Chapter Text
First Contact with the Angels
ATTENTION: with an 11 for and 12 against split, the community has voted to say NO to the System Alliance existing in the story. And I agree, and from now on, I will be reworking a few things I had kept vague before for the possibility of their inclusion to close it out. So they won't exist in this fic, and the only humans will be those around the Imperium, which will be the true first contact with humans for the Citadel. With that out of the way, Here We GO!
Additional WARNING: This chapter (and story by proxy) contains Female Custodes. I really don't find this change in the lore that crazy. I didn't like how GDubs introduced it, but it's not like Space Marines being retconned. The Custodes aren't a 'brotherhood' like the Astartes are, nor do they have the lore of Geneseed being a Y chromosome-specific thing (their Lore is super vague but implied to be that they are babies taken from Imperial Noble Families on Terra and then gene-alchemy-ied into Custodes over the next few decades). I also like the idea of it, as it draws another difference between the two, but that's me. Some people didn't like this change, so I figured I should warn them. I know it probably won't save me the headache of people getting angry about its inclusion, but, eh, hopefully, it will slow it, maybe.
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Chapter Four
Quarantined Non-Imperial System
Segmentum: Andro
Systems Classification: Adeptus Nol-Exectus Onyx
Unknown Alien Ship
The yawning void of the warp engulfed him as the teleportatium activated. In it, Sanguinius heard the raw energy of the immaterium boom around him, compressing time and space until, in a flash, he materialized on the deck of the nearest alien ship. His transition from the comforting environment of the Red Tear's teleportatium to this sterile, alien environment was startling even for a being like him.
For a fraction of a second, the stillness felt almost too quiet after the roaring of eons that the warp held—the eerie silence before a storm broke loose. With him, he sensed the proximity of his sons. Raldoron was a few paces behind him. At the same time, his warriors were arrayed across the ship in pairs on each deck. Despite the superhuman reflexes of his sons, Sanguinius's mind adapted quicker than they could ever hope to match.
On instinct, before fully taking in his surroundings, he thrust the Spear of Telesto forward with effortless precision, the beam of pure white light burning from its tip, catching an alien in the leg and sending it careening into the wall behind it. He heard the creature's heart falter, still alive and conscious, before following up with a careful blow to knock it out.
The other alien beings in the corridor were as motionless to him as statues, all too slow to comprehend what was happening. The alien crashed to the floor, unconscious but breathing. Sanguinius allowed himself to examine the fallen creature, briefly noting the alien morphology. Four slitted eyes across a segmented helmet, familiar limbs hidden by armor, humanoid in its basic structure. With a deep breath through his helmet's filters, he inhaled the scent of its flesh. His superhuman olfactory senses proceeded to dissect the creature for information. Details on its chemical concentrations, its body structure, and a thousand other bits of data directing his movements from merely a scent.
With the information that gave him, he took a steadying breath, resolving that, where possible, he and his sons should focus on disarming or incapacitating rather than killing. He compiled the order and, with a thought, disseminated it across the Blood Angels battle-network. 'Disable where you can—but waste no mercy on those who would slaughter the defenseless.' Sanguinius looked to take in more of his surroundings, and his eyes easily adjusted to the alien surroundings. His moment of observation allowed Raldoron to catch up with events. The Legion Master brought up his warblade and effortlessly cut the weapon from an alien's grasp, instantly following his lieges orders without hesitation.
They had emerged in a narrow corridor, walls gleaming with alien metals in shades of gunmetal gray, each surface glossy with faint hints of multicolored radiance. Shoddily organized crates littered the passage, filled with ill-kept, unmarked goods that had been seized as war spoils. Sanguinius barely glanced at the crates, yet his heart seethed with quiet rage at the sight. Personal effects like pictograms of loved ones that once belonged to innocent humans now lying in an alien crew's offensive hands.
Sanguinius swiftly resumed his assault. Behind him, Raldoron moved with graceful efficiency, while elsewhere, Sanguinius sensed his other sons adapting quickly to their Primarch's intention. Those aliens who raised weapons fell quickly, and each strike was measured to disable or dispatch as needed. On the deck below Sanguinius, through both data-link and psychic means, he saw even Exarch Anzarael, The Bringer of Wrath, one of the fiercest warriors in the legion, adapted to the directive with disciplined restraint, knocking several aliens unconscious with the blunt end of his great-axe.
One by one, Sanguinius and his sons advanced throughout the ship, clearing rooms filled with alien crew scrambling to retreat. With preternatural clarity, their strikes found their mark, in most instances, knocking the aliens out. In some chambers, they found more looted goods strewn carelessly across the floors—artifacts, weapons, the machinery of unmistakably human design, remnants of the Melrose. Fury continued to simmer inside Sanguinius, but he held it in check.
