Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 868 Gabriel Seth, selling your appearance can get you good stuff for the warband!
Gabriel Seth was walking down the corridor of New Angels Fortress.

There are many blood slaves and servants coming and going here, most of them in a hurry.

Too many ancient fortresses and buildings have been destroyed, and new buildings and airports are being rebuilt at a rapid pace. They are severely understaffed. In the final year of the defense of Baal, the Blood Angels' recruitment campaign has reached a point where any Martian or member of the Apothecary Guild would shout "impossible" and "blasphemous" upon hearing about it.

To replenish their ranks, they recruit any Baal and the tribal boys from her two satellites who meet the age requirement, or even those who don't—severe mutations, intellectual disabilities, physical deformities, or being slightly older—none of these are problems—the Blood Coffin will automatically perform in an inexplicable and mysterious way everything that other Chapter apothecaries need to do in nineteen surgeries within 12 months or less.

They placed the boy and the teenager inside, then poured in the potion, closed the coffin lid, and left everything to the favor and fate of Saint Gilles.

Extremely brutal, but highly efficient, these mass-produced Blood Angel recruits ultimately sustained them until the end of the war.

Seth pondered this, and Dante would sigh and call it a helpless act, but in the eyes of the Chapter Master of the Flesh-Tearers, this was how one could at least resemble a true Child of the Holy Blood.

Only the strong who win every life-or-death battle have the right to continue living.

Their ancestors were born from flesh and blood ten thousand years ago. Their masters artificially removed the emotions of fear and pity from them, precisely so that they could carry out ruthless acts that mortals and weaker others could not.

No amount of artistic or sacred embellishment can conceal this fact—the Blood Angel and the Flesh Tearer are essentially no different; they both need to rely on devouring flesh and bones to survive. They are weapons, tools, things to be used, not superior users.

The Flesh-Tearers were especially numerous among them. Sentor Jull and his Blood Knights, on the other hand, had become weapons used to their very last breath, and as weapons, they met their glorious destruction.

But what about the Flesh-Tearers? The bloody war that had lasted for months was over, and the three-week defense of Baal had also come to an end. Baal was not destroyed, but eight of their cousins' warbands were completely wiped out in the battle, and the losses of six other warbands were irreparable. Many of the warbands that came to support them were left with fewer than fifty men.

Did they win? So, facing the Ultramarines Primarch and his fleet that fell from the sky with all personnel and resources intact amidst these ruins, what will become of these former combat heroes?
Dante has left him and his remaining forces in Baal to this day, and has asked him to prepare to receive the new batch of Protocast Space Marines who are said to be "without our flaws."

—Pah! To take these red-painted Ultramarines into his own band, and let these obedient Guilliman pups, who are always talking about tactics and pointing fingers, and who have none of the precious anger that Sanguinius gave us, inherit the name of the Flesh-Tearer?! If it ends up like this, he'll say he's starting to envy the Blood Knights' ending! But... on the other hand, he is indeed unwilling, otherwise he wouldn't have stayed in Baal under the pretext of Dante's persuasion.

Seth had sacrificed far too much to reinforce Baal. Each time he abandoned his brothers and recruits to reach Baal, it was like bleeding himself dry. In the name of those Flesh-Tearers he had sacrificed, this time he had to fight for their continued legitimate existence and continuation… but he truly didn't want to accept those unseen sons clad in red skins…

This extremely unpleasant and contradictory thought seemed to cause a dull ache deep in Gabriel Seth's head again. The muscles on one side of his face twitched, making him look ferocious, as if he were about to randomly pick a lucky passerby, bite off their neck, and suck their blood.

In fact, a part of his mind was instinctively calculating how to kill each of them most efficiently and precisely. The rage inherited from Saint Gilles burned eternally in Gabriel Seth's chest, constantly urging him to strike, hunt, and kill. Of course, he was used to it and would only laugh at the weakness of that rage in the face of him.

However, the passersby clearly didn't think so. They moved carefully along the wall, as if the enormous Seth was some legendary monster that would eat pedestrians and block their way.

Because Dante was trying to conceal and show that he respected everyone's wishes, most of the blood slaves and servants in Castle Angels continued to flee as if they could still give him a perfunctory bow. However, this was more out of fear and dread than the respect and admiration one would show to the true master of the place. Sometimes, this was even more unpleasant than direct avoidance.

