Brother ! friend! Betrayer! (Continued) The Dark Angel honour guard stoically held their ground outside the citadel, cutting down counter attack after desperate counter attack by their fallen brethren. Calling down direct fire support within meters of their position, they reaped a bloody harvest of their heretical brothers with little regard to their own safety. The "Pride of Caliban" continued it's constant pounding of anything that even remotely reeked of chaos. The sounds of the gigantic clash of arms occurring within the command chambers was audible to all those who defended the perimeter against the fallen. Only their iron disciple and utter and complete faith in their Primarch born of his service for a century kept them from attempting to intervene inside. Inside, the scene was of utter devastation. The command room which was once the throne room of the Lion, from which many a noble deed had been initiated resembled a charnel house. The devastation was absolute with massive hunks of plasteel and plascrete strewn about like petty rubble. The dead bodies of the minions of Luther lay crushed amongst the broken content of that once noble chamber. The titanic clash between the two brothers continued unabated. Lightning flashed within the chambers as their swords struck once again in unison. Luther was tiring as the Lion bombarded him with a constant flurry of assault. The lion sword swung as if it had a life of its own. The Black Blade countered, the energy of the demon bound within allowing Luther to match the Lion stroke for stroke. They fought wearing no helms. They locked their eyes to each others and held their gaze. None blinked. Hatred burned in one set of eyes while revenge thirsted in the other! They circled for the hundredth time, re-assessing their opponent. The Lion was tired of betrayal. He had seen his father betrayed and now not only himself but also his legion and his world betrayed, all because of one man's vanity. "Never again!" screamed Jonson in an anguished cry that cut through the fabric of reality. The scream of pure anger echoed both in the material world and the empyrean. It struck Luther without warning, something touching him deep within his subconscious. The Lion charged like an avenging fury and Luther stumbled backwards. His foot stepped on the Lion helm which his brother had discarded at the beginning of their duel, and tripped. As he fell, the charging Jonson stood above him, his Lion sword raised high, his left hand accusingly pointing at his brother on the ground. Even as he weakly raised his black sword on his left hand to try and parry the killing blow, Luther knew that his neck was exposed and Jonson had him. Hatred swelled in him. Pure malice danced in his eyes. Then he saw Jonson hesitate. Jonson looked at the creature lying on the ground, pathetically trying to bring the Black Sword up to ward off the killing blow. He saw the malice in the eyes. He winced at the horrifying changes that had occurred to his brother-in-arms. Gone was the noble Luther, kind of heart but a true warrior at heart. In his place lay this hideous creature of chaos. Animosity oozed from every aspect of the black armoured warrior. Jonson's arm stayed the killing blow. His fury gave way to pity as he remembered yet again that it was Luther who had stayed his execution in the jungles of Caliban so many years ago. If not for that man, Jonson would have been dead or still roaming the jungles of Caliban. He owed this man everything he had gained even though he had betrayed his home, his legion and his emperor. In an instant realization flickered in Luther's eyes. A soft voice hissed from the warp. Here was his opening. His enemy was hesitating, if only momentarily. The foolish weakling was exposing himself to attack at the moment of triumph. He knew why he hated Jonson and the Imperium so much. They were weak fools. He, Luther, will lead the Dark Angels to victory. He will reconquer the galaxy in the name of Caliban and establish humanity as the dominant species. No longer will they follow the weak rituals and morals of the now dead emperor! He will reap vengeance for all the time he languished on the back water planet while, glory that was truly his was robbed by his brother. For that, he must die! With a vengeful scream fortified by the hatred he had developed over the years and strengthened by the rage within him, Luther lashed out with his mind. A massive blast of pure psychic energy flickered at first and then beamed across from the Black Sword to hit the primarch squarely in his chest. Unnatural flames of warp fire danced across the defender of humanity. Wreathed in the burning essesnce of the warp that was spillingout from the Black Sword, the Primarch collapsed to his knees. His noble features wracked in agony, his gargantuan constitution tearing itself apart by this black magic, his eyes burning with terrible pain yet dancing with determination, he thrust the Lion Sword in to the path of the