A low crackle of vox chatter punctuated the silence, Anzarael's voice filtering through the static. "All dorsal corridors secured, my lord. The ship is nearly ours."
Sanguinius moved forward, entering a spacious central chamber at the end of the main access corridor, near where he estimated the ship's center. Raldoron's command squad had partially convened by now, though Anzarael had taken half their number to look below the primary levels. Simultaneously, Sanguinius took in the rancid smell of alien fear and desperation. It appeared the inhabitants could sense the doom that walked among them.
The sharp crackle of his vox-link activating startled even him. A voice, usually steady and composed, now laced with an uncharacteristic edge of irritation, emanated through the opening static, "My lord," said Tribune Andolena, Prefect of the Legio Custodes, her tone authoritative but measured. "Why was I not informed of your decision to teleport strike aboard an enemy vessel? Athene tells me the Sanguinary Guard are not with you. Where are they, or are any of the warriors of my Shield Host?"
Sanguinius paused mid-stride, motioning for his six sons to hold their positions. The passage ahead curved sharply into shadow, but he trusted his warriors to guard the perimeter while he dealt with the unexpected interruption.
"Tribune Andolena," he began, his voice melodic and serene yet firm, "I had deemed it unnecessary to trouble you or your order for a mission of this nature. The situation is well under control."
Her response came swiftly, the clarity of the vox transmission amplifying the quiet conviction behind her words. "Under control," she repeated, her tone tinged with disbelief. "My lord, you broke from the warp without sufficient warning, engaged in a void battle, and now find yourself aboard a Xenos vessel—Almost Completely Unsupported—without the forces explicitly assigned to ensure your safety. Can you honestly tell me this was a considered decision? Was this all part of some grand design or merely a moment of inspired recklessness?"
Sanguinius allowed himself a passing smile, though the expression was hidden by his helm. "You exaggerate the danger, Andolena. The enemy has proven no match for us. I have Raldoron and his Protectors with me, and we are proceeding efficiently. There was no need to disrupt your Shield-Host for what is, frankly, a minor skirmish."
"Minor skirmish," she repeated through gritting her teeth. Her voice dropped to an edge of quiet insistence. "My lord, you are a Primarch of the Imperium. You are more than just the Lord Commander. You are the beating heart of your father's crusade, the soul of the Ninth Legion. If you fall, it would be another and far greater loss than you realize. Yet you believe my duty to ensure your survival a mere 'disruption'?"
The mention of the Emperor and the clarity of her words, spoken with such earnest clarity, made Sanguinius pause, casting a shadow over his unbothered demeanor. His wings shifted slightly, the faint motion betraying the weight of her argument.
"Andolena," he said at last, his voice carrying both respect and resolve, "I do not dismiss your concerns lightly. But I trust my judgment. This situation required immediate action, and I acted accordingly. I understand your role, and I honor it, but there are times when even you must trust me to act without consultation."
There was a pause before her response came, her tone now softer though no less resolute. "My lord, I trust your judgment, as I must. But trust is not the same as silence. It is not pride that compels me to speak nor doubt in your abilities. The Sanguinary Guard and my Shield-Host exist to prevent needless risk to your person. That is their purpose and by extension, Mine. You may consider this Xenos ship a minor threat, but the galaxy is ever unpredictable, as are the intentions of those who dwell in the darkest parts of our universe. It is duty—duty to you and, most importantly, to the Emperor that compels me to speak to you in this way."
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the distant hum of the alien ship's failing power systems and the wailing of crippled or dying creatures. Two of Raldoron's warriors exchanged uneasy glances at the First Captain but remained silent, their weapons ready. Their Primarch stood still, seemingly staring down the vox-link as though he could see Andolena through the signal.
"Andolena," Sanguinius said after a pause, his voice softer now but no less commanding, "you and your Shield-Host are invaluable to me, as are my Sanguinary Guard. You are correct that your duty is critical, and I will not dismiss your counsel. But the flow of battle does not always afford us time for deliberation. In this instance, I felt decisiveness was our greatest strength."
"Decisiveness," she repeated, the word heavy. "My lord, I believe you mistake decisiveness for folly. To enter that ship, alone, without alerting those sworn to protect you, is not decisiveness—it is arrogance. And worse, arrogance that could cost your father's great work dearly."
Sanguinius let her words settle before responding and inclined his head slightly, though she could not see the gesture. "Your words are heard, Tribune. Rest assured, we will discuss this further upon my return."
"Of course, my lord," she said, her tone formal once more. "May the Emperor watch over you.
