Hope is a thing with feathers

by Sleepy_Writer

Summary:

A slightly different vision, throwing Humanity's fate off-course.

A choice, that may adjust everything just a few degrees brighter than dark.

Notes:

• For Foodformind.

I apologize for any inaccuracies to Lore, but I am woefully new to WH40K.

But considering this fanfic drop-kicked me out of bed at 2 am, I felt I might as well post it. If people like it, I might write more.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Second Century of the Great Crusade

 

He was studying the analog monitors, carefully checking each and every one repeatedly. Above Him, floating in disinfectant solutions, was something that currently looked perhaps the most like a Mechanicus-in-progress, though it was not intended that way.

It looked like a hodgepodge of different machines, pulled together in a hurry… because it had been. He had had no time to carefully construct what he needed, no time to summon any of the Adeptus Mechanicus to His side for a proper work. There had been no time.

“I am here.” Malcador’s voice only barely drowned out the soft and regular triplicate beeping.

He only briefly looked away from His work to acknowledge the others arrival.

“The planet is gone, razed as commanded and being jettisoned into the nearest star as commanded. The Exterminatus has been carried out.” The Sigillite softly reported, the sound of his staff joining the other rhythms in the room. “But you could have asked anyone for that report.”

He could have, nearly all His Primarchs being in the fleet that was still hanging in what once had been just-beyond orbit but now was an empty patch in this solar system. If He’d went to find a window, He could probably see most of their flagships surrounding His own.

“They nearly drew weapons upon me.” He stated instead of answering the unspoken question. “When I found the room.”

“They were in an enemy fortress, having spearheaded deep into corridors while their Legions lingered behind, cleaning up what they passed by in their hurry.” His second pointed out, the small form joining him. One finger drew His attention towards some readings, which were higher than He’d like them to be. “At that point, who knew what enemies might come upon them until their Legions had secured the keep.” He reached over, adjusting the dials minute amounts to lower said readings.

“They knew it was Me arriving.” The Emperor had known, from how they had jerked, that they had known it to be Him, that Magnus had only barely not pulled his blade because Fulgrim stopped him on time. And still, some – all – had moved defensively upon his arrival. As if he had been an enemy to be barred entry to the room.

“They were defending their brother.”

“From me?”

“To speculate on that might well exceed even my allowances with you.”

He slowly turned at that, face unreadable, His power trembling in the surrounding air. “I permit it.”

Malcador tilted his head, old eyes meeting His evenly. Measuring. “Your Sons, you say. Your Tools, you act.” The flames of his staff competed with the few lights in the room. “Actions speak louder than words, as we both know.”

His mind shifted, trying to follow the winding ways as to what this meant. He knew, as few others did, what might happen in the future. “My Sons.”

“Your Tools. Sons being a mere title, if even that.” Clearly, permission granted, permission seized. “Not for all of them perhaps, I grant, but I will not speculate on that at all, but most. Gears of this Crusade. And what does one do with useless gears?”

“I would not…”

“But do they know that?” The one dressed only ever in robes of an Adept looked at the one dressed in resplendent golden armor, though even for him it was a guess if it was true at the moment or merely an illusion. “Do they know what you’d do with a gear that might never be fixed? Have you given them any hints that a Primarch that might take decades to recover, if he ever will recover, still has a place in the Imperium? You came to this planet when word came, yes, but to save what exactly? A Gear? A Son? Pride and dignity of the Imperium, where a Primarch may not fall? Do they know what fate they would leave their brother to, if they entrusted him to you in this state?”

Looking at the only one He might consider close to Himself, He did not answer.

“They saw their potential fate in him, without needing visions of the future. Because you know that several of them – most of them, perhaps – consider themselves lesser in your eyes. You consider them lesser in your eyes, than he.”

“Enough.”

Though he looked like he had perhaps been gearing up for more, Malcador stopped speaking, merely inclining his head in acceptance. The older-looking form turned, briefly stopping at another read-out, before withdrawing from the room altogether.

Taking a deep breath, He looked back to the screens in front of him, adjusting a few more values until they were in the optimal range needed.

Around him, the beeps were still a triplicate rhythm.

Chapter 2: Chapter 1

About half a standard-year before

He had been suffering from repeated visions, enough that his Sons noticed. He played it off, smiling warmly at those Blood Angels that came to their Father with questions of his well-being.

He blamed it on the resistance on this planet they were currently attending, the pacification taking a good while. The planet seemed to house some enclaves of of Xenos alongside humans and the regular destructive storms on its’ surface meant that entire cities sprawled into the bowels of the place kilometers deep. And because there were some human groups that were cooperating, he was loathe to just bombard the surface until all of said cities had just collapsed and the problem would be dealt with that way.

At least an end was in sight, despite the slow progress. Sanguinius, Primarch of the IXth, looked out of the window, down onto the planet.

“Are you certain, my Lord?” Raldoron asked for perhaps the hundredth time.

“Yes.” He answered once again. He had seen the reports. “I will not risk my sons for something like this.” They were still unsure if it were wild creatures, domesticated during the long years where civilization existed on this planet, or some result of biomancy, but strange beasts were always drawn to any longer conflict. They proved able to even deal with an Astartes, if said Astartes was unlucky.

Besides, part of him saw an opportunity, ill-advised as it was.

But he wasn’t going to tell anyone about that.

And so the next strike – one of the last, in fact, unless another city made itself known at this point – drove into the underbelly of the planet. Despite everything, Sanguinius could understand the worry of his Sons, because many of the corridors were utterly unmaneuverable to an airborne combatant that needed to consider others. But he could not feel annoyance at that when the creatures came. The Blade Encarmine drank greedily of the black blood, enough that what remained retreated deeper down. The blood reeked more of oil and decay than true blood.

More than once during this campaign, the defenders tried collapsing ceilings onto the Legion themselves, but their own careful work in keeping them stable and secure for their own use usually meant that only a few feet collapsed. Annoyances, more than true dangers. In fact, most of these last few months had only constituted ‘annoyances’, few of his people ending up death, mostly temporarily rendered out of commission, another reason he was loath to just slaughter everyone.

Which is why he was less than worried when cracking rock warned him of one such collapse. Half-turning, his wings buffeted his Sons back just a few steps, while he was carried deeper into the hallways. He was still not fast enough to dodge everything, some rocks bouncing from his armored form.

“Well…” Still, he was not going to get through that collapse on his own strength, at least if he wanted to prevent more collapses from now-compromised supports. He’d have to wait until the Astartes had dug their way through. Turning the way they had been heading, he reached for his voxbead, only to be greeted with small sparks and electric screeching. Apparently one of the rocks he had been unable to dodge had damaged the thing. “Well.”

