The Trial of Gabriel Seth, 
Act IV


 	‘We are the Emperor’s avenging angels. We show no mercy. No forgiveness. We have been bred to bring only death. We are terrible to behold and our fury is the stuff of fire-swept legend. Yet–’ Astorath paused, letting his words hang in the air a moment before continuing. ‘There are terrors in the depths of the universe whose might eclipses our own, whose hatred we cannot comprehend. There are foes we must face who will cross the lines of honour and kinship that we cannot afford to break.’

 	‘Are you saying we need him?’ Zargo snarled.

 	‘Yes.’ Astorath’s tone was sudden, hard. ‘The Emperor in His infinite wisdom created many sons, each of differing aspect. If Zargo is our zeal, Malakim our redemption and Sentikan our protector, if you, Lord Dante, are our conscience, then let Seth be our blade. Let the Flesh Tearers be the teeth of that blade.’ Astorath turned to regard Seth. ‘He is a wretched berserker. His actions are ill-considered and rash. But we are in need of such mongrels if we are to triumph.’

 	For the first time in two days, silence filled the vastness of the chamber. Behind the unreadable visage of his death mask, Dante smiled. Wars, he knew, were won with weapons, not principles.

 	Gabriel Seth was nothing if not a weapon.