Angel Invictus

 Angel Invictus

Considering the hovel it once was, Matteo’s meditation chamber was an impressive site. A circular room about six metres in diameter, it was paved with marble slabs reclaimed from a disused temple. The walls were furnished with parchments covered in benedictions, whilst the domed roof was meticulously hand painted. Each inch of the ceiling was illuminated with saintly figures from Imperial history, but the two greatest figures that dominated the very apex were that of Sanguinius and The Emperor himself. Between them hung a bright fluoro-lamp housed within the frosted glass plates of a ceremonial lamp, giving the room a soft glow.

Below stood a makeshift armour rack, cobbled together from scrap iron. Upon it sat a suit of red armour, the ceramite shell of a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. It was neatly polished, but covered in pock marks and bullet holes, with a gaping slash wound in the torso.

Staring above it at the Aquila on the chest, Matteo sat crossed legged on the chamber floor, clad in plain off-white robes. His scarred face looked stoic and tortured as he reflected upon what the suit before him meant, considering the promise of glory and righteousness the Imperial Aquila had once symbolised. His dreams had become more vivid as of late, and he spent hours upon hours trying to make sense of them. A glyph bearing hawk. A red figure followed by a storm of blood. Screaming angels in dog-like masks. But right now, his mind once again looked back to the past to try to make sense of that instead.

There were four of us left afterwards, he mused. Four.

He remembered vividly the shock, the jarring agony as it happened. Invictus, they were called. What a pathetic epithet it was in the end. More than four hundred of his brothers gone within a day. Four hundred. And then there were but four.

'Shiroq. An entire world condemned to have its rulers executed for their compliance with the xeno, and the entire Chapter was summoned by the Inquisition to deliver the hammer blow. Though perhaps less than a single company would be needed to cleanse a planet of corruption, the presence of an unknown number of Tau forces on the alien-allied world meant it was a safer bet to send the entirety of the Angels Invictus.'

  'He often wondered what would have befallen his brotherhood if the orders were different, if only a company or two were detached to that damned world. Would they have suffered all the same? Wracked by that same madness, or would the distance between them all have meant they could not have found fraternity anew in their shared debasement? ' He was airborne with his squad when the first reports came through the Stormraven’s vox. He could remember it so vividly, the pink-blue sky and the cirrus clouds, the faint green glow of the interior lit up by screens and holo-projectors, the steadfast stance of his battle brothers in their flight harnesses. The pilot fed the emergency broadcast through the speakers in the hold, but it was already being relayed via the helmet vox-network of every marine. 

  '“Sanguinius protect us!” It started. “Throne of Terra, Sanguinius protect us!”'

 Before Shiroq the Angels Invictus had a relatively small Death Company, very few of them had succumbed to their bloodline’s twin curses of the Black Rage and Red Thirst, but in a few hours all that had changed.

'“The entire Forth. They’re making landfall with the Sixth. By the Throne, they’ve turned on the Sixth!”'

  He yearned even for the relative quiet of that moment, for despite the gravity of the situation he was at that time ignorant of the magnitude of the disaster. 'The Tau had made this planet a veritable fortress, with xenos fortifications bolstering that of the renegade humans. Each company had been deployed to assault a different fortress-city, barring the First, Second and Third, who made for the Capital, and the Death Company who were dropped far behind enemy lines to sow terror and slaughter.'

  'Matteo and all of the Fifth were instantly redeployed to assist the Sixth, still not completely understanding what was happening. The Tau and their new human auxiliaries waited behind fortified walls for an onslaught that would never happen. Instead, the sons of Sanguinius made battle amongst each other upon a grassy plain below a stunning mountain range.' 'As they reached the battlefield, the scene grew no clearer. Below the transport, confusion reigned. Marines with the green badges of the Fourth Company were slamming into the ranks of the unprepared Sixth. As Matteo and his squad made landfall the struggle was already in the favour of the traitors, the yellow heraldry of the Sixth present on less than half the remaining combatants. The Captain of the Fifth briefed the warriors en route, surmising that their brothers in the Fourth must have been suddenly overcome by The Flaw.'