Sanguinius, the Great Angel of the Imperium, grinned faintly when hearing sounds deeper in the corridor. Someone was coming to deal with the cut-off attackers, clearly. It was their misfortune it’d prove to be him.

No longer needing to worry about hitting any of the Blood Angels with his wings, he could finally get airborne, though their use would be more a boost to speed rather than maneuverability.

The only warning his attackers received was a singular boom from his wings before the first of them tasted steel.

His grin grew when spotting a dangerous mistake his opponents had made; up ahead the corridor opened up into a larger cavern. His expression briefly was surprise when noticing an incoming projectile, but he just managed to get high enough to dodge the worst of it.

Well, all the more reason to get out of these cramped confines and into an area where he could use his wings for maneuverability as well.

Diving down the tilting corridor, adding gravity to his wing-beats, he felt a few more shots come dangerously close. Flying over the gun-emplacement, he allowed himself a soft chuckle when he could rise towards the far ceiling.

Chapter 3: Chapter 2

He had thought they’d made a miscalculation.

It took him a few moments to realize at the very least, he had too.

What resistance remained had apparently pooled their best marksmen into this one ambush, supported with just enough melee-fighters that even a Primarch needed to be wary of staying in one place for too long if he had no ranged options himself. And Sanguinius had only taken the Blade Encarmine, having assumed too little room for a gun – or spear – to be of much use.

They had known – hoped perhaps – he’d be in this battle. They had certainly planned for someone airborne.

He rolled to the left, feeling a strain in his wings. With no thermals or wind of any kind, all his motion was muscle-powered, and more than once, he had to turn on a dime.

The only positive in this fight was that the entire campaign was going so fast they’d yet to develop ranged weaponry that could get through ceramite armor. Still, he couldn’t just hover and absorb a few shots, because he was not fully armored.

His wings were a large and white targets, even at his current speeds.

Sanguinius closed his wings to drop sharply under a shot, feeling another bounce of from his armor. They were trying to use crossfire to drive him into the range of their comrades and he was not able to kill them fast enough.

Gritting his teeth, he used his dodge downward for a strike against another gun-emplacement, one of several dozen dotted around the cavern, the impact of his feet enough to kill at least one Xenos, and his sword-strike at least disabling two more, before he had to get airborne again when the others resumed fire. Friendly fire was clearly something they were not considering all that much, if it meant they could get him alongside their comrades.

Making another sharp turn, he flew low to the next group, managing to break the gun with his sword as he passed by.

The Great Angel took to the ceiling, weaving through the stalactites up there before another dive send him to the next gun emplacement.

Perhaps he was tiring, no longer weaving as well as he should, or perhaps they were getting more used to his movements, because the only warning he got that his attack was now a crash was a sharp pain at one of his wing-ulna, the limb locking just enough that he could no longer use it to generate lift.

This landing killed three outright, but that was a small victory considering it was also going to be his last for a while until his wing recovered from the hit.

Growling low in his throat, he had to make a very undignified dive behind the large gun that had been firing at him just a few moments ago. His still-functioning wing functioned as another hand, slamming the head of the last member of this particular emplacement against the ground, crushing the bones.

“Well, at least there’s no more of those beasts.” Baal’s Primarch allowed himself some dark mutterings while considering his next option. “What a mess.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Horus was moving pieces on the board, literally even, arguing with Ezekyle and some others about the best distribution of their forces for the coming few days when they were all pulled from said discussion by the sound of shattering glass.

Behind the first-found Primarch a small glass statuette – made from Baalite sand, a gift from Sanguinius – had somehow fallen from its’ perch on his desk. Glass-shards spread over the floor, glittering in the light of the lumens on the walls.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Taking a small break from his own campaign, Fulgrim reached for a decanter of spiced wine. He couldn’t get drunk, but the heady aromas were a true delight. A Primarch always needed to act with care, however, their great strength easily turning frail objects into shards and shreds only good for a scrapheap. The glass he was using was one of those, thin strands of rust-glass surrounding the larger goblet.

He normally had no problems with making sure none of them broke, but for some reason, this time one of the bird-wings snapped off, falling to the ground and shattering into a million pieces.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Konrad had always known, from the moment he saw the Emperor and the other Primarchs, what their fate would be, what his fate would be when time ran out and all was dark and silent. It had been a certainty so set in the world that he doubted anything could shake it loose.

So why… why… why!?

Chapter 4: Chapter 3

His helmet meant he still had a head… the force of impact meant he had not been conscious long enough to enjoy it.

At least the headache was slowly abating, though he was hardly a fan of what he could notice now.

If he were honest, he had half expected this; they had not killed him, but captured him.

Keeping his eyes closed, and his breathing even, he tried to find out exactly what happened to him. The air around him was full of the scent of the Xenos on this planet, something vaguely feline and rock-like. He’d been taken to their last enclave then.

And unless they made their prisons incredibly decadent, the mosaic he felt against one side meant he was in some larger room.

They were talking over him in their own language, as much words as indeterminate cat-sounds. Lion would lose his marbles if he ever learned there were cat-Xenos out in the cosmos.

Sanguinius didn’t dare move just yet, the chains he felt around his arms, wings and chest meaning he was without his armor. Granted, since they had yet to figure out ammunition that could break ceramite, he probably could be relatively sure they had not figured out something able to hold a Primarch and the chains were just decorative. But he would be surrounded without knowledge how and where to retreat.

And he wanted to move so badly, because there was something between his wings that pricked into his skin at regular intervals and pulsed almost with its’ own heartbeat. It was against every instinct he had to leave it there.

Just as he was starting to figure out what to do with his predicament, someone stepped close to his face. He felt fabric brush his cheek.

“You awake.” The high voice carried the heavy accent of someone that had only learned gothic a few standard-months prior, and had had little practice since then. “It awake with you.”

The thing between his wings, perhaps. Still, he wasn’t about to give her – he assumed – the satisfaction if she was bluffing to an unconscious person.

She hissed like an angry cat, and he could feel her hand along his wings.

The Primarch of the IXth couldn’t stop a snarl of pain when the thing between his wings dug in, pouring liquid fire along his spine.

Growling, he lashed out, his teeth a hair’s breadth from her face when several other Xenos jumped him and held him back. Part of him noted in horror that the chains were holding fast against him, never mind the fact that a handful warriors were enough to hold him from the Xenos.

She was grinning, sharp and catlike, crouched down in front of him. “Poison make you early small one.”

One of his hearts dropped when he realized that must be what the pricking-sensation was; poison being injected, some kind of poison that was sapping his strength. And he hadn’t realized. Her purple dress rustled when she rose to standing.

“So… what now?” He let the ones holding him pull him back some.

