The first to be alerted were the Primarch Guard stationed nearby.
Heavy Terminator footsteps approached swiftly, pounding like war drums.
The alloy doors slid apart under hydraulic power, and several fully armed guards rushed into the chamber.
The harsh beams of their shoulder lamps instantly tore through the gloom, then froze on the crimson scene at its center.
The gleaming floor had vanished beneath a spreading tide of dark red that covered almost everything in sight.
The viscous liquid reflected an eerie sheen beneath the lights. A pungent mixture of rust and sickly sweetness hit them in the face, nauseatingly strong.
And at the center of that pool of blood, their Gene-Father, Saladin, knelt on one knee.
His head was bowed, his long hair hanging down to conceal most of his face.
He held himself rigidly, his hands hanging at his sides, trembling slightly.
The hem of his once-splendid robes was soaked in blood, plastered against the floor. More than twenty mutilated bodies lay scattered around him.
They wore attendants' clothes, their twisted postures silently speaking of the terror before their deaths and the suddenness of their end.
There were no signs of a fight, no trace of an enemy. Only their Primarch, and a floor strewn with shattered Mortals' flesh.
Time seemed to freeze for several seconds.
The guards' breathing grew suddenly ragged beneath their Helmet, their knuckles whitening around their weapons.
The sight before them lay beyond anything their combat experience could explain.
Takidin pushed forward from behind. His gaze swept over the blood, over the familiar faces of attendants now mangled beyond recognition, and finally settled on Saladin's seemingly frozen figure.
He said nothing, merely raising a hand in an utterly decisive gesture.
Seal this place off.
Immediately.
Everyone out. Maintain silence.
The well-trained guards forced down