No Dignity Left

He wept uncontrollably, his tears soaking the bloodstains on Dante's shoulder armor.

Despite being the Chapter Master of the Lamenters, a battle-hardened hero, he was as vulnerable as an innocent child at this moment.

Dante was being held so tightly he could barely breathe, and the pain emanating from various parts of his body made him frown slightly.

But he didn't push Malakim away; he simply let the other man vent his emotions.

After a moment, he slowly raised his still-movable hand and gently, somewhat clumsily, patted Malakim's violently heaving back.

A long, heavy sigh, seemingly carrying the weight of time itself, emanated from the depths of his chest.

"It's alright now..."

His voice was soft, carrying a resigned calm, yet strangely containing a reassuring power. "Everything... is under my control."

After saying this, he slowly raised his head, his gaze passing over Malakim's shoulder, looking at the still chaotic but clearly reversed sky above Baal, at the darting blue figures and the disintegrating swarm of insects.

Finally, seemingly unintentionally, I glanced at the majestic figure high above the track, radiating a reassuring blue-gold glow.

His eyes held a complex and unfathomable expression. Deep within his weariness, a faint, almost imperceptible, hope—forced in by Sanguinius— quickly settled within him.

But more than anything, there is a deep sense of helplessness and bewilderment about the future that permeates the soul.

I can't imagine... what my 'future' will actually look like.

He silently recited these words, letting himself be enveloped by Malakim's cries and the clamor of the battlefield.

Titus felt incredibly light, as if he were floating up to an endless height.

All around was a flowing, soft, and profound blue-green light, as if composed of countless tiny stardust particles and a tranquil will.

There was no sound, no weight, only a soul-penetrating warmth and peace that enveloped him.

Pain, exhaustion, a century of injustice, the fury of battle... all the heavy burdens belonging to the existence of "Titus" quietly melt away here.

Is this... the afterlife? The legendary paradise? Or... the realm of the Emperor's Golden Throne?

Titus pondered with a clear mind, a serene and liberating tranquility, so beautiful... so vast... so... warm.

Just then, from the depths of the boundless light, a figure slowly emerged, approaching him with steps that seemed to resonate with the fundamental rhythms of the universe.

The figure was tall and imposing, clad in familiar blue-gold Power Armour, his scarlet cape fluttering slightly in the windless ocean of light.

He had short, jet-black hair, a handsome face, and a pair of azure eyes that seemed to contain the entire clear sky and ocean of Ultramar.

At this moment, he was looking at him with an expression that Titus never dared to imagine seeing on the face of the Gene-Father —an expression that was almost benevolent and knowing.

Each step caused beautiful ripples to spread across the surrounding blue-green light, as if the most stable foundation of the Material Universe was gently trembling.

Titus's consciousness froze instantly, then erupted with an overwhelming surge of emotion.

"Father... Father?! Is it really you?! Is it really you--!!!"

He didn't hesitate at all, and didn't care about his demeanor.

The "form" composed of pure consciousness knelt down and tightly embraced Guilliman's incredibly solid calves, which were made of light.

The pent-up grievances, desires, and the urgent need to prove oneself, accumulated over a century, and the eventual relief after washing everything away with the blood of loyalty, all transformed into a primal cry, pouring out:

"Father! I have not betrayed you! I have not been corrupted by Chaos! I have always been loyal to you! I have always been loyal to the Imperium!"

I always have! Until the very last moment! I always have--!!!

The sound echoed in the light, carrying a sincere emotion that made the soul tremble.

A large hand covered in blue and gold gauntlets gently but firmly pressed down on Titus's drooping, trembling "head".

"I know. I've always known, my son."

Guilliman's voice rang out, steady, resolute, and carrying an unquestionable, almost flamboyant confidence:

"How could I, the son of Guilliman, warriors whose blood flows with the reason and loyalty of Ultramar, possibly be seduced and corrupted by the mere filth and evil of the Warp?"

That is an insult to my bloodline and a contempt for your own will!

Who doesn't know that I'm an ambitious... bah, the Second Emperor Guilliman!

Lao Tzu is the true successor of humanity, and his sons are also the true successors of humanity!

This unreserved trust and affirmation, like the most blazing sunlight, instantly dispelled the last trace of gloom and self-doubt deep within Titus's soul caused by a century of wrongful imprisonment.

"Father... I'm finally... I'm finally able to come to your side! I'm finally... I'm here to your side--!!!"

Titus raised his head, his face flashing with alternating tears and ecstatic joy, laughing and crying like a child who had finally gained the approval and protection of his parents.

"Okay, it's alright now."

A gentle smile played on Guilliman's lips. "And not just now. You'll stay by my side forever."

Titus's ecstatic expression suddenly froze, turning into blankness.

???

"Have I always... stayed by your side?"

He repeated, bewildered, his logic beginning to falter, "But I'm not... already dead, am I? This is... the afterlife, isn't it? Could it be that you, too..."

A terrifying thought instantly filled him with dread.

"Smack!"

A slap, not too heavy but crisp and loud enough, landed squarely on Titus's "face," interrupting his dangerous thoughts.

"Die my ass!"