The Trial of Gabriel Seth, 
Act III


 	‘You destroyed Aere to cover the sins of your brothers.’ Malakim’s voice was void-cold, his eyes full of scorn.

 	‘I destroyed Aere to stop the Archenemy,’ Seth snapped, about to raise his fist in anger. He took a breath and relaxed the limb, uncurling his fingers. Temperance. Appollus’s warning rang in his mind. If you are to prove we are more than the berserkers they believe us to be, you must show temperance. Seth hid a smile. It was rare the wrathful Chaplain offered such counsel.

 	‘Did you indeed?’ asked Sentikan. ‘And was it the only way to seize victory, or just the only one fitting enough to cleanse the stain from your honour?’

 	Anger strangled Seth’s tongue, his reply a guttural growl.

 	‘You miss the point.’ Dante spoke for him. ‘Even caught in the throes of the Rage, the Flesh Tearers have accomplished much. They have snatched victory even at the expense of their own lives.’ The chamber fell into discord as the other Chapter Masters responded to Dante’s unexpected position. A clamour of charged exchanges fought to be heard as they argued over his words.

 	Seth remained silent, nodding to Dante. He had not expected the Blood Angel to speak in his defence, but he welcomed the interjection. Still, he would give his sword arm to look past the unreadable death mask and peer into Dante’s eyes. The Blood Angel was a warrior almost beyond compare, yet his skill with a blade was as nothing compared to his skill as a leader. But he was also inscrutable. Being blind to the motive behind Dante’s support made Seth uneasy.

 	‘Silence, brothers. Silence and rumination,’ said Techial, reading aloud the axiom of closing. In response, the others settled, though a host of hateful glances lingered to betray the heat of the debate. ‘The time of judgement approaches.’ He nodded to Dante.

 	The Blood Angel folded his arms across his chest in the sign of the aquila, and recited the catechism of observance. ‘Numinous Father. On virtuous wings you rose above the falsehoods to see fate’s truth. With knowing eyes you faced your end upright and unbowed. Imbue us with your clarity, your graciousness, your selflessness. Guide us in our deliberation. Let that which we forge here be for the betterment of all of us, your sons.’

 	‘Blood guide us,’ the others ended the catechism, speaking aloud as one.

 	Seth stared up at the distant ceiling, and the visage of the Emperor. Is it not enough that You are bound to the Throne, Lord? Must more of our strength be shackled?

 	A cascading clang snapped Seth from his reverie. The sound echoed around the chamber as each of the Chapter Masters crashed their fists against their breastplates.

 	The din faded, to be replaced by silence. A palpable stillness that held dominion over the Judicium for a hundred beats of Seth’s primary heart.

 	Techial spoke again. ‘Prepare.’

 	As one, the Chapter Masters drew their blades. The sound, a visceral rush of steel and adamantium, drew a smile from Seth. It was a striking sight: the greatest sons of Sanguinius armed and ready for war, each of them holding aloft a blade of the finest artifice, a relic as beautiful as it was deadly. Here was the greatest choir of the Emperor’s angels, and for the moment at least, he stood as part of them.

 	‘Give judgement.’ Techial barked the instruction, and planted his blade in the ground beside him.

 	There was no secret ballot or hushed congress in the Forum. Each of the Chapter Masters would account for his decision in open court, the truth of their inference ever known. As Chronicler, the honour of first petition was Techial’s. As first among them, Dante would vote last.

 	Seth glared at the sword standing beside Techial. Guilty.

 	Zargo could not move quickly enough, upturning his blade and planting it in the ground. A second guilty verdict. And so it continued as one by one the other Chapter Masters condemned him. Seth bit back a curse as even Malphas damned him. Only a handful of the Chapter Masters stood in his defence, tossing their blades to the chamber floor. The weapons clattered beside him. It was a symbolic gesture, a martial gift to help defend him from guilt.

 	All eyes turned to Dante.

 	‘Gabriel Seth, son of blessed Sanguinius. Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers.’ He paused, driving his sword down into the earth. ‘This council finds you unfit to bear such a title.’

 	Seth growled, the feral challenge of a cornered beast.

 	‘The Flesh Tearers will be broken up, a portion of their number subsumed by each of our Chapters and placed under the watch of our most steadfast Chaplains.’

 	‘What of me?’ Seth’s voice dripped with hatred.

 	‘You will remain here on Baal until madness or death claims you. You will–’

 	‘No. He will not.’

 	A startled hush fell over the chamber as a new speaker entered. Clad in blackest plate, dark-feathered pinions framing his back, Astorath was a figure of dread. The Blood Angels High Chaplain entered the chamber and stood shoulder to shoulder with Seth.

 	‘Astorath. You overstep your authority.’ Dante’s voice was a controlled growl, his every syllable cutting the air with menace.

 	‘No. I walk the line that is mine and mine alone to tread.’ Astorath turned his gaze over the assembled Chapter Masters. ‘I and I alone am the final arbiter of the curse and its victims.’

 	Seth watched Astorath as he paced the circumference of the Judicium, impressed by the Chaplain’s skill as an orator.

 	‘You are High Chaplain, Blood Angel, and nothing more,’ Zargo sneered.

 	‘Is that so?’ Astorath fixed the Angel Encarmine with a dead stare. ‘Then why do I detect hesitation in your voice?’

 	‘Your importance within our brotherhood is not in question, High Chaplain.’ Geron held up his hands in appeasement.

 	‘Your counsel is always welcome, Astorath,’ said Dante. ‘But you will not defy us in this.’

 	‘It is not defiance I bring, lord, but redemption.’

 	‘Redemption for whom?’ said Techial. ‘The Flesh Te–’

 	‘For all of you,’ Astorath snapped, his fist tightening on the haft of his axe. ‘I have come to stop you making a grave error this day.’

 	‘That is not for you to say.’ Sentikan spoke slowly, struggling to control his anger.

 	‘I am the Redeemer, Sanguinius’s chosen executioner. What is to say that I cannot find the darkness in your souls? Are you so certain that none among you should face my axe?’ Astorath levelled his weapon, panning it over the assembled Chapter Masters.

 	A chorus of angry retorts rippled around the chamber.

 	‘You would threaten us?’ Malphas seized the hilt of his upturned sword.

 	‘No, Exsanguinator. I offer only a reminder and a promise.’ Astorath spoke with a dead calm. ‘A reminder that in time the curse will take even the strongest among us.’

 	‘And your promise?’ Malphas kept his hand on his weapon.

 	‘That when it does, I will visit judgement upon you.’ Astorath’s eyes were as a starless night. Still, unfathomable and infinitely dark.

 	‘Why do you stand to Seth’s defence?’ asked Dante, his voice level. ‘He has troubled you, bloodied you, on more than one occasion.’