The 127th Black Crusade (End: The True Winner)

With a deafening roar, a tall, golden humanoid figure shattered the solid outer deck. Steel twisted, Radiance scattered, wisps of smoke rose, and flames, like liquid gold, roared into action.

The ship's pre-programmed alarms began to sound at the highest level. Armored doors slammed shut, portholes slammed shut, and a sharp, piercing buzzing sound, along with the Ultramarines' recording, began to echo throughout the boarding area of Sanguinius.

"You are now locked onto by deadly force. Surrender immediately."

What else can I say? Typical Ultramarines style.

But Sanguinius believed that this type of alarm wouldn't sound if the Xenos or Daemon boarded the ship. Ultramarines liked to have a contingency plan in place for any situation, and they weren't rigid; they would learn from their failures.

He turned around, and the mirror-like blade of his sword reflected a dense array of black cannon barrels. The Autocannon rising from beneath the armor plates were trembling dangerously, ready to fire at any moment.

The hose carrying the coolant was wrapped around the right side of the muzzle in a way that Sanguinius had never seen before, which meant that this weapon was a new model he had never seen before.

They had already locked onto him, and if he made any unusual movements, these programmed killing machines would open fire without hesitation.

Sanguinius ignored them and simply turned and left.

As expected, the turret opened fire immediately, sending plasma streams, Heavy Bolter, and several massive alloy capture nets hurtling towards him, only to melt instantly upon leaving the barrel, vanishing into nothingness in a blinding golden light.

As the angel walked, it slowly raised its wings, Radiance, like a flowing golden waterfall, cascaded down from between its tattered wings, turning into flames that began to burn the thick deck.

They posed no threat to the deck itself, but they blinded something lurking in the darkness.

They screamed as they burst out of the darkness, chirping in unison, flying and crashing about in the golden light. The warning lights were shattered by sharp beaks, and the cables neatly placed along the edges of the metal seams were stained with blood.

The feathers, seemingly pitch black but actually incredibly vibrant, fell along with flesh and blood, melting in the golden flames and turning into tiny, glass-like fragments. They were then crushed into powder by the angel's footsteps, making a crunching sound.

The angels did not stop.

It's not time yet; there are still monsters waiting to be slaughtered.

His anger had not yet subsided.

"Is that all?" he asked, his voice echoing in the flames.

At that moment, it sounded as if millions of people were speaking in unison, an incomprehensible force flowing through it, as awe-inspiring as a mountain collapsing or a giant wave rising from the distant horizon.

Unsurprisingly, he received no answer. Perhaps it was because the instigator wasn't there, or perhaps it was because he simply didn't dare to answer.

The angel accepted either possibility; he didn't care. He was only there to win.

Or rather, slaughter.

He will slay those unclean, evil, maddening, and tormenting dark things. He will kill them all, not banish them, not at all.

In the past, apart from a few special methods, killing Daemon could only destroy their physical bodies in the material world.

After that, exorcists, Inquisition, and anyone skilled in the art could only watch in frustration as their essence returned to the Warp.

They knew that these things—no matter what shape, color, or what they craved—would always come back.

Therefore, the process of killing them is actually referred to as expulsion in written language and common sense. Although soldiers use the word "kill," many people are actually aware of the truth.

Now, Sanguinius refuses to accept this frustrating situation any longer.

He has a completely new method that can solve everything once and for all. He will use this method to start a war, starting from this moment and sweeping across every corner of the galaxy.

He is a war machine, and this is what he should do most. He will spread the Radiance he is bathed in to the entire galaxy, leaving no place for darkness to hide, and letting the Daemon taste the flavor of death.

They can no longer escape Judgment.

And sooner or later, they will no longer be able to harm anyone.

The angel's golden eyes flashed with a merciless light. He raised his sword, and the flames flowing over it suddenly surged. At that moment, he looked as if he were holding a blazing torch, but the flames of this torch were no ordinary torch.

"I've come to find you," said Sanguinius, twisting his wrist.

The blade struck the ground without a sound. In that instant, or the next, everyone in the Red Tear fleet who still had eyes and vision to observe this scene witnessed a miracle they could not even describe.

