Domus Discordia Chapter 47

The Rhino rocked under him, the familiar growl of its engines as reassuring as his own twin heartbeats. Wrethan looked around its ergonomic interior; based on a design honed to perfection over ten thousand years and felt serenity fill his spirit. Wrethan was standing in the troop bay as the Rhino rumbled on, driving across the Fortress-Monastery towards the landing pads, where flights of Thunderhawks were waiting for them.

Wrethan was clad in a suit of power armour, not his familiar Chaplain's plate but a sound and strong Mark VII version. It felt odd to him but it had a strong spirit and a feisty zeal that earned his approval, he was sure in time that he and the armour would form a tight bond. The only thing that gave him pause was the lack of honours, purity seals or campaign badges. Such marks were a litany of an Astartes' deeds, proclamations of the glory one had won and a dire warning to foes of his deadly prowess. Wrethan's plate felt bare and naked without his tapestry of emblems, like he was a rookie on his first deployment. Yet it was unavoidable, the True Believers had sworn inviolable oaths to claim no glory or honours, so long as their penitent crusade endured.

The thought of that made Wrethan look upon his companions, Tygra and Erathor. Like him they had been fitted with armour, shorn of all honours. Yet unlike him they had been implanted with augmetic limbs, clicking whirring devices with exposed mechanisms, bones made of pistons and muscles formed of gears. Erathor was sitting on one of the Rhino's seats, still having trouble walking on his new legs; he looked up and inquired, "Do you know where they will send us?"

Wrethan thought about it and answered, "That is up to us, we are being given the freedom to direct ourselves. War consumes the galaxy, we could go anywhere."

Erathor looked at his hands and said, "It would be best not to stay too close to home, there is too much bad blood to risk running into our kin. It would be best if we leave the Saint Karyl Trail behind entirely. Perhaps we could head into Segmentum Tempestus or towards Terra to assist in securing the core worlds."

"What does it matter? Tygra snorted, "Any direction is as good as another. It's not like we're going to come back."

Erathor fixed him with a stare and growled, "You agreed to support my command of this Penitent Crusade. Don't start undermining me before we've even begun."

Tygra shook his head saying, "Don't be blind, this is still a death sentence. After one hundred years of war, there won't be any of us left to come home. Phalros wanted to get rid of us but didn't want blood on his hands; this is nothing but a tidy way to dispose of us."

Wrethan's ire stirred and he snarled, "Your lack of faith disturbs me, it is something we will discuss at length when we depart. Do not miss the opportunity before us."

Yet Tygra grumbled, "It's an opportunity to fall on some insignificant battlefield, without glory or honour."

"No," Wrethan rebuked him, "This is our redemption, ours and our Chapter's."

"We won't live to see redemption," Tygra snarled, "We will never again lay our eyes upon our home!"

Yet Wrethan firmly stated, "Then it is an opportunity to die being proud of ourselves, not ashamed. You know the conditions of our death oath; we shall be the shield of those with no other defence. We shall be the answer to the prayers of all those who cry out to the Emperor for deliverance, the last hope for the hopeless, the protectors of those souls abandoned by the high and mighty. This is a most worthy calling and I am reassured to know that our Chapter remains noble enough to grant us this boon."

Tygra fell silent and the rest of the journey passed without conversation. Soon the Rhino screeched to a halt and the ramp lowered. Wrethan led his companions out onto the ferrocrete landing pad, where flights of gunships and Thunderhawk transporters waited for them. Into those waiting gunships filed lines of Astartes; all those who had sworn to undertake the Penitent Crusade. There was no chatter or joy amongst them, they trudged up the ramps with heads held low, their blue and grey armour as blank as Wrethan's own.

Yet before one Thunderhawk Wrethan was surprised to see a small party waiting, all wearing armour that was festooned with laurels. It was Chapter Master Phalros with his Honour Guard and Captain Toran with his command squad. As the Rhino backed up to a waiting transporter Wrethan led his comrades up to them and bowed low saying, "Chapter Master."

Phalros looked down his nose at them and said, "Your forces are preparing to depart, I suggest you hurry. The Strike Cruiser Pax Mortis is at your disposal, on board you will find arms and munitions enough to sustain your crusade and there are serf-artisans to tend to your gear. I have permitted one Apothecary to accompany you, to ensure that you do not die too quickly and to retrieve the gene-seed of anyone whose death is deemed honourable enough to expunge their shame."

Wrethan was surprised and said, "Your generosity is boundless."

Phalros looked stern as he snapped, "I am not doing this for your sake but to redeem our Chapter."

Wrethan replied, "Nevertheless, we thank you for your largesse."

Phalros' stern visage cracked slightly and he said, "I intended to have you all executed without remorse, but when I heard our Brothers braying for your deaths like rabid dogs, my conviction turned to ashes. I looked upon our Chapter and I did not recognise it. We have become base and ignoble, we have lost some vital element of our spirit, we have forsaken our nobility. To kill you would have plunged us into a pit of darkness from which we would never return. This was the only way to redeem our Chapter's honour, as well as your own."

Wrethan bowed once more and said, "I have no doubt that you shall restore the Storm Heralds to their former glory but if I may crave your indulgence, I seek a moment alone with my former comrades."