  'The Fifth unleashed bolter fire upon their errant brothers as the litanies of their Chaplains decried the betrayal. Chainswords of the assault squads from both sides met in a flurry of screeching teeth and tearing ceramite. The mud below them churned with stomping footsteps and the blood of the fallen. It was then Matteo witnessed the full extent of his former brethren’s fall into their Primarch’s curse.'

  'As the battle raged on around them, many of the Fourth Company released themselves from their helms and with blind ferocity ripped into the corpses of the fallen of both sides. With their hands they tore chunks of flesh from the dead and dying, pulling great slabs of meat from them with pure bloodlust. Drinking deep of the sanguine liquids that poured forth from the grisly trophies, the blasphemous warriors started to devour their prizes. Pausing only to rise up and strike against oncoming attackers, the Fourth slipped wholeheartedly into the madness of the Red Thirst, experiencing the forbidden desire to an intensity rarely seen among the successor Chapters of the Blood Angels.'

  Just when it appeared the Fifth and the tattered remains of the Sixth were to gain the upper hand in the struggle, the second horror of that day struck.

Matteo’s body shook with disgust as he recalled that dreadful sight.

'He was directing his troops towards a vantage point to survey the wider area when he noticed a wave of men retreating back towards him. Hopping up onto the elevated knoll he gazed across the field and recoiled in horror.  The front lines of the Fifth and Sixth had broken formation and were wandering around, screaming across the vox network in fury. As their crimson mist descended they swung around wildly, appearing to be fighting nothing in particular as they fought an enemy within, a surging stupor of anger and hate. Transmissions of maddening howls screeched across the battlefield whilst the vanguard turned on their heels, escaping their internal struggle to resume the external one, but on the opposite side.'

  'Those unfortunate enough to have confidence in their brother’s steadfast hold of the frontline were cut down where they stood by the new traitors. Squads all across the massacre zone began to fall back, the still sane Captain of the Fifth ordering a full retreat from the site.' 'Matteo remembered the sight of the Sixth’s Captain deftly executing one of the Fourth before collapsing to his knees, holding his head in his hand. Matteo knew that he was reliving the last days of Sanguinius in his mind, and would soon rise in a broken state, drunk with lust for slaughter and unable to distinguish friend from foe. And he did just that, turning his blade on his own command squad.'

  'As the survivors hastily boarded their aircraft they left behind a nightmarish tableau of slaughter and cannibalism. Speeding upwards into the skies, Matteo glanced over his squad with doubt in his heart. Below him, hundreds of warriors he had called brother were feasting on the flesh of their own, and the concern that his own squad could suffer the same maddening outbreak dominated his thoughts. That, and the possibility the he was hardly immune to it either.'

Reeling back in his thoughts, Matteo paused in his reflection. Never had he ever heard of such an outbreak of the Black Rage being so rapid. Usually it could take months, or even years, for a battle brother to succumb to the insanity. Yet within a matter of hours it had swept across hundreds upon hundreds of them, turning their mission of cleansing into a bloodbath.

'The vox chatter had exploded when the remnants of the Fifth and the few dozen survivors of the Sixth took to the wing, with reports chiming in every minute. The same fate had seemingly befallen the entire chapter, but without enough Chaplains chanting the moripatris to keep the flawed in control of their urges the worst had come to pass.'

  'The death tolls had come in thick and fast. The Tenth Company was slain to the last by the Devastator squads of the Ninth. The Eighth had stormed the flanks of the Seventh whilst the latter were besieging a Tau outpost, taking them unaware and unprepared. The warriors of the Seventh initially rejoiced at the unannounced reinforcements, but within four hours every single one of them lay in pieces either on the ground or in the stomachs of the Eighth.'

Matteo remembered it all with bile, yet the worst disaster was the following report.

