198 Terra (LIII: Shattering the Wings of Fate)

When the shriek came, Sanguinius was talking to the standard-bearer.

But its appearance disrupted everything; it shouldn't have appeared in the normal world. It was as absurd as finding a flock of sheep walking upside down in the sea, hunting sharks. It was filled with terrifying forces beyond the limits of human imagination.

As a Primarch, Sanguinius could understand more.

His intuitive talent kicked in again at this utterly inopportune moment; the angel's wings began to tremble. Everything he saw began to spin, until it became a gigantic vortex.

Blood and corpses are merely the most insignificant things in this vortex; they are nothing compared to the crimson eye at its center. That is the only true horror that needs to be considered.

Sanguinius met its gaze with his own eyes, and in just a moment, his senses began to become disordered.

The angel desperately suppressed the urge to scream, but that eye clearly wasn't going to let him go so easily. A crimson light quietly bloomed, and a familiar voice appeared in the angel's ears.

"You see," Horus Lupercal said. "Your talent is at work, my dearest brother. But what can it do for you? Victory is already in my hands."

Sanguinius tried to answer, but he could not.

The power possessed by the being speaking to him was immense, and it made no attempt to conceal it. Even a casual glance from it caused the angel to feel an indescribable pressure.

In reality, he was not merely staring into the Eye of Horus, but rather gazing directly into all the darkness within the Chaos tide.

He also saw Horus's current appearance with perfect clarity.

The body was stretched and twisted. His hands were repulsively long; a single finger could encompass several galaxies. His face was pale and bloodless, and what flowed in his veins was not blood, but the endless souls of the dead.

They were wailing, telling Sanguinius of the horrors they had suffered there, and urging him to turn back from his misguided ways and leave quickly, not to linger any longer.

However, he simply couldn't do it; the longer he looked, the more his mind was drawn in.

"You don't seem too keen on leaving," Horus's voice rang out again, tinged with a hint of hesitation.

His face vanished, but the stars did not; they were firmly enveloped by a giant claw, then slowly crushed. What slowly flowed from between the claws were not fragments or pieces of the world, but genuine, viscous blood.

They were poured into a goblet, the blood swirling within, countless corpses floating and sinking in it. A hand swirled the goblet and shoved it into Sanguinius's hand.

The archangel felt a burning sensation where his fingers touched the cup, yet he couldn't let go.

Horus Lupercal smiled slightly at him.

"Brother, I've always been forgiving of you, even now. I understand your choice, and I don't really care about it. It's your business if you choose to stand behind that liar, but I will use my own methods to reshape humanity and the Imperium. I cannot stand by and watch the future of humanity rest on an unstable lie—yes, you know what I mean."

He looked at the angel with a meaningful gaze.

"Imperial Truth, that's one of his lies. Of all his ten million lies, this is the only one I can understand. He needed a way to temporarily isolate himself from the influence of Chaos, so he had no choice. But what did he do to Lorgar?"

"He sent Roboute Guilliman and his Ultramarines to destroy Perfect City and even forced Lorgar to kneel. What kind of father could do such a thing? Brother?"

The angel stared blankly at him, blood slowly streaming from his eyes. In just a few words, his thoughts were already nearly scattered.

Is this a punishment? No, it's far from it. Horus didn't have that thought; he was simply speaking to Sanguinius, but he had transcended the concepts of "creature" or "human."

Even though the Fourth Ancient had spared no effort in strengthening its physical body, which was essential for its existence in the real world, to the point where it could shake the Veil, it still couldn't withstand his power. Therefore, this was merely an incidental cost.

Horus looked at him with pity, and with a slight twitch of his left index finger, the angel suddenly came to his senses.

He took several steps back and began to take deep breaths.

At that instant, blood began to flow from all seven of his orifices, and intense pain surged forth from the darkness. The blood wanted to rush into the angel's body, to defile him, and to devour his very essence, offering it to the Four Ancients. However, Horus would not allow it.

He annihilated them completely with just one look.

Then the pain subsided, Sanguinius stood trembling in place, his hands hanging limply, yet not a single drop of blood spilled from them.

After a while, he managed to piece together his shattered consciousness. Horus's voice returned at that moment, echoing in his ears like a gentle breeze.

He had heard it once before, but he couldn't understand it then. Now it was different; he fully understood what Horus was thinking.

Then, he realized something.

Lorgar did not kneel.

