I do not own RWBY or Warhammer 40,000, only my original characters.
I LIVE! Sorry for the wait everyone, haven't had the drive or time to write for a while which is why this took so long. Still I hope its up to your standards and that you all enjoy it!
Return of Faith
Chapter Seven: An End to Waiting
"Ha!" Artoris brought his blade down with a two-handed swing that Kara managed to block with her staff. The strength of the blow forced the psyker back, and the Freeblade pressed his advantage with a follow up sideways-slash that Kara barely managed to dodge. She rolled under the swipe, landing behind the taller Knight in a crouch before spinning around and thrusting her staff at the Knight's back like a spear.
Just before the staff connected however, Artoris moved. With a surprisingly graceful pirouette, he turned to face the psyker, sword brought up to expertly parry the strike and send the staff veering to the right. The deflection unbalanced her, and before Kara could right herself, she felt the dull tip of Artoris' practice sword press against her throat.
A moment passed, and the Freeblade lowered his blade and offered his hand to the woman. She took it.
"You're getting better, Kara," he said as he pulled her to her feet. "Your last thrust was sloppy though. You put too much distance between us when you rolled behind me, turned the attack into a lunge I could easily deflect and turn against you, especially with how high it was aimed."
Kara huffed and pushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair to the side. "I'll be sure to aim lower then, next time." Despite the not so subtle threat, Artoris smiled. It wasn't some smug smirk or arrogant grin meant to mock her futile attempts to best him, but a smile of encouragement and comradery.
It did little to banish the frown Kara sported, however, only increasing the woman's frustration as she turned for the exit of the training cage. Muscles ached from almost an hour's worth of combat practice with the Freeblade and her training fatigues were heavy with sweat. She quickly found herself taking deep breaths of air as the adrenaline from sparring finally wore off. When she reached the training cage's aperture she paused, taking a moment to regain her bearings before exiting and heading over to a nearby counter where a decanter and several cups sat in waiting.
Grabbing the decanter and a cup, Kara poured herself some water. She emptied the cup in two quick gulps before pouring herself a second drink. Daily exercise routines were nothing new to Kara, Kress expected and ensured everyone on his team – barring the heavily augmented Orbeck – maintained a certain level of fitness. Still, Kara's talents didn't lie in physical strength, nor did her body share the same level of endurance her mind possessed. A common tradeoff for her kind.
As she placed the decanter back on the stand, Kara cast her gaze toward the only other people in the training hall with them. The two serfs stood half-a-dozen yards away and met the psyker's emerald eyes with the blue of their helmets' eye-lenses. As she stared at them, Kara felt irritation well up insider her.
When Chapter Master Castimere had pledged his chapter to their cause, Kara had been optimistic. She believed their stay on Salem would be a short one and last only a day or two as the Black Lions readied their forces and mobilized their fleet. Her optimism faltered when, on the fourth day of their stay, Artoris asked a serf if he knew how much longer they would need to wait before the Black Lions were ready to depart. The serf said he did not know, and when asked if he knew someone who did, he only told them he would bring their concerns to his superiors.
It wouldn't be until the next day that Artoris would get his answer. Arriving with their breakfast was the serf woman who had guided them to their apartments, High Retainer Reyne. She informed the Inquisitor and his retinue that the Black Lions would not be ready to deploy for another month, at most.
After dashing what little optimism Kara had left, Reyne explained that their arrival coincided with one of the chapter's most honored traditions, their so-called 'Games.' More than a mere recruitment trial, the serf expanded, the Games occurred roughly once every three-hundred years. It was a time when honors were awarded, promotions were given, blessings were bestowed, and feuds were settled or sparked. The way she described it made it sound like some bizarre fusion of a feudal world combat tournament and an ecclesiarcharl ceremony.
She also told them that the Games lasted for as long as it took for the Black Lions to process every one of their recruits.