'Cramped in the Stormraven, he felt lost even before it chattered into his earpiece. The three companies sent to assault the capital had smashed the Tau defenses completely before the Second Company in its entirety dropped their weapons and howled in anguish. Within minutes they had all risen, eyes glazed over and speech slurred.  The first of the Third’s casualties occurred within the span of another few minutes. The sane remnants of the Chapter had hoped their Chapter Master would guide the First to victory over the cannibalistic traitors, but the final blow to morale came instead, in the form of a Chapter-wide broadcast from the Captain of the Second Company.'

  '“Flee. By the Blood of Sanguinius and the Throne of the Emperor, flee. This is Filipi, Captain of the Third Company of the Angels Invictus. All units loyal to the Emperor, flee now. This is our last chance, else we are to face extinction on the plains of Shiroq. The First Company have turned on us, our finest have fallen to our curse. Flee, for the love of The Primarch.”' 'The survivors wasted no time in doing just that. Four whole companies had perished on the surface of Shiroq, not by the hand of the enemy they had sought to defeat, but by that of their own.'

In his chamber of meditation, Matteo breathed out slowly. If only it ended at that, he reflected. If only that had been the end, we could have rebuilt.

'But in their haste to reach the atmosphere to escape, the Fifth and the survivors in their custody neglected to keep track of surface movements. In a hail of lascannon fire the formation of gunships and transports were forced to ground by their rabid brethren.  The smoke, the noise, the heat, the smell. Oh, the smell, the stench of molten metal and burning fuel, that was what Matteo remembered the most from the emergency landing. It filled his nose as they steeled themselves for the erratic dive into the ground, the craft churning a trench into the soil. It choked his throat and saturated his taste buds as he tumbled out of the downed wreckage ahead of his squad, readying his bolter. It clogged and licked his lungs even as his metabolism swiftly processed the fumes before the first bloodthirsty assault squads of the Eighth plummeted into their disorganised ranks.'

Matteo opened his eyes and look up at the visage of the Emperor as he strained to remember the details of the slaughter. His memories whited out, all he could recall was the righteous fury he felt in battle, dissecting the battle into tactical data to process and feed to his men. All he could remember next was running.

'Running and running and running. Running forever, long past the time when a mortal man would drop dead from running, running even to the point where his superhuman physique felt like failing.  His body was on fire, every muscle screaming, every limb like it would fall off. Dull sensations and numbness in spots around his body began to stab, the pain of his wounds finally calling out over the cacophony of stress.'

'He didn't know how long he had been running for, but his helmet systems showed it must have been a handful of days, across plains and desert. Around him were four others, Baranus, Barathet, Michaelus and Marius, the last of his squad. They had sprinted from the bloodshed, never stopping in case the traitors paused in their cannibalism to give chase.'

Recollections drifting back and forth, Matteo rested his head on his fingertips as he regarded the bolter laid on the feet of the armour before him. He had used the bolter to execute Baranus when he began to convulse and scream, only a day’s march from one of the few remaining Imperial cities on the planet. 

  'He remembered the spasms and throes that Baranus went through as he began to babble about the visions. Realising that their brother was about to turn on them, the squad demanded his death.' 'Patiently they followed the progress of their chapter over the next week, listening in on transmissions as the fallen Companies reorganised themselves, convinced of the power of the voices they could all hear. Starving for more bloodshed they eventually scrambled back to the stars, returning to their fleet in orbit. After capturing as many prisoners from the planet below as possible to slake their hunger for human meat, the fallen Chapter spun up their warp drives and left the system.'

That was the last Matteo heard of the Angels Invictus, though he had speculated countless times since as to their fate. No doubt they left in search of more places to feast, driven by whatever whispers their cracked minds could hear.

Matteo paused. Whispers. Voices. He had often wondered if his brothers had lost themselves in the Red Thirst, driven through insanity and out the other side to become beholden to the voices, or worse yet, to the Ruinous Powers. It followed logic that the foul Dark God of Bloodshed would take interest in a faithful Chapter suddenly caught in the throes of bloodlust. He cleared his throat of bile, disgusted by the prospect of servitude to Khorne, instead turning his mind back to those days in the desert.