Both Roboute Guilliman and Konrad Curze Curze mentioned this incident to Sanguinius. In their accounts, Lorgar Aurelian never knelt. In fact, the Emperor even showed great remorse.

Does this mean that Horus is still being Deceit by Chaos?

He raised his head, trying to observe the other person's face—but even that fleeting glance shattered his thoughts once more.

He ultimately couldn't comprehend the laws governing this world; it wasn't a realm a rational being should tread. He seemed far too innocent here, so innocent that he was completely out of place.

The angel's biological instincts made him scream and retreat. Everything he possessed began to spin in the fragments of his reason, like another vortex.

Horus remained unmoved, standing still, still looking at him with pity.

"There's a world of difference between us now," he sighed. "And this is the cage Father has set for you, my brothers. You could have possessed far more extraordinary forms, instead of being trapped in a shell that can be wounded by a blade, slowly decaying over the long years."

As he spoke, he suddenly became somewhat angry. The world beneath his feet began to shatter like glass, pieces that never existed, never been born, merely a small glimpse of the future, but now, due to the overwhelming rage of a deity, had become reality.

But He did not come to create the world, but to destroy it. Under Horus's will, they quickly turned to ashes.

"Look, this is the trap he created for us. A natural prison!"

Horus roared as he walked toward Sanguinius, and countless worlds were born and destroyed beneath his feet.

"He feared we threatened his Imperium, he dreaded us overthrowing Throne, so he fabricated this lie with the lives of countless people. How many have died for his plans throughout history? We are not beings that can be created through so-called genetic programming. Look at your wings, look at your Radiance, Sanguinius. Aren't you yourself the best proof?"

He sighed softly, stopped in his tracks, and stood there, letting his brother wail as he walked away. He sent him back to the royal court; he had never wanted to kill Sanguinius.

Killing him would do him no good; Sanguinius cannot die.

He looked down and saw the stemmed glass that had long since fallen to the ground, its blood still unshed. Horus beckoned to it, and it flew over. He tilted his head back, raised the glass, and drank the essence of the stars in it in one gulp.

He Sanguinius and wanted him to possess superhuman powers as well. His love was pure and unadulterated. However, Sanguinius had been Deceit by his father's lies for too long, and he could no longer change him.

Unless there is an external force driving it.

The stars fell silent, and the god looked on in horror at his father, who was bound to the stone tablet.

"Just you wait, Father!" He roared. "I will change your lies!"

His father remained silent, only bowing his head to cast a shadow and shelter the messenger who was weeping at his feet.

"My lord? My lord?"

Sanguinius opened his eyes groggily, seeing a crimson expanse. Everything before him was blurry, and his eyes ached so much they felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. He struggled to lift his head, trying to answer the call, but a burning pain shot through his throat.

"Sir?" the man called again. "What's wrong?"

Sanguinius still couldn't answer, but this time, he was in better shape. His strength was rapidly returning to his body, and of course, many other things were returning with him, such as the brief conversation and Horus's face.

An overwhelming fear surged through him again, and the angel let out a sharp cry from his throat. He fell backward, his body swaying, almost collapsing to the ground. In the midst of an inappropriate, instinctive fear, Sanguinius finally managed to regain his senses.

Fear can break some people, but it can also give courage to others.

"I'm fine," he told the standard-bearer named Bellros. "It's just that old habits die hard, and I saw some things I shouldn't have seen."

Bellros nodded, not asking any further questions. Suddenly, the angel grabbed his hand, not with much force, but his five fingers were burning hot. Bellros's eyes narrowed, and he looked up to see that the angel's eyes were bloodshot, with blood vessels running through the whites of his eyes, making him look extremely ferocious.

"He sent me to find you, standard-bearer," Sanguinius said with difficulty. His condition was beyond poor. He was deathly pale, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, and he looked like a seriously ill person.

Bellros nodded silently.

Amidst the mountains of corpses and seas of blood, the angel slowly lowered his head. He released Bellros's hand and instead grasped the flagpole.

"My father is a man of deep thought; he does everything with a purpose. And now, at this moment, he has sent me to find you. Who are you, Bellros?"

"As you can see, I am his standard-bearer," Bellros replied.

Is that all?

"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" the flag bearer countered slyly. "How can these things help us with what we're doing right now?"

"In my opinion, the only reason you're asking me this question is because you're at a loss. Am I wrong? You want to know about my past experiences and deduce from them why the Emperor sent you to me—but if he really thought things through carefully before acting, why would we be standing here?"