Kara turned away from the two serfs, hiding her growing scowl from them. Twenty-three days had passed since they first arrived on Salem, twenty-three days of sparring and meditation, twenty-three days of waiting for the Space Marines to finish their damn ceremonies while Yole and Yuria were stuck on that backwater of a planet. Twenty-three days of nothing…
"Are you looking to burn a hole in the floor with that glare of yours?" Artoris asked as he reached for the decanter. "What has you so cross, little witch? Have you grown weary of our lessons together, perhaps?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Artoris. I can read your thoughts." Kara turned to fix the man with stare. "You know why I'm upset."
Though he was without his armor and clad only in gray training fatigues, Artoris still cut an imposing figure. He stood a head taller than Kara and possessed a slim but muscular frame that spoke of consistent exercise regimes. His features were sharp and handsome, shaped by generations of careful breeding between the knightly houses of his homeworld. Those features softened as he placed the decanter down and met the psyker's gaze with his own.
"We've been here for too long, Artoris, doing nothing while Yole and Yuria risk their lives on that forsaken world." She kept her voice low, not wanting their escort to hear her. "I know they're Space Marines, but we're the Inquisition! The enforcers of the Emperor's will. Why must we wait on them and their ceremonies when we should be cleansing Remnant of its taint?"
Artoris was silent for a moment before reaching back for the decanter and pouring himself a drink. "I share your restlessness, Kara," He said at last. "Not a day goes by where I do not anticipate the news that the Games are done, and we are ready to depart." He placed the decanter back down and took a sip from his cup before speaking. "But I also know I have nothing to worry about, and neither do you."
Kara narrowed her eyes at that and folded her arms over her chest. "And why is that?"
Artoris gave her a questioning look, then shook his head with a bemused smile. "I forget sometimes, you are still new after all."
Kara bristled at that. She had been a part of Kress' team for almost two years now and had taken part in over a dozen separate investigations. She had spent significant time with each member of Kress' personal retinue, to which she was a part of! She was an acolyte of the Imperial Inquisition and a Delta-class sanctioned psyker, in what way was she still 'new?' As if sensing her offense, Artoris raised his hand in placation.
"I am not saying you are inexperienced, Kara," he amended. "Only that you underestimate our comrades' abilities. Yole and Yuria have been Kress' eyes and ears for fifty years, acting as his unseen hand. At his command, they have snuffed out rebellions, silenced corrupt nobles, and infiltrated some of the most heavily fortified hive-cities I have ever seen, and do you know how many times they were discovered?"
Kara said nothing. She knew how many times the twins had been caught; it was one of the first things she asked them, following her recruitment into the Inquisition. Artoris took her silence as the que to answer his own question.
"Twice," he said, holding up three fingers to emphasize his point. "In their service to Kress, they have only ever been discovered twice, and from no fault of their own. They are the best at what they do and your concern, while well intentioned, serves only to insult their skill."
Kara felt her cheeks flush at the reprimand and turned to leave. She had no desire to talk about this, drenched in sweat, exhausted from sparring, and agitated from being cooped up in this place for almost a month. Artoris had been the one to start this conversation, but she was ending it. She marched past the serfs, no longer caring if they saw her scowl, only to stop when she finally noticed that someone else was there.
Standing in the entryway of the training hall, clad in the blue power armor of his office, was the Black Lions Chief Librarian Syrus.
Kara stared, stunned that she had not sensed the Space Marine earlier. She rationalized that he must have masked his presence from her in some way. It would have been easy for one of his power she realized, especially given how distracted she had been during the spar.
Noticing her acknowledgement of his presence, the Chief Librarian strode into the training hall. She couldn't but marvel at how graceful he moved despite his bulky armor, what would be cumbersome and unwieldy for a human to wear he treated as if it were a second skin. Not for the first time, Kara reminded herself that he was not human, none of the Space Marines were.
He closed the distance between them in a matter of moments, standing before the young psyker and her Freeblade companion. He stared at the two of them with golden eyes, and Kara suddenly felt the urge to kneel before him.
Instead, she bowed her head in greeting.
He reciprocated the gesture. "I did not wish to interrupt your match," he said without prompting, eyes fixating on Kara. "You have good form and agility, but fear of retaliation prevents you from closing the necessary distance and seizing victory."
