Decisive Battle

Vashtorr hastily parried, and the impact sent him staggering back several steps.

Azrael seized the opportunity and thrust his sword into Vashtorr's back.

Vashtorr dodged to the side, but the blade still grazed his mechanical body, leaving a deep gash.

Be'lakor pounced again, his claws tearing through the void, aiming straight for Vashtorr's head.

Vashtorr roared, his mechanical tentacles lashing out as he engaged Be'lakor in combat.

A three-way battle.

Dark Angels, Dark Mechanicum, and Daemon Prince engaged in a frenzied battle before the Nameless Gate.

Every second, lives are lost.

Blood splattered every second.

Every second, hope, or despair, is born.

Vashtorr finally seized the opportunity.

His mechanical tentacles suddenly extended, bypassing Be'lakor's defenses and Azrael's sword, thrusting straight towards the Nameless Gate —towards the secret chamber behind it.

The tentacles pierced through the doors, through layers of defense, through millennia of protection—and seized it.

They caught the fragment.

The core fragments of Caliban.

That crystal shimmering with dark green light, that relic containing the last remnant of the planet's soul, that fragment of the key that Vashtorr had always dreamed of—

"Got it!"

Vashtorr's maniacal laughter echoed across the battlefield.

He retracted his tentacles, grasped the fragment, and felt the power contained within it.

That power was vast and ancient; it was the energy that Caliban had accumulated over ten thousand years, the legacy that the lion had once protected, it was—his.

Azrael's pupils suddenly contracted.

"No--"

He roared and lunged forward, but Vashtorr's mechanical tentacles simultaneously lashed out, knocking him away.

Be'lakor tried to seize it, but Vashtorr had already started the Dissonance Engine.

The engine instantly unleashed terrifying energy, engulfing the entire battlefield in a Chaos vortex.

Countless Chaos Daemons were summoned by that energy, countless Dark Angels fell in that energy, and countless chaos ensued.

"Retreat!"

Vashtorr's voice boomed across the communication channel.

"All units, retreat!"

The Chaos Alliance began its retreat, surging back to the landing ships, back to the Ark of Omen, back to the endless void like a tidal wave.

Azrael struggled to his feet, wanting to give chase, but it was too late.

He could only watch helplessly as the Ark of Omen slowly sailed away, as the fragments receded into the distance, as the disaster unfolded.

Inside the Rock, the flames still burned.

The bodies are still piling up.

Blood was still flowing.

Azrael stood Nameless Gate, gazing at the breached chamber, the empty stone platform, and the stolen fragments.

His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His eyes burned with fire—not the fire of Psionic Energy, not the fire of Chaos, but pure, intense, and all-consuming rage.

"Grown ups."

Ezekiel's voice sounded behind him.

The Chief Librarian's face was horribly pale, and his body swayed precariously, as if he might collapse at any moment.

But there was still a light in his eyes.

Azrael did not turn back.

"Statistical loss."

His voice was calm, but Ezekiel could hear the volcano beneath the calm.

"Treat the wounded."

"Repair the defense."

He paused, and a slight tremor finally appeared in his voice.

"Prepare for revenge."

Ezekiel was silent for a moment.

Then he nodded.

"Yes."

He said that, then turned and left.

Azrael stood alone before the empty stone platform, gazing at the spot where the fragments had once stood, at everything that Vashtorr had taken away.

The same thought echoed in his mind: They will pay the price.

Vashtorr will pay the price.

All scum who dare to blaspheme Caliban will pay the price.

In the distance, in the void, the Ark of Omen Fleet is receding into the distance.

But that's not the end.

This is just the beginning.

Because the Dark Angels never forget.

Because the Dark Angels never forgives.

Because the Dark Angels will ultimately seek revenge.

Weeks later.

On the Pariah Nexus, in the Nephilim Sector.

In the void, a fleet is assembling.

That was no ordinary fleet.

That was the fleet of the Dark Angels.

That is the fleet of all the Unforgiven.

That was the first legion-level assembly since the Horus Heresy.

Azrael stood on the Rock bridge, gazing out the porthole at the endless fleet of warships.

Behind him stood the Chapter Master from various sub-clubs, the most powerful force the Dark Angels had possessed in ten thousand years, and the blade poised to exact revenge on Vashtorr.

"Intelligence confirmed."

The head of the Suppression Unit stepped forward, his face hidden in the shadows, his voice low and hoarse.

"Vashtorr has reconstructed the Caliban fragments into Dragon Spirit Star."

Location: Deep within the Somrim Star-Snatching Belt.

It was a mobile Daemon World, heavily fortified.

Azrael's brow furrowed slightly.

"Trap."

He said calmly.

"This is a trap."

Everyone fell silent.

They know.

Of course they know.

Vashtorr deliberately allowed the Suppression Unit to discover the location of Dragon Spirit Star, deliberately leaked the intelligence, and deliberately set up the bait, waiting for them to take the bait.

Because there lies the legacy of the Caliban.

Because there, they must reclaim what they have to take back.

Because there lies the shame of the Dark Angels, a shame that has lasted for millennia.

It's a trap.

Ezekiel's voice rang out.

The Chief Librarian stepped forward; his face was still pale, but his eyes burned with unwavering determination.

"My divination shows that the Dragon Spirit Star is surrounded by Chaos ambushes."

"If we just rush in like this, we'll suffer heavy losses."

Azrael looked at him.

In those eyes, there was inquiry, expectation, and also—determination.

"But we had no choice."

He said the voice was calm yet firm.

"Those are fragments of Caliban."

That is our legacy.

That is--

He paused, his gaze passing over the porthole, over the endless void, settling in that unknown direction.

What we must take back.

The bridge was completely silent.

All the Chapter Master looked at him, at the man who had protected the Chapter for an entire era, at his weathered yet resolute face.

Then, they both knelt down on one knee.

"For Caliban."

Their voices converged into a mighty torrent.

"For the Dark Angels."

"For--"

A smile appeared on Azrael's lips.

"Revenge."

The fleet set sail, heading towards its unknown Destiny.

Heading towards Dragon Spirit Star.

Heading towards that—the final battle.