Festum Gladius Chapter 45
The battle was winding down as Storm Heralds drove the ghouls back. Bolters barked and chainswords yowled as they cleaved bodies apart, slicing and blasting dead flesh to chunks. The ghouls were still many and they fought with furious zeal but their strength was waning. Every minute saw them become slightly slower and less mighty, their motions torpid and their arms heavy. The energies driving them were fading and with it their unearthly potential, leaving them sluggish and weak.
The Storm Heralds were swift to exploit their advantage, pressing forward to hack and slice. Disciplined lines of blue sectioned and contained the threats, cutting them off from each other. Into each knot Honourable Ajax was steered, his power fist making short work of the ghouls, destroying them once and for all. One by one ghouls fell, leaving the Astartes free to support other containment circles and it became not a question of if the Storm Heralds would win, but when.
Chapter Master Phalros oversaw these efforts, his confidence growing with every minute and his orders steering his brethren to victory. First Captain Jemiel took a more direct hand, leading the Primaris from the front. Tenth-Captain Nimodes in turn led the Firstborn squads, directing them with brisk commands that were instantly obeyed. In his wake a Primaris Apothecary moved, harvesting gene-seed from the dead and healing those who could yet be saved. For those bodies corrupted by ghouls there was no aid. Their sacred genic legacy had been desecrated, their progenoids could not be trusted, they would not be used to create future generations of Space Marines, of any type.
In a distant corner Smyth was confronting a ghoul. It was a raving, slathering thing spitting fury from a face that gushed congealing blood. That it was clad in blue was harrowing, a dead Primaris reanimated to fight once more, but he would not hesitate to strike. Red Hunter or Storm Herald mattered not, once Aeterna Nodes had taken root they were all foes. Yet its strength was failing and its speed diminishing, it was no longer a match for Transhumans and would soon be terminated.
Smyth feinted right then hacked left, slicing an arm free of the body. The ghoul retreated a step then regrouped, ready to attack again. Suddenly there was a looming shadow as Orath stepped past hissing, "Stop pussyfooting about and get on with it!" The Terminator slammed his Storm Shield into the centre mass and knocked the ghoul over, then his hammer rose and fell, crushing the skull into mush.
Smyth swiftly hacked off the legs and arms, then stepped back saying, "We better fetch Ajax to finish it off."
"No need," Orath muttered.
Indeed from the hearts crawled a silver spider, its many legs waving weakly. It dragged itself out of the rent in the breastplate, moving sluggishly as it tried to escape. It didn't get far as a heavy boot slammed down upon it, shattering it once and for all and spraying parts everywhere. The node died at their feet and Smyth stepped back saying, "We'd better get back and help finish off the rest."
He turned to head back the way they had come but was brought up short by Orath snarling, "Not so fast."
Smyth paused in confusion and looked at the Terminator. Orath's armour was cratered all over its front and his reinforced bracing was cracked badly. Yet despite all that he looked belligerent, ready to fight on. He hefted his Thunder Hammer and Storm Shield and took up a stance indicating he was about to engage a foe, and the only other person present was Smyth.
The Lieutenant blinked in surprise and hissed, "Grit in the Cog, what do you think you are you doing?!"
Orath growled, "You and I have unfinished business."
Smyth stepped back in dismay and spat, "You want to duel… here and now?!"
"No better time," Orath snarled, "Your wretched Primaris brethren have brought ruin to my Chapter. Look at the piles of dead, look at my Brothers, laid low because of your kind."
"You're blaming me?!" Smyth gasped in disbelief, "It was the Red Hunters who let loose this horror, the adepts of the Lazarus Progression who subverted the Forge. They are the ones responsible!"
"Only because you came," Orath retorted, "I knew your kind would bring trouble with you, division, discord and strife following on your heels. Your breed has changed the Imperium and the Empire of Man cannot abide change. We should have shot you on sight, then this conflict would never have come to pass."
"You spin tales and invent stories to soothe your wounded pride," Smyth spat in anger.