Kara blinked, Artoris hid a smirk. The Freeblade brought a hand to his mouth and coughed politely, earning the Librarian's attention. "To be fair, Lord Librarian, she is more used to manipulating the minds of her enemies than true combat. 'The mind is the sharpest blade' and so forth."
Kara gave the Freeblade a look, insulted by his insinuation that her combat capabilities were lack luster due to her psychic powers. The old Space Marine seemed to share this opinion. "You are a fool if you believe that a rational excuse for her performance," he said. "Psychic abilities do not determine whether one has martial skill or not, but I am not here to discuss such things."
"And what are you here for, Lord Librarian?" Kara asked, honestly curious.
"For you, Acolyte Storrel," he answered. "I seek your aid in better understanding certain elements of your master's report regarding the planet of Remnant. Specifically, the strange powers utilized by Remnant's warrior class and this 'Song' that led you to the world in the first place."
Kara tried not to let her surprise show. The Chief Librarian of the Black Lions, wanted her help? He had to be joking… but as she stared into his old, golden eyes, Kara knew he was entirely serious with his request. She almost asked him why he wanted to know but stopped herself when she remembered who she was talking to.
"I will tell you what I can, but I must first speak with my master before-"
"There is no need," Syrus interrupted. "I spoke with Inquisitor Kress before coming here. He is willing to allow you to divulge what you know of the world to me. Now come," The Space Marine turned and made for the entrance of the training hall. "We have much to discuss and little time to do it."
"Wait!" Kara exclaimed, arresting the Black Lion from his stride. He looked back at her, silent as he waited for her to elaborate. Several questions raced through her mind at that moment: what did he mean about having little time, why was he doing this now instead of earlier, did Kress truly give him authorization to ask her anything he wanted? But under the golden gaze of the Chief Librarian, Kara found herself unable to ask any of these questions, and instead, asked the one at the very forefront of her mind.
"May I take a shower first?"
~o0o~
As one of the four great Huntsmen Academies of Remnant, the physical condition and combat skills of its student body were among its highest concerns. Monitored combat sparring was a mandatory part of the curriculum, and arguably one of the school's most practical courses. Outside of these classes, students were encouraged to exercise regularly in the school's gymnasium, a large building on the campus' southern section.
Designed to provide both the students and faculty with efficient use of time and effort, the gymnasium was filled with a plethora of state-of-the-art equipment and machines, as well as more traditional, tried-and-true methods of exercise.
A track ring ran around the main interior of the gymnasium, with various weights and workout machines arrayed in neat rows in within its perimeter. At the center was a boxing ring where students could engage in boxing or wrestling matches. In addition, there was also a firing range on the east side of the building, separated from the main space with sound-proof walls and bullet-proof glass.
The gymnasium normally experienced a steady stream of students each day, but with the Vytal Festival right around the corner, the building was packed nearly to maximum as dozens of young Huntsmen-in-training prepared themselves for the Festival's combat tournament. Many exercised with their teams, exchanging strategies and ideas for the upcoming tournament though most reserved this sort of talk for the locker room.
"Am I the only one getting tired of how secretive those two have been about dating?"
Of course, they were some who preferred to discuss gossip over combat tactics. They were teenagers after all.
"I thought you said they weren't dating?" Blake asked as the faunus in hiding changed into a set of clean clothes. Weiss let out an indignant huff as she stepped out of the shower of the girls' locker room, a towel wrapped tightly around her petite frame.
"Am I not allowed to change my mind?" Weiss asked as she grabbed a second towel to dry her hair. "You saw how they were at the dance; they were practically inseparable! And they've been going out every week since we got back from Mountain Glenn, how can I not think they're dating now?"
"Because you hate admitting when your wrong?" Blake offered with a teasing smile. Yang chuckled lightly as Weiss pouted at her teammate's jab before turning back to the all-important task of brushing out her hair. Weiss took a seat next to the brawler and began combing her own hair, though with significantly less care and more efficiency than Yang.
"Relax, Weiss," Yang said, untangling a knot that had formed in her golden mane. "Ruby's just being shy about it. She's never had a boyfriend before, so this is all new territory for her. Give her a bit more time and she'll open up about, trust me."
