The moment Skarbrand's enormous body crashed to the ground, the daemons froze as though their souls had been torn from them. Then, across the ground, through the skies, and into the rifts, those crimson figures receded like a tide.
The Keepers of Secrets had still been lurking at the edges of the battlefield, but when they felt that terrifying power sweep through the entire space, an indescribable shadow flickered in their eyes.
They no longer lingered to fight. Turning away, they leaped into the rifts in the Warp, group after group.
They had received new instructions: follow a path only daemons could sense to a fated destination, where they would lay a trap for the Blood Angels.
Only the remains of fallen Khorne daemons, burnt-out armour, and devastated dunes remained on the battlefield.
The windblown sand gradually settled, as though the entire planet had fallen silent in the wake of the savage battle.
Sanguinius stood at the centre of the battlefield, holding the Blade Encarmine as he felt the last trace of the daemons' presence fade.
His wings hung half-folded, their white feathers stained with his own blood and that of his enemies, lending him a battered yet majestic appearance in the fading daylight.
The penetrating wound Skarbrand had left in his breastplate had been forcibly closed with psychic energy, but dull waves of pain still throbbed beneath his flesh.
He swayed slightly, then steadied himself.
He raised his head and looked at the sky, slowly turning dark red in the evening glow. There was no joy of victory on his face, only a profound weariness.
Just as he was preparing to gather his troops and tally their losses, the fleet sent a warning. Hundreds of enormous warships had jumped in from the outskirts of the system, filling the entire