"Not so," Orath growled, "I have regained my memories, I know why the Librarians mind-wiped us. Primaris are vulnerable to corruption, you are no better than we. Cawl's 'new generation' were sold to the galaxy on the claim of their purity and incorruptibility. Half the Chapters who have accepted them only tolerated the idea because they thought Primaris would prove resistant to Chaos and other forces. We both know that is a lie. The Primaris can fall, they have fallen. All who know of it were silenced, one way or another, but the truth will get out sooner or later. Then the Imperium will rip itself apart."
"So you'll kill me… and then what?!" Smyth yelled, "It won't change anything, it won't end the strife or bring back the dead!"
"Doesn't matter," Orath spat, "Honour demands blood and I will exact it."
Smyth looked upon him and sneered, "I always knew you Firstborn were stubborn fools, but now I see you are totally mad."
"Bold words for someone within the reach of my hammer," Orath snarled.
Smyth drew in a breath to rebuke the Terminator but found he had no words. Orath was serious about challenging the Primaris, he intended to duel to the death. A part of Smyth's mind was already calculating odds and stratagems but it was purely mechanical. He found his hearts weren't in it, he had no desire to kill Orath. He had seen two Chapters at war, two kinds of Space Marine, and it the idea of stirring up yet more strife dismayed him. He thought he had been fighting to prevent one tragedy but now found another hot on its heels. The notion of continuing this farce left him cold and could only see it as pointless, utterly pointless. He looked at Orath and then slowly sheathed his sword and held out his hands to his sides.
Orath paused in confusion and hissed, "What are you doing?"
"I won't fight you," Smyth stated, "There's no point."
"Point?!" Orath snapped, "Honour is the point!"
"Firstborn and your nonsensical rituals," Smyth lamented, "You would kill me for a lie I did not tell and then… what will you do then? Keep it secret, let the guilt gnaw at you, tarnishing your vaunted honour until you cannot bear the shame and so fall to Chaos. Or you could march out there and tell everyone what you did and watch this Chapter tear itself apart. The Primaris will demand your death, the Firstborn will refuse and the Storm Heralds will implode."
"This is a trick," Orath hissed warily, "You seek to ensnare me in lies."
Smyth let out a breath and reached up to remove his helm, he took it off and revealed his face saying, "No tricks, no lies. I'm agreeing with you, you were right all along. The Firstborn and Primaris were never going to fit together harmoniously. Conflict is inevitable, inside Chapters and without. Look at the Red Hunters, everything they did was inspired by this division. This battle is the future of the Imperium; this fight was not an aberration but an inevitability. Factions will form: the Lazarus Progression are one but there will be others. Supporters of the reforms and opponents will dig in, words will become accusations, then threats then declarations of war. Look at this battlefield and see the fate of the galaxy, when word gets out that Primaris can fall the Imperium will fall into civil war. There will be no revival for the Imperium of Man, it will collapse into flames until Terra itself burns and the Emperor dies."
Orath stepped back and gasped in disbelief, "No, not Terra, not the Emperor… the Primarch won't allow it."
Smyth sighed, "Roboute Guilliman is wise and insightful but he did not understand how humanity has changed in ten millennia. None of us did. We Primaris awoke to a different universe, not only borders and laws and technologies but the minds of men. We don't understand the way mankind thinks in this age, what ten thousand years of hopelessness have done to the human spirit. Guilliman thinks he can coerce Astartes Chapters into submission with diplomacy and threats but they gnaw at his leash. Even in this very Chapter the flaws are already turning into yawning chasms. We've both seen it happening before our eyes and the Storm Heralds are but a microcosm of the brewing conflict across the galaxy."
Orath whispered, "Your words are irrefutable but this cannot come to pass…"
Smyth continued sadly, "The Captains and Chapter Masters think they can order us to make a Brotherhood, the Chaplains think uniting us against a common foe will forge a unity of purpose. They are both wrong, such Brotherhood cannot be forced. And the Librarians think they can simply mind-wipe the problems under the rug but it won't work. They are all papering over cracks in a wall, ignoring the crumbling foundations beneath their feet. I see now there were only ever two outcomes: schismatic war or…"
Orath reached up with his shield hand to remove his helm, revealing a scarred visage as he hissed, "Or what?"