The transmission cut off, leaving the vox-line silent save for the faint hiss of open static. Sanguinius stood for a moment, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword as he collected his thoughts. Around him, his warriors waited patiently, their faith in their Primarch unshaken despite the exchange they had just overheard.
One of the Blood Angels, his crimson armor dulled by soot and tiny pockmarks in the plates by alien weapons-fire, finally broke the silence. "My lord Primarch," he said cautiously, "shall we proceed?"
Sanguinius nodded, his facade of calm restored. "Yes, Koriel. Let us finish what we started."
But as he led his sons deeper into the alien vessel, the lingering weight of Andolena's words followed him like a phantom. The Tribune had made her displeasure abundantly clear, and Sanguinius knew this would not be the last time he would hear of his decision. For now, however, there were more immediate matters to attend to.
The ship's corridors seemed to tighten as Sanguinius and his warriors advanced, the flickering, sickly yellow lighting casting erratic shadows across the scarred walls. Every corner of the vessel exuded an aura of quiet oppression that seemed to linger in the very air. The Primarch strode ahead, his wings brushing lightly against the narrow bulkheads, his visage serene but betraying an undercurrent of molten rage. Behind him followed a part of Raldoron's Command Squad, six of the twelve warriors.
As they advanced, Raldoron's voice crackled softly over the private vox-channel. "Tribune Andolena rarely speaks out of turn, but I suspect she was... less than pleased to address you mid-engagement."
Sanguinius's lips curved into the faintest hint of a warm smile beneath his helm. "She was displeased, yes," he admitted, his tone carrying no trace of offense. "But her words were not without merit. She serves with a devotion that commands respect, and her counsel, however sharp, is rooted in wisdom. I will hear her thoughts more fully once this task is complete."
Escanus was about to reply, but Sanguinius silenced him with a raised hand. They had reached a junction, and the door ahead was sealed shut and scorched with crude marks of alien welding.
"Koriel," Raldoron ordered, "Get it open."
The younger Marine stepped forward, slinging his banestrike pattern bolter across his back, and fetched a compact melta charge from his combat webbing. A dull whine echoed as the device primed. "Setting timer for six sub-chronos." He rushed back and took a bracing position as the fuse clicked down.
In an explosion, the center of the door melted away into boiling slag that ran along the gutters of the corridor. Smoke billowed forth, and behind it came a burst of alien weapons fire. At their Primarch's discretion, the Blood Angels surged forward and their bolters unleashed in booming retorts. The return fire spattered uselessly against the ceramite plating of their power armor, save for the occasional glancing strike that left harmless scorch marks in the paint. The alien soldiers scattered like leaves in a storm, falling back before the disciplined advance.
The group pressed on, carving through resistance until the corridor opened into a larger chamber just before the bridge. A squad of aliens in distinctive black combat armor held their ground here. Seemingly the elite by these creatures' standards, they had taken up defensive positions among the bulkheads, and their fire was focused, disciplined, and precise.
"Clever bastards," Escanus remarked as he ducked behind the offered cover of Sabraham's boarding shield, a spray of azure beams impacting ineffectively on its surface.
Koriel returned fire with his bolter, its deadly munition punching through a Xeno's helmet with a wet crack before detonating within, spraying the creature's closest companions with particles of its brain matter. "Clever only lasts so long."
Still, the Xenos were managing to slow the Blood Angels' advance. Their combined fire focused on weak points in the Astartes' armor—joint seams, optical lenses, and respirator grilles. It was far from enough to threaten the group, but it was enough to frustrate their forward momentum.
Then, a stray shot struck true, catching Mkani Kano in the side of his helmet. The blast shattered the lens of his left eye, sending the Librarian reeling as a hiss of the air seam escaped his suit. He grunted, raising his bolt pistol to return fire even as he staggered back into cover.
For a moment, everything froze again, everything except the Primarch. Through his connection to his sons, he felt their own rage and thirst. As he sensed their emotions he noticed his eye teeth lengthening and pricking his lower lip. The coppery taste of his viscera was hard to withstand, but Sanguinius turned, his gaze locking on Mkani's damaged helm, and a part of the Angel clamored to the surface, demanding to avenge his son's pain.
A terrible roar echoed through the chamber, otherworldly and deafening, like the earthshattering boom of a supernova. As one, every being in the corridor felt it, and the Primarch thundered forward. His luminous golden armor blurred into motion, and before the aliens, or even his sons, could adjust their aim, he was amongst them.
The first being he reached was torn apart with a single swing of his sword, the alien's torso bisected. Sanguinius' wings flared wide, sending a second tumbling into the bulkhead with enough force to shatter the bones in its body. A third was obliterated into a fountain of bloody meat by an upwards strike from his spear.
