Silence ruled the ruins, Youths dead and some dying. Servitors leaking and dispatched one after the other. Before anyone knew what was happening a horn went up and those who were without a sigil faltered as their pursuers stopped and deactivated.
“SIGIL BEARERS HAVE 2 MINUTES TO REACH ME, EVERYONE ELSE THAT’S ALIVE SHALL WAIT TO BE LOOKED AT AND ESCORTED ELSEWHERE”.
That was all the instructions they were given, Those who could drop in place did and the few who had a sigil darted for the entrance that had brought them here.
The Alpha Proving Ground was silent, the once vibrant air thick with tension, the oppressive weight of anticipation hanging over the ruins like a shroud. The frigid wind swept through the shattered remains of the ancient stone walls, carrying with it the scent of blood and scorched earth. Dust kicked up in tiny spirals as if stirred by unseen forces, whispering secrets of the trials that had just taken place.
Thirteen figures emerged from the ruins, stepping out of the shadows one by one, their forms bruised and bloodied, but unbroken. Among them were Cassius and Kane, their clothing now rags battered, and scarred from the battles they had fought and survived. Each step was deliberate, heavy with the weight of exhaustion and victory, yet their eyes burned.
Cassius wiped a streak of blood from his cheek, his muscles aching with each movement. His blade now a knife really, hung loosely at his side, the blade still stained with the blood of rivals, though his grip on the hilt remained firm. He glanced over at Kane, who was limping slightly but still standing tall. They exchanged a glance—nothing needed to be said. The bond they had forged during the trial, through blood and battles, was deeper than words.
Ahead of them, standing in perfect formation, were the Phoenixes. Clad in the Red, black, and gold power armor of the *Cardinal Phoenixes*, they were immovable, statuesque figures, radiating authority and strength. Their helmets, as scared from battles, gave them an even more fearsome aspect as they loomed over the Aspirants.
At their center stood the imposing figure of Captain Acastus, his ornate armor adorned with the symbol of the Chapter, the flaming phoenix emblazoned on his chest plate. His eyes, barely visible through the narrow slit of his helm, watched the Aspirants with an unyielding gaze, measuring each of them with a scrutinizing intensity.
Cassius took a deep breath, trying to steady his heart as the adrenaline from the trial still coursed through his veins. Kane, beside him, did the same. They had made it. Of the one hundred Aspirants that had entered the trial, only thirteen now stood here, survivors of the relentless carnage. The others—rivals, allies, those who had faltered—were either dead or broken, lost in the unforgiving proving grounds.
A low hum broke the silence as Acastus stepped forward. He slowly removed his helm, revealing a weathered face etched with scars from countless battles. His expression was stern, his voice a deep rumble as he addressed the surviving Aspirants.
“Thirteen.” His voice cut through the air like a blade. “Out of a hundred.”
He let the weight of his words sink in. Cassius felt his heart tighten. He knew the gravity of what had just transpired—how many lives had been lost, how close he had come to falling among them.
“You have endured what countless others could not. You have bled, fought, and risen from the ashes. Now you stand here, on the precipice of a new life,” Acastus continued, his gaze sweeping across the Aspirants. “The weak have fallen. The unworthy have perished. But you—thirteen—have proven yourselves worthy to bear the burden of our Chapter.”
He stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Cassius. His eyes bore into him, scrutinizing every inch of the young warrior. Cassius stood tall as tall as he could with his short stature, his body aching but his spirit unbroken. He did not flinch under the gaze much.
“You fought well, but your mind is an unsteady thing,” Acastus said, his voice low but resonant. “But the trials have only begun. From this moment, you are Neophytes of the Cardinal Phoenixes. Your lives, your wills, your bodies—all belong to the Chapter now.”
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Cassius felt a surge of pride swell within him. He had made it—he had passed the test, but he knew that this was only the beginning. The path ahead would be even more grueling, filled with endless trials of combat, loyalty, and sacrifice.
Acastus moved down the line, speaking briefly to each of the survivors, and when he reached Kane, he paused longer. Kane, though limping and visibly exhausted, stood tall, his face set in grim determination.
“The wound to your leg,” Acastus said, nodding to Kane’s bruised limb, “will heal. But remember, pain is nothing compared to the honor you now bear. That is your only purpose.”
Kane nodded, his expression hard. “I will not falter”.
Acastus grunted in approval and continued down the line. Once he had spoken to each Aspirant, he returned to his original position at the head of the group.
“Neophytes, this is the first of many trials. The Chapter will mold you, break you down, and rebuild you. You will learn the ways of the Blood Angels—of Sanguinius. You will fight for our Chapter’s honor and for the emperor’s will. Some of you will rise to greatness. Others may fall before your true potential is realized.”
