerie colors by the smoke of battle and the afterglow of Psionic Energy.
It let out a final, heart-wrenching, inhuman howl!
That roar contained all the unspoken sorrow...
Even though he had been granted newfound power by the Lord Regent, enabling him to fly and tear apart steel behemoths with his bare hands, seemingly possessing the ability to change the Destiny of certain places.
But faced with this cruel, merciless, vast, and indifferent Milky Way, faced with the established fact of being separated by life and death, and of eternal regret,
This power, like a sandcastle or a divine tower trying to stop a tsunami, is utterly powerless.