Altogether, it was enough, the alien elite's broke. Terror overtook discipline as the hulking figure of the Great Angel tore through their ranks like a wrathful storm. His sons followed in his wake, emboldened by their Primarch's fury. Ecanus, his Redemptor-pattern chainsword revving hungrily, was at Sanguinius' side first. He abandoned his bolt pistol, letting it hang from an ornately designed brass chain as he lunged into the fray, hacking wildly at the panicking aliens.
"Ecanus, control yourself!" Raldoron barked, but his voice barely pierced the din of the carnage. Sanguinius, amidst his blinding rage, felt it. Ecanus, was succumbing to the curse, his rage unbridled as he struck down alien after alien.
Sanguinius glanced at his son, his expression flickering between regret and concern. The sight was enough to temper his own fury, if only slightly. He regained a measure of control, his strikes becoming precise and methodical once more, hoping his example would aid his son's struggle with the Blood Rage.
The last remnants of the soldiers attempted to flee, retreating around a corner. Sanguinius pursued, his sons close behind. But as they rushed forward, the corridor suddenly shuddered—a violent jolt that shook the entire ship. Warning runes flared on their helmets as the air began to rush past them.
"They're venting the corridor!" Sabraham shouted, slamming his shield into the deck to help anchor himself. An alien clattered into the slab of adamantium before flying back into the maw of the exterior airlock.
The Blood Angels quickly mag-locked their boots, securing themselves to the floor. All except Ecanus, who had been caught mid-stride and was now hurtling toward the gaping void.
"Ecanus!" Raldoron shouted, reaching out to his brother in vain. The young warrior was wheeling violently towards the open void. The Legion Master saw his brother's vitals spike as dread filled him.
But it was Sanguinius who acted. The Primarch's wings snapped open, catching the rushing wind as he lunged forward. His hand closed around Ecanus' wrist just as the younger Marine's armored boot grazed the edge of the airlock. With a powerful beat of his wings, Sanguinius pulled them both back. Slamming the airlock shut with a surge of his psychic might. Eyes blazing with the effort to summon the energy to do it.
The corridor stabilized, and the atmosphere slowly returned. Sanguinius released Ecanus, who stumbled to his feet, his head bowed in shame. "Thank you, my lord," the Marine groaned as he fought to pull himself back from the rage.
"Do not thank me," Sanguinius replied, his voice betraying his relief. "Thank your brothers, and learn from your recklessness."
Raldoron stepped forward, placing a firm grip on Ecanus' shoulder. "And learn to listen," he added. The legion master giving his primarch a small knowing look before turning back to Ecanus.
The group reassembled, pushing forward toward the final airlock that led to the bridge. Sanguinius' rage still simmered, but he continued to battle it and for the sake of his sons. With a nod from their Primarch, Sabraham and Leonis took position on either side of the closed aperture, the remainder of the squad falling into defensive formations as Mkani pressed forward. His remaining helm lens glowed with an otherworldly luminance as he clenched his fist at the airlock.
The door hissed open on resisting motors before a metallic whine emanated as the mechanism finally broke, revealing a room that appeared to serve as the operation deck. It was a cramped, chaotic space filled with consoles and alien machinery. At the far end of the chamber was a lone figure.
Standing before a pilot's seat, the alien was adorned with what Sanguinius could only assume was a symbol of rank—a hideous blend of alien artistry and harsh angles. To the Angel it almost looked like a foul parody of the Lions symbol of his Hexagrammaton. Beneath the badge was another sigil featuring four curved blue bars over a pale blue-green background.
This Alien went without a helmet, allowing Sanguinius to observe its overtly inhuman features. Its face was pinched, while a ridged head plate sat atop its greyish-green head. Its nose was furrowed and flat with three sets of nostrils, which flared at Sanguinius in tandem with its bulging black pupil-less eyes. Overlayed with the physical sight, he saw the alien's soul and perceived the hollow echo of merciless cruelty within.
The Aliens hand hovered over a panel—perhaps a weapon trigger or a call for reinforcements. But it never got the chance to press it. With fury unleashed, Sanguinius brought up the Spear of Telesto, and a searing bolt of energy screamed from its etheric teardrop-shaped head. It flew for a fraction of a second before the bolt collided with the panel, the alien metal burning away in a cloud of deflagelated matter.
The alien looked into Sanguinius's unwavering gaze, fear churning within the creature. "You-you are not meant to be here!" The alien stammered, its voice unsteady even through the translator unit in Sanguinius' armor.
The Great Angel marched towards the alien, eyes burning into the creature. "You dared to attack an unarmed vessel of the Imperium. Then you kill your own in an attempt to stop our retribution!" Uncaring if it could understand him in turn.
