‘Your Chaplain forced my hand at Stromark. Killed millions with needless haste and callous disregard.’ Zargo’s voice was like the idling of a chainweapon, his earlier animosity given way to aggression.

 	‘Appollus did what was needed. You would have bled Guard regiments for months before committing to battle. Better we slaughter those too weak to have thrown off their oppressors than throw away the lives of those who would at least try,’ Seth answered with steely resolve.

 	‘And what of Corvin Herrold?’ asked Malphas. ‘It was your pride that damned the inquisitor. You could have killed him. Bought his silence with swift oblivion.’ The master of the Exsanguinators bristled with rage. ‘No. You had to prove that your will was stronger than his.’

 	‘It is!’ Seth roared. ‘It must be.’ He pressed his fists against his head in an attempt to blot out the rising pain in his skull, to stifle the anger that would rob him of all sane defence. ‘The curse ravages my Chapter. It steals my brothers and hands me monsters. It is as inevitable as death, and yet we fight. It would be far easier for us to lay down our arms and give in. To accept the madness and the freedom from guilt. Yet we fight on.’

 	‘A fight you have lost.’ Malphas thrust a finger at Seth.

 	‘This curse. It is all of our burden to bear.’ Seth spread his arms, encompassing the assembled Chapter Masters. ‘Yet through fate and fortune not of our making, we face it in different degrees. You, Malphas. I would have thought you more understanding. The curse claims your brothers almost as often as it does mine.’

 	Malphas growled. ‘You think I do not know?’

 	‘Then know that were it not for the blood in your veins, if your blood were as susceptible to the Rage as mine, you would be here now instead of I.’ Seth gestured to the chamber floor.

 	Malphas made to reply but found himself lacking for words.

 	‘The Exsanguinators are not on trial,’ said Zargo.

 	Seth looked to the Angel Encarmine and imagined gutting him. If he survived the day, there would be a reckoning between them. Of that he was certain. ‘We have not won the war against the Archenemy. They dog us every moment of our existence. The sins of our traitorous cousins demand we fight for atonement. We have lost entire worlds to the slaves of the old Legions, and yet never has this council gathered to discuss whether or not we should give up that fight.’

 	‘You dare say this?’ asked Techial. Tradition demanded the Chronicler remain silent but the Disciple of Blood was shaking with rage, his scarred features twisted into a cruel mess. ‘You sully our father’s name with such words.’ The wood of the lectern began to split and snap under Techial’s grip.

 	‘Spare me your rhetoric, Disciple.’ Seth turned from him with a snarl. ‘The curse is as real a threat as anything the Eye spawns.’

 	‘I agree with Techial. This is heresy,’ said Orloc.

 	‘Is it?’ Seth shook his head. ‘The Archenemy can be defeated. They can be killed. We will fight them with all that we are and we will kill them. We will kill them all if we must bleed the galaxy to do so. But the curse, the curse cannot be faced in battle. It cannot be brought to account. We have nothing to wage war against when it is all that we are.’

 	‘You are mistaken,’ said Lord Sentikan of the Angels Sanguine, his features hidden by a thick hood.

 	Seth shot him a glance in challenge. ‘And what truths should I accept from one who hides his face even from his own brothers?’

 	If the insult riled the Angel Sanguine he disguised it within the folds of his cowl, and spoke with a calm certainty. ‘Lord Mephiston is living proof of the victory that awaits. He emerged from the throes of the curse sane of mind and whole of body. He is hope enough.’

 	‘You are as a naive aspirant if you believe that monster to be our salvation. Mephiston is an abomination. A wraith who should be clad in armour as dark as his soul.’

 	The remark sent a tide of discord washing through the chamber, drawing cries of sanction and outcry in equal measure.

 	‘And yet he does not butcher with the same abandon of your Flesh Tearers,’ Malakim of the Lamenters sneered. ‘Even those you deem fit to wear crimson make the butchers of my Death Company seem sane by comparison.’

 	Seth growled, allowing his anger to get the better of him. ‘And what would you know of battle, Lamenter? Look at you. Yellow in a room of red. A coward in a sea of blood.’

 	Malakim made to reply, but Dante cut him off.

 	‘Anger and despair, Seth. They saw the end of Nassir.’

 	Seth sighed, sobered by Dante’s words. Nassir Amit had been the first of the Flesh Tearers Chapter Masters. A brutal, vicious warrior, his deeds were great and many. He had fought in the Great War and conquered Cretacia, the world Seth now called home. Amit had been the best of them before his thirst for blood and violence had consumed him.

 	‘I have stood consumed by darkness and led an army of monsters in defence of the light. I have done what must be done to ensure the future of the Chapter,’ said Seth.

 	‘Your first duty is to the Emperor, whether you survive or not is of no consequence,’ said Geron. His face burned with disdain. Like the others of his Chapter, the Angel Numinous held the cursed in callous disregard. He loathed them, despised their weakness and the legacy it bore of their father.

 	‘My first duty is to Sanguinius and the sons he left me stewardship of.’

 	‘And what of your duty to us? What of your promise to me? Do you not remember your oath?’ asked Dante.

 	Seth looked to Dante. He said nothing. He remembered.

 	‘On the day of your rise to Chapter Master, you came to me. You came to me!’ For the first time, Dante’s composure slipped, his grip tightening on the balustrade. ‘You vowed to bring the Flesh Tearers to heel. To put an end to the violent outbursts, and the heedless, unnecessary slaughter. You were to bring honour back to the Chapter and glory to the memory of Sanguinius.’

 	‘I have fought to uphold that vow with my every breath.’ Seth shot forwards, advancing to the limits of the chamber floor. He glared up at Dante, the dark of his eyes reflected in the Blood Angel’s helm.

 	An uneasy quiet fell over the Judicium as with bated breath the Chapter Masters watched the Flesh Tearer and the Blood Angel size one another up.

 	‘Speak, then.’ Dante broke the silence. ‘Speak and let us hear of your efforts.’