“Ah. You not hear we words.” She tilted her head some, dyed hair cascading down one shoulder as she tilted her head. “You kill we.” She gestured around her, at what he suspected where the remnants of nobility from the Xenos-cities he and his Sons had already conquered. The last remnant of these people, no doubt. “You make we small stone to walk over.” She leaned down, wisely out of his range. “We make you fall. We make you remember until other kill you. We no small stone to walk over.”

Well… The debatably-human tensed some at that prospect; they had nothing left to lose and so had chosen to not go quietly. “An example, I am to be.” He found some small amusement when realizing she didn’t know the word ‘example’, by the look on her face.

“I think, yes.” She barred her teeth. “You be good ek-sam-ble?”

He snarled in answer. “No.” That it was likely to be inevitable did not mean he was going to be the one going kindly instead.

“I think, yes.” The female laughed, adding something in their own tongue, which made the rest of them laugh. “You great warrior. You hold long.”

He surged forward at that, but his strength on their poison was quite baseline human-like, meaning that despite his larger frame they could hold him back. In the back of his mind, his pride preened some they still needed five, for what little that was worth.

One of the others said something, which the spokesperson answered in an equal tone.

“If no good, you pay for all you kill we.” She warned him, eyes narrowed.

“I suspect that will happen regardless.” He countered, straining against those holding him to the ground. His poor Sons… he hoped dearly they would not be able to sense anything of what was going to happen.

Chapter 5: Chapter 4

When the Emperor of Mankind send the message ‘Join me with what forces your objective can spare’, one did not ask too many questions.

So Ferrus took his flagship Fist of Iron, and two lesser ships, and made the Warp-jump to the given location.

Upon arrival, he was greeted by a fleet worth’s of ships, though he noted immediately that only very few ships were of the same Legions. Instead, arrayed around the Emperor’s flagship like ducklings around their mother, were several flagships of his brothers. What on…?

This was highly inefficient, to draw this many of the Primarchs to this proverbial backwater of the Galaxy. Still, he had been summoned, and he would answer.

He grumbled his way after the Custodes once he arrived on the Imperial Flagship, falling silent when they arrived in one of the large lounges on the upper decks. He swept his eyes around the room once, checking off a mental list of his brothers based on the ships he’d seen outside.

“Ferrus.” Fulgrim grinned at him in greeting, but there was something tense in the expression.

“Fulgrim.” He gestured his two Sons against the wall, joining the others. “Anyone know what’s going on?”

“Not yet.” Horus shrugged lightly, standing between Magnus and Perturabo. “The Emperor said he’d inform us all together once he’s sure no more are arriving.”

“Apparently the summons was send to all of us.” Fulgrim leaned against him. “Though there’s a few that said they can’t leave their objectives at the moment, so they’re off the hook for whatever we’re here for.”

Ferrus grunted at that, before sweeping his eyes through the room again. “Where’s Sanguinius? I’m pretty sure I saw the Red Tear outside.” If there were a few Primarchs that could not hide, one of them for sure had to the winged member of the group.

Several of the others shrugged at that. “Maybe with the Emperor?” Jagathai suggested from where he was sitting on one of the Primarch-sized lounges. “Or not yet on this ship, I guess.”

The Gorgon obligingly did not grunt at the non-answer that was.

A few more of his brothers trickled in after him, but Sanguinius was not among them. He was half-tempted to go ask one of the Custodes flanking the doors into the next room – probably where the Emperor was, if his senses were not betraying him – but decided against it.

He knew he’d get any answers he’d want when a gold-armored form entered the room. Not their father, but Constantine Valdor.

“If you would follow me?” The Captain-General gestured to the door he’d just passed through.

Of course they followed, into yet another lounge, this one with a massive window out into space. At the far end of the chamber, glowing faintly even in the lights of the lumens and the star of this system, the Emperor was looking up.

Ferrus tried to follow his line of sight, even as he plodded to the large table in the middle of the room. He wasn’t quite sure, but there seemed to be a far-away planet there, large rings surrounding it like a shooting-target.

Constantine did not join the other guards at the walls. “If you will permit me, I will explain what is going on.”

None of them answered, so the Custodes pulled a data-slate closer to himself. “About a standard year ago, the Blood Angels alongside their Primarch Sanguinius arrived in this solar-system. They found one inhabited planet, home of a stalemate between a human and a Xenos-population. The humans bend the knee to the Primarch at once, the Xenos resisted and were to die.” He half-turned briefly, pointing at the ringed planet up above. “However, the planet is covered nearly the whole time by large, destructive storm-cells the size of continents, making it so that any civilization is underground, some cities kilometres deep. On account of the humans, Sanguinius refused to bombard the Xenos holdings, worried that either the bombardments, or the subsequent earthquakes of collapsing cities, could cause a chain-reaction which could destroy the human holdings.”

“So they were clearing out the cities one by one?” Horus briefly interrupted, eyes fixed up above. Ferrus wondered what he was thinking. He knew what he himself was thinking; why were they here? And now perhaps more pertinently; where was the Angel if this was his system to subdue? From the looks on some of the faces around him, he was not the only one thinking this.

“Or a few at a time, but yes.” Constantine continued. “The last status of this subjugation is that only the last city of the Xenos had to be conquered, all others having been destroyed or otherwise neutralized.” A golden finger flicked over the screen of the slate. “To summarize the report of Raldoron, Sanguinius’ first captain; they were separated from Sanguinius himself when the Xenos tried to collapse one of the tunnels on them, though none of them were actually caught in the collapse. By the time they had worked their way through the rubble, it had been over a standard-hour, closer to two. They found the cavern beyond the hallway deserted, further entrances also collapsed. There were plenty of signs of combat, as the Xenos had left their dead beyond stripping them of their usable armor and other gear. However, in the middle of the chamber, they found a pile of armament; the Regalia Resplendent as well as the Blade Encarmine, all that Sanguinius had brought on this expedition.”

Several of the Primarchs in the room exclaimed at that, in shock and outrage, but Constantine merely raised his own voice to be heard over them. “Obeying standing orders as to what to do if they even merely believed their Primarch to have been compromised, they withdrew immediately and hailed Terra for aid.”

Ferrus briefly looked at Fulgrim, feeling a faint dread in his hearts at the realization of why they had been brought here. This was no longer meant to be any form of conquest; this was to be bloody, terrible revenge for the fall of a Primarch.

 

Chapter 6: Chapter 5

“He’s dead?” Horus breathed, only long discipline keeping him from vaulting over the table and grabbing either of the golden-armored forms on the other side to shake them for more information.

