Snow White and the Seven Hundred Dwarves

Son of the Emperor, a title of immense glory yet crushing weight.

Since reuniting with his Legion, Fulgrim had been shackled by this glory, for the Primarch believed he must make the Third Legion worthy of the name, lest he tarnish such prestige.

As the genesis of the Legions, every one of them began their recruitment on Holy Terra, and the Son of the Emperor was no exception.

During the seven centuries of the Unification Wars, when monsters and demons ravaged Terra, the Europa region was gradually brought under the Master of Mankind's rule. To signal their submission, the nobles offered their eldest sons to this Golden Giant, and these men became the foundation of the Third Legion.

Noble Scion becoming a warrior always draws the eyes of all; Fulgrim knew the reason why. After all, the people of Chemos were the same—they always loved to watch those who were High and Mighty fall to the earth.

But Fulgrim did not care. He believed he had the ability to ensure his progeny would never falter; after all, he was a Primarch, the scion of the Master of Mankind.

"The Phoenix of Chemos is perfect, and my Legion shall be the same!"

Fulgrim would warn himself thus, and each time it would firm his resolve, yet reality dealt the Primarch a heavy blow.

The Wasting, a flesh-warping blight originating from the Gene-Cult's poisoning on the moon, drove the once-mighty Legion toward extinction.

When Fulgrim returned to his Legion, only 1,500 men remained, a name in all but reality. Even after he struggled to catch up, he had only managed to bring the Legion's numbers to a mere 700.

As for why the numbers dwindled further after his desperate efforts, one must mention those bastards of the Second Legion.

"Why did no one tell me two-thirds of my own Legion were someone else's progeny? Which bastard thought of letting them join my Legion... (Chemosian profanity)"

Thinking that the Third Legion, numbering only 701 including himself, could not even man their own ships, Fulgrim felt the urge to beat those deserters to a pulp.

Seeing his Primarch repeatedly punching the wall in a fit of sullen rage, Julius Casalon, Captain of the 1st Company of the Imperial Son, felt a wave of shame:

"Father, stop! Please, stop! Your image, you must mind your image! We are not those savages of the Space Wolves."

"How do you expect me to mind my image?"

Seeing no one else around, Fulgrim finally snapped, pulling his Captain of the Guard aside to vent:

"Casalon, you've been in the Legion for over thirty years—did you not notice they were different from you? Don't tell me you didn't know."

The Captain's face shifted through several expressions; he dared not meet the Primarch's gaze, eventually admitting:

"Father, I did know. But they integrated so well that, aside from being larger in stature, anyone would think they were a Son of the Emperor. After getting used to it for so long, I simply forgot."

"Forgot? You actually say you forgot! Do you know what consequences your mistake has caused?"

It was fortunate the Primarch did not suffer from high blood pressure, or Fulgrim would have been Angered to death by that sentence, becoming the first giant to die of a cerebral hemorrhage.

Yet Casalon had his own grievances; who could have known those cousins would suddenly leave without a word? This was clearly Rilano's responsibility; he was the one who handled the deployment.

Thinking of Rilano, Casalon felt a bitter, unspeakable pain. Heaven Knows where that elder had gone—he couldn't have defected, could he?

But since the Primarch had asked, he, as a son, had to answer:

"Reporting to Father, because the men of the Second Legion left without notice, the organization of the Son of the Emperor was completely shattered. We are missing three Captains, half our sergeants, a martial arts instructor, all the Legion's cooks, the quartermaster, and one Dreadnought.

Because of the personnel shortage, the Council of Terra even assessed us as incapable of conducting expeditionary warfare. Horus argued bitterly with the Council over this."

Hearing the name Horus, the Phoenix felt a sharp sting. It was all because of those bastards that he could not hold his head high before his brother, eventually being advised by his father to go to Serenity for logistics.

The Master of Mankind's regretful yet cold gaze was something the Phoenix would never forget in this lifetime; he could not let anyone down again.

Hoo...

He was, after all, the Phoenix of Chemos. Even when Angered to the brink of death, Fulgrim quickly adjusted his mindset.

"Sigh, work is work wherever it is. Logistics is of the utmost importance; without logistical support, the Great Crusade cannot advance. Even if I cannot fight on the front lines, I will strive for perfection."

Thinking this, the Phoenix, who had self-taught the spirit of Ah Q, turned to comfort his Captain:

"What is that expression? What are those tears? You are the Captain of my Phoenix Guard!"

"But the 200-man Phoenix Guard is down to just me now. They are all gone, and you were the one who hand-picked them."

Yet even more soul-crushing was Casalon's follow-up question:

"Father, did you not see that they were not your progeny? I don't believe it!"

At this moment, it was just like that moment in the past.

Fulgrim had nothing to say. Heaven Knows those massive, tall men were not his progeny; he had thought those who looked a bit special were just a new breed.

Now it was the Primarch's turn to avoid his son's eyes. The two, one large and one small, squatted silently by the porthole, gazing at the verdant green planet below called Serenity.

And while the two were contemplating life, Atlas, the one who had caused all this, began a chaotic cover-up operation.

People were running about in disarray; anything that looked suspicious was sprayed with a layer of paint to hide the fact that it was Free Looting.

"I'm done with you lot. I told you not to be so flashy, but you wouldn't listen. Now we're stuck painting everything at the last minute—hurry up and move!"

Mordred, stationed at the landing pad, held a spray gun and began altering that Imperial Son Dreadnought, glancing at a photo from time to time to ensure he hadn't made a mistake.

"Which bastard painted a dog head on him? And this Paint Scheme—are you idiots? Don't steal Dreadnoughts next time."

The Canned Ones, fiercely scolded, dared not make a sound. They were already overwhelmed, and even the Auxilia had been fully Deployed. Heaven Knows whose brain had short-circuited to paint this Dreadnought in their own colors.

Seeing the silhouettes of landing craft in the distance, Mordred didn't hesitate. He dropped his tools, ordered everyone to stop what they were doing, and immediately line up to welcome them.

As the airlock opened from within and the pressure valves hissed with white mist, Mordred immediately awakened the Dreadnought behind him and walked forward into the sunlight.

Giving no time for reaction, Mordred charged into the mist, locked onto his target, and went in for a massive hug:

"Brother, welcome to Coconut City!

Let me see what the Snow White of the Imperium looks like. I've been wanting to... wait? Why are you so short!"

"..."

"Second Brother, I'm here! That's my 1st Company Captain."