Sanguinius looked at the mortal who dared to make fun of his father with a slight surprise.

"Look at those people. They don't understand what this flag in my hand represents, nor do they know if we can win, but they are still willing to fight for him. Our goal is actually only one: Lord Sanguinius, to find him and protect him from that thing."

"But."

"Yes, I know we probably won't be of much use in that level of combat," Bellros laughed. "But to do it or not to do it are two different things."

"You always tend to see him as an omnipotent great man, but I want to tell you, Sanguinius, he was not omnipotent, nor was he truly without blood or tears."

"The truth is quite the opposite. He is kinder than anyone else and cares more than anyone else. So, now is probably the time when he needs us the most. He doesn't need us to help him win that battle; he just needs us behind him."

He took the flag from Sanguinius's hand and then raised it.

"Can you still fly?" he asked.

Sanguinius suppressed the urge to smile and slowly nodded. A few seconds later, he flapped his wings and took off, golden light slowly emanating from between his feathers, making him appear as if he had become a shooting star.

He flew very slowly, at a speed less than a third of what it used to be, but that did not stop him from flying ahead of everyone—only then did the archangel realize that so many people had gathered under that banner.

But, perhaps because his eyesight hadn't fully recovered, he could only see a blurry silhouette. They were shouting and running forward, towards a faint, golden orb of light that had been mostly consumed by the crimson glow.

Sanguinius looked at it, his gaze now completely resolute.

Even now, he doesn't understand how the prophecy will come true, but he no longer cares, just as he no longer cares whether Horus Lupercal is still himself.

To him, the brother he knew was long dead. Now, all that remained was another enemy.

He took a deep breath, lowered his head, flapped his wings, and flew headlong towards the ball of light.

--

Cassidorius slowly raised his head.

The earth was parched and covered in dust, even the stones were cracked. The sky was dark and gloomy, like the Nest of ghosts and spirits. The only light he could see here was the eyes of the man bound to the stone tablet.

He was looking down at him.

His shadow completely enveloped Cassidorius.

"What other tricks do you have up your sleeve, Father?"

Cassidorius heard its voice again, but he dared not turn around. He had lost that courage, for Horus Lupercal no longer concealed himself.

At that moment, the wasteland trembled under his voice. Cassidorius lowered his head, staring at the ground, and discovered that countless eyes were blinking within the cracks, staring intently at him.

The man bound to the stone tablet slowly exhaled. He finally spoke, but not to Horus.

"Do not be afraid, Cassidorius." His voice was low and weak, like that of a dying man. "He who exists here is merely a phantom, and what you see is only a part of a malevolent metaphor, not reality. He cannot harm you unless he kills me first."

"Oh, really, Father? Is that so?" Horus demanded sharply.

He stepped forward and grasped Cassidorius's shoulder with his cold, steely hand, the deep chill of which made the messenger involuntarily shrink back.

However, what truly terrified him was not the unreal touch, but Horus's scent—he was so close that Cassidorius could even smell his own body.

The smell was indescribable; he felt as if the air he inhaled had transformed into hundreds of withered hands, greedily clawing at his flesh, craving blood and soul. Cassidorius lowered his head and began to tremble.

Horus then slammed him to the ground with a force that was impossible to resist. Cassidorius's face was now covered in dust, his eyes darting around in bewilderment, and by sheer coincidence, they met the cracks in the surface. Suddenly, the thousands of eyes within them changed color, turning a bright yellow, like Lantern.

Horus spoke again, his voice becoming inhuman and powerful. He lifted Cassidorius up and slammed him to the ground again. The messenger cowered and trembled in pain, as if his internal organs had been displaced.

"Do you really think so, Father? I cannot harm this foolish, weak, and insignificant mortal?" Horus glanced at him, then raised his head and questioned him with a chilling gaze.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think," the man on the stone tablet replied calmly. "And he is by no means weak."

Horus released his grip, letting the blood-covered Cassidorius curl up and crawl into his father's shadow, and laughed mockingly.

"So, how much longer can you hold out? I've destroyed a million of your tricks and devoured all the bait you left behind. You can waste my time, but there's a price to pay. Now, how much power do you have left to maintain this illusory realm that protects their souls and sanity?"

The man finally slowly raised his head. His skin was taut, like tanned leather, and his cheeks were sunken, almost to the point of being skin and bones. His eyes gleamed with a faint golden light, but his gaze was devoid of kindness or pity, only calmness remained.