+No. Not yet, at least.+ The Emperor turned, slow and implacable as the tides on Terra. +He clings to life. I sense him still.+

Before he could speak again, their Father moved one hand. The light of the lumens sparkled over a vaguely rotund gem, the size of a baseline’s head in his hand, two lines of carvings around the middle.

The Emperor twisted the top-part, putting it down on the table before letting go.

Like a wind-up toy for children, it started moving back into the original position.

He heard several of his brothers flinch when a vaguely holographic image appeared above it, the same color as the gem. The being represented looked feline, face almost exactly like a cat’s, though it seemed to be wearing clothes.

“We warn you.” The voice sounded sparkly, as the only way he could describe it, but he could make out an accent of someone having just learned Gothic. “We know you seek kill we. We know you kill we.” It bared its’ teeth, sharp and no doubt lethal to an unarmored being. “We know we no choice in you kill we. We take choice make example. We not small stone to walk over. You not forgot we. We make you no forgot we.”

Horus snarled softly, then gasped when whatever camera set-up the thing had been using shifted. It had only a short range, most of the view now blobs, but it was clear enough for what it wanted any watchers to see.

“Sang…” He breathed out, armor creaking as he resisted the urge to reach out. He didn’t even hear the parting words, only a soft click and the hologram dissipating.

“They captured him.” Roboute Guilliman muttered the obvious. “When exactly?”

“The transmission reached Terra about four standard months ago.” Constantine was the one to answer.

+I summoned you for one thing.+ The Emperor stood like a statue beside his Captain-General. +Retrieve the Ninth and then wipe this planet from history. Horus will have command.+

There was only one answer he could give to that. The Primarch of the Lunar Wolves saluted, much like the others.

“So what do we know?” Perturabo asked, arms crossed and planning already happening behind his eyes. “About the Xenos and the city?”

“The Xenos are a sentient bipedal catlike race, mildly warp-sensitive as a baseline, though they have a subset among their people who are more powerful by factors.” Constantine dryly read from his data-slate. “Most of their weaponry cannot get through ceramite, though they have battlebeasts that can overwhelm an Astartes. On the whole, losses for the Ninth were low during the campaign. As for the city, based on descriptions of other cities, it will be housed in a large cavern, mostly natural but also artificially expanded, to a maximum size comparable to a Gloriana Class Battleship. The precise size of this last Xenos enclave is unknown. Most cities have two or three dozen access points to the surface, to ensure sufficient airflow and passage of traders as the cities are mostly separated from others. Scans before the assault showed that this city has about twenty, though more could have been hidden better in the terrain. The layout of the Xenos-cities follows a radial pattern, streets running for a plaza in front of a large keep that occupies the wall between most of the entrances, down to slums furthest from most entrances.”

“An assault from all entryways then.” Lion el’Jonson offered. “And quickly.”

He didn’t like it, none of them liked it, but they had little other options if they wanted to have a chance at getting to their fellow Primarch before those creatures killed him.

He supposed it fell to him to decide what to do. “They will not run. But they will barricade themselves, just to buy themselves time and make this a slog.”

“We’ll be a strike-force ourselves.” It was Jaghatai that spoke up. “No offense to our Sons, of any legion, but we are a fair bit… more than they.” The Primarch whose favorite thing in existence seemed to be ‘going fast’ leaned forward some. “Our sons assault all the other entrances to occupy those defenders, we group up and punch through one ourselves. Find Sanguinius and secure him while the Legions follow as they may.”

“‘Plenty of signs of combat’ makes me believe they are indeed little match for a Primarch.” Vulcan pointed out. “No doubt a lucky shot or something, perhaps just managing to use sheer numbers for them to overwhelm Sang in narrow confines where his wings were more hindrance than boon. With the twelve of us together, I doubt they’ll be able to repeat the feat.”

From the corner of his eye, Horus noted that Konrad bared his teeth, but the Primarch of the Night Lords didn’t actually say anything beyond glowering at them all. He wondered if the bastard had seen something he was now not sharing with them, then found he cared little for it. His priorities were with his other prescient brother.

“We’ll do that then.” The First-found Primarch decided instead. He desperately wished for a battle-map so he could properly plan, but needs must. They could not wait for one to be drawn up. “I’ll be assuming standard forces for the ships I saw outside while we waited, so that means we’d have about five hundred Astartes per entrance, though we better take only four hundred per entrance and leave some in reserve in case more entrances are found or assistance is needed somewhere.” He bitterly regretted leaving so many of his Sons to pacify his own most recent objective now. Part of him wondered if any of his brothers did likewise...

Chapter 7: Chapter 6

Fulgrim had to concede that Horus had had a point on their Father’s flagship; these Xenos were no longer fighting to survive, but merely to turn this into as long and gruesome a fight as they could manage before they’d all die.

They had picked one of the entrances to the city in a cluster of them, hoping this meant it was one of those nearest the citadel in the underground domain. Halfway in, they found a large battlement, clearly meant to hold any attackers out of the cavern. Against twelve Primarchs, it barely counted as a minor hurdle. Vulkan and Perturabo’s hammers made short work of the metal composing the defenses, the rest of them helping where needed… for all that it was little needed.

And while some of the Xenos froze, he couldn’t spot any of them actually fleeing. Surely seeing some of their comrades being sliced to pieces, or turned into blood-splatters under more brutish weapons than a fine blade ought to be enough to alert them to the futility of all this?

He danced forward, bisecting two of their opponents with ease. As much as their weapons could not breach ceramite, their armor could do little to nothing to protect them from imperial weaponry.

With a last roar of collapsing and tearing metal, the barricade gave way. Almost at the same time, a chain of explosions sounded above them. Rock roared as it tore from the mountain it had long formed.

“Oop.” They kept their vox-channel open, to keep from having to waste valuable mili-seconds to activate it when needed. “Rude.” Magnus stood tall, both hands raised as he held the rocks in his telekinetic grip to keep from burying almost 100 meters of hallway, if Fulgrim could accurately judge where the glow was with the corners.

“Move.” Horus ordered sharply, and none of them felt the need to disobey or argue. These Xenos had challenged them all by bringing low one of their number. Let’s see how well they dealt with twelve of them?

Behind the charging group, the rocks were almost carelessly dropped when they were all clear. The few straggling Xenos were thrown aside with little care, leaving bloody prints on the walls.

“So where exactly are we heading?” Roboute was one of those in front of the group, just behind Leman and Horus.

“Throne-room of the keep, first.” The one that had been put in charge sounded almost snarling over the vox. Fulgrim was definitely teasing him for years about how upset he was over all this. “Make that…” Oh, those had to be some Chtonian curses he’d never heard before, how interesting. “Tell us where they put Sanguinius.”

“Lovely plan.” Leman meanwhile sounded very entertained. “Pretty sure the stench of them is getting really strong up ahead.”