In response, the officer seemed to try to steel itself, yet its voice wavered as though it, on some level, was second-guessing the truth of what it said. "They were trespassing within our borders! They-they were warned!" Sanguinius sensed the falsehoods in the alien's words and knew the truth of the system being uninhabited before this date with no signs save the construct.
The Angel's wings flared out in rage as he pronounced his judgment. "Humanity claims the stars, Xenos, and we do not forget those who have wronged us!"
The officer began to sputter something, perhaps a pitiful plea for mercy, but Sanguinius raised the Spear of Telesto. Another bolt of supernatural fire roared from the weapon before colliding with its target with perfect aim. The alien disintegrated in a blinding flash, and its form was reduced to smoldering ash, scoring into the chair it had been standing in front of. The Angel turned to his sons, who stood poised around the bridge, awaiting his command.
"Secure the rest of the ship! Make certain none remain! Sweep the lower decks for any survivors from the Melrose!" He commanded with a clipped tone that spoke of the barely restrained fury burning within him. His shoulders heaving with the effort to contain the rage he felt continuing to gnaw at him for more of the enemy to be slain.
His sons saluted, gauntlets slamming into their chestplates with controlled force and dispersed. Only brothers Koriel and Mkani remained to guard him on the bridge. The latter removed his helmet to see the damage done to it. Allowing Sanguinius to see his son's face.
Mkani had been fortunate; his eye remained intact, though the surrounding flesh bore the marks of damage, with shards of shattered arma-glass embedded in his skin. Examining the spent munition lodged in the inner workings of the auto-lens, it became clear that the lens had absorbed the brunt of the impact, sparing his eye. Despite the injury, the Angel could still easily discern the echo of his own features in Mkani's face.
Sanguinius closed his eyes briefly, a growing dread gnawing at him over his faltering control. Through the vox-feed from Anzarael, he listened intently. Alien crew members were being subdued, with non-lethal takedowns whenever possible. Yet, the more stubborn warriors necessitated measures as final and decisive as those used on the bridge. As he wrestled to steady himself, Sanguinius felt time slip away. His battle-focus wavered, giving way to a retreat into the labyrinth of his own mind.
…
The passage of time was lost to him until Raldoron's voice over the command channel drew him back to the present. The Legion Master's voice was heavy with outrage. "My lord, we've located what appears to be the Brig. There are humans trapped nearby—in crates. And we've found two prisoners, aliens of the same breed, locked within the cells."
Sanguinius nodded, acknowledging the report through the vox. "On my way." Knowing his sons would follow him easily enough, he turned and maintained a swift pace, purpose guiding him like a lodestone to Raldoron.
The brig was deep within the ship, eight levels down. The scent of old blood and stale fear intensified as he descended through the corridors, his wings brushing the walls in the narrow space. When he arrived, he found his sons guarding the chamber. One of them opened the hatch, revealing a dim corridor lined with cells on one side. While on the other shelves of human-normal sized caskets.
Inside the brig, two alien prisoners were visible, separated from one another. One lay unconscious, barely breathing, its form bruised and bloodied. The other, likely female with sharper features and a gaze filled with cautious defiance, lifted her head as Sanguinius entered. Her blueish-orange scales oily, he could see the contusions and lacerations even from a fair distance, laticed across her exposed skin.
His son, Ecanus, gestured toward the crates stacked near the cells. "These humans, my lord, were packed tightly within these Cryo-Containers. Most are unconscious but alive."
Sanguinius nodded, fists clenching and unclenching as he took in the information. He saw several of his sons attending to the few humans who had awoken, his heart lifting as he saw Apothecary Primus Kendral seeing to a dark-haired young woman draped in a noble's servant's trappings.
His gaze shifted back to the alien woman, who seemed to be staring at him in awe and terror. The angelic giant inclined his head, his voice gentle yet commanding as he addressed her. "Do you understand me?"
The alien female blinked, her eyes darting between him and his armored guards before she nodded. "Yes... I-I do."
Sanguinius inclined his head and asked, "Who are you Alien?"
"I-I am Lacopril Grap'fokan. I was the communication officer of the Glory of Khar'shan," she replied, her voice low and careful, seeming to try to test his reaction.
"And your companion?" Sanguinius pointed his head at the unconscious alien in the neighboring cell.
Lacopril's face seemed to grow worried, at least by the set of her shoulders. "His name is Prota. He was the Admiral, but... they tortured him. For failing the Hegemony."
Sanguinius's gaze darkened, though he kept his voice measured. "What is this Hegemony? Is it your species? And how did he fail them?"
"No, we are the Batarians. The Hegemony is the name for the regime that rules our people. He was disloyal, according to the High Admiral. I stood with him and tried to help him save his family, so they sentenced me to share his fate." Said the alien with visible disdain reverberating in Sanguinius's other-sight.
