Chapter 685: Ezekiel: Azrael, Your Mother Is Dead

The Granite Fortress,

Zabriel stepped onto the ground paved with black rock, walking through the vast, deep corridor, watching the towering stone statues supporting the ceiling lost in cold mist, feeling the icy wind brush his weathered face,

as if the surviving soul of Caliban herself were tracing her fingers over Zabriel’s scarred cheeks,

some scars came from humanity’s enemies, some from beasts of the woods, but most came from his brothers, who shared the same genetic sequence,

a mocking sneer curled Zabriel’s lips—mocking himself, mocking his brothers who claimed loyalty, and mocking this damned fate,

he had once felt nothing for Caliban; Zabriel was a Terran, an uncrowned prince, one of the first Astartes, and when he first set foot on Caliban, its forests had long been razed, leaving only cold stone and countless newly built armories,

to Zabriel, Caliban had always been an ordinary world—no more civilized than Macragge, no more majestic than Fenris, no more majestic than Chogoris, and far less important than Terra,

yet now, standing upon this remnant of Caliban, Zabriel felt a thought he had never known before,

“Home,” Zabriel whispered, no anger, no pain, only a faint lightness and emptiness like release,

a subtle tremor radiated from Zabriel outward to the Exiled Angels around him; those Astartes once condemned as Fallen Angels, hunted for ten millennia by the Dark Angels, stirred slightly,

though they were Astartes with unbreakable minds, though ten millennia of frost had hardened them into stone, their spirits still wavered,

especially those warriors born and raised on Caliban,

once, this was home, their homeland,

but later it became their burial ground, their prison, their hell, the stronghold of those who hunted them, the tribunal that condemned them guilty,

the years were long, unbearable; now that the chains were broken, they could finally call it home again,

an aged Exiled Angel knelt upon the floor of the Granite Fortress,

he could not bear the power armor separating him from Caliban—he pressed his bare face, helmetless, against the ground,

feeling the faint chill seeping through, his eyes seemed to see his younger self, not yet an Astartes, merely a squire to a knight,

playing wildly in the clear, icy stream, stepping on the massive stones smoothed by millennia of water, shivering and darting from the cold of stream and stone,

now his cheek pressed to the ground, feeling the chill, as if the cold of Caliban’s streams had reached him from memory,

“Caliban, my homeland.”

“Today, I have finally, finally returned to you.”

Tears streamed down his face—for the first time since Caliban’s fall,

a shadow suddenly fell over him,

the other Astartes around held their breath, silent, not daring to weep,

the aged Exiled Angel scrambled to his feet, bowing slightly before the Lion before him,

Leman Russ said nothing, only nodded slightly to the aged Exiled Angel, then turned and continued walking at the head of the procession,

Zabriel could not help but sigh inwardly, a bitter and complex emotion spreading through his heart,

Zabriel understood that Leman Russ could never punish the current Dark Angels; in truth, Zabriel and most Exiled Angels did not wish the current Dark Angels punished either,

though the Exiled Angels had suffered brutal hunts, they were still brothers, fundamentally all loyal, merely twisted by fate into killing each other,

for the Imperium, for humanity, they should not continue this cruel fate,

they often cursed Azrael, cursed Asmodai,

but they knew the true bearers of these crimes were the shadowy hands behind Caliban’s fall—not Azrael, the current Chapter Master of the Dark Angels,

yet ten millennia of flight, ten millennia of shame, ended with no resolution—it was inevitably complex in the heart,

Zabriel saw the men of the Dark Angels Chapter,

the Lion did not hide his purpose in returning to his Chapter; not only the Dark Angels Chapter, but nearly all of its Successor Chapters had sent representatives, even entire companies, eager to behold the glory of their Gene-Father, eager to follow their Gene-Father into battle,

the Unforgiven gathered here; as the Lion stepped forth from the dark corridor, the Grand Master of the Unforgiven knelt first on one knee before his Gene-Father, then more Astartes from the parent and successor Chapters followed,

their eyes filled with tears; every Astartes knew their Gene-Father had returned, yet he had never come among them—they had even begun to doubt they had been abandoned by their Gene-Father,

now, their Gene-Father had finally returned to them,

a tremor from deep within their genes overwhelmed them, bowing their spirits before the Lion,

yet one flaw was unmistakable: the Unforgiven had noticed the Exiled Angels behind their Primarch,

astonishment, revulsion, suspicion, shock—every expression flickered across the faces of the Unforgiven as they stared at the Exiled Angels not as brothers, but as enemies,

“Fallen,” a faint voice spoke—the kind only Astartes’ enhanced senses could catch,

Asmodai of the Dark Angels parent Chapter fixed the Exiled Angels with a dark, unyielding gaze,

but Leman Russ ignored Asmodai, paid no heed to any of it,

in truth, the Exiled Angels also paid little attention to Asmodai—their focus was drawn by one absence,

Azrael, the High Grand Master Azrael, Chapter Master of the Dark Angels, the current leader of the entire Dark Angels, was absent,

only the Chief Librarian Ezekiel stood in his place,

Zabriel’s eyelid twitched slightly—he sensed the fury building beneath Leman Russ’s calm face,

“Where is Azrael?” the Lion’s voice was as calm as Caliban’s deep forests,

his voice echoed through the deep corridor, as if Caliban itself were asking the question,

sweat beaded clearly on Ezekiel’s forehead; he rose, took one step forward,

“Not long ago, Lord Azrael felt he had failed in his duty to lead the Chapter and its Successors; he has voluntarily resigned as High Grand Master of the Dark Angels, joined the Deathwatch, severed all ties to the Chapter, covered its heraldry, and exiled himself as a Black Shield,”

?

a question mark rose above Zabriel’s head,

a Black Shield was a special type of Astartes within the Deathwatch—they abandoned their former identities, severed all ties to their Chapter, blackened their heraldry, joined the Deathwatch, lived in anonymity, without honor, unremembered, dedicating their lives entirely to the Deathwatch,

these Astartes were forsaken by their brothers, cut off from their Chapter, deprived of their Primarch’s blessing, even believed no longer watched by the Emperor; only those who believed they had committed unforgivable crimes and sought redemption through Deathwatch service chose to become Black Shields,

Chapters usually respected their choice, ignored their existence, permitted them to atone in this way,

but Azrael was the High Grand Master—what crime could be so great that he chose such an extreme path to atonement?

and

Zabriel turned his head slightly, glancing at Leman Russ,