"That doesn't answer my question, Yang."
"What was your question?"
Both Yang and Weiss turn to see the female half of their neighbor team, JNPR, enter the locker room. They were covered in sweat, their form-fitting workout clothes damp with perspiration, yet they didn't seem winded at all. Nora beamed at them with that usual toothy grin of hers while Pyrrha gave them a polite wave. If it wasn't for the sweat and the state of their clothes, Yang doubted she would have been able to tell that they had just completed an hour of intense exercise.
"Hey guys," Yang greeted warmly as the two got ready for their post-workout showers. "Weiss was just saying how annoyed she is about how Ruby's got a boyfriend now."
"That is not what I said!" Weiss started only to be interrupted by a loud, dramatic gasp curtesy of Nora.
"Ruby got a boyfriend!? Oh, my gods, that's great, right Pyrrha? Who is he? Is he a first year? An upperclassman? Does he even go to Beacon!? I need answers now!" The hammer-toting ginger was bouncing on the balls of her feet in felicitated excitement, forgetting she had just taken off her shirt or no longer caring.
Though amused by the response, and the blush that appeared on Weiss' face at Nora's bouncing, Yang raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the girl. Blake appeared to be thinking the same as Yang because before the blonde opened her mouth to respond, the faunus-in-hiding answered.
"You don't know?"
Nora blinked and tilted her head in confusion at the question while Pyrrha, a white towel wrapped around her naked body, turned around with a look of interest on her face.
"Should I?" Nora asked innocently, making all three girls pause to look at the two redheads with varying degrees of surprise. Vomit Boy was sneakier than they gave him credit apparently.
Weiss was the one to answer Nora's question, locking eyes with her and keeping her gaze from drifting down. "Given he's your team's leader, yes, you should."
Both female members of JNPR froze with looks of utter shock plastered onto their faces. Nora appeared merely stunned by the revelation, her mind needing time to process this new information. Pyrrha, however, looked hurt. Like Nora she had been taken back by the news, but her emerald eyes carried sorrow and regret along with shock.
Yang winced, recalling how hard Pyrrha was crushing on Jaune. The Mistral champion had been pinning for the blonde-haired dope since initiation, desperate for him to notice her feelings but too shy to act on them. Now her crush was going out with someone else, and to make matters worse, it was someone she was friends with so she couldn't get mad about it.
Incredible fighter she might be, Pyrrha was simply too nice sometimes.
"WHAT!?" Nora practically screamed. The ginger shot a glance to Pyrrha, then back to the three girls, then back to Pyrrha. She did this several more times before throwing out her hands and repeating: "WHAT?!"
"Haven't you noticed how much time they've been spending together recently?" Blake asked, genuinely curious.
"Jaune said they were meeting to brainstorm combat strategies and attack names together!" Nora paused, as if recalling Jaune as he told them what he would be doing with Ruby. Her expression turned furious as she put two and two together. "That lying jerk! When I get my hands on him, I'm gonna-"
"Are you certain?"
Everyone looked at Pyrrha then, and Yang suppressed another wince at what she saw. The confident champion fighter they all knew and loved looked like she had just seen a puppy get kicked. Her emerald eyes were still full of regret at hearing she had missed her chance with Jaune, but there was also a sparkle of something else in them.
"A-are you certain Jaune and Ruby are dating, I mean."
Blake, Weiss, and Yang exchanged looks with each other at Pyrrha's question. They knew Ruby and Jaune had to be seeing each other, but beyond their little meet ups and weekend trips to Vale, there wasn't any actual evidence that supported their claim. Maybe they were just meeting up to talk about battle strategies and other dorky stuff like Nora said, but Yang knew there was more to it than just that, she could feel it.
"No… we are not…" Weiss answered for them. "They have just been seeing each other so much recently, I supposed we just… assumed they were dating since, well, what else would they be doing?"
Nora seemed unconvinced, but Pyrrha looked relieved. The sparkle in the champion's eyes was bigger now, emboldened by Weiss' admission of uncertainty. Yang then recognized the sparkle for hope, hope that she still had a shot with Jaune.
