Black Flames

“Ullanor the great triumph of Humanity. That dust ball of a world would bear witness to the great turning point of the cosmos. When He announced His retreat back to the throne world showing Him for what He truly was, a coward. Many of my brothers felt this and I know my father believed this; why else would he give himself to our great master, Warmaster Almire the Just?”

*Private thoughts of Xanthos of Aggnoss, commander of the Phlegethon.*

A pregnant silence had fallen after hearing the words coming from their master. Words filled with such frightening purpose, they stunned even those peerless warriors of the 18th that stood before him. He was Almire Leoric, primarch of the Warmaster’s Justicars, Humanity's illuminating light in the sea of darkness. None could question his might and none could question his undisputable sense of justice. The power behind his voice had caused several warriors to twitch. Yet their silence held. Apart from the low hum of the astartes’ powerpacks and the far away creaks of the ship, the quiet was deafening before Almire resumed his speech.

“Warriors of the Black Flame, you have been under my command since you were gifted to me by my brother, your father Charon and to that I am grateful. You, who have stood with me and earned my personal mark as you have shown nothing but unflinching loyalty. I ask you my question once more.”

Xanthos, commander of the Phlegethon, watched. His twin hearts raced as he felt the tone of his master’s voice in his mind. The Warmaster’s reassurances of trust barely calmed him. In a way, the words just spoken were as if a parent were talking with its child, trying to make it understand a simple concept. Xanthos had understood the question, it had just taken him aback in its contents. Betrayal of the Emperor was not an unknown concept, as he had felt that harsh sting decades ago when the coward who called himself Emperor abandoned his children to fight what was meant to be his war. The Blessed Bearers had been struck down by this traitor’s cowardice already. Something that had brought many within the Phlegethon a sense of sorrow. Especially after they heard what their father had endured.

“The Emperor has betrayed us. He has betrayed me and many of my brothers. There will still be some who side with him, yet know more will side with me. What I ask of you, is that which I have asked my own legion. Will you join me in ending this tyrant’s reign and free us from his rule? I will understand, whatever you choose.”

Almire's tone was neutral, as it was with all things, but there was a slight menace behind his last words, something Xanthos could not fail to hear; not after all he had experienced in his long service as an astarte to two of the Emperor’s sons. It had not escaped his notice that all of the Phlegethon were present, including those two brothers encased within dreadnoughts. The large, hulking constructs blanketing those around them in shadow, causing only the astartes’ twin lenses to be visible. The view was akin to the wisps of legend from which the legion took its namesake. He had also noticed the walls were lined by the Executioners, who had remained silent, awaiting the results of what was clearly an ultimatum.

It was at that moment that three within the Phlegethon number spoke as one. The venom they unleashed through their harsh vox grill caused Xanthos’ blood to boil. “Traitor,” one spoke. “Madman” came another. At the sound of the final and loudest loudest of all, “Apostate.” Xanthos gripped his flamespear tightly and caused the metal below his feet to buckle as he turned to face his so called brothers. The screeching of metal caused all three to turn towards their commander in a confused manner as if questioning why he was not sharing their thoughts as well. Almire’s hand had risen giving his Executioners the order to remain still. Even as many had ignited power axes and taken steps towards the gathered wisps, wishing to unleash the burning rage each felt at having their gene father insulted so.

“You forget yourselves brothers. You dare question our master and dare insult him! You bring shame to our fellowship, our world, our father!”

Xanthos shook with the characteristic rage those of his city state were known for as he swung a newly ignited flamespear in an arc, beheading the warrior who dared name Almire traitor. The headless warrior collapsed showering those closeby in his lifeblood as the other two made to activate weapons of their own. However, they were met with the other Phlegethon’s weapons drawn at them along with one of the dreadnought's assault cannon. The two warriors looked as if they were about to attempt a sort of last stand as each spoke in a quiet voice “Kinslayer'' at Xanthos. Xanthos ignored this and looked down at the headless warrior who had been part of his own companion squad. A warrior he had seen as a true son of their primarch, was now nothing to him but a waste taken in by the lie of the Emperor. Under normal circumstances he would have mourned this loss. But now...

“He was not my kin, he was the traitor he foolishly called our master. Listen to me, my warriors and heed me well, we are of the Phlegethon. Those warriors who were entrusted to lord Almire by our father. We have sworn ourselves to the Warmaster and as such, we are to do as he commands.” Xanthos stepped with one foot on his former comrade’s chest. “Any who wish to follow this traitor to death is more than welcome, I however, know where my loyalties lie and honour them!”

Xanthos then turned back to the warmaster and removed his helmet. He bent to one knee placing the helmet in front of his motionless body in a sign of submission. To the horror of the two warriors who had spoken, a wave of black ceremite mimicked the commander, many having never shown their faces to another in many decades. Even the dreadnoughts hulking forms kneeled in a sign of submission, until only those two warriors remained standing in silent shock.

Almire had a pleased look etched on his face and motioned a warrior to step forward. The Justicar obliged and disembowelled one of the two stunned Wisps and then knocked the other to the ground before two other justicar’s dragged him away, his stunned form giving little in defiance as he was taken from his kin. Xanthos had closed his eyes as Almire ordered them to rise. Xanthos rose along with his brothers leaving his helmet on the floor. When he stood he opened his eyes, his icy blue gaze met the hard eyes of Almire. An act mirrored by his brothers.

“I knew I could count you among my number, my Black Flames; your loyalty will never be forgotten.” Almire spoke, letting his facade of calm fall, now smiling warmly at his Phlegethon.

The warriors of the 18th on their turn spoke in a chorus, “Glory to Almire, glory to the Warmaster!”