Phalros nodded and moved off, while Erathor and Tygra stomped up the ramp loudly, resentment still simmering off the latter. Wrethan looked at his old comrades and took them in, each bearing terrible scars but they were all the more glorious for it. These were the greatest warriors Wrethan had ever known and he would treasure the memories of their time together for as long as he lived.

Wrethan looked at them each in turn, first at Furion in his blackened Mark III plate. It had been decorated with a winged skull upon his breastplate, to match the new skull-helm hanging at his belt and golden scriptures along the edges of the pauldrons. Wrethan felt a slight stirring of resentment, he and Furion had never been close, but he suppressed it. Then he spied the Crozius in Furion's hand and remarked, "Storm-Heart?"

Boldly Furion confirmed, "It was bestowed upon me by a higher power."

"Talk of divinity from you, miracles do abound," Wrethan commented, "Bear it well, for Storm-Heart is a most potent relic. It was borne by Charael, the first High Chaplain and Visionary of the Chapter. It holds many secrets, in time you will learn them."

Furion replied, "Fare thee well and may He guide your steps."

Wrethan nodded then said, "Watch Toran's back for me."

"Always," Furion replied with the faintest smile.

Then Persion spoke up to say, "No goodbyes for me?"

Wrethan smiled and uttered, "It seems I owe you an apology for all those reprimands. Had you not been so practised at breaking into vox-nets, this could have gone very differently."

Persion sadly replied, "I wish it hadn't been necessary."

"So do I" Wrethan replied forlornly.

Then Novak interjected, "Despite everything, I still hold out hope that you survive your crusade. If you do return someday, I would welcome it."

"Ah Novak," Wrethan sighed, "When will you stop hiding those brains and embrace your potential? That tongue of yours is the only thing holding you back."

"I shall work on it," Novak replied, "Come back to us alive."

Wrethan then turned to Jediah and stated, "I hear the monster survived another fight. But there's one thing I have to know: how did you best five Astartes single-handed?"

"I'm not telling," Jediah stated but then cracked a rare smirk, "I confess, I do like the awed looks I'm getting. But if you do come back, I will share my secret and that's a promise."

Then Wrethan faced Memnos, who looked quite different from the last time they had met. His armour had been adorned with plasteel chains, tiny grey links, bonded to the white ceramite plates. They started on the backs of his gauntlets and wrapped themselves around his forearms, expertly avoiding his Narthecium, until they terminated at his elbows. They left his hands free but none could look upon Memnos and not recognise the Chains of Shame. Yet Memnos still looked dejected and said, "I thought these would erase my guilt but it hasn't worked. I still see their faces, I hear their cries, they haunt me."

Sternly Wrethan extolled, "As they should. You knew what you were doing was wrong, a voice you did not recognise screamed at you to stop but you ignored it. You told yourself that your victims chose this fate; you pretended that there was no other choice. You closed your eyes, covered your ears and denied the truth in your hearts."

"They became nothing but numbers to me," Memnos confessed sounding utterly ashamed, "I cannot forget what I have done."

"Because you don't deserve to, neither of us does," Wrethan snarled, "There is no erasing what we have done."

"Then how do I go on?" Memnos pleaded.

"By remembering that you do not fight for yourself," Wrethan explained, "The Emperor's flock suffer even now, they cry out for aid. Dedicate yourself to them; give of yourself until your hearts break. Do not let any other pay for what you did and make your brethren understand that what they did was wrong. When they inevitably whisper of resuming their work, of restarting the visionary project, force them to see the suffering they unleashed."

Toran spoke up, "It seems you have had a revelation."

Wrethan looked at the young Captain, his protégé and ward. Only now did he truly grasp how proud he was of Toran, his closest Brother. The former Chaplain lowered his eyes and sighed, "To fight for the Emperor is to fight for humanity and to fight for humanity is to fight for the Emperor. I thought I understood those words, but only now do I see how wrong I was. It was a warning, telling me that I was on the wrong path. All my life I prepared for this war but when the horns of battle sounded I was standing on the wrong side."

Toran sounded sad as he suggested, "It's not too late, your redemption maybe out there somewhere."

Wrethan smiled sadly and said, "You give me hope, not for myself but for our Chapter. So long as Marines like you continue to march under the banner of the Storm Heralds then our ideals live. To serve with you all has been my highest honour and that I did not stand with you at the end shall ever be my greatest regret. Continue to fight for Him on Terra and know that a wretched fool is proud of you all."

Toran nodded and replied, "May victory follow in your wake and may the Emperor watch over you."

Wrethan smiled sadly at that, then turned and walked up the ramp of the waiting Thunderhawk. The command squad backed off as the landing pad erupted with the roars of building engines. One by one the gunships took off, taking the penitents away. Wrethan however paused at the top of the ramp and turned to look out, casting his eyes upon his comrades and searing the sight into his memory. They stood proudly, watching him in turn as the ramp closed, cutting off the sight with a wall of blank metal. As the Thunderhawk rocked and began to lift, Wrethan reached out and placed one hand upon the metal, silently wishing them well and knowing deep in his hearts that he would never lay eyes upon them again.

Then the gunship leapt away, taking him to the stars and whatever fate awaited him.