Despite herself, Yang couldn't help but bristle at Pyrrha's reaction. Yes, they didn't have any concrete evidence, but it was obvious the two leaders were together. Ever since the two started hanging out more together Yang had noticed a change in her little sister's behavior and attitude. They were small things: Ruby taking a little more time to get ready than she normally did, humming cheerfully when she was doing her homework, and, most telling of all, having a huge smile on her face whenever she saw Jaune.
Jaune made Ruby happy, and that made Yang happy. She was still going to give those two a reckoning for hiding their relationship from her, but that did not mean she wasn't going to protect it.
Pyrrha Nikos was a good person and a good friend, but she was had missed her shot with Jaune and needed to accept that. Better for everyone if she understood that now rather than hurt herself and others further down the line.
It was then that Yang had an idea, or rather, remembered an idea from a while back. It was something inspired by their little adventure into Vale a few months back and had mostly been meant as a joke. Right now, though, Yang didn't feel like joking.
"Let's follow them, then." She blurted out, earning the undivided attention of her peers. "I'm serious. This Sunday let's follow them into Vale and find out if they're really dating or not. If they are, then we grill them for hiding it from us, and if they're not, then we leave them be. Sound good?"
As the others started debating the consequences of her plan, Yang kept her eyes on Pyrrha. She saw that hope in the champion's eyes dwindle as, one by one, the other girls either agreed or relented to her idea.
Then Yang did something she regretted.
She smiled.
~o0o~
When the Space Marines that would become the Black Lions first came to Salem ten thousand years ago, they arrived during what has since become known simply as the Slaughtering. A Blood Eclipse of such terrible length that it bathed the planet in a red gloom for entire year. Deepwood Beasts covered the planet in tsunamis of claws and fangs, devouring every human they came across until only a few hundred souls remained alive on the planet. No Blood Eclipse before or since has come as close to scouring Salem of all human life as the Slaughtering did.
Extinction was prevented only by the timely arrival of an Imperial expeditionary fleet in system, led by Astartes of the Imperial Fists Legion. They cleansed the world in flames with bombardment cannons and lance strikes, incinerating billions of beasts and transforming the very geography of the planet before descending to Salem's surface to cleanse the rest with blade and bolter.
The marks of that first great scouring have since been reclaimed nature, becoming canyons, lakes, and valleys; all save for one. Just a mile away from Castrum Argalus there is a great crater, said to have been made by the first bombardment cannon shell to strike the planet. When the Black Lions claimed Salem for their own in the Second Founding and began construction of their fortress monastery, they began excavating the crater as well.
Accumulated rainwater was drained, debris was removed, foundations were set. Great statues of chapter heroes were raised along its rim and tier after tier of viewing platforms were carved into its sides. At the bottom sat a flat stage of black marble, fifty feet in diameter, and it was on this stage that two of the chapter's champions now fought for the honor of wielding the Sword of Salem.
They were bereft of their armor, clad only in simple loincloths dyed in the colors of their brotherhoods, one red the other white. They circled each other like the lions displayed on the banners surrounding the arena, fists clenched around ceremonial dueling swords. When they charged each other, their swords locked at the hilt with such force that, had it not been raining, sparks would have been born.
So thought Jorran as he watched the duel with iron focus, analyzing and admiring the bladework of the two combatants. Though he knew he would never forget this day, Jorran aspired to commit every attack and parry he saw to memory for it would be very unlikely he would ever live to see such a magnificent display of swordsmanship, or witness the chapter assembled in such numbers, ever again.
The whole of the Black Lions chapter stood in the arena that storm filled day, one thousand battle brothers clad in the baroque warplate of their chapter, watching the duel unfold before them as rained pelted down on them. All of Black Lions were in attendance, even those interred within the chapter's dreadnoughts. Ancient heroes of the chapter like the venerable Aronthous Tarlon, last living survivor of the Desecration, and the mysterious contemptor dreadnought known only as the Silent One watched the fight through the optic lenses of their sarcophagi.
Jorran was honored to be in the presence of such legendary warriors, just as he was honored to fight in the Blood Eclipse and take part in the Games. Once more, he thanked the God-Emperor for granting His favor unto him and raising up to become one of His Angels of Death.
