Even those sunk in utter despair, madmen whose minds had fallen into frenzy, still longed to be loved.
But did he still deserve it?—
Sanguinius silently flexed the fingers of his right hand, then his wrist, his arm, and his shoulder. He was so meticulous, so cautious and careful. He looked as though he were handling a precious antique, not a Primarch's arm that could shatter mountains and split stone. His holy wings glimmered behind him, their hazy golden radiance brightening with his breath.
Beautiful and pure, just as he appeared in everyone's eyes. Many times, he had only needed to appear on a battlefield to bring an immense boost to his allies' morale. The confusion and fear in mortals' hearts would vanish, filling them with courage once more. The Astartes, meanwhile, would feel deeply honored to stand at the angel's side.
But.
He lowered his right hand. The scene displayed at the front of the bridge was a chaotic black.
Starlight had dimmed here into nothing. Only a shattered planet remained, held together by some unknown force, its cracks filled with surging pale-purple haze. Storms roiled endlessly across its surface, and within them, enormous nightmare-twisted human faces appeared and disappeared.
Baal.
"Shocking," Jaghatai Khan said quietly. "I hate to say this, Sanguinius, but your home now looks so—"
The Hawk of Chogoris let out a deep sigh.
Then a word, suppressed to the extreme, slipped from his mouth: "—blasphemous."
Sanguinius gazed at it calmly and rationally, his expression not pained. After a moment, amid the beeping of the instruments aboard this small cruiser, he spoke.
"You speak truly, brother. It is no longer as I remember it. In fact, I very much doubt whether it has been fundamentally altered at the root of its existence. This is not what