In the 42nd Millennium, where only war and darkness reign.
Death and coldness seem to have become the main themes for all races in the galaxy. (Except the Orks~)
Especially for the Imperium of Man, mired in a quagmire, although hope is spoken of almost daily, countless humans die without ever seeing even a glimmer of it.
But this does not mean the galaxy truly holds only endless despair; countless faint sparks of humanity still shine steadfastly in the silent darkness.
And among these, the two largest and most renowned sparks of light are...
One born of gene-seed: the Salamanders.
One born of choice: the Lamenters!
The most renowned aspect of the Lamenters Chapter is their boundless love and kindness towards Mortals.
While the vast majority of Astartes view Mortals as expendable, only the Lamenters see them as living individuals, willing to fight to the death and even sacrifice themselves for these lives.
Yet, a Chapter possessing such brotherhood and humanity, as if truly rejected by this cold galaxy, has been a veritable tragedy since its inception, the Lamenters flickering with the light of humanity.
The Lamenters were born of the Cursed Founding. Astartes of this batch were inherently viewed as potential traitors, not only shunned by any allied forces and naturally ostracized, but after enduring scorn and humiliation, they were all sent on a Penitent Crusade into the Eye of Terror—essentially sent in batches to replenish the Eye of Terror's forces.
Yet, even though the vast majority of Astartes ultimately fell to Chaos, the Lamenters were among the very few who completed the entire Penitent Crusade and, upon returning, still chose to remain loyal to the Imperium.
But misfortune did not depart from the Lamenters because of this; instead, as if provoked by their 'defiance,' it redoubled its efforts.
In the year 537 of the 38th Millennium, allied forces, fearing the 'misfortune' of the Lamenters, actually abandoned them outright.
Unwilling to abandon the civilians, the Lamenters faced Abaddon alone for six weeks.
When reinforcements finally arrived, less than 200 Lamenters remained.
Then, during the retreat, they were lost in a Warp storm and officially declared 'destroyed' by the Imperium, until over a century later when they 'crawled' back, battered and bruised. Only after enduring repeated harassment from the Inquisition were they permitted to nurse their wounds alone in a corner, relying on a single small ship.
Then, in the year 904 of the 41st Millennium, just as the Lamenters, who had finally earned respect from Huron, thought everything was back on track, they were deceived by Huron into participating in The Great Rebellion. They only proved their innocence again by facing the 'Minotaurs' Chapter—the Inquisition's specialized tool for cleansing internal 'problems'—with an attitude of near-total submission to execution.
Their display of loyalty was so profound that even the Chapter Master of the Minotaurs, who had slain countless Imperial loyalists, doubted whether he had killed the wrong people, leading him to take the extremely rare initiative of inquiring with the Inquisition!
However, after the war, the Lamenters were again reduced to just three hundred and subjected to another century-long Penitent Crusade.
No sooner had they set out than they ran headlong into a Tyranid Swarm, and the entire Chapter was nearly wiped out.
And then...
The Lamenters returned, still choosing to shed their last drop of blood for the Imperium!
And now, as the iconic yellow armor and bloody tears of a Son of Antaeus, along with the image of him leaping alone into the Tyranid Swarm just to buy the Mortals behind him a few more seconds, was transmitted, everything about the Lamenters flashed instantly through Sith's mind.
Huron was still walking towards the door, preparing to proceed with the choice that had been routine for millennia, according to the Imperium's so-called objectivity and efficiency.
But this time, Sith, watching the projection of the figure who, even after being cut in half by a Warrior Bug, still raised an arm with his dying breath to signal the Mortals behind him to run faster, suddenly spoke:
"Wait."
Huron, Van Roth: "?"
Huron dared not disobey Sith in the slightest. Even though Sith's voice was not loud, Huron immediately stopped in his tracks.
Simultaneously, he and Van Roth looked at their master in confusion.
Is it right just because everyone does it?
Sith repeated this phrase in his heart. As he repeated the self-questioning, watching the figure completely swallowed by the Tyranid Swarm, his body gradually straightened.
If everyone is like this, then wouldn't the choice of the Lamenters be utterly laughable!!
Sith stood completely upright, taking a deep breath once he was straight.
Then, under the growing puzzlement of those around him, Sith spoke quietly:
"There is enough coldness in the galaxy..."
When Huron and Fan Rose, frowning in incomprehension, hurried out of Sith's room, the surrounding corridors were already filled with the continuous sound of alarms.
Under the glaring red lights, numerous crew members and soldiers anxiously ran to their combat stations. Simultaneously, the massive fleet anchored in the void deployed for the first time...
a combat formation!
On the planetary surface in the distance.
A Son of Antaeus stood on the open ground behind a high wall, using his body to block a burst of Tyranid corrosive acid.
A sound of agony escaped his lips, but his body remained rigid, not moving an inch, until a young mother holding a girl behind him ran in terror towards a more distant place.
Then, this Son of Antaeus, his front corroded away, with green acid even beginning to flow into his opened body, was granted the final mercy of Bolter fire by his battle-brother at his own pleading.
"Everyone, hold to the last!"
Witnessing yet another comrade die protecting Mortals, a resounding cry echoed across the open ground behind the high wall.
The high wall had fallen. The last few remaining Lamenters were using their own bodies to keep the Tyranid Swarm outside the church filled with refugees.
The Chapter Master Malakin's loud cry was immediately met with the Passionate response of the Lamenters.
"For those we cherish."
"We die in glory!"
The battle cry of the Lamenters Chapter, led by Malakin, rang out across the land once more as they faced the boundless Tyranid Swarm before them.
Then, just as everyone thought this would be the last time they roared their Chapter's declaration, the light from their Bolters was finally eclipsed by the fiery glow of Macro Cannons from above!
The refugees hiding in the church behind them erupted in cheers. The remaining Ecclesiarchy Priest Excitedly rang the great bell, seemingly trying to call for help from the unfamiliar fleet that had suddenly appeared in orbit through this act.
The refugees' faces were filled with the fervor of survival and they excitedly waved towards the fleet above.
But Malakin and the other Lamenters, who had just roared their battle cry for what they thought was the last time, gradually fell silent.
Even though the Tyranid Swarm before them was stunned and retreated, granting them a brief, long-awaited respite...
their gazes towards the Mortals behind them and their battle-brothers, drenched in blood and weary-faced, held only endless silence and helplessness.
For even they themselves knew that in this dark, cold galaxy, the light of humanity they bore was something not even their own side could tolerate, let alone the enemy.
Faced with thousands of Tyranid bio-ships above, even if this suddenly appearing unfamiliar fleet truly had the power to save them...
was it worth it?
For these remnants of a force, was it worth it?!
Their appearance in orbit was not to save them, but to exterminate the planet, to maximally deplete the Tyranid numbers.
At least, that's how Malakin saw it.
However, just as the few remaining Lamenters silently bid farewell to their comrades beside them and completely let down their guard, ready to end their long suffering...
the radio, silent for who knows how long, suddenly crackled with an exasperated burst of noise.
Huron's voice was full of the frustration of a thankless task. Especially seeing the Lamenters below actually starting to wait for death, and thinking of Sith's order to slap himself for every Son of Antaeus or Mortal that died, Huron felt even more exasperated:
"What are you doing?"
"Preparing to go on vacation with your Corpse Emperor?"
"Get ready quickly. Evacuation Transports will arrive shortly. Your vacation is postponed."
"From now on..."
"You'll be working overtime for Lord Sith!"
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