“How can you smell with your helmet on?” Vulkan dryly demanded. His only answer was snickering from the Wolf King.

The twelve slowed to a stop when coming to the end of the hallway. Not strictly because they were worried of what they’d encounter if they progressed, but more the fact that the road also stopped. A now-broken bridge had connected this entrance to a road further in the cavern.

“We can make that jump to the window over there.” Perturabo pointed out, pointing at a quite nice stained window near their entry-point. Fulgrim wondered if he could figure out the technique just from having seen a few, or if what native humans that would survive this purge would know? Something to consider for later.

Using Firebrand to pre-break the window – no need to get glass-shards in his armor’s crevasses – he made the jump, landing elegantly on the windowsill and stepping inside smoothly.

“Oh, nice marble.” The hallway was deserted, though not stripped bare of all the decorations. It was interesting that these did apparently not believe in depictions of their peoples, unless they were very stylized.

“Not the moment.” Ferrus cracked some of the marble tiles with his landing, as did most of their brothers. Only Magnus had a soft landing, using his abilities to make it so.

“Yes, yes.” He rolled his eyes, hidden from view, heading down the corridor deeper into the keep. Ah, there were the stairs. He leaned over the railing briefly to consider how high they were, only to be greeted with sparks when projectiles were shut up. His arm caught the worst of it, but the one that did hit his head made his ears ring briefly. “Can’t get through the armor, but they do have some force behind them.”

“Good to know.” Horus did not lean over the railing, rather marched straight through it and let gravity do the rest.

He was going to be so dusty at the end of it, but he did follow. Where Horus had curled up some to become a meteor crashing to earth, Fulgrim remained straight, like Sanguinius’ spear raining down.

“Show-off.”

Chapter 8: Chapter 7

There was the simple problem – for a given definition of the word – that if you threw twelve Primarchs at a problem, unless that problem was a whole army or two, some of them were just frankly useless. Or liable to get in the way of their brothers.

Magnus looked down on the few siblings down below, who killed the guards in the keep. He frowned a touch; the blades of the Xenos were darkened with the blood of their own.

“Wonder if they gave their weak ones quick deaths?” Lorgar was still upstairs as well and while he couldn’t see the other’s eyes, the question made him believe he’d seen the same.

“That, or there’s a civil war.” He decided that it had calmed down enough that he could go down as well. By the time he had, Leman had marched over to the throne-room door to push it open violently.

The vox crackled with cursewords mixed with wolf-snarls. Magnus leaned to look over his shoulder, eyes widening some at the sight.

Perhaps for the Primarch of the VIth the priority of cursing was Sanguinius, but for the Sorcerer King of Prospero another thing made him curse. Barrelling past his sibling, grabbing the great axe because he was not sure his own blade could make a large enough cut quickly enough, he brought the weapon down hard and fast into the mosaic floor of the great hall. Something wailed, from some unseen source, when he felt the energies echo in the space around him.

“Magnus!?”

“This is an arcane array, to activate the larger one when it’s fully sated with blood.” He wrenched the axe free with one hand, gesturing to the intricate web of furrows in the floor. “I think even the non-psykers can agree with me that would be bad just from the size.”

Offering his brother’s weapon back, he stooped to pick up his own, allowing himself to linger on the larger tableau now; the room’s floor – once an intricate and elegant mosaic – had been carved into an equally intricate arcane array, with layers to it he would have been itching to study in other circumstances. There were various bodies on strategic points, killed in such a way that most of their blood was filling the lines. From the elaborateness of their outfits, it seemed that the nobles of the Xenos had chosen the quick way out. In the middle, clearly visible from the door, was Sanguinius… or at least his body.

All of them were quiet for a few moments, Jaghatai the first to move closer to their winged brother. The Angel of the Imperium had been propped up to sitting with large rods of metal piercing his upper limbs, the wings nearly fully featherless. The rest of him hardly looked better, something tumorous growing in patches on his torso and legs, gems poking out of the new flesh. These last few months had not been kind to their brother.

“Let’s get him out of here.” Horus murmured and Magnus could agree with that sentiment.

“Not with teleportation-beacons, but physically.” He felt the need to say. Normally he’d rather bite his tongue off than admit to it, but right now was not the moment for false pride. “This is a complex array, I would bet that they have fall-back ways of activation in there somewhere… and I can’t be fully sure of it.” They were using their own script, for one, and were combining sigils in way he had yet to see before. He wondered if they would be able to get their library out before it all ended in flames.

“Meaning?” Lion softly demanded.

“Meaning that I cannot be sure any application of warp, magic or however-else-you-want-to-call-it-energy won’t just replace the energies from that one.” He pointed over his shoulder at the array he’d broken upon arrival. “On that note…” He reached up, switching vox-channels to the one connecting them to all Imperium-forces in range. “Alert, all Librarians and other psykers, do not use any abilities within a hundred meters of the Xenos keep. I repeat, all Librarians and other psykers, do not use any abilities within a hundred meters of the Xenos keep. No exceptions.” He was not taking any chances, not with the size of this darn thing. It could well be meant to literally break the planet into pieces.

“I can probably break this metal just with my hands.” Ferrus had joined the Primarch of the White Scars. His voice was subdued. “Though someone will have to hold Sang, otherwise the lack of support at some point could… could tear his limbs… with his weight.”

With no hesitation regarding the growths, Horus stepped up and carefully ducked under one of Sanguinius’ shoulders. Perturabo mirrored him on the other side.

The rest of them spread out over the chamber, both to make sure other Xenos could not come upon the group and to feel like they were doing something. Magnus crouched down, using his blade to carefully break sub-arrays even as he studied what they might be meant to be doing. He supposed the blood was to be the energy, and Sanguinius some kind of fuel, but…

His eyes narrowed at a particular group of edgings, mirrored on the rods that held the Primarch of the IXth upright. If only he knew their script…

“Wait!” They all looked up sharply at Fulgrim’s outcry. He’d been standing next to Ferrus, but now dropped down to the floor. There was something frantic about how the Phoenician detached his helmet, throwing it aside with little care. With no care for his white hair, he shoved his head against their brother’s bloody chest. Magnus couldn’t see his face, but he could see him freeze. “His hearts are still beating… he’s alive.”

He stopped breathing, eyes flying from the edgings to his living brother. “This is a bloody summoning-circle.” Even as several of their brothers converged, the Primarch of the XVth Legion looked around the room in horror at the scale. “A summoning circle with Sang's body as the target!” And from the size of it, had it succeeded… 

Chapter 9: Chapter 8

“How did…” Konrad watched impassively as several of their brothers joined the cluster around Sanguinius, checking themselves and finding their angelic brother as alive as Fulgrim had claimed.

