The great armored mass of the Mortem was nothing compared to the mighty asteroid it orbited. Savaged by a thousand thousand comets and home to untold millions of tons of minerals, the Asteroid was itself the size of a moderate continent and many times more important. Unlike many of the wandering marauders that lived and died on the fringes of the Imperium of Chaos, the Tears of Darkness were Astartes, demigods forged for one purpose, war. Warfare on a scale and intensity that most mortals would never know was their only goal, and several thousand years earlier they had done it in the name of the God Emperor of Man. Transported by fell energies to this unknown Galaxy, the Tears had first labored to find some other Imperial Assets, in time realizing that they were alone.
Alone was figurative though, as they were quickly located by the Imperium of Chaos, specifically their brother Astartes of the Blight Bringers. Together they had earned the Tears of Darkness a place in the mighty machine that was the Imperium, a machine as savage and vast as the one the Tears of Darkness had so recently left. What followed for the Chapter of Demigods was nothing short of disgraceful however. Sworn to serve the Emperor Remiel, the Tears of Darkness turned their destructive potential upon themselves in a great purge/civil war that was known as the, “Rectification”. Because of this conflict, the once thousand strong Chapter was now hovering just above four hundred Astartes, barely enough to warrant a place in the Imperium's order of battle.
The Asteroid the Mortem now orbited was their crypt-keep, a massive mausoleum that was as close to a home planet as the Tears of Darkness had come in over a dozen centuries. It's shadow cloaked hallways led for thousands of kilometers and terminated in a mighty cathedral-arena that was as much an alter to the ancient gods of battle as it was a council chamber where the Brothers would decide the Chapter's fate. Traditionally, such councils are accompanied by honor duels, a tradition that was now as foolish as it was necessary in the sense that it was one of the few ties they still had to their days of Imperial Service.
Chapter Master Azoth was engaged in one such duel, stalking about his opponent, Kneze Maikov with a predator's instinct. His ashen gray plate armor growling with more than just the hungry mutter of it's power plant, Azoth was close to ascension to Daemon hood, though this was not due to his leadership qualities. Under Azoth the Purgators had left the Imperium of Man, became the Tears of Darkness, then proceeded to butcher themselves with an zealotry known only to fanatics. Now the once mighty brotherhood stood, emaciated, and in all aspects starved of the things that made it a force to be feared. Because of this Kneze Maikov had challenged the Chapter Master, determined to die to change the fate of the Tears, though it was never quite clear if their fate could be altered. With only two Apothecaries and a very limited amount of Gene-seed, the Chapter was doomed to a slow death if nothing was done.
Roaring Maikov swung at the Chapter Master, his chainblade snarling as it struck Azoth's right shoulder guard. After two agonizing seconds it slid clear, the rent it carved little more than an annoyance. In retaliation the Chapter Master swung his power axe in a dazzling figure eight before focusing it into one powerful blow that dented the chest piece of Maikov's armor and cracked his bone breastplate beneath. With a smile the Chapter Master slowly whispered, “That pain in your chest is your lungs being perforated by bone shards...brother.”
Azoth was correct, Maikov's autosenses had already alerted him to the small holes torn in the delicate sides of his two primary lungs, luckily his enhanced body possessed a third which was enough to keep him fighting, for now. He responded with a roar and a vicious swipe at Azoth's legs, a swipe that was expertly parried. With his free hand the Chapter Master punched Maikov in the helmet before bringing his axe to bear on the Astartes' right knee joint. The blow did not sever the leg, but it cut deep, deep enough to make quick movement difficult.
Azoth was playing with him, the damned Daemon was enjoying this! The thought echoed in Maikov's head as he tried trick after gamble, taking more blows to the body and limbs until he was capable of little more than just swinging blindly. Tiring of the game, the Chapter Master smashed his axe into his opponents side and pulled downward, forcing the challenger onto his knees. Seizing the helm of the dying Astartes, Azoth gave a vicious tug that saw the man's neck broken. With a tenderness that was unfitting for a killer such as he, Azoth laid the corpse on the ground and softly whispered, “A worthy attempt.”
Reveling in his victory, it was only after several minutes that Azoth realized he alone celebrated his victory. The weary and scarred warriors who returned his stare through the unemotional lenses of their helms did not cheer, they did not move, they only stood and silently asked, “Why should we support you?” He lowered his arms slowly and in the space of an instant tried to think of a plan, he found that for once he could not. His wily combat veteran's mind had failed him and just as he was about to roar his defiance his Marines turned upon him. Hacking, slashing, shooting, the entire four hundred remaining Astartes descended upon him and only when his body was torn asunder did they slow in their outburst of violence. Slowly the hacking blades were sheathed and the question of who was to lead arose.
Just as another bout of infighting appeared to begin a deep voice from the rear of the hall roared,
“I shall lead.”
Stepping forward slowly with complete economy of motion was the ancient warrior Perune. His terminator armor was one of only ten suits the Warband possessed, marking him as one of Azoth's champions and a grizzeled veteran. Upon his right fist growled a chainblade while in his left sat a squat Storm Bolter that was both drawn and hungrily sweeping the crowd. Every step he took left a faint footprint of blood, blood that was eternally seeping out of the thousands of cracks in his armor, exposing him to fresh pain-sensations with every move. Most loved of Slaanesh, Perune was also a veritable killing machine and it was rumored that Daemon-hood was not completely impossible for the mighty chamption.
Standing alone now in the center of the mighty chamber he solemnly repeated,
“I shall lead us.”