—Although many of them knew that Seth had been entrusted with a heavy responsibility by Dante in the Battle of Baal, and even took on the role of commander-in-chief and fought bravely after Dante was seriously injured and fell into a coma.

However, the Flesh-Tearer's perpetual state of anger and conflict, along with the terrifying reputation and rumors he created before and after becoming Chapter Master, and their performance in the battle to defend Baal, all contribute to the fact that his and his beloved Chapter's reputation remains more like the opposite of the Blood Angels—bloody, savage, angry, and forever in need of battle and thirsting for blood.

The noble and beautiful qualities of Baal and the Son of Sanguis were never carried anywhere by the Flesh-Tearers, even though their lineage came from Nasir Amit, one of the true inheritors of the Blood Ninth. In this universe, which is never short of violence, people still prefer warriors who are more "civilized" and seem to "reasonable".

Moreover, as the eldest son of a Space Marine*, Gabriel Seth's physique exuded a strikingly violent aura. Clad in full armor, he was taller and more robust than his comrades and cousins, even a full head taller. Coupled with his perpetually gritted teeth expression and his armor, riddled with scars, mottled, and thick, dark red bloodstains seeping from the seams, he strode through the magnificent corridors of New Angels like a trapped wild beast, utterly out of place.

His hermit Apollos's words echoed in his ears again, "Dante only needs a barbarian warrior to fight for his interests. Seth, you've changed. You've finally been tainted by their so-called art of compromise."

—Don't you even consider who I'm here to receive orders for?! Did you think the people before I took over as battle group leader did a good job just by killing, baring their teeth at others, and firing on friendly forces?!

The call came through his armor's communication channel again.

It is Dante.

"Are you on your way to the usual place, Gabriel Seth?"

"damn it……"

Seth forced his thoughts to break free from the chaotic and headache-inducing mental turmoil.

"what did you just say?"

“I say, Lord Dante,” Seth muttered, sounding like a low murmur coming from between his clenched teeth, “I’m on my way, I’ll be there soon.”

----------

Gabriel Seth is now walking slowly through the catacombs of Old Angelsburg.

The last time he came here to meet Dante was to return the angel's feather that Dante had given him. So this place is considered their "old haunt".

The number of Leviathan insectoids that landed on the surface of Baal was so great that their mere presence permanently altered the terrain. Sand dunes that had existed in the Radiant Desert for millennia vanished, the ground was leveled, and wind-eroded rocks and mountains disappeared. The ruins of fortresses were littered with traces of weapon fire and the acidic digestive fluids of the insectoids.

The battle destroyed most of the buildings on the surface, but the underground catacombs were carved deep into the rocky mountainside, so deep that the battles of the thousands of brave warriors who died on the surface had no effect on the dead who slept here.

The tranquility here sharpened Seth's senses; he both liked and disliked it.

The tranquility allowed him to more clearly savor the ancient legacy from the Primarch within his body—the anger, the desire to attack, the deadly and dangerous thoughts. The tranquility here also meant not having to face those awkward greetings, whispers, and evasive and disgusted gazes.

But the tranquility also made him realize that he and the Flesh-Tearers were outdated relics unpopular in this era, products left over from the past. Since the betrayal and tearing apart, the war had been unnaturally going on for far too long in the galaxy, and people's hearts yearned for respite, peace, and rest—this was humanity's most primal instinct, which even loyalty to Saint Gilles and the Emperor could not erase.

This is also what he wanted to do for the flesh-tearers, but it is also a contradiction.

If the Flesh-Tearers cannot secure their place and meager importance within the Imperial hierarchy through their fury and superior combat prowess, they will lack access to precious resources, Dante's support, and undisturbed time to ensure their survival. However, if these remaining veterans continue fighting like this, it is clear that, regardless of Seth's wishes, once Dante has placed those red-skinned Ultramarines into his chapters, sooner or later, all the Firstborn Space Marines will die, their glory, achievements, history, and culture forgotten with a sigh of relief.

Ultimately, those who will bear the name of the "Flesh-Tearers," fight in the vehicles, equipment, and methods of the Ultramarines, and live in their former homes will be the "Regent's Private Army" that Belisarius Caul created for Guilliman. And on that day, the title "Emperor" might sound better than "Imperial Regent," and no Astartes would object anymore.

"Your idea can't be described as extremely bold, but it can be said that you have solid evidence to slander the Regent."