He held no doubts his squad was doing the same. Like him, his nine battle brothers were all clad in their warplate. The damages sustained during the Blood Eclipse had been repaired and repainted, and fresh litanies of faith and oaths of moment had been acid-etched into their black ceramite. The rest of the chapter's warplate had been restored as well, for while the Space Marines sparred and conversed with one another during the Games the serfs of the chapter had toiled diligently to return their masters' wargear to its proper splendor.
For a moment, Jorran's gaze drifted from the fight to fix upon the Chapter Master himself. Jorran had only ever seen the Chapter Master once before today, during the Blood Eclipse. He had watched as the Lord of the Black Lions cut through the Deepwood beast like they were nothing, striking them down with mighty sweeps of the legendary guardian spear, Deus Vult. A truly incredible warrior as well as a brilliant tactician, Lord Castimere had more than earned his place as their Chapter Master.
Lord Castimere was on the bottom level of the arena, a scant twenty feet from the ring's edge. He stood resplendent in the Armor of Truth, the ancient artificer armor worn by the Black Lions' first Chapter Master and all who came after him. Like all others present, Castimere watched the duel in silence, respecting the efforts of both combatants by keeping his full attention upon them.
Jorran quickly returned his own focus to his brothers in the ring and suppressed a curse. In the two seconds he had looked away the fight had shifted. The Marine in the white loincloth, Arthen Cerwyn of the 1st brotherhood, was on the offensive and pushing his opponent back. Jame Tarth, champion of Jorran's own brotherhood, was hard pressed as he parried and dodged the 1st champion's blade, teeth grit in snarling concentration.
Jorran's eyes narrowed a fraction as the 3rd brotherhood's champion went on the defensive. Tarth was one of the finest swordsmen he knew, his skill with a blade unrivaled by any other warrior in the brotherhood. Thousands had fallen to his sword, from traitorous guardsmen to alien warlords, and many were the honors he won for himself and the chapter. Indeed, Jorran thought the man unbeatable, for he had never seen nor heard of Tarth ever losing a fight.
And yet that seemed to be exactly what was happening. Rain fell and thunder boomed as the 3rd champion was staggered back by an especially powerful strike. He regained his balance just as Cerwyn came in for another blow. Tarth brought up his sword to block, but it was a feint. At the last moment, Cerwyn changed the angle of his strike, aiming for Tarth's exposed left flank.
Tarth dodged the blow, but only barely. He rolled to the side, landing several yards away from Cerwyn. Jorran spied a faint line of red running from the champion's arm before it was washed away by the rain. First blood had finally been drawn, but the match was still yet to be decided.
Tarth did not waste his moment of respite and charged back into the fray. Perhaps he believed such an aggressive move would win him the match, and for a while it seemed to be. Cerwyn was now on the backfoot, struggling to keep up with the speed of the younger warrior's strikes.
Tarth kept up his assault and to Jorran's surprise, landed a blow against Cerwyn. He had come in fast from the side and the 1st champion had been unable to fully parry it. It was shallow, a grazing really, but it gave Jorran hope for a victory and emboldened Tarth to press his advantage further. Another cut was made along his right arm, then a third across his chest.
Jorran's fists clenched in anticipation as the 3rd champion forced Cerwyn to his knees. He leaned forward, as did countless others, as Tarth brought his blade down to score the winning blow…
Only for Cerwyn to strike first…
Even with his enhanced senses, Jorran almost missed it. With only a fraction of second left before the sword struck him, Cerwyn lashed out with speed he had not shown before. A flash of lightning lit up the whole arena then, as if called down by the God-Emperor Himself to ensure all present could bear clear witness as Arthen Cerwyn severed Jame Tarth's hand from his wrist.
Jorran's eyes were wide as he watched the champion's hand – still gripping his sword – fall to the floor. Tarth appeared equally surprised, for he stumbled back a step before making for his severed hand and the blade it still held. Cerwyn did not give him the chance. The 1st champion slammed into Tarth mid stride, sending the younger warrior sprawling to the floor. He made to rise, but Cerwyn was already on him, sword pressed against his throat.