"Or you and I do something about it," Smyth stated.
Orath's eyes narrowed as he probed, "What are you suggesting?"
Smyth chewed on it for a moment then said, "True Brotherhood cannot be stamped upon the hearts of warriors from on high, it must be built from the ground up. You and I could make a start. We are not Captains or Masters, all know us to be mere warriors, leaders yes but as first among equals rather than ranked commanders. If you and I were to speak out in the cause of unity our respective Brothers would listen, they would heed us when we say we must set aside our enmity and work together."
"You want me to tell Firstborn to play nice with Primaris?!" Orath spat in surprise.
"More than that," Smyth urged, "We walk among the ranks, we see the small conflicts and barbed insults. We could step in before they brew up into bitter feuds, we could heal the divisions in our ranks before they rip us asunder. Two souls alone wouldn't be enough but if we recruit a few others then we could start building a true Brotherhood in this Chapter. No Captains, no Chaplains or Librarians, only humble line-Brothers, speaking with a common voice."
"You speak of founding a secret order," Orath muttered, "A lodge-coven, made to prevent a war."
But Smyth sighed, "That's how the Firstborn would do it; secret meetings in the dark, hidden handshakes and cryptic passphrases. Circles within circles, with rituals and cloaked hoods to hide faces. No… not this time. No lies or deceptions shall pass out lips, only truth: the truth that Primaris and Firstborn must unite or die. There will be no secret meetings in the dark, no special names or hidden lodge-masters. If we do this it must be out in the light, where all can see us. I speak of finding a few like-minded souls in each company and asking them to speak with a common voice for the cause of unity."
Orath was silent for a long moment, staring over the smoking battlefield. His eyes were cold but deep thoughts occurred within them as he turned it over. His lip moved for a moment but he did not speak, reconsidering his words. Finally he said, "I would not have considered your words before today, but seeing the depths the Red Hunters stooped to is galling. They are on the same path we are, only further along. I won't let my Chapter become like them, victory would taste bitterer than defeat. I can't allow that, I can't allow my Chapter to be consumed by the madness they embraced. A war between Primaris and Firstborn would leave no victor, everybody would lose. So we must work together to stop it but the scale of the task is formidable, we cannot dream to spread our voice across the galaxy."
"I don't think we should try," Smyth replied, "We can't affect other Chapters, all we can do is work to make the Storm Heralds united. Perhaps it will prove futile, perhaps it's already too late, but the attempt has to be made. To not try is to accept defeat."
Orath didn't look at him but said, "I… I might know one or two Brothers in the First Company who would be receptive to this proposal."
"It's a start," Smyth said, "I can speak to a few others. If we can find but one soul then more will come."
Orath turned to look at him and said, "I shall make the attempt. I promise no more than that."
But Smyth pressed, "This will only work if you and I can be civil, we must show everyone that Firstborn and Primaris can work together. We must set an example for others to follow."
Orath snorted, "Our enmity is well known, if the Storm Heralds see us set aside our feuding they will be inspired to do likewise. But strictly between us, know I still don't like you."
Smyth snorted, "The feeling is mutual, but I can keep my tongue still. Now we should let everybody see us working together."
Orath snorted, "I agree to your argument, but don't let the Librarians know we have uncovered the truth. One erasure is enough for any lifetime."
With that they stepped back into the dock, returning to their brethren. Smyth wasn't sure what the future held but he was determined to forge it with his own hands. He would work ceaselessly to unite the Firstborn and Primaris and with fair fortune he may even succeed. If they could unite this one Chapter then there could yet be hope for the wider Imperium. The road would be hard and steep, the obstacles many, but Smyth knew the goal was worth it. He would dedicate his life to this elusive hope and never let the grim darkness of the galaxy sway him from his course. So Smyth returned to his Brothers, unity or death awaited and only time would tell which one would come to pass.