'The four marines were mindful that they were of a chapter which had turned rogue and ravished a planet they were meant to save. What were four marines against a planet of Tau and their vassals? What could four Astartes do even against the remaining Imperial forces, who were no doubt convinced that any Angels Invictus remaining on the planet would be a threat?'

  'For days they deliberated and argued. They were divided completely, still in shock and with no direction. Matteo’s gut instinct was to find a way to Baal where they could retreat to their parent Chapter. Marius advocated smuggling themselves off world to present themselves to the Ordo Xenos, to become those Chapterless warriors known in the annals of the Deathwatch as Black Shields. Michaelus instead argued that they petition the Tau as temporary allies to help find a way forward. Barathet all the while did nothing but berate Matteo for his lack of leadership and guidance, growing ever more discontent. They were all well and truly broken, of that they were all sure.'

  'After what must have been weeks in the wilderness, Matteo reached a decision. They would follow Marius' plan and petition the Deathwatch, and serve the Imperium as the mighty arm of the Ordo Xenos. Michaelus spat at the decision. Matteo remembered the sight of him marching away after he was dismissed from the squad, walking from those he had called battle brother to nestle in the bosum of the xeno.'

Matteo punched the ground, trembling as he relived that moment before pausing for a second. Was he the figure in red of his dreams? In every vision a hawk marked with a glyph swoops as a red figure stalks a temple, laughing before the skies erupt and a torrent of blood rains down, followed by screaming angels with brass masks, every visage hammered into the snarling face of a hound. Always he awoke and prayed for clarity, coming here to reflect and meditate upon the meaning of his recurring dreams. Closing his eyes again he meditated upon the last steps of his story.

'Covertly entering Darano, the last Imperial city on Shiroq, the remaining three marines cloaked themselves to hide their monstrous physique and dulled armour. Upon hearing news that a Rogue Trader vessel had entered the system to resupply the beleaguered city, they managed to track down and barter with the ship's crew, securing passage as far as the lawless hive world of Dax. After making landfall into the hive of Dax Primaris they were faced with finding another ship to take them to the nearest Deathwatch outpost. After months of waiting a willing captain finally presented himself, but with a catch: Only a single passenger was permitted.'

  'Knowing of his zeal, and bowing to the fact he was first to suggest the Deathwatch, Matteo allowed Marius to take the place on the ship. Enraged that they may now be stuck on Dax for years to come, and still bitter over the perceived lack of leadership, Barathet cornered Matteo. Berating and screaming at the pained sergeant, Barathet pulled out his combat knife and slashed open the soft armour of Matteo’s torso, intent on gutting his leader. After a brief struggle, Barathet turned and ran deep into the undercity of the hive, denouncing all those that had failed him; his Chapter, Matteo, the Imperium, and the Emperor himself.'

  'Wounded, alone, and damned, Matteo wandered the hive, avoiding the crowds and onlookers until he settled in a broken down abandoned guard post, sitting atop the old temple district. Claiming the hovel as his own, here he built his domed chamber. Word began to spread and soon he was attracting the occasional pilgrim from across the city, seeking counsel and wisdom from a Proud Son of the Emperor, a fallen Angel from the heavens above…'

Matteo hauled himself to his feet, and looked up again to regard the figures on the roof. No matter what their divine spirits were trying to tell him, he could not understand. His reflections had brought him no closer to the answer he sought, and in his heart the downpour of blood grew ever closer. Even now the storm clouds are gathering, he thought. He turned to the narrow doorway back into his living space and processed out of the chamber. The tension in the air was palpable, and yet the handful of urchins he could see across the side of the slope that the district rested upon seemed as unmoved as ever. The mystery of it all still eluded him, but he knew something was approaching. Even now the storm clouds are gathering, he thought again.

 And what they bring with them consumes the flesh of his own brothers.