“I saw his hand twitch when Ferrus pulled it off…” Fulgrim was still on the ground, gently cradling their brother's head now. Konrad couldn't properly see it, between all the people around, but he didn't need to. He'd seen enough earlier. He knew everything that had lead them here, as perhaps no one else in the universe did, beyond Sanguinius himself.

He also knew that the Xenos had gone through great pains to keep the Angel's face undamaged, to keep that part of him recognizable. He suspected it would have remained recognizable even if Magnus had not managed to stop the main activation of this array.

"Magnus, can you dismantle this damn thing enough so we can teleport?" Horus' voice sharply came over the vox, the First-found holding on perhaps a little tighter onto his favorite brother now that he knew said brother was alive still.

The Nighthaunter watched as Prospero's Sorcererking looked around, taking in the room. "Yes. Faster if someone helps."

"How?" Jagathai, ever hurrying Jagathai demanded. 

"Some of these are faster broken with simultaneous cracks in a circle." Magnus certainly felt explainy today. "Lion, I think your sword might be best for this."

"Point me wherever I am needed." The Primarch of the First Legion answered, unsheathing his weapon.

As they went to it, Ferrus returning to his labor of getting their Angel's limbs of the metal rods holding him upright.

Konrad was not a fool, psychotic, yes, brutal, yes, but a fool? No, not a fool. He knew what the result of all this might well be, if his visions were in any form accurate.

He'd been standing near the throne of the room, considering the blood-covered feathers that formed a fan against the backrest. He was pretty sure there were no birds on this planet; the storms would not have allowed anything airborne to evolve.

Taking one of the smaller ones, he meandered over to the group. Twirling the small feather between his fingers, he crouched down. Between the arms of Horus and Perturabo was what he was searching for. Black flesh was pulsing lightly, a gem firmly lodged in the creature. Oh, he'd love to have something like that, but he'd have to content himself with this.

His two fingers barely fit between the arms, and they probably would have noticed if they weren't both distracted.

Mirroring his memory of what his vision had shown, he turned the gem just a few degrees.

The reaction was instant; their broken brother surged up, a roar tearing from his raw throat as he instinctively attacked the one closest to his face. If not for Primarch-level reflexes, Fulgrim would have had fangs in his head rather than around his armored fingers.

He heard cursing through the vox as several others had to struggle to keep the Primarch of the IXth from tearing his limbs and grinned. 

"Konrad!" He could probably have resisted some, he was a Primarch himself after all, but he let himself be dragged back when someone grabbed him. Snarling greeted him through the vox, a large axe looming to replace the covered bared teeth he was sure Leman was glaring down on him. "What do you think you're doing!?"

"Checking if he's really alive." He chuckled, grinning wildly underneath his helmet. "Now we know for sure!"

"Konrad, pull a stunt like that again, and I am killing you myself!" Horus roared, so loud it overwhelmed the vox, and nearly echoed in the room. 

He had to chuckle, or he would be raging. "Alright, alright, you'd think he's a fragile little baseline." He retreated obediently, expression falling in the anonymity of his helmet. It was already happening, he could tell. 

Notes:

Out of curiosity... how nice should I make Konrad? >:3

Chapter 10: Chapter 9

Raldoron was, at that point in time, without a doubt the most miserable captain of Humanity, perhaps all races. He was in command of the fleet, all the ships the Blood Angels had brought to this system arrayed around the Red Tear.

And he was two planet-orbits away from his Primarch. They all were, ordered to remain here in disgrace by the Emperor.

No, something worse than disgrace, though he could not think of a word in any of the languages he knew to properly convey the abject sense of failure he felt. They had lost their Primarch. Their entire reason of being was lost to Xenos, on their watches.

It did not help that they had been obeying orders to retreat instead of searching for a way to retrieve him, save him. It did not help that this had been all by their Primarch’s will…

It physically hurt him, to hear the battle reports through the vox-channels.

There was no word to encompass the agony he felt at being forced to stay aside, to being forbidden from participating in their Primarch’s retrieval.

Being ordered to hurl themselves into the nearest star might hurt less, he considered in some dark corner of his mind. That was about the proper penance they could do for what they had let happen to their genesire.

Barring one order earlier from Lord Magnus, there had been no transmissions from the Primarchs. Nothing about their having found the Primarch of the IXth, and what state he might be in… Only silence.

If not for the fact that right now it was mostly his will that kept the fleet were they were ordered to remain, Raldoron would be weeping.

“All Forces, make for the Keep. Prioritize securing the Keep above all else. I repeat, All Forces make for the Keep. Prioritize securing the Keep above all else.”

He looked up sharply at hearing Lord Horus’ voice over the general vox-channel. The bridge of the Red Tear grew silent. What did that mean?

“Primarch Horus, ...” The voice of the Captain-General of the Custodes crackled through the air. He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence.

“We require immediate evac, but teleportation is not available.” Beside him, Azkaellon made a terrible sound. There had to be only one reason they needed immediate evacuation, because there was no way anything had happened to the twelve Primarchs of the strike-team. “An unknown arcane array is making all psyker- and warp-activities near the Keep too dangerous.”

There was some silence after that, before Constantine Valdor started speaking in the general channel again. “All Forces, prioritize creating an evacuation-corridor from the Keep, belay the orders of Exterminatus, so sayeth the Emperor. I repeat, all Forces, prioritize creating an evacuation-corridor from the Keep, belay the orders of Exterminatus, so sayeth the Emperor.” Far in the distance, they could see the Imperial flagship at the planet, stationary above the approximate location of the last Xenos-holding. The other Legions’ flagships had spread out around the planet, waiting for their forces to retreat to begin the jettisoning. Part of him wondered if anyone was evacuating the humans on the planet, or whether they would be wiped from history as much as their neighbors would be?

Raldoron was clutching the railing in front of his Primarch’s seat. He clung to it, desperation filling his entire body. He held on for dear life, pressing his jaws together hard enough to crack his teeth. Everything in his body was screaming to order the fleet to the planet, order of Emperor be damned, but at this point some part of him was still bound by his oaths of loyalty. He groaned in mental agony.

“Raldoron…?” Azkaellon whispered.

“We obey.” He ground out in answer. “We obey our Emperor… and our Lord. We remain here.”

The vox-channel remained quiet from the Primarchs at that point, though the captains of the other strike-teams were now busily coordinating their efforts to obey their new orders. Sometimes, in the background, they would still hear the screeching screams of dying Xenos, but from what other sounds passed the vox-filters, the Astartes were very much prioritizing speed over thoroughness now.

