MTLNOVEL Chapter 13: chapter 13
Chapter 13: The First Betrayal
Nykona Sharrowkyn was walking on the lower deck of the cruiser Samothrace.
Most of the Empire's warships had vast, redundant spaces. These kilometer-long vessels were like cities floating in the void, filled with countless dark and damp underground pipelines.
In these shadowy depths, where no light reached, the true Lord of Shadows arrived.
Nykona moved through the maze-like pipe decks at a speed unattainable for mortals. It was as if he was born to blend with the darkness. Even at high velocity, his footsteps were completely absorbed by the ambient noise of the ship.
He was somewhat surprised by the capabilities of the new power armor he wore. Its servo systems were utterly silent—like a walking black hole, swallowing all sound.
In the darkness, he swept past several mortal servants like a specter. Bloodstains slowly emerged at their vital points as the genetic detection systems extracted the necessary memories from their spilled blood.
"The stench of the Word Bearers—corruption and depravity—the foulest curse of the Warp."
The Raven Guard would never forget the scent of their old enemies, nor would they ever forgive the blasphemous traitors who had once called themselves the Sons of the Blessed in mockery of Corax.
Anger and hatred burned fiercely in Nykona's heart before being reduced to cold ash.
He entered an ethereal state, becoming a living shadow, as he made his way toward his true objective.
---
The Cruiser's Observation Deck
From the darkness, he finally laid eyes upon a Word Bearers Astartes. The traitor was clad in standard Mark IV power armor, now repainted in dark crimson to obscure its former gunmetal gray. The squad insignias and original markings had been covered in black paint.
Nykona's combat instincts flared, but his superhuman will suppressed them. At this range, there was no chance of missing. A single well-placed bolt round would be enough to shatter the enemy's fragile helmet visor or punch through the weaker armor joints.
Yet what caught his attention even more was the figure standing beside the Word Bearer.
A towering Ultramarine stood there, wearing a gleaming suit of blue and gold Archon-pattern power armor, polished to a mirror sheen.
"Have the Ultramarines betrayed us alongside the Word Bearers?"
Nykona thought silently but did not jump to conclusions.
"Luciel," the Word Bearer greeted warmly, opening his arms as if in welcome. "My brother."
"Iron Chorus," the Ultramarine responded just as eagerly. They embraced, their power armor clanging together.
Nykona watched the touching reunion of these supposed old friends.
Had he not already suffered the gut-wrenching betrayal of his brothers on Isstvan V, he might have been moved by the display of camaraderie between the Ultramarine and the Word Bearer.
But the Son of the Raven, ever attuned to deception, detected a barely perceptible shift in Iron Chorus's stance.
His hand remained close—far too close—to his bolter, within a fraction of a second's reach.
Nykona merely observed, hidden in the shadows, his presence unnoticed even by the cyber-augmented birds that roamed the warship.
---
A False Brotherhood
The Ultramarines' hospitality was impeccable. After exchanging greetings, they presented their so-called brothers with a well-prepared meal.
Astartes physiology could process nearly any organic matter, even certain metals. In times of need, they could consume tableware itself to replenish their bodies' metal content.
But here, the meal was a symbol—a statement of goodwill, an offering of friendship.
The Ultramarines, shaped into paragons of virtue by their genetic father, Roboute Guilliman, still harbored a lingering guilt over the destruction of Monarchia, the Word Bearers' perfect city, burned to the ground by the Emperor's decree.
And now, it seemed, they sought to mend the rift between the Legions, forging a renewed alliance.
"My battle brothers," Luciel finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity, "why have you changed the colors and markings of your armor? Where have the sacred inscriptions gone?"
Had the Word Bearers truly severed all ties to their past?
"In truth," Iron Chorus replied, "we have adopted a new appearance to mark the reshaping of our essence. The Word Bearers have struggled to find our place in the universe. Unlike you Ultramarines, our path has been far more… challenging."
He hesitated before continuing, then spoke words that sent a chill down Luciel's spine.
"I despise Lorgar, my gene-father. His mind is weak and fickle. Compared to the Primarchs of the Imperial Fists, the Luna Wolves, the Iron Hands, and even your Ultramarines, he has suffered too many humiliating defeats—so many that we are ashamed to even speak of them."
Luciel was so stunned that he forgot to breathe.
Never before had he heard an Astartes speak so disdainfully of his own Primarch. Such open rebellion was unheard of, even among the most ruthless of Legions.
Not even the Iron Warriors, infamous for their brutal discipline and cold pragmatism, had ever spoken so contemptuously of their gene-sire.
"Lies," Nykona whispered to himself in the darkness.
This was a deception. A facade. A mask hiding the truth beneath.
---
A Path to Damnation
"But fortunately," Iron Chorus continued, "we awakened before it was too late. We discovered a new path—a path that leads directly to enlightenment, to the Highest Truth."
His words dripped with an eerie reverence.
"I must prove my commitment to this great cause," he added, his voice laced with an unsettling fervor.
Luciel, still trying to make sense of it all, furrowed his brow. The Word Bearers had always been obsessed with faith. In the past, they had worshiped the Emperor as a god, defying the Imperial Truth that forbade such devotion.
But now… now, they spoke of something else entirely.
"In the battle of Isstvan, I learned unique war tactics—techniques that even the Ultramarines lack," Iron Chorus said, stroking the rim of his wine glass.
Luciel's interest was piqued.
The Ultramarines were known for their adaptability, eager to learn from other Legions to refine their own strategies. Because of this, many of their peers saw them as arrogant—imposing their vision of warfare upon all others.
"Interesting," Luciel mused, raising his glass. "My gene-father is currently compiling a book on the ways of war—the Codex Astartes. Are you suggesting there are techniques beyond its teachings?"
Iron Chorus smiled. "Indeed. The Codex is vast, but it does not account for everything."
Luciel frowned. "I have never heard of a battle in the Isstvan system. When did this occur? Why has Lord Guilliman not been informed of it?"
Iron Chorus chuckled, his expression disturbingly calm.
"It was brief. But the war is over now. The Imperium paid a terrible price."
Luciel listened carefully, but something about Iron Chorus's tone unsettled him. There was no grief, no sorrow—only amusement.
"This war was unlike any before it," Iron Chorus continued. "Worse than the Battle of Randa. Worse than Ullanor. The enemies of the Imperium have discovered the power of betrayal. It is not a mere strategy or weapon. It is something greater—a force unto itself."
Luciel's mind struggled to grasp the concept. It sounded almost like sorcery.
"Yes," Iron Chorus whispered. "The power of betrayal has already consumed three Legions. Neither the Randan xenos nor the Ork warlords could do what this has done."
Nykona's finger tensed on the trigger, waiting for Iron Chorus to finally reveal the true face behind his mask of deceit.
(End of Chapter)