Chapter Text
The sun was just beginning to set when the Angel’s brothers came to take him away. Tuomas remembered his mother – who had been pregnant with him when the Angel had first come to dwell on the outskirts of their township – saying the Angel had told her others like him would come and on that day he would return to the stars, but Tuomas had never truly believed this would ever actually happen. Unlike most adults – including his parents – who regarded the Angel with a mixture of fear and reverence, Tuomas and his younger brother Markos had grown up taking the Space Marine’s existence for granted; he was as much a part of their lives as the bread their mother baked or the earth their father tilled. How could he leave them after all this time? And why?
Tears stung Tuomas’ eyes as he led Markos up the large grassy hill where the Angel had built a simple wooden hut overlooking the entire township and the surrounding fields. The shaggy-coated bovines the Angel tended were bunched together at the far end of the north pasture, unsettled by the yellow gunship that had landed next to his dwelling. Fearing he would depart before they arrived, Tuomas broke into a run, dragging his brother along. “He can’t go!” Markos sobbed miserably, “He just can’t! We’ve got to stop him, Tuomas!”
The Angel was sitting on the porch of his hut, wearing his battered suit of powered armour, his great sword drawn and lying across his knees. Beside the gunship two other Angels – his so-called ‘brothers’ – waited; Tuomas knew they must indeed be related; their armor was the same shade of yellow and all three had blond hair and fair regal faces, indicating a common heritage. The symbol on their pauldrons was also identical: a bleeding heart surrounded by a field of back-and-white checkers.
“No!” Markos jerked his hand out of Tuomas’ and ran forwards, still crying. He stumbled and fell at the Angel’s feet. “You can’t leave! Please stay; I don’t want you to go away!”
The Angel smiled consolingly. “I must, Markos. My Chapter brothers have found me and it is time I fulfilled my true purpose once more.”
“But don’t you like it here? Won’t you miss us?”
“Yes – I will miss you, but you must understand something: you call me an angel, and indeed I am, for the holy blood of Sanguinius runs in my veins. But what am I the angel of, Markos? Surely you know; you’ve learned your catechisms well – tell me.”
Markos didn’t answer and began to sob harder in denial. “Death,” Tuomas whispered, his own voice sounding cold and hollow in his ears. “You are the God-Emperor’s Angel of Death.”
The Angel looked at him and before Tuomas dropped his gaze he caught a glimpse of the predatory gleam in the superhuman’s piercing eyes. “Your brother understands what I am, Markos; I am a Space Marine and the Emperor in His wisdom created Space Marines for a single purpose: to be the defenders of humanity and the bulwark against the terror.”
The Angel stood and raised his magnificent sword high. The rays of the setting sun played along the pristine blade, dyeing it the color of flaming blood. “You are fortunate to live on a world such as this – a world that knows not the predations of the alien, the mutant or the traitor. But many other planets in the Imperium are beset by treason and heresy and other terrible evils. My brothers and I must go to these worlds and deliver their peoples, for Space Marines are not meant to be farmers or herders. Battle is our calling and death is our remit. So has the Emperor decreed and so shall it forever be. We fight so children like you might reap the benefits and joys of peace – a peace you must always cherish. But for me there is no peace, there is only war and I must heed its summons.”
The Angel sheathed his sword. “Now stand up, Markos. Come, Tuomas – it is time to say good-bye.”
So Tuomas and Markos embraced the Angel’s legs and he gently tousled their hair with his armored fingers. Then he made the sign of the aquila and followed his brothers into the gunship. And as the sun finally sank behind the eastern hills the two boys stood together on the porch, watching as the vessel circled once over the township before dipping its wings in salute and disappearing into the purple dusk.
Markos sat down and buried his tear-stained face in his hands. “I hate war,” he choked out. Tuomas said nothing; instead he prayed to the God Emperor that His Angels of Death would win the war so that they might one day know peace.