→

"And who do you think you are?" he asked in a flat tone.

"My son Horus Lupercal died long ago, his sacrifice allowed his brothers to escape and his loyal descendants to continue. He never truly surrendered; his humanity always resisted."

"And you are nothing but a fabricated aspect, your self-awareness forged from the remnants of his death. You are not my son, but merely a monster."

"Your lies cannot sway me. I know who I am, and I still possess humanity." Horus sneered, unmoved. He raised his head and looked at the gloomy sky.

A shooting star slowly streaked across the sky, gradually approaching them. Its light was faint, yet it still illuminated the surroundings.

Horus's eyes suddenly turned into two dark, empty holes, his pupils began to spin wildly, intently tracking the shooting star. After a while, he lowered his head and turned his attention back to the man.

"So this is your last resort?" He stared at the man with disdain. "I know what you're trying to do, Father. Don't forget, I, like you, saw those prophecies through the power of Chaos."

"Like Sanguinius, he saw it too, but he was too naive. He thought that by accepting his inevitable death, he could turn the tide and let you win—but how could I really kill him?"

He raised his hand, and suddenly thunder rumbled in the sky. Dark clouds gathered, forming a terrifying giant hand that was about to completely engulf the meteor. The man also raised his head and looked up at the sky.

He gritted his teeth, and a murderous intent suddenly appeared on his gaunt face.

Horus immediately sensed something and looked over. A dazzling golden light flashed before his eyes, almost brushing past his face. He narrowed his eyes and grimly touched his cheek.

He saw a bolt of lightning strike the sky without hesitation.

"You wicked false father!" he cursed. "He could only fulfill the prophecy by being killed by me, and you actually dared to do such a thing!"

The man did not answer; his head hung low, and his breathing gradually became weak.

Horus shook his head in disdain. "You've painstakingly preserved your last bit of strength, only to waste it on such a despicable place? Very well, Father, very well."

With a loud bang, dust billowed up. Cassidorius shuddered and looked back in disbelief, only to find that Horus had vanished, leaving only his voice echoing in the same spot.

"Then let's switch roles; this time, it's my turn to save him."

Cassidorius's mind began to race—what had happened? What had the Emperor done? Where was Horus?

However, all the questions vanished before the Emperor, whose head was bowed. The messenger, who had recently been consumed by fear, actually gritted his teeth and stood up after seeing that lifeless face.

His reason no longer supports him using a complete logical chain of thought, but that's fine too, then he might as well abandon thinking altogether.

He approached the man bound to the stone tablet, carefully raised his hand, and began to try to untie the rough ropes. However, as soon as he touched his fingers, he felt a terrible pain in his fingertips.

Cassidorius cried out in pain, looking down to see that the ropes had somehow transformed into countless black venomous snakes. Their eyes were crimson, their tongues flicking, staring at him with malevolence.

Cassidorius was startled.

He certainly wouldn't leave so easily.

Just then, a voice entered his heart. It was very weak, very faint. If it weren't for the utter silence of the wasteland, Cassidorius probably wouldn't have noticed it at all. Yet, he heard it, and he was overjoyed, his eyes immediately filling with tears.

"My Lord!" he cried out in a mournful voice. "What can I do to save you?!"

+You cannot save me, Cassidorius, but you have already fulfilled part of your mission. You have arrived here, creating a condition for me to use deception.+

The man opened his eyes. What kind of eyes were they? Cassidorius saw no emotion in them; everything had vanished, leaving only pure nothingness and extreme calm.

"A deception? A trick?" the messenger stammered. "I don't understand, my lord."

He's paranoid, believing everything I've done stems from ambition and lies, and I no longer want to change his mind.

He's not my son; he doesn't deserve this respect. But I will exploit his contempt and his twisted humanity—I've always been this way, adept at using everything.

His mind must briefly leave this illusion and return to the Materium in order to accomplish what he spoke of. This gives us an opportunity, Cassidorius.

The man tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and leaned against the dark stone monument. His chest remained still, and the white linen robe hung on his thin body; everything about him was so withered, fragile, and unbelievable.

This doesn't resemble a deity at all.

The messenger couldn't help but shed tears again; he didn't want to be so weak, but he was truly saddened by his plight.

"However, I am not God, my messenger." The man spoke with his eyes tightly closed, uttering his true voice.

"You must remember this: God cannot achieve any victory. They are a group of selfish beings who have no concept of such basic things. Only humans will fight desperately for something; only humans understand what sacrifice means."