warp fire. Luther stared wide-eyed as his warp spawned magic cut off abruptly, broken by the purity of the blessed sword of the primarch. As Jonson rose once more, struggling to focus on his enemy, Luther screamed in frustration. He creamed to the dark gods and focused every ounce of his will, every morsel of his hatred and every drop of his malice in to a psychic attack and directed it at the Lion's heart. Jonson felt more than saw the coming assault, and with tears of agony in his eyes and grief in his heart he thrust the sword his father had given him in to the path of the maelstrom. With a thunderclap the darkness met the light. Irresistible force met with an immovable object. Fear and hatred were countered by purity and loyalty. A massive psychic shock wave filled the chamber and blew the walls of the citadel outwards. The honour guard who were fighting outside the citadel was buried under the massive landslide of rubble along with their fallen brethren. The devastation settled and the smoke cleared to reveal two figures in the epicenter of the blast. Jonson lay on the ground. His armour splayed, his face covered in blood, his limbs broken. Yet he struggled to stand yet once more. Next to him lay the noble weapon of the lion, its blade broken by the force of the blast. It had absorbed the worst of the attack to allow its master to survive. A few paces ahead of him stood Luther. Standing tall and covered in the blasphemed black armour. A malicious smile of victory danced on his face as he surveyed the scene around him. Looking at Jonson struggling to stand, he opened his mouth to gloat, his black sword whispering words of vengeance to him. Realization In that moment a single thought flashed through his mind. Perhaps Jonson had connected psychically with Luther, or perhaps it was the emperor himself protecting his first born. Whatever the reason, Luther had depleted his psychic potential temporarily with the terrible attack and was momentarily weak from the influence of the dark powers. In that moment a veil lifted from his mind. The enormity of his actions suddenly dawning on him as the last vestiges of his humanity battled to the surface. Reality struck as he remembered his treachery to his brother, his legion and his emperor. He opened his mouth to ask forgiveness from the noble man who had remained loyal to him despite his heresy. But all that would come out was an anguished cry of pain and shame. The Black Sword screamed at him to strike the final blow and claim his heirdom. Jonson saw the repentant Luther and collapsed to the ground. He flung the sword aside and fell to his knees besides the collapsed form of his brother, sobbing like a newborn child. In the warp malicious gods saw their plans thwarted. Anger and frustration of the warp entities swirled in to maelstrom in the warp. The ripple in the fabric of reality created by the black sword now acted as a channel and pure warp energy spilt in to the material world. Smashing through the underground chambers of the Citadel the stream of the empyrean struck through the core pf the planet to emerge on the opposite side, coalescing in to a massive warp storm. An implosion of gargantuan proportions shook the depths of Caliban. The outer crust of the planet had been so weakened by the vengeful Dark Angel fleet it could no longer contain the warp storm created within its depths. As the fleet commanders watched incredulously the entire planet folded on itself. Urgent orders flashed between the blockading fleet as they desperately tried to back out of the developing riptide. Then suddenly, in a panoply of whirling lights, the awesome might of the warp energy was demonstrated as the entire planet crumbled in to debris and was sucked in to the whirlpool of the empyrean. Almost a quarter of the blockading fleet on the far side of the planet perished in that whirlwind of destruction. The rest of the fleet looked on incredulously the whirlwind of destruction slowly died down to a ripple and then nothingness. Where previously a planet had stood majestically there remained a thin cloud of dust. As the fleets' sensor's flickered back on line, stunned disbelief turned to amazed excitement. Floating in the centre of the dust cloud was a giant asteroid. Atop the asteroid stood the Tower of Angels, the magnificent bastion of the order and the command fortress of the dark Angels legion. |
CHAPTER V THE DAMNATION OF CALIBAN Chronicled By ( Shadow Guard ) |
APOCRYPHA CALIBAN |
This entire section is one attempt to describe the long history of the Dark Angels in a linear form. Every known piece of history and event based on GW publications has been written in my own words and linked together in a reasonably plausible manner by additional fiction. This is in no way the official GW version nor is it in anyway an attempt to infringe on their IP. There are many versions of imperial history buried within the sands of time and this is but just one of them. Read on if you dare! |