Cassius felt the words settle within him like a heavy stone. His body was exhausted, but his spirit was aflame. This was what he had fought for, what he had bled for. He had made it.
Acastus raised his hand, and the Phoenixes behind him stood even taller, their presence a constant reminder of the immense power and responsibility that awaited them.
“Follow me,” Acastus ordered, turning sharply on his heel. “Your training begins now.”
Without hesitation, the thirteen Aspirants—now Neophytes—fell into step behind him. Cassius glanced at Kane, who met his gaze with a nod. Together, they marched forward, bruised, bloodied, and weary—but alive.
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The path from the Alpha Proving Ground to the heart of the Black Citadel was a long and winding one, cutting through the towering stone halls of their new world. The walls were lined with centuries-old banners, depicting the triumphs and sacrifices of Blood Angels. Ancient murals of Sanguinius, the Blood Angels' Primarch, locked in his final battle with Horus, adorned the walls, a constant reminder of the fate awaiting those who walked this path. The flickering light of torches cast elongated shadows, adding to the moment's weight.
Cassius and the other twelve Aspirants marched silently behind Acastus, their minds focused on the steps ahead. Their bodies screamed for rest, the aches of the trial still fresh in their muscles, but none dared show weakness.
The sound of armored boots against stone echoed ominously through the corridors. Cassius felt the pulse of his heartbeat thrum in his ears, a constant reminder of the blood he had spilled and the blood yet to be shed.
Finally, the group arrived at a vast chamber, the *Sanctum of the Phoenix*, a place where the future of the Chapter was decided. The chamber was dimly lit, with towering braziers casting a blood-red glow across the space. At the center stood a massive altar made of obsidian, etched with the flaming sigil of the Cardinal Phoenixes. Surrounding the altar were ranks of fully armored Battle Brothers, their faces hidden behind the grim masks of their helmets, silent sentinels overseeing the next stage of the Aspirant's journey.
Company Commander Captain Gaven Acastus turned to face them, his eyes gleaming with pride and severity.
“Welcome, Neophytes,” he began, his voice echoing through the chamber. “This is the Sanctum of the Phoenix. Here, your bodies will be reforged, your souls will be tested, and your loyalty will be bound in blood.”
He gestured to the altar. Upon it lay several sacred implements: vials of blood, syringes filled with genetic material, and tools that gleamed ominously under the red light. Behind the altar stood the Chapters Apothecary High Priest Brother Enoch, a towering figure clad in bone-white armor, his servo-arm whirring quietly as he prepared the ritualistic tools for the gene-seed implantation.
“The rites you are about to undergo” He paused a moment and continued, “will forever alter you. You will no longer be mere men—you will be transfigured into something far greater. But know this: the path to becoming a Space Marine is not just about the strength of body, but the strength of will. Your mind must be unbreakable, for what you endure here will test the very core of who you are.”
Cassius swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment. He had been raised with stories of the Imperium’s might, of the legendary Space Marines who fought for humanity’s survival. But now, standing here, he understood the cost. This was no simple act of valor—this was a sacrifice of everything he had known, everything he had been, to become something greater.
Acastus nodded to the Apothecary, who stepped forward, carrying a large syringe filled with a viscous, crimson liquid—the blood of Sanguinius’ line, the gene-seed that would begin the transformation of the Aspirants into the superhuman warriors of the Adeptus Astartes.
“The blood of Sanguinius runs through all of us,” the Apothecary intoned, his voice deep and ceremonial. “It is through this blood that we are made whole, that we are bound to our Primarch legacy. But it is also a curse. The Red Thirst dwells within us, a hunger that gnaws at the edges of our minds. Only through strength and discipline can you resist it.”
He moved to the first Neophyte in line, a young warrior named Orlan, and plunged the syringe into his arm. The boy flinched but held his composure, his jaw tightening as the gene seed was injected into his bloodstream. His face turned pale as the foreign substance coursed through his veins, his body convulsing slightly as it began the slow, painful process of transforming him.
Cassius watched as the Apothecary moved methodically down the line, administering the gene seed to each Neophyte. He knew his turn was coming, and he tried to focus his mind, preparing himself for the ordeal.
When the Apothecary finally reached him, Cassius felt a brief flash of fear, but he buried it deep. This was the moment he had trained for, the culmination of everything he had endured. He could not falter now.
The needle pierced his flesh, and instantly, a burning sensation spread through his arm and into his chest. It was as if molten iron had been injected into his veins, his entire body suddenly aflame with agony. Cassius clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to scream as the gene seed took hold, altering his physiology at the most fundamental level. His muscles burned, his bones ached, and his vision swam as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.
But he did not fall. He remained standing, even as his body fought against the changes, even as the agony threatened to tear him apart from the inside.
“You will endure,” Acastus’ voice rang out, though it seemed distant through the haze of pain. “You must endure”.