The Angel paused, his brow furrowing under his helm in concentration, assessing her words. Her face was etched with a complex mixture of anger, shame, and something else—regret? Though an alien, there was a trace of humanity in her words, a flicker of conscience that he recognized from countless other beings he'd encountered in his long life.
As if hearing his deliberation, Lacopril's voice trembled as she spoke. "We were going to be spaced once the Chief Investigator stripped your ship of whatever spoils he wanted. Please, show us mercy, Mankind. We had no choice. None of us did."
Sanguinius replied, his voice steady. "Why, then, should you expect mercy from those you once intended to slaughter?"
Lacopril's eyes flickered with an uneasy light, and her voice grew to a near murmur. "Because... because I see the mistake we've made," she said softly, almost to herself. "A cabal of fools leads us, yet we follow them even when we know it is wrong. We are scared; any who oppose our leaders are killed. I know it may mean nothing to you, but I do not wish to be the monsters the Citadel makes us out to be. If there is any chance to prove our worth, it is only in showing you that we are not all... like them."
The angelic Primarch studied her, weighing her words with the intuition honed over centuries of war and diplomacy. He saw in her not only fear but a strange, desperate hope. If, like she said, others of her species understood things as she did, these Batarians, as she called her people, might yet be capable of redemption—if they could endure the cleansing of compliance.
Sanguinius stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over Lacopril, yet he kept his voice gentle. "I could end your suffering here, but I am willing to offer a chance… clemency if you will. If you aid us in finding those of my people who your kindred have taken, you may yet find a new purpose and have a new beginning."
The alien's eyes widened slightly, uncertainty flickering across her face, but she remained silent.
"Prove your sincerity, and you may walk the path with us, free from the shame your Hegemony's decisions brought upon your people," Sanguinius replied, his tone stern yet tinged with deep and profound empathy.
Lacopril's gaze shifted to the wall separating her from the unconscious Prota, then back to the Primarch. With a nod, she lowered her head, a gesture Sanguinius recognized as a sign of respect.
"I accept your terms." She said, somewhat troubled.
Sanguinius inclined his head, signaling his Astartes to release her from the cell. "Then let us begin. First, I have some questions that need answering."
The Primarch's towering presence seemed to overwhelm the alien with an almost suffocating weight. His golden form shimmered faintly in the poor light, and his sons' deep red armor seemed to have rekindled a terrible dread within her. Escanus, standing at his side, moved precisely, unlocking the binding that held her to the spot and stepping back.
Lacopril staggered slightly as she stood up. Though battered and clearly exhausted, her posture straightened instinctively as she caught Sanguinius' penetrating gaze. The battered uniform she wore, though sullied, still bore remnants of another alien insignia, and this one appeared to be a flower, possibly.
Lacopril inclined her head, keeping her tone measured. "I will answer as best I can."
"Why," Sanguinius began, "do only these eight vessels remain in this system? To my people, these fighters would have been hard-pressed to take down the Melrose. Where is the rest of your fleet?"
The question, delivered so matter-of-factly, appeared to catch the alien off guard. Her four eyes blinked in unison as she scrambled to form a coherent response. "I-I cannot say with certainty. I am unaware of any plans made after my imprisonment," she began, twitching slightly in a seemingly nervous habit. "But I suspect the 1st and the 47th Fleets would have returned to Hegemony territory through the Relay—"
"Relay?" Sanguinius interrupted, his tone sharpened by sudden interest.
"Yes," she said quickly, flinching as though expecting a rebuke. "A Mass Relay," she clarified. "A device left behind by the Protheans, an ancient and long extinct species. It allows near-instantaneous travel across vast distances in space using eezero technology."
When the Angel didn't interrupt, she continued, "The mass relay brought us to this region of space. We had been tasked with exploring it from Fleet Command. After encountering your ship… I suspect these ships remained behind to serve as a salvaging operation."
Sanguinius nodded slowly, his expression unreadable to the alien through his helmet. "And what of the vessel you served on? The Glory of Khar'shan, is that this ship?"
Lacopril sighed and continued. "No, we are aboard the Chains of Supplication," she said bitterly, her lip curling slightly. "A Heavy freighter under the command of Chief Inspector Dathan Drasradrak. It is used primarily for the… transportation of slaves."
Filing the fact the ship was a heavy freighter, Sanguinius's wings shuddered slightly as though reacting to the words themselves. "And you are one of these… slavers?" His mind pondered if he had misjudged the innocence of this creature.
"No!" The alien's denial escaped her mouth forcefully, and even through the artifice of translation, he sensed the truth of her denial. Sanguinius allowed her a chance to continue. "I was an officer, yes, but I had no hand in their… trade. I served in the Navy because it was my duty. Neither Prota nor I had any choice in how our forces were used. We are all just tools to the Kur'zen caste."