He finally opened his eyes again, making a gurgling sound from his throat. His face was tense, the veins bulging menacingly beneath his dark skin, and his teeth began to crack.

Cassidorius could hear more, such as a kind of unbearable strain emanating from within him.

The sound filled him with fear and panic—had the Emperor finally given up?

Instinctively, he lunged forward, fell at his feet, and tried to lift him up. This, of course, did nothing to help, but Cassidorius saw more in the process.

For example, two drops of fresh blood.

Two drops of blood, the last remaining drops of blood that had been preserved with all their might in this withered body, flowed from the man's eyes like tears, sliding down his cheeks, dripping from his chin, and finally falling onto Cassidorius's chest.

It shone with golden light, dazzling and incomparable.

Cassidorius suddenly stood up.

He finally remembered. How could he have forgotten? What had he been striving for for millennia, wallowing in madness for so long?

He lowered his head, his hands trembling as he reached for his breastplate. He seemed to be trying to remove the gem from the armor with his bare hands. He failed, as expected; this Power Armour was never designed with the wearer able to remove the gem themselves in mind.

Cassidorius's movements gradually ceased. He raised his head with a hint of despair, intending to ask a question, but he couldn't utter a single word.

The man looked at him, saying nothing, only smiling.

The light continued to shine, as if burning. Cassidorius lowered his head in confusion and anxiety, wanting to try again to see if he could free his breastplate. He failed, because he couldn't even touch his breastplate.

His fingers materialized into an ethereal form, sinking deep into his breastplate. He was stunned, then overjoyed. A surge of heat emanated from his fingertips, bringing no stinging pain, only endless light and warmth, as comforting as the winter sun.

Cassidorius approached the man, trembling and weeping, and raised his right hand, golden light emanating from between his fingers.

The man shook his head. "It's not for me, Cassidorius."

"It's for me," the other man said.

Cassidorius turned around and saw an old man wearing a wrinkled, dirty, dark green military uniform. His temples were gray, and he looked extremely tired. His boots were covered in blood, and he was carrying a gun in one hand.

Behind him stood an Adeptus Custodes, every line on his Auramite armor completely blurred, thick ash filling the gaps in the armor, only the spear in his left hand remained bright.

"Who are you?" Cassidorius asked.

"Like you, a messenger," Ollanius Persson replied.

He bent down and pulled a gem from his uniform. It was placed on a rough metal base, the base itself already worn and weathered, but the gem was still bright, radiating a brilliant white Radiance. He threw down his gun and extended his left hand to Cassidorius.

"Come on," Ollanius Persson said, completely unaware that he was smiling. "It's time."

One second later, the two gems merged into one.

A second later, the parched earth began to rapidly recover.

The stones healed, the dust turned into mud, and seeds of long-extinct plants suddenly appeared within them, falling in and growing rapidly. Trees, grass, blue sky, white clouds. A river meandered past their feet, the stone tablet crumbled, and turned to dust.

The venomous snakes flicked their tongues, trying to escape into the grass, but were pierced and killed one after another by a long spear.

The man weakly knelt on the ground and used his hands to prop himself up.

Cassidorius held his breath, looking at him helplessly, not understanding what to do next, until the dirty old soldier gently patted his shoulder with his palm.

He handed me a gemstone.

"It's time, messenger." Ollanius Persson swept the weariness from his face, his eyes clear and bright. "Give it to him."

Cassidorius held the jewel, which was radiating infinite brilliance, in his hands and walked toward the Emperor with tears in his eyes.

--

Sanguinius pierced the darkness with his wings and flew forward. Just a little bit more, just a tiny bit more, and he would have touched that light. This was truly the only good news in all this time, yet the angels did not breathe a sigh of relief.

He was so close to his goal, yet he still didn't know how he could contribute to this increasingly abstract battle. But he had to help his father.

Even if we consider this from a purely utilitarian perspective, devoid of any emotion, the Emperor must live. He is the founder of the Imperium, the only one qualified to call himself the Emperor. He is also the spiritual pillar of countless people, a being far beyond any symbol.

He led humanity back to unity; he swept away all darkness, allowing light to shine in those barbaric worlds, freeing humanity from the suffering of the Old Night.

Sanguinius understood that his father's hands were stained with blood, yet his father was also the greatest hero in the world.

Closer, closer. Just a little bit more, and he would be able to touch that light— Sanguinius gritted his teeth, stretched out his right hand, and his fingertips were almost touching it.