If one had to use the most intuitive and simple language to describe it, then it could be roughly described as follows: about half a minute after the angel crashed into the flagship, it was completely enveloped in golden flames.

A warship, six kilometers long, was engulfed in flames. They only learned afterward that the ship had not actually suffered any serious damage.

The word should really be used to describe something else, something that has been stripped of its face and had its limbs severed.

Sanguinius drew his sword, flames engulfing the metal, causing it to groan and spontaneously open at his feet, writhing like living things to make way.

Layer upon layer, the thick deck and the various machines buried beneath it all made way in a supernatural way, until finally, from the bottomless pit, a stench of blood wafted out.

Sanguinius cast a cold gaze, and then, at some point, that coldness subtly transformed into a burning indignation born of empathy.

Before him lay a hall, a banquet hall. If one ignored the mountains of human remains, it looked no different from the banquet hall on any of Roboute Sons of Guilliman warships.

Tapestries, chandeliers, long tables, blue and gold, a portrait of the Emperor standing at the top of the hall, looking up at everyone—but how can one ignore the corpses?

Sanguinius gazed at them from afar, his eyes sweeping over every bite mark on the corpses, as well as some empty heads that seemed to have been carelessly tossed aside out of boredom.

The brain is gone, but the face remains. Fear, despair, and the excruciating pain of betrayal.

The angel gripped his sword tightly and leaped down with a speed that inspired fear—such a being, a celestial being bathed in golden light, moving at such great speed, wielding a sword...

So, what is he going to do?

A burst of explosives, flowing against the current, delivered a chilling answer to the non-existent questioner. Although they were captured by the golden light and turned to ashes the moment they left the gun barrel, those who pulled the trigger and fired them at Sanguinius did not give up the fight.

These silent beings clad in blue armor swiftly drew another weapon from their waists—either Chainsword or Power Weapon —the honor Legacy through generations of Ultramarines gleaming on the hilts of these weapons.

Sometimes they are names, sometimes nicknames, sometimes battles. And now, they are held in the hands of a group of people who look like Ultramarines, and they are aimed at Sanguinius.

The angel landed and then swung his sword. He clearly suppressed his anger, for the flames on the blade did not splatter, yet thirteen imposters were still cut in half at that moment.

Sanguinius should have continued the pursuit; in fact, his step forward with his left foot revealed his true intention. However, when the smell of blood filled his nostrils, the angel stood still.

Beneath the helmet, his expression shifted to astonishment, then to solemnity and an almost indescribable, overwhelming rage.

Then, the blade rose again, killing the rest of them, but instead of severing them at the waist, it pierced their hearts or brains, clean and efficient, leaving them with intact corpses.

Standing amidst the hell created by new corpses and old remains, Sanguinius let out a very distinct sigh, a sigh that sounded quite strange.

Sadness and anger were stuck in his throat like stones.

He turned his head, his brilliant golden eyes piercing through the deck, allowing him to see clearly down into the banquet hall.

On a helipad on the flank of the twenty-seventh deck of this warship, a tall giant draped in a white robe was running and roaring loudly at a black bird on his shoulder, as if he were accusing it.

Sanguinius tore off his helmet and put it back in its place. The next moment, his voice, carrying endless echoes, struck the giant's eardrums like a heavy hammer.

It's you.

The man stopped, his expression one of surprise and uncertainty. Suddenly, the black bird on his shoulder flapped its wings and took flight, screeching loudly. Immediately afterward, the ceiling above them collapsed with a deafening crash.

Cables, lights, and other heavy machinery such as the moving crane fell first, followed by the entire ceiling and the attached deck, all collapsing with a deafening roar as if the world were being destroyed.

The giant's fate was unknown, but the black bird dodged every flying piece of steel, and even had the energy to quietly use dark magic from the Warp amidst the flying dust.

Until a sword pierced it.

Feathers scattered, filthy, foul-smelling blood splattered everywhere, and golden flames ignited, burning them completely to nothingness.

"You."

Standing on the ruins, Tian used his sword to pierce through them, his eyes shining with golden light as if it were real, his incomparable righteous indignation burning fiercely.

The blackbird screamed.

It had sensed the impending catastrophe minutes earlier, but it refused to believe that things would suddenly turn so bad.

