“Now Day Three”, he says, “was the day of the purge. By then, most of our defenses had fallen. Our Capital, the Citadel had been breached. The Knights of Tarrath were scattered, our armies broken. The Cardinal Phoenixes did not spare the weak.
They burned entire villages and slaughtered every man, woman, and child they deemed unworthy of the Imperium grace. It wasn’t a war anymore. It was a cleansing. The Red Purge had begun in earnest. Those of us who survived fled into the mountains and the wild plains. But even there, we were hunted. Their scouts—hounded us like wolves smelling blood, one by one. There was no escape.”
The room is silent, the only sound of the wind howling outside the fortress walls. These were hard truths to tell a group of 11-year-olds who have grown up in the imperium embrace. He knew what effect they wanted him to produce, and he knew that as he told this very story he was being watched.
“On the fourth day,” He continued, “we made our last stand. The remnants of Bitter hold nobility, those who had not yet been cut down, rallied under the banner of Lord Castellan Dravius one of our world's eldest noble families. We had fortified the Iceblood Pass, hoping the narrow terrain would give us some advantage. We knew it was futile, but there was honor in a last stand. For hours, our knights fought with the desperation of doomed men. But they came, the Phoenixes, their red armor like the flames of hell itself.”
He closed his eyes, remembering.
“Allteranius took Dravius’s head in one fell swoop of his outstretched hand. a duel that should have been a legend ended tragically and the last of Bitter hold’s nobility died in that pass.”
His eyes scanned the Aspirants, their faces hard, but he could see the fear behind their stoicism.
“And now,” he said, his voice lowering, “you stand here. Fifty years after the Purge, chosen to undergo the trials, to see if you are worthy of joining the very Chapter that conquered our world. You will be tested as we were tested, and many of you will not survive. But those who do will become part of something far greater. You will become warriors of the Cardinal Phoenixes—the same angels of death that once razed our world, its protectors our gods were but fakes and imitators, The phoenixes are the real gods of the sky.”
The Aspirants remain silent, their eyes locked on him.
“Remember this,” He says finally. “The Red Purge was not the end of Bitter hold. It was its rebirth. And now, you will decide whether you have the strength to carry that legacy, or whether you will fall as so many did before you.”
With that, he turns away, leaving the Aspirants to their thoughts as they prepare for the trials to come.
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The Aspirants stood in cold, tense silence, their breath misting in the freezing air of the fortress chamber. The words of the Elder still hung heavy, the tale of the Red Purge weighing on them like the bitter winds of their home world. They had been raised on stories of knights and valor, but the truth of Bitterhold’s fall had shown them the brutal reality of what awaited them. Each one knew that few among them would survive the final trial. Yet, they stood ready, their minds and bodies honed for this moment.
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Cassius born to a noble family that survived after the purges on the world knew nothing of it until the story from the elder, He had been raised with a sword in his hand and the mind to use it.
He gazed around the room that housed the hundred young ones as himself and felt he was one of the weaker ones, For whatever reason as much as he was trained in the sword his body refused to gain in mass as it did for others. He had the skill but his stature left much to desire.
“Kunk” The sounds of chains pulling and the metal doors slowly slid open and light poured in, Metal footfalls could be heard as a giant of a man walked through the opening and peered down as the kids arranged before him.
“By the Angel, This looks like a terrible batch” The man spoke and the murmured voices vanished. His armor was Colored Black and Red with the depiction of a golden ball with a red dot at its core and black flames surrounding it decorated one shoulder while two colored blood drops decorated the other.
His helmet was off, revealing a face that could have been carved from stone—sharp, angular features, dark eyes, and a scar running across his cheek. His presence commanded immediate attention, every inch the embodiment of a Cardinal Phoenix.
“Enough standing in silence,” he said, his voice like a growl of distant thunder, carrying the authority of someone who had seen a thousand battles. “It is time.”
The Aspirants straightened, their nervousness masked behind faces of stoic determination. They had trained for this moment, but nothing could truly prepare them for what lay ahead. The Battle-Brother turned, gesturing with a gauntleted hand for them to follow. Without hesitation, the 100 Aspirants fell into step behind him, the sound of their armored boots like the drumbeat of a march to war.
The Battle-Brother led them through the fortress, down darkened stone halls, and out into the freezing air of the night. The wind bit at their faces, carrying with it the sting of Bitterhold’s relentless winter. Above them, the stars shone like cold fire, and in the distance, the jagged peaks of the Hallowed Mountains loomed against the night sky. The Aspirants could hear the distant hum of machinery, and as they rounded a corner, the sight of the proving ground stretched out before them.
The Proving Grounds were vast, a frozen plain dotted with the ruins of an old fortress—the site of one of the last battles of the Red Purge. Wrecked knight armor and crumbling fortifications lay half-buried in the snow, a grim reminder of the price of failure. Towering beyond them, the crimson dropships of the Cardinal Phoenixes stood like silent sentinels, their engines humming faintly.
The Battle-Brother turned to face the Aspirants, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed them. “You have survived the training, and the hardships of this frozen world, but you are not yet warriors of the Cardinal Phoenixes. Many of you will fall in the trials ahead. And if you fall, you will be forgotten. Only those who rise above the rest, who prove themselves worthy of the Blood Angels’ legacy, will earn their place among us.”
He gestured to the plain before them. “Your trial is simple in concept but deadly in execution. You will form into groups of ten. Your objective is to reach the ruins of the old fortress and recover a Phoenix Sigil from within its walls. But know this—once the trial begins, you will not be alone. The ruins are patrolled by servitors and combat drones—remnants of an older age, reprogrammed to eliminate any intruders. You will be hunted, and you will face enemies that care not for honor or glory. They will kill without hesitation.”
The Aspirants shifted, some glancing nervously at one another, but most kept their gaze fixed ahead, determined not to show weakness. Cassius steeled himself the years of pain were worth something he told himself, “There are worlds out there for me to see told himself, My grandfather didn’t waste his time on me”
The giant of a man took a step closer, his voice calm as he spoke. “But that is not all. Among you, there are no allies—only rivals. You are competing against each other. Those who show hesitation, those who lag, will be eliminated. Only the strong survive, and only the worthy ascend. If you find yourself facing another group, you must decide: fight, flee, or strike an alliance that may be broken in an instant.”
He stepped back, his dark eyes watching them closely. “The Phoenix Sigils are few, and only those who possess one at the end of the trial will be considered for ascension into the Chapter. The rest… will be forgotten in the snows of Bitterhold.”
With that, he activated a small device on his wrist. The dropships in the distance roared to life, rising into the air and hovering over the Proving Grounds like vultures. The drones stirred, their mechanical limbs moving with a deadly grace as they began to patrol the ruins.
The Battle-Brother pointed toward the horizon. “Your trial begins now. Go.”