However, at that very moment, a terrifying force descended upon him, forcefully slamming him to the ground. The angel crashed to the ground, and amidst the intense pain, he saw a golden lightning bolt burst forth from the ball of light, striking down upon the demons and monsters.

And Horus Lupercal's face, illuminated by golden light.

Horus looked down at him coldly.

Behind him was an unhealed, blood-red crack, from which he had probably emerged. Sticky, living darkness continued to surge forth from the crack, drifting like steam towards the ceiling of the royal court and merging with the other forms of darkness.

"Don't forget, it was me who saved you, brother," he said slowly. "You may not understand what I'm saying, and you may not believe what I'm saying, but you just need to remember this, Sanguinius."

"Our father tried to kill you to secure a last glimmer of hope for his plan. You should have died, but I saved you. I don't ask for anything in return; I only have one request of you."

Sanguinius coughed up blood and instinctively tried to flap his wings to get up and get away from the mad monster, but felt a sharp pain coming from both ends of his spine.

Horus laughed.

"I've broken your wings, so you can never fly again," he said emotionlessly. "The sky is not a place for humans to tamper with. Stay on the ground, keep your feet on the ground."

He suddenly frowned.

Sanguinius, panting, slowly got to his feet. He glanced at the Spear of Telesto, which had fallen a short distance away due to the impact of the fall, making it impossible to bend down and pick it up—oh well, he'd just have to face it with his bare hands.

The angel pressed his twisted, trembling fingers against his chest and began trying to bend them into a fist.

Horus may have indeed only broken his wings, as he claimed, but the impact that sent him plummeting also broke other things—some of his bones, his fingers, and his bleeding internal organs.

Two seconds later, Sanguinius slowly raised his fists.

To be honest, this action reminded him of that Daemon.

Horus glanced at him, his brow furrowing deeper. "I've said it many times, brother, I mean you no harm. I don't want to kill you; it wouldn't benefit either of us. Why can't you just sit here quietly for a while and let me finish everything?"

"Whom do you want to deal with?" the angel asked softly.

"Who else could it be?" Horus retorted. "Who else do you think could it be?"

The angel gasped for breath, then burst into laughter, revealing a mouthful of blood.

"You—"

He couldn't finish speaking; his words were interrupted as Horus Lupercal suddenly erupted in fury. His form became a surging darkness, enormous and chaotic, with corpses floating and gurgling.

A pure fear rose in Sanguinius' heart, but this was not the end, far from it.

The anger of darkness was so real that it emitted a shockwave that transcended the realm of hearing, causing the Veil between reality and illusion to flutter and be violently impacted.

Sanguinius was the first to be hit and was sent flying. He was powerless to resist, and the force carried him to the deepest part of the royal court, to a place where no one ever set foot.

It was dark here, but it didn't quite resemble a royal court. There were portholes, corridors, and even the Milky Way outside the portholes seemed to be slowly burning.

Sanguinius landed heavily.

He no longer knew what pain was; his spirit was dissipating, and this time, there was probably no way to heal it. Blood flowed beneath him, forming a river. He was on his deathbed, and would forever remain on his deathbed.

Horus was unwilling to kill him, but he was probably angered by the angel's attitude, and this was the punishment the angel was about to face.

In the deepest recesses of his shattering consciousness, Sanguinius understood this. He felt no sorrow for himself, nor did he worry about what might happen in the future. In fact, he worried about others.

He worried about his brothers, about everyone fighting in that terrible royal court. He also worried about the future of humanity, the future of the Imperium, and his offspring. Azkaellon, Amit

Many names flashed through his mind as it gradually sank into darkness. His vision began to blur and become unfocused, and everything gradually transformed into the vortex he had seen before. Sanguinius was not afraid; he desperately held on to his breath, opened his mouth, and a hoarse sound came from his throat.

He uttered each word slowly.

"Father."

Then, a person stood in front of him.

He was certainly not his father; he was someone else entirely.

His armor was grotesque and skeletal, entirely black, with not a trace of pale white remaining. Wrathful flames coiled around it, burning with unprecedented intensity. The surging fury was so intense that it was invisible to the naked eye; the skeletal face obscuring his features was even more terrifying than before, every detail filled with boundless resentment.

The darkness beneath his feet was howling and retreating. But it had nowhere to escape; the raging flames pursued it, burning it all to ashes.

"Sanguinius," the being spoke softly, "I will Vengeance you."