Moreover, it was even more unwilling to believe that the rotting corpse sitting on the Throne had regained so much power that it could even help one of his tools in the material world, across such a vast distance, briefly possess power beyond everything.

It did not believe it, so it was lifted up by the blade at this moment, to be burned and Judgment by another force.

At the same time, its past memories were also brought up, and the sins it had committed against the human race began to bombard the angel's mind, making him clench his teeth.

In a place where time ceases to exist, he perused each and every detail: conspiracies, schemes, traps, betrayals. All these things together formed the true name of the black bird before him, a forbidden name, which the angel did not utter.

The black bird continued to scream and shriek, struggling like a real bird. At the same time, its original body began to twist rapidly, but in a terrifying way, as if something inside that small shell was trying to break free.

Soon, it transformed from a tiny black bird into a beast that should never have existed in this world. It appeared to be a huge monster with wings, bird claws, and a near-human torso, but in reality, every feather seemed to be emanating a wailing soul.

Sanguinius stared at it and soon saw the beginning of the conspiracy in its screams.

Born from a conspiracy long abandoned by Erebus, it rapidly expanded and, under the careful manipulation of this beast, spread over the centuries into a terrifying poison capable of afflicting all Five Hundred Worlds.

Its target wasn't Roboute Guilliman, at least not his primary target. This beast and its master weren't particularly interested in the Lord of Macragge; they only wanted the Imperium to lose the vast territory of the Five Hundred Worlds.

Moreover, if possible, it would be best to inflict a severe blow on Roboute Guilliman.

Sanguinius even overheard part of its thoughts on the matter: The War-Born has become a furnace, and his torment and self-torture are not the food I crave, but it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time playing with the legacy of the so-called Hand of Fate.

The angel frowned.

An inheritance? Could someone have killed Erebus?

He ignored the matter for the moment, simply raising his Fireblade and cleaving the demon in two amidst the Daemon's despairing gaze and the faint chuckles echoing from the Chaos. The entire operation was swift and decisive.

Foul-smelling and useless internal organs, along with some shimmering blue essences, gushed out. The Empyrean opened its gates, intending to absorb these essences back, but the angels grabbed them and slowly crushed them.

"Don't even think about running away," he said in a low voice.

Golden flames suddenly erupted from the Daemon's corpse, and more of the light hidden within its body turned to ashes. In the end, all that remained of this Daemon in the world was a fleeting, agonizing scream.

"And you."

The angel turned, sword in hand, toward a familiar face. The man had just crawled out of the twisted and deformed steel, his body in a terrible state; one hand was severed, and two broken steel bars were embedded in his chest, from which blood was gushing.

Sanguinius sniffed it lightly, his disgust deepening. He had already seen the creature's horrific deeds in the Daemon's memories, but the facts were always more convincing than those images.

"How could you possibly be real? It didn't even try to deceive me with lies again?" Sanguinius heard the fake whisper, its voice filled with resentment and disbelief.

I'm standing right here, and you—

The angel hurled his sword, and the moment the motion began, it had already sped away, pinning the false object firmly to the ground.

The pain caused him to roar suddenly, and then his eyes lit up with psychic energy, manipulating the surrounding steel to attack Sanguinius.

The angel raised his right fist and, without even looking, knocked the objects away one by one. The dull thuds echoed across the ruins. He then slowly walked up to the fake objects and reached out to grasp the hilt of the sword.

"I don't believe it!" the fake roared, its face contorted with rage. "I planned everything perfectly. You were taken away by Ka'Bandha, I devoured your fleet, and from then on, I would launch a counterattack against you ignorant old humans! I will take you all—"

His words came to an abrupt halt with the sound of a sharp blade slicing through the air, the reason being a bloody piece of his chin, most of his face, his entire tongue, and his vocal cords, which had been severed from his throat by the blade.

The angel looked at him calmly, not even bothering to comment on the thing's whimsical idea, and turned to leave, its wings fluttering gently behind it.

Golden flames surged forth, forming a prison that burned his limbs to ashes and simultaneously imprisoned his spiritual power, rendering him unable to move and confining him to the spot like a maggot.

The sudden reversal of fortune and the drastically different treatment he received compared to before stunned him, but what he truly found hard to accept was the angel's contempt.