His gaze bore into her, peeling back the layers of her soul in his other-sight. Then he nodded, satisfied, for now. Her tone had made it clear what she thought of the caste in question, and Sanguinius latched onto the implication. "The Kur'zen caste… they are slavers? Tell me of them."
Lacopril hesitated, her gaze darting toward his sons before settling back on Sanguinius. "The Kur'zen are one of the five ruling castes of the Hegemony. They are wealthy, influential, and deeply entrenched in the slave trade. Their wealth fuels our military and manufacturing, and their influence ensures they remain untouchable." Her lip curled again, betraying her disdain and showing Sanguinius her needle-like teeth. "They are flesh traders, and all beings are currency. It is their ambition that dominates our Hegemony."
"What of these others?" The Angel pressed. "Other castes?"
Lacopril hesitated again, the weight of the conversation growing heavier. "There are five ruling castes, each with their spheres of influence. The Kur'zen are the strongest slavers and industrialists. The Thar'shal castes are mediators and diplomats, though their reputation is one of betrayers and schemers. There is the Vrylok Castes, who are the scientists. The closest allies to the Kur'zen are the Tash'var, the commerce, and kingmakers of the Hegemony."
"I am from the Khartha, who are warriors. Though we are politically weak, we have attempted to oppose slavery, which has made us… unpopular with the others. We only truly hold any weight amongst some of the citizen castes, but that only grants us the barest of respect. "
"And the slaves?" Sanguinius asked, his voice no less intense but containing a calmer edge.
"They are the lowest caste," Lacopril said, her voice tightening. "The poor, the undesirables. They are taken from among our own, as well as from the species we encounter. Citadel races, krogan, quarians—none are exempt."
"Your system is one of chains," said the Angel softly, as if unaware he had spoken. "Chains forged by those at the top to bind those below. Tell me, Lacopril—do you think such chains can hold forever?"
She faltered, trying to figure out how to respond. "I… I don't know," she admitted finally. "The Hegemony has endured for centuries. But… it has existed for so long, I-I can't see our people ever being free."
A faint hum of thought escaped him, his wings shifting slightly behind him. With a swift move, faster than the alien could react, he removed his helmet, allowing her to see him face-to-face. His angelic visage seemed to confuse her based on the slight tilt of her head she made at him, but he pressed on, uncaring of her thoughts about his appearance.
He would change the subject to a more easy topic for the creature. "This Citadel you spoke of earlier. What is it?"
"It is… a coalition," she said finally.
His features remained impassive, though his golden eyes burned with curiosity. "And you, your people, are part of this coalition? What does this Coalition do?"
Lacopril hesitated, then began to explain. "Not quite. The Council," she began, her voice uncertain at first but growing steadier, "they govern much of known space. Their laws are... expansive. Universal, they claim. But to the Hegemony, they are an affront. They presume to dictate our ways, to impose their will upon us."
"The Citadel outlawed many of our practices—'customs' they deemed... abhorrent. They issued sanctions, sought to isolate us, punish us for our defiance." Her tone grew sharper, resentment flickering in her voice. "And we ignored them. They may govern others, but the Hegemony-"
"Customs," Sanguinius said, his tone colder now, though still measured as it carried the weight of judgment. "You mean slavery."
Lacopril's jaw tightened, and she looked away, her four eyes blinking in uneven intervals—the question cutting through the space between them like a blade. For a moment, she seemed caught between defensiveness and shame. "Yes," she admitted after a moment, her tone low and bitter. "Slavery is the heart of their objections. It is an institution entrenched in our society, a legacy of centuries. But not all of us embrace it as they assume."
She glanced up at him as though daring to meet the weight of his gaze. "I said I was Khartha," she said with quiet resistance. "Ours is the oldest caste. The warriors who have defended our people since before the Hegemony even existed. We do not see slavery as a strength—it is a blight, one that undermines the honor and dignity of our people. For generations, my caste has fought to diminish its influence, to push back against the Kur'zen and others who profit from it."
"And yet," Sanguinius said, pointing to her uniform, "you serve a system that perpetuates it. You wear its armor, bear its banner."
Her lips thinned, and her shoulders sagged slightly under the accusation. "Do you think I am blind to the hypocrisy? I despise it. Many of us do. But to oppose it openly is to invite ruin. The Kur'zen hold the wealth, the power, the ear of the Prime Administrator. My people are warriors, but even we cannot defy the entrenched will of our empire alone."
"You speak of defiance," he said, placatingly but probing. "Yet you remain within this system. Is it rebellion you seek, or survival?"