Thunder boomed in the distance, a single second passed, yet it felt like hours, before Cerwyn removed his blade from Tarth's throat and raised it up to the stormy sky in victory.
The duel was over, and he had won.
Jorran's fists unclenched and let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He felt no bitterness toward the outcome, Cerwyn had fought well to earn the privilege of wielding the Sword of Salem, but he did feel disappointed. Victory had almost within Tarth's grasp, only for it to be ripped away. Perhaps if he had taken Cerwyn more seriously he would still have a hand.
Jorran frowned and chastised himself for thinking ill of his brother. Cerwyn was a far more experienced warrior than Tarth and had used that experience to his advantage, thus why he emerged the victor of the duel. Such was His Will.
Cerwyn then went back to his downed brother and extended his hand to him. Tarth took it and pulled himself up. His wrist was already clotting, forming a dark stump where his hand had been moments ago. No sooner had he been brought to his feet that both champions were on their knees as Chapter Master Castimere stepped into the arena, followed by Reclusiarch Agtheon and a pair of vox-cherubim.
The whine of servos echoed over the rain as the whole of Black Lions chapter bent the knee to their liege lord as he approached the two champions. In his right hand he carried the weapon of his office, Deus Vult, while in his left he held the sheathed blade that these two champions had fought so hard to wield. He stood before both of them and handed the guardian spear to Agtheon, who took the ancient weapon with reverence, before unsheathing the Sword of Salem.
Castimere held the blade aloft, "Ten thousand years ago, our forebears came to this realm and fought to free it from the clutches of a mad tyrant." His words echoed across the arena, amplified by the vox-cherubim fluttering above him. "With the aid of noble Sabaton, and the sacrifice of the Nameless Saint, this tyrant was cast down and the worlds of Evangela brought into the God-Emperor's divine embrace. As thanks, they forged for us this sword, crafted by the finest smiths in the subsector.
"Every world contributed to its forging: Sabaton, Evangela, Pescarus, Arrekes, Feros, Mordellus," A moment of silence followed the mention of the last two worlds and Jorran's gaze drifted briefly to the armored form of venerable Tarlon. "It is a symbol of our realm's unity and devotion as much as a weapon with which to slay the enemies of Man. And just as no one world cannot claim full credit for the sword's creation, so too can no one brotherhood claim total stewardship."
Castimere then moved so that he stood before Cerwyn. "Arthen Cerwyn, you have displayed zeal and honor this day and have been judged worthy of the Sword of Salem. Will you take up this blade in the name of the Emperor and the chapter?"
"I will, my liege," Cerwyn's quiet voice became a shout as it left the vox-speakers.
"Will you wield it with fury, so that it may slay those who act against the Emperor's Will?"
"I will, my liege."
"Will you wield it with purpose, so that it may protect His vast flock against those who would prey upon it?"
"I will, my liege."
"Will you wield it with faith, so that all who look upon you may know the righteous glory of the God-Emperor?"
"I will, my liege."
Alexander Castimere then raised the sword and placed the flat of the blade against Cerwyn's right shoulder before doing the same with his left. "Then with my power as Lord of the Black Lions, I dub thee Swordkeeper." The Chapter Master then reversed his hold on the sword, offering it hilt first to the kneeling champion. "Now, rise and claim your blade."
The newly titled Swordkeepr did as was asked of him, rising to his feet before reaching out to grasp hold of the Sword of Salem. Cerwyn held the blade reverently, like a father holding his newborn son for the first time. As he admired the blade, the Reclusiarch stepped forward and offered him the sheath which he also accepted.
Cerwyn bowed his head to the Chapter Master, offering his liege thanks and vowing to bring honor to the chapter, before sliding the sword back into its sheath and bending his knee was more as Reclusiarch Agtheon approached him. The Chaplain bestowed blessings upon the new Swordkeeper, ones few here would ever hear again. Once finished, he turned to the one thousand Black Lions surrounding them and began to sing. Jorran joined his voice with the Chaplain's, as did every other Black Lion. The hymn they sung was simple in its lyrics but possessed a great power all the same.