A voice suddenly rang out from behind the heavy stone coffin in the tomb.

“Fortunately, there isn’t a single Inquisitor from the Revolt Order here, otherwise I would have had to arrest you. Gabriel Seth.”

"Stop playing tricks. Has no one ever told you to be prepared to have your mind opened by a chainsaw before you try to read someone's mind?"

Seth spat and raised his two-handed chainsaw greatsword. "Come out and let me see who's bolder than me, daring to impersonate Dante and ask to meet me on Baal!"

"No, Seth. It was indeed me who sent you."

As the familiar hum of Seth's servo motors began, a golden and noble face emerged from a dark, gray sarcophagus, gleaming under the activated power armor spotlights.

Saint Gilles's furious face was frozen in gold from ten thousand years ago, and his father's eyes gazed at Seth from the light.

For a moment, the Flesh-Tearer was filled with the urge to kneel before that face, but Yin Xiuchang's words, the unceasing rage within him, and the thoughts that surpassed those of his brother supported his knees, keeping him standing still.

Dante, clad in golden armor, approached him. Seth noticed that he hadn't come alone, which fueled his impatience and rage: he disliked the idea of ​​a meeting between two people turning into a social gathering of many.

To the left of the Blood Angels Chapter Master and the Dark Empire Regent stood the Chief Think Tank, clad in red armor with a unique psychic hood. Mephisto's expression remained as somber as ever, but Seth always felt something was off about him, as if he lacked some quality that he both loved and hated. It wasn't obvious when it was there, but now that it was missing, it was quite noticeable.

However, it was clearly not Mephisto who had just rudely read his thoughts and made sarcastic remarks.

Standing to Dante's right was a warrior wearing a silver Terminator power armor unlike any he had ever seen before, adorned with emblems of honor, scriptures, and various reliquary boxes.

"I didn't know Terminators had the ability to read minds," Seth grumbled. "What the hell are you?"

“I am Hyperion,” the other person replied, his voice very pure, with a strange sense of calm detachment.

“I also hold a think tank position within my faction, so I did a quick mental check on you when you stepped into the room,” the other person said. “I know you’ll be angry, but at least you don’t seem to be feeling any discomfort?”

“Do you expect me to thank you for this?” Seth almost sneered. “What did you find out?”

"It's a wonderful item, and makes an excellent souvenir."

There was even a hint of laughter in the guy's voice. Seth was chilled to the bone to realize that the mysterious warrior's laughter was genuine and joyful, not the polite kind that was trying to hide something from him. This guy was genuinely pleased with what he saw.

And what's with the souvenir gift?!
“I originally came with Mephisto to visit Baal and to pay a visit to Regent Dante in advance for my current master. My business is done, but I have learned that you are troubled by seeking the rebuilding and patronage of your chapter.”

"So what?" Seth roared alertly, gripping his sword hilt tightly.

“Well, you see, Baal’s own construction is quite strained right now, and there are so many chapters that have come to support him that need to be rebuilt… Our chapter is here to provide Baal with much-needed energy, manpower, and equipment resources and to build good relationships with him. In addition, we are willing to provide the Flesh-Tearers with ample resources—not from the Ultramarines.”

"What do you mean?" Although fierce, Seth did not turn and leave.

"For example, a batch of new recruits from your home planet, gene seeds, a group of rescued Flesh-Tearing veterans, and a fleet of vehicles, new power armor, weapons, brand-new monastery fortresses, and cruisers?"

"If you think I will give in..."

“Everything except the monastery fortress is in stock! Including cruisers and battle barges! By the way, your tenth company commander, Warren Charaka, is among these veterans.”

"..."

Hyperion pressed his advantage, stating, "Now, under the witness of Regent Dante and Master Mephisto, our transaction is legal, reliable, and will be executed."

“And what’s the price?” Gabriel Seth finally asked. “What is the price?”

"you."

"what?"

“You,” Hyperion smiled, “you come with me as part of our covenant with the Blood Angels, as a form of exchange.”

"What use am I? What do you need me to do in exchange?"

“You don’t have to do anything…you will be offered as a gift to the master of the power I represent,” Hyperion said. “He likes you very much…a warrior with a unique style.”

After a long silence, Gabriel Seth spat angrily onto the ground.

"If you can really get us out of that miserable future, then it's a deal. I'll do whatever your master wants me to do."

(End of this chapter)