Bringers of Judgement: Prologue
The slow, heavy steps of Inglorion's power armour-clad feet echoed through the otherwise silent hallway. He stared impassively ahead, helmet locked under one arm, bolt rifle clasped across his chest. Even through the thick battle-plate, he felt it press against his chest, the strength of his iron muscles holding it solidly in place. He passed a pair of Astartes, clad in green armour and bone white robes, heads bowed, unmoving.
As he approached the door, he waited silently, studying the intricate stone carving on its surface – what appeared to be stone, at least. His giant, golden fist reached out, still clasping his weapon and, accompanied by the low humming of his armour's servo-motors, knocked once. A reverberating thud flew the length of the corridor, coming back to him in waves. He did not need to look behind him to know that not one of his brother Marines lining the corridor had turned to look. They knew why he was here.
The door opened, grating along the floor, opening the way to a cold, dark room. A pale mist leaked through the widening aperture, coiling around his golden, flame-adorned boots. He stared resolutely into the darkness, awaiting the appearance of the one whom he had come to see. Out of the black, filtered through the ancient vox-grilles of a relic helmet more prestigious than any suit of Terminator armour, came an unmistakable voice.
"Supreme Grand Master Inglorion." Inglorion, with his left hand, replaced his golden helmet, waiting patiently for as the suit pressurised and the machine spirits of his sensors were woken from their slumber. His pale blue-tinted lenses flashed on, and he scanned into the now illuminated shadows, espying in the centre of the room a robed Astartes, staring back at him, decorated with all manner of relics and seals and honours from a storied career – if any of it had been permitted to be recorded. He felt a small tug of dread at the sight, and realised his own armour, decorated though it was befitting his rank, paled in comparison.
"Supreme Grand Master Azrael," he replied.
"The Bringers of Judgement." Inglorion nodded. "An interesting name. For now, you are being judged, as are all of your brothers." Again, Inglorion nodded. He knew no words were necessary. "You have decorated yourselves well in this… Indomitus Crusade. Performed admirably. And yet, still I find I do not fully understand you."
"I am as you see me, Master."
"No. You are kin to the Dark Angels, of that there is no doubt. True sons of the Lion, all. But your Chapter are touched by some heat, some passion which does not grace us all."
"We are zealous, Master, in our pursuit of those hated foes."
"As are we all, brother, and yet there is something more to it with the Bringers of Judgement." Inglorion nodded. That small pit of dread was growing. "The Chaplains exhort us all to hatred, but your Chapter seems to burn hotter at their core than the rest."
"I am sorry, Master. I will see to it."
"No." Confusion ebbed at Inglorion's mind, and he banished it, waiting for the answer he knew was coming. "As with all the Unforgiven, you bear the weight and shame of our great betrayal ten thousand years ago. Some take up the gruelling quarrel with the Fallen, some are crushed by its weight, and some shirk the responsibility of destroying the traitors and preserving our legacy. Your chapter's temperament gives me hope of the former." A small creature, robed in green, which Inglorion knew instinctively to be a Watcher, scuttled past his armoured leg and into the room, bearing a relic plasma pistol to Azrael. The Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels beckoned Inglorion further into the room. He stepped forward, approaching the table at which Azrael stood. The pistol now lay upon it. Inglorion studied it, noting its archaic inscriptions which he knew would have taken decades. He looked back to Azrael, who looked up at him and simply nodded. Inglorion picked up the pistol, noting how it fit comfortably into his hand, and instinctively activated it. The pistol flared to life, its plasma cylinder flaring into blue light as the machine spirit was spurred to action.
"Thank you, Master. What is it called?"
"Iudex."
"A fitting name."
"Take it, and with it you bear the honour of the sons of the Lion. Do not let your zeal overtake the grim duty which we all bear." Inglorion nodded.
"Go, then, Supreme Grand Master Inglorion, with my blessing, and may your Chapter fight well. Inglorion holstered his pistol at his hip and turned smartly on his heel, coming around to stare directly into the skull-faced helm of Asmodai. The Master of Repentance cut a terrifying figure in the darkness, skeletal visage illuminated from beneath by the glowing of Inglorion's pistol and from behind by the burning incense pyres upon his back. Inglorion did not flinch. He simply stared blankly into the eyes of the helmet opposite, piercing through the gloom of Asmodai's hood. Being caught between Azrael and Asmodai would normally have been cause to lay down and submit one's fate, but Inglorion was Astartes – no, he was the Supreme Grand Master of the Bringers of Judgement. He would not be intimidated. Asmodai stared at him a moment longer, then looked past him to Azrael. Upon receiving signal from his Master, Asmodai stepped to the side.
"You will serve well," was Asmodai's only recognition of Inglorion. The white-and-gold Astartes nodded, and proceeded through the doors and down the corridor, towards his own flagship.
Time to go home.