Upon the hymn's completion, silence fell over the arena. The Games were now ended.
Yet, there was no call for dismissal made, nor did the Chapter Master or Reclusiarch move from their places. Unsure of what to do, Jorran and the rest of the chapter remained where they knelt, waiting for the reason behind such an unorthodox break in tradition.
"In the Blood Eclipse, you all fought with honor and distinction," Lord Castimere's voice cut through the pouring rain like a knife. "For every human life taken, you each slayed a thousand beasts in retribution, avenging those brave knights who fell defending their homes and families." The Reclusiarch had since returned the Chapter Master's weapon to him, and Castimere raised the spear high in salute. "I am proud to lead such noble warriors against the foes of the Imperium and honored that I may call each and every one of you my brother."
Jorran's back straightened at the Chapter Master's words, as did several others. "As such, I shall speak plainly. As you have all no doubt heard, we have recently been visited by a member of the Holy Inquisition and that we have played host to him and his retinue for several weeks." Jorran blinked, and the soft hum of servos told him a number of his brothers were now leaning forward in anticipation.
"This Inquisitor has come to us with news of a planet that has rejected the Emperor's Light. Of a world overrun with monsters, where the heretic rules and the Emperor's faithful are hunted like animals." Hate swelled in Jorran's hearts. He clenched his armored fists tight. "By the Will of the God-Emperor, the Inquisitor came upon this world, following a psychic signal originating from its surface."
Castimere paused a moment, scanning the sea of faces that surrounded him, taking in their furious expressions. "He found a world poisoned by heresy and corrupted by sinners, where the just are preyed upon by the wicked and the one true God of Mankind is shunned in favor of false idols." His voice rose in volume and fervor, anger lacing every word. "But, amidst the filth he found pockets of purity; men and woman who remain true to the Emperor and await the return of His Angels. The return of those who first brought the Emperor's Word to their world.
"Our forebearers brought Light to this planet, thousands of years ago, but in our absence it has waned. What was once a roaring fire has dimed to only a smoldering ember, stubbornly refusing to die out. I ask you, my brothers, will you allow this ember to die?"
"No," they answered, each voice resolute and dripping with wrathful hatred.
"Will you stand by as the innocent faithful are slaughtered like cattle on the whim of heretics?"
"No!"
"Will you allow those who have betrayed the Emperor and turned from His Light to remain unpunished?"
"NO!"
Castimere raised his free hand up into a fist and thrust it skyward, just as lightning cracked above them. "Then rise, my brothers, rise and make ready for war. The Emperor has need of us once more. The Black Lions will march upon Remnant, and we shall spare no traitor!"
"SPARE NO TRAITOR! SPARE NO TRAITOR!" The world seemed to shake as one thousand Black Lions took up their chapter's warcry. Fury filled their voices and gave their hate volume as the chant overpowered the raging thunder of the storm. Even the ancient dreadnoughts added their rumbling voices to the chant – even the Silent One, who pounded his deactivated power fist against his sarcophagus' thick hull.
Jorran shouted too. The sergeant's earlier awe was replaced with righteous fury as he roared his chapter's battle cry, fist raised high over his head. When the Chapter Master at last turned to leave, and the chanting died away as the Space Marines filed out of the arena, Jorran's thoughts were dominated by the world they would soon depart for…
And the terrible retribution he would visit upon its heretical inhabitants.
~o0o~
Author's Note: AGAIN, REALLY SORRY FOR THE WAIT! This chapter was just a bitch to write, for more reasons than it should have been. Work usually leaves me drained so I never felt like writing when I got home, I didn't have all the scenes properly planned out before I started writing them, and… well… writer's block.
Thank you so much for being patient with me. Sadly, you will have to wait a little longer for the next chapter. I'm working on the next chapter of Grimm Heir after this upload, another story I have neglected as of late, so I won't be working on Return of Faith for a bit. Anyway, please let me know what you think of the chapter. Some parts are a bit meh in my opinion, but I hope the last scene was enjoyable for everyone.
As always: Please Fav, Follow, and Review! Thank You!
DeadRich18 Out!