“The arcane array has been successfully dismantled, I retract my previous orders.” Magnus the Red cut through the throng of other voices after what felt like ages. “Librarians, do as you will.”

Did that mean teleportation was available again as well?

Teleportation passed through the Warp, and was often refused for wounded because of the risks involved. The apothecaries always debated over whether a wounded was so grievously injured as to be worth risking Warp-exposure.

Would the Primarchs opt for it, or would they remain waiting for the evacuation corridor?

A last remnant of pride kept him from moving from his spot to head closer to one of the few speakers through which the general vox-channel was being heard. He could hear well enough here, and it made no difference.

He allowed himself a brief moment of emotion, pressing his eyes closed as he listened.

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

He didn't know what array had had his Primarchs decree no Psyker-activity near the Keep, but He was going to assume the Primarch of the Fifteenth would not do it lightly and so did not head down Himself; too much of Him was infused with His power, and He did not want to risk reacting too slowly to keep it from tripping something. The moment that the earlier decree had been withdrawn, He briefly looked at Constantine beside him.

Skimming the Warp, He descended from his ship alongside several Custodes. Still, even His aim was not perfect, too many energies around the Primarchs for a good read. In theory, now that He was down here - on the plaza in front of the Keep - he probably could have gotten a good enough read, but the short time it'd save was not worth the bother.

His Custodes fell in behind him as He marched through the Astartes which had already reached this part of the cavern. They parted before Him like the sea, letting Him pass through the open gates. A crystal-garden sprawled before Him, but he passed the elegantly carved - grown? - gems to the mass of energy that were His Primarchs.

The Emperor of Mankind took note of their reactions when He entered the throneroom; which moved in an attempt to shield - hide? - the Ninth, and who almost moved to attack. He would deal with that later, though. He also took note of the Eighth, who stood seperate from the others and seemed the only one not to react to His arrival at all, attention fixed on a small feather in his hand. 

"Father..." Horus was cradling the lost one, cloak wrapped around the limp body. 

Something of Chaos lingered in the room, but He was fairly certain it were only dissipated energies from a failed ritual, rather than a true presence, the Four had not truly arrived here. He swept His gaze over the array once, to commit it to memory before turning most of His attention back to the angel.

The cloak was bulkier than it ought to be. None of them made another move to try and stop Him as He flicked the heavy fabric aside. 

Distaste flashed through His mind at the works wrought upon His Primarch. He could sense the different souls, the growths being seperate beings from what they were upon.

+Magnus, Perturabo, with me.+ He ordered, reaching to take the broken body. +The rest of you, see to the Exterminatus.+ He briefly looked at the small group of Custodes at his back as well.

Horus looked almost ready to argue, briefly clutching the body closer, before acquiescing and handing it over.

"Father?" The two He had called to His side approached.

+I will teleport us back to the Flagship. Focus on shielding him from the Warp.+ He briefly looked at the one-eyed Primarch to his right. He didn't wait for acknowledgement as such, instead reaching for the souls attached to the body in his arms. The frail things crumbled under His will, the Angel convulsing once as they shrivelled and fell loose, revealing gaping wounds in his flesh.

He had a far easier time aiming in His ship, making the landing in the laboratory He wanted to be in. 

+These two must be combined.+ He gestured at two different machines, eyes fixed on the Fourth. +Quickly.+ Most of His attention was on the Primarch on the ground in front of Him, who had not dealt well with the new wounds. Luckily He had made his Primarchs sturdy. +Support his life-force.+ 

"Yes." The Fifteenth murmured, large hands resting on the bare chest.

Secure that there was some time there - and He could interfere if the other Psyker reached too far - He turned his attention to the other Primarch He'd brought along. If there had even been the sliver of a chance that the Ninth could endure long enough. He would not have resorted to slap-dashing His existing machinery into something for His needs and instead made something new and proper. He however did not need any of His many gifts to know there was no time for that.

He worked quickly and efficiently, though any Mechanicus would probably be weeping at the mess of cables, pipes and randomly arrayed screens the endresult was. 

 

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

They convened on the Vengeful Spirit, watching through large viewing windows how the planet was slowly forced from orbit, falling towards the star.

"Lords Magnus and Perturabo." The two the Emperor had taken with him were the last to arrive. Magnus seemed drawn, while Perturabo looked carefully blank.

"And?" Horus was seated on his favorite armchair, but rose to greet them.

"He'll live." The Psyker obligingly reported, a faint tremble on his limbs. "Not sure about anything else though. The damage was extensive, even with him being a Primarch."

Collective relief filled the room. "The Emperor is probably going to monitor him himself. When we left he was summoning Sanguinius' captain." Perturabo took a seat himself on one of the many Primarch-sized lounges.

"We'll get a proper report soon, then." Horus murmured, returning to his own seat. He looked outside again, wondering what all this would mean for the Crusade. In theory, the temporary loss of Primarch was not a problem, Legions had - before their respective Primarchs had been found - fought under other commanders. But this was not simply a mere absence of a Primarch. There was the very real question whether the Blood Angels would even be allowed to remain under the Empire, or whether the Ninth would be remade from the ground up for their failure in keeping Sanguinius safe.

He doubted any of them had ever considered something like this, and what would happen afterwards. It was folly to assume a Primarch untouchable, there'd been too many times that was proven hollow, but to have one fall to this extend?

"What would happen?" Fulgrim softly asked, hands clutching a fine goblet with some vintage he'd brought from his own flagship. Most of them had exchanged their armors for more personable outfits, the Phoenician elegantly dressed in purple.

"Well, we wait for the report."

"No... I mean... assume Sang doesn't recover enough to lead his men. What is the use of a Primarch that cannot take the field?" Chemos' Primarch demanded, leaning forward some. "Is... is this just going to be like when not all of us had been found again? Or..."

Horus felt something cold run down his spine, despite the thick fur draped over his shoulders. "Sang's not going to get wiped from history. He's done nothing to deserve that." But it was telling, wasn't it, that this was the first thing he thought of to finish his brother's sentence.

"Beyond failing?" Roboute tilted his head, eyes sad. He resisted the urge to punch him. "Horus, we all love him, and I will be among the last to say I'd want him gone in any way, but looking at it purely theoretically, a Primarch's main function is conquest. Is the continuation of the Great Crusade. We literally were build and designed for it."

"Sang will not be wiped from history. I will not allow it." It tasted almost like heresy and treason in his mouth as he said it and several of his brothers flinched. It sounded like it, as well.

"We could make a case for him being a... back-Primarch? The one who administrates as we conquer?" Magnus mused, perhaps to bring the conversation to a less damning subject-matter. "If we coach it right, Father will see the value in having someone to take the administrative side of the whole Crusade. It'll allow us to go far faster if we need to spend less time cleaning up." 