"Neither," she said, her tone more subdued now. "It is change we seek—gradual, measured change. We try to shift the tides from within, but it is a slow and dangerous path. One misstep, and the Kur'zen would see my caste broken, our influence erased."
The Angel said nothing, though his expression darkened, and his silence pressed down on her like a weight. "I understand why others would view us as monstrous," she admitted quietly. "But it is not that we revel in it—it is that we see no other way."
Sanguinius's piercing gaze never wavered. "Survival," he murmured gently, as if he was alone. "Often, it is a justification for atrocities."
Lacopril swallowed hard, the overwhelming nature of his attention on her palpable even in his quiet tone. "I... do not expect you to understand," she said, barely above a whisper.
"You are wrong." His voice was merciful yet unyielding. "I understand more than you think. But that does not mean I condone your people." He leaned closer, his presence imposing and terrible just as much as it was reassuring.
"Tell me more of this Citadel. Their laws. Their sanctions against the Hegemony. I would know all you know about them." Sanguinius said, steering the conversation back. "What of them?"
Lacopril hesitated, then began to explain all that she knew. Throughout her explanation, Sanguinius remained silent, his piercing gaze never leaving her. He absorbed every word, every nuance, as though assembling a vast puzzle in his mind.
She went silent when she had finally run out of things to tell him. He nodded again. "You have given me much to consider," he said. "And much to act upon."
"Act upon?" she echoed, her voice trembling slightly as he straightened.
"I will see these chains broken," he said, his voice as unyielding as iron. "And I will find my people, no matter where they have been taken."
With a final, resolute look from Sanguinius, Lacopril turned, entering the other cell, where she attempted to rouse her compatriot. Her movements were slow and deliberate. To Sanguinius, it seemed she understood the fate of her people hung in the balance. The Great Angel hoped she would prove her people's loyalty. A hope laden with the weight of mercy, the wisdom that would guide its application, and the determination that would prevail should she falter.
His mind still heavy with considerations, Sanguinius turned away from the alien and began sending the orders for the Red Tear, commanding the deployment of her tugboats and maintenance barques. There was much information to learn, and he wouldn't leave here leave without it.
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Okay, so thoughts? hopes? feelings? maybe even aspirations? Silliness aside, I hope you enjoyed this installment, and I hope to see you in the next one… Please Review!!
These are some random thoughts I have/comments. (Possible Spoilers)
As some of you will likely notice, I haven't used Sanguinius's or his son's pension for far-sight, even though I've shown Sanguinius has grown his Psychic abilities. This is mainly because I'm unsure when and where to use it. I wanted to use it during the only real major fight in this chapter, but I just couldn't manage to get it to work. But hey Hopefully I can get it to work but i still want thematic suspense but, hey, Maybe I'll get it eventually.
Another thing I'll mention that to those who knew of this they will see, I'm using some fandom versions of Mass Effect to expand some lore that the games never really fleshed out since the Batarians are very underdeveloped from what I can find. So I'm using the Mass Effect: Continuation and the Mass Effect: Fanfiction Wiki to get more on them and the starships since the canon fandom seems to have lost a lot of its content I used to be able to find with ease. Which sucks but hey whatever its good I've found a good few work arounds and am willing to put in some of the work to think up stuff.
Also initially I'd made the female Custodes Andolena way more combative. The scene was a little more drawn out when she shows up, over the vox But I am already aware people will likely not like her inclusion in the story despite the fact I actually plan to have her go through character growth, but yeah, it is what it is, and I know it's gonna be a no go for some and I'd like other to at least give the character a try.
Another thing I'd also had a version of this where when Lacopril first talks about the Hegemony where I had just left it as 'then she told him' thing sort how I did with the Citadel but had it be for both. But I thought I had better flesh that out now instead and I could have a similar discussion later with another character I have already telegraphed in my plot web be the one to give a proper introduction to the Citadel since likely what A batarian, even a comms officer like Lacopril, would know of the Citadel would likely be highly filtered propaganda by the Hegemony to make them out as these vile oppressors that just hate the Batarians for no reason. Which while Lacopril and Prota are outliers for their people as I've kinda set up their Caste the Khartha are as a whole the exception that could prove the possible redemption of her people, they are the ones who have a different perspective to most in their society, the rest likely do to some extent feel envious against the Citadel or believe the propaganda against the Citadel races. Regardless this is all to say I changed that and made it so I can showcase that later along with having a bit of where Sanguinius talks about the Imperium to without doing it twice as I had originally planned in this chapter to Lacopril Instead now that can happen off-screen so I don't retread that twice which would be unenjoyable to read I'd imagine.
Anyway Have a good Day and Again PLEASE REVIEW AND COMMENT!