The First Betrayal

Nikanna Sharokin was walking on the lower decks of the cruiser Samothoris.

The vast majority of Imperial warships possessed enormous redundant spaces. These ships, kilometers long, were like floating cities in the void, containing countless dark and damp conduits.

In these shadowy places, the mortal servants and crews of the ships lived for generations, forming a strange yet balanced ecosystem with various mutants and alien creatures.

And now, in these shadows that never saw light, the true lord of shadows had arrived.

Nikanna moved through the labyrinthine pipe decks at a speed incomprehensible to mortals. He seemed to be one with the shadows, his rapid movement completely silenced by the ambient noise, not even the faintest footstep betraying his presence.

He felt the wondrous capabilities of his new power armor with some surprise. Its servo-system was truly silent, like a walking black hole that swallowed all noise.

In the gloom, he passed several mortal servants like a wraith-like raven. Bloodstains slowly appeared from their vital points, and the gene-trackers extracted the needed memories from their blood.

"It's the stench of the Word Bearers, corruption and depravity, the deepest curse from the Warp."

The Son of the Raven would never forget the scent of his enemies, nor forget how his father, Corvus Corax, had slaughtered those blasphemous beings who called themselves the Blessed Sons.

Anger and hatred intertwined, burning to ash in Nikanna's heart.

He entered an ethereal state, transforming into shadow, and infiltrated his true destination.

The observation deck of the cruiser's main chamber.

In the shadows, he finally saw a Word Bearer Adeptus Astartes walking, clad in the common Mark IV Maximus power armor. Its deep crimson paint covered the past gunmetal gray, and black lacquer obscured the former squad markings and insignia.

Nikanna's instinctive combat reaction was suppressed by his superhuman will. The surge of adrenaline subsided. At this distance, he had no chance of missing; a single bolter round would be enough to tear through the enemy's fragile helmet visor or penetrate the more vulnerable armor at the joints.

What surprised him further was that beside the Word Bearer sergeant stood a towering Ultramarine in gleaming blue and gold power armor, polished to a mirror sheen.

Had the Ultramarines betrayed the Imperium alongside the Word Bearers?

Nikanna pondered silently, not jumping to conclusions.

"Lucius," the Word Bearer warrior said, spreading his arms in a seemingly enthusiastic welcome. "My brother."

"Chorl," the Ultramarine responded with equal warmth. They embraced, the heavy power armor on their bodies clanking against each other.

This heartfelt reunion was fully witnessed by Nikanna.

If he had not experienced the soul-crushing betrayal of his brothers on Istvaan V, he might have been moved by the brotherhood displayed by the Ultramarines and the Word Bearers.

After forty years, the Ultramarines who had once brought about the destruction of the Perfect City for the Word Bearers had once again forged a brotherhood.

However, the Son of the Raven, acutely sensitive to killing intent, detected a nearly imperceptible anomaly in the Word Bearer's most subtle body language.

The Word Bearer's hand remained within a second's reaction range of his bolter.

Nikanna watched all this silently, hidden in the shadows. Even the ship's servitors could not detect this uninvited guest.

The reception the Ultramarines gave their battle-brothers was beyond reproach. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they offered their brothers a rather exquisite meal.

The stomachs of the Adeptus Astartes could adapt to almost any organic matter, and even some metals were on their menu. If necessary, they could consume their cutlery along with their food to supplement their metallic intake.

But this was an obvious gesture, representing the strong friendly attitude of the Ultramarines.

These Ultramarines, shaped into paragons by their gene-father, Roboute Guilliman, still felt a trace of guilt for burning the Word Bearers' Perfect City under the Emperor's command.

They were making every effort to re-establish a connection between the two, preparing for future cooperation.

"My battle-brothers, why have you changed your power armor's paint and markings? Where have the inscribed holy words gone?" Lucius finally couldn't help but ask.

Had these Word Bearers truly severed ties with their past after the destruction of the Perfect City?

"In fact, we have adopted new appearances to commemorate our fundamental reshaping. The Word Bearers have been struggling to find their place in the universe. Unlike you Ultramarines, our path has been more arduous, even—"

Chorl paused, then uttered words that made Lucius's blood run cold.

"I despise Lorgar, my gene-father. His thoughts are so fickle and indecisive. Compared to the Primarchs of the Imperial Fists, Night Lords, Iron Hands, and Ultramarines, his failures are too numerous for us to mention with shame."

Faced with the Word Bearer's insult to his gene-father, Lucius was so shocked he forgot to breathe.

He had never heard of an Adeptus Astartes holding such a vile attitude towards his gene-father, an attitude that could even be described as naked rebellion.

Even the Lord of Iron on Olympia, who could issue the Eleventh Primarch's Edict of Condemnation, would not have such rebellious offspring.

"Lies," Nikanna murmured from the shadows.

"But fortunately, our awakening was not too late. We have found a new path, a path that leads directly to the Empyrean, revealing the primordial truth to us."

"What must I do to prove that I too am devoted to this great and magnificent goal?"

The Word Bearer's demeanor and words confused the Ultramarine. He didn't quite understand what spiritual sustenance these cousins had found. In the past, they revered the Emperor as the God-Emperor, with his will as their sole guide.

And all of this was contrary to the Imperial Truth.

"In the battle of Istvaan, I learned some unique combat techniques that the Ultramarines lack," the Word Bearer said, caressing a wine glass on the table, quickly capturing Lucius's interest.

The Ultramarines were the most adept at learning among the Legions. They would unreservedly emulate the strengths of their brother Legions and incorporate their own unique characteristics. This was why many Legions viewed the Thirteenth Legion as arrogant blowhards who had no respect for others.

"To speak plainly, my gene-father is compiling a book encompassing the art of war: the Codex Astartes. Are there any combat techniques not included in the Codex?"

Lucius raised his glass, somewhat confused. "I have never heard of a battle occurring in the Istvaan System. When did this happen? And why was Lord Guilliman not informed?"

"It wasn't long ago, and that war has already ended. The Imperium paid a very heavy price. This enemy is unlike any encountered before," Chorl said, laughing without a hint of sadness, which made Lucius uncomfortable.

"More terrifying than the Ragnar campaign, more horrifying than the Ullanor campaign. The enemies of the Imperium have discovered the power of [Betrayal]. It is not a tactic, nor a weapon, but a conceptual power. The deeper the betrayal, the stronger the power..."

The Ultramarine's rational mindset could not comprehend what the Word Bearer meant by betrayal. It sounded like some kind of unfathomable sorcery.

Word Bearers were always engrossed in faith and sorcery, which was entirely different from the Ultramarines.

"Yes, the power of [Betrayal] destroyed three Legions. The Ragnar xenos did not achieve this, nor did the green-skinned orcs' Emperor. How detestable, and how tragic."

Nikanna's fingers were already gripping the trigger, waiting for the Word Bearer to reveal his true face beneath the hypocritical mask.