The blood of enemies was easily washed away, leaving no trace, gradually forgotten.
But the blood of brothers could not be erased. Ordinary washing could not cleanse the filth they had left behind.
Several sectors away, a fleet drifted amid the stars. Within the weathered steel fortress of the battleship Pride of the Lion, a tall, bald man stood gazing at the light of a star.
Incense candles burned, their glow swaying behind him, while stained glass cast scenes from the Chapter's history across the walls.
Skulls representing divinity rested upon their respective pedestals, and the holy icons lining both sides of the corridor silently watched everyone who passed.
They were the First Legion, those who sought light as the universe grew dark, the embers remaining before dawn arrived.
Lurking upon the battlefield and striking hard at humanity's enemies, they were not merely angels in the darkness, but angels seeking atonement.
Across the universe, they searched for those who had to atone and repent.
Since the birth of the Empire and the founding of the Legion, the Dark Angels Chapter had been feared by its enemies and revered by those under its protection. With eternal vigilance and fervor, they carried out their duties as the Emperor's most loyal servants.
Yet for ten thousand years, the Dark Angels had buried a dangerous secret, one capable of threatening everything they defended with all their strength and dragging them into eternal damnation.
Outsiders believed that glory flowed through their bodies with their blood, but with every second that such recognition endured, the guilt in their hearts deepened.
Time had to be seized.
The secret had to be protected by the Inner Circle, and their brothers of old had to repent for it.
When the previous Grand Master died in 939.M41, Azrael inherited his