How could you do this, Sanguinius? I am a side of your brother, a possible branch, and you won't even speak to me?

He wanted to grit his teeth and roar, but sadly, he couldn't do either of those things now. But this wasn't the end, not even as the angels were leaving.

The imposter suddenly saw that beneath Sanguinius's golden and white wings lay an old man. His hair and beard were all white, his face was full of wrinkles, and he was dressed in linen clothes. The angel seemed completely unaware of his presence, but the imposter was instantly filled with extreme panic.

He looked at him, his eyes empty, then walked towards him at a pace that was neither fast nor slow, as if he were truly just an elderly man with limited mobility.

The imposter was even more terrified. He wanted to run away, but he couldn't even do that. He couldn't speak, only let out hoarse gasps. He couldn't move, only writhing bloodied torsos on the ruins.

Yes, in the end, when the old man came before him, the expected pain did not come. The old man didn't even look at him anymore, but just looked up at his back with an indifferent expression.

No, that's not right.

The imposter suddenly realized that he hadn't been looking at him at all from the beginning.

So

He struggled to turn over, lying on his back, and finally saw what the old man was gazing at.

He saw a gigantic monster composed of countless dead, covered in blood and stitched-together screaming human skin, with feathers woven from hair inserted between the deliberately left "pores," gleaming with blood.

It had eyes, countless eyes densely packed between its flesh and blood, staring at him without blinking. It even had a hand, a hand that was inexplicably reduced to bones, tightly gripping a sticky umbilical cord.

The imposter looked down and saw a fleshy collar wrapped around his neck. He looked up again and saw the thing grinning at him, each tooth in its mouth looking like a bent thigh.

At that moment, his already fragile mind completely collapsed, and he truly became a mindless beast, lying on the steel, constantly making gasping noises, not understanding where his pain came from.

The old man was completely different from what he saw; what his empty eye sockets captured was nothing more than a blue bird perched on a withered branch.

"You shameless bastard!" He chuckled, opening his beak in condemnation. "How could you have prepared in advance to let me fall into your trap?"

However--

He spread his wings and began to hop and jump on the branches with great joy.

"--Oh, I must admit, you did a really good job, old friend. I just wonder, did all those who died for this end up at your Throne?"

The old man nodded calmly.

"So, did they say anything to you?" He asked maliciously.

This time, the old man did not answer, but his form began to change. A few seconds later, the figure standing in front of the bluebird had transformed from an old man into a tall guard.

Clad in bronze armor, holding a torch in one hand and a round shield in the other, his bronze face is framed by a pair of resolute eyes. Despite this, the details are blurred, as if it were a sculpture created by a mediocre artist.

The guard finally spoke.

"Whatever they say, I accept it. But you, Tzeentch, your destruction begins today."

The Tzeentch laughed loudly, completely unconcerned.

"Let's see if you can do it, old friend! Your trump card, accumulated over ten thousand years, has been revealed to me—a constellation of hope retrieved from human history? Ha! You think you can win just based on that?"

"Yes, yes, you can deliver your son's so-called five hundred worlds from darkness, you can extend the Radiance of the Astronomican into the souls of mortals through the power of your Radiance idol, but how will you win?"

The guard shook his head.

"I don't need to win," he said, and turned to leave.

"You need it!" the Tzeentch roared. "One side has to win, it's either you or me! If you don't need it, then who will win?!"

Sanguinius, who was about to leave, suddenly stopped in his tracks. In the darkness, he seemed to hear a voice, a voice that he knew very well.

The voice whispered a single word.

"Human beings."

He turned around and looked back, but saw no one. The angel frowned silently and tried to call his father's name in his mind. He tried many times, and just as he began to laugh at his own behavior, a voice actually rang in his ear.

"Sanguinius."

Father?

You did a great job.

I.

"Stop questioning yourself; you don't need to. It's normal for people to admire you, worship you, idolize you, and even consider your arrival the most important event of their lives. You can't adapt to these things; you can only learn to accept them."

Accept?

"Yes, accept yourself. Accept the fact that you will become a tyrannical leader, an idol-like figure who inspires and gives courage to all. Accept these things, and then you will understand why Calistarius paid such a terrible price."

Sanguinius took a deep breath.

"I will try, Father," he murmured.