"Assuming that any remaining troubles would be physical, that could work." Lorgar was standing at the large window, eyes largely focused on the planet, though he briefly looked into the room. "Would he take the option though?"

Unspoken the rivalry between Dorn and Perturabo, where one felt shoved behind the other. The Primarchs were prideful, to the last, though some hid it better than others. Would the Angel consent to being an eternal second fiddle to all of them?

Horus found he could not honestly answer the question.

Chapter 13: Chapter 12

Raldoron wasn’t sure if he ought to be upset or grateful that he had not been allowed into the room that apparently held his Primarch, instead having the pseudo-audience with Constantine outside of it.

The Blood Angels were to be disbanded, split among the Legions in disgrace, more as canon-fodder for those than true warriors befitting their status as Space Marines. The only reason they had not been outright send on a guaranteed suicide-mission was the fact that they had been obeying their Primarch and could not be faulted for that, at least.

Their true fate would only be decided once Sanguinius’ future fate could be determined, which had given him little relief. The implication that their Primarch might never need a Legion tore at him.

He was to deliver a list of two-hundred Marines, a new Sanguinary Guard, to remain under Sanguinius’ banner as his guard. The current Guard was to be disbanded like the rest of the Ninth Legion, just as split as the rest of their comrades. Thousands of them, cast aside for their failure.

He hesitated briefly in the windowed hallway, looking outside. In the far distance, the planet was slowly disappearing from view. His eyes burned, and it was not truly because he was looking at the star of this system.

Closing his eyes against the light, he restarted his journey back to the Red Tear, not looking forward to having to do what needed to be done. Probably only the Emperor could make a guess as to how the other Legions would treat his brothers.

Sanguinius’ captain arrived on a nearly deserted bridge. Azkaellon was awaiting him.

“That bad?” The Captain of the Sanguinary Guard softly asked.

“Twohundred are to be picked to be his guards, none of the existing guard, the entire rest of our Legion are to be spread out over the other ones.” The Chapter Master whispered. “A definite judgment is to be made once it’s clear how Sanguinius will recover.”

The other flinched at that. “That’s in line of his expectations.”

“Yes.” It didn’t make it easier, particularly once he had to inform the entire rest of the Blood Angels of the facts of their future. They could only hope that the others would yield to this indignity, deserved as it might be.

“I can give you a list of those I would have offered for posting in the Guard in the future, as a starting-point for those two-hundred.”

“Much obliged.” He wished his biology allowed for becoming drunk. “How many are that?”

“I can stretch the list to about sixty. Perhaps eighty if I add people I would have only offered in a decade orso, if their more recent careers kept up.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

They got the message at the same time; the Ninth would be disbanded for their failure, their forces to be spread out over the other seventeen Legions. Anything more definite to wait until Sanguinius’ future was clearer.

“Shit.” Ferrus murmured, holding the data-slate from which he’d read the order out loud.

“Sang’s going to lose his feathers.” Leman pointed out, draped over the chair he’d claimed upon arrival. “What is Father thinking, taking his sons from him!?” Roboute looked like he wanted to say something in answer, but refrained.

“Group decision; we are not throwing them into the front-lines? At least not before Sanguinius has woken?” Horus demanded, eyes glowing faintly. The look on his face made it clear it was less a ‘group decision’ and more a ‘don’t you dare on my watch decision’.

“Have you seen him when someone makes headway against his Legion?” Fulgrim managed a snort, though it sounded strained. “No matter his state, he’d eat one of us alive if we cost him any of them.”

In the far corner, Konrad was leaning against the wall. "Perhaps we should tear one of them apart, to wake him." Beyond some glares, none of the others deigned his suggestion with a reaction.

“Who knows, he might recover fast enough that the final judgment comes before we get to our next objectives. He is a Primarch, after all, currently under the care of the Emperor himself. ” Lion el’Jonson pointed out. “I assume we’ll head for Terra first, where the Blood Angels will be split among us, and then we still need to get back to our own Legions. That's months, if not a year in the future, depending how long the warp travel will take.”

Someone probably should have felt obliged to point out that having two-thirds of all Primarchs heading for Terra instead of immediately back to their Legions would be highly inefficient, but well… all of them wanted to know how their brother would recover.

“Should we tell the others?” Magnus wondered. “What happened here, so they can decide to also head for Terra if they want?”

“They might be more likely to interrupt their business after hearing about this.” Lorgar conceded, his golden tattoos sparkling in the light around them. “This is Sanguinius we are talking about, after all.”

“I’ll send the message once we’re done here.” Horus agreed.

Chapter 14: Chapter 13

He considered the Angel, tilting his head as if trying to study something. What had driven the Ninth to do as he had done?

“Tools, not Sons.” He echoed Malcador’s words. Did the Ninth consider himself disposable? Losable? He had excised all emotion – one simply could not conquer all of existence if emotions could distract – but He was connecting dots. He didn’t like the dots he was seeing however, and suspected someone was laughing loudly in the Warp.

Had it been a mistake to make the Primarchs? Too much power in emotional forms, prone to making mistakes because their logic failed them?

The Emperor of Mankind trailed his fingers over the dials, checking the numbers again. Drumming them on some bare metal, his eyes trailed to the figure floating overhead. A crude harness was keeping the Primarch firmly in the middle, to ensure the remnants of the wings would not hit the glass walls and get even more damaged.

He hadn’t seen much, perhaps because of the corruption among the Xenos, but He had seen the Angel failing to dodge a shot he could have easily dodged in his sleep. The Ninth should have been able to keep himself safe until the Legion reached him. Why.

Closing His eyes briefly, He cast his mental eyes to the ship closest to His. All twelve of the other Primarchs were there, in the same room. It didn’t take much effort to listen in.

He didn’t like the additional dots, though it did clear some things up.

Even if there was no parental bone in His body, clearly the Primarchs did somewhat expect some of it from his side. What He didn’t do just to make sure that Chaos didn’t get their grubby hands all over humanity.

No, that was not be the mindset He should be going into this with. That was liable to blow up in His face dramatically.

One of the triplicate beeps was slowly speeding up, microseconds being shaved off the rhythm. Turning to the source, He carefully adjusted the air-pump to slow down.

Once the sounds were in proper rhythm again, He returned to His musings. Some sliver of frustration was worming its’ way into His mind, that Sanguinius was not liable to wake soon and He therefore had to act on incomplete information.

But act He had to, simply because He could feel the others shift, and it did not take a genius to figure out that some of the last five would fall in line with the twelve. For all that He might be wondering about the specific choices He’d made while making the Primarchs, the mess it’d make if they turned...That was even less useful than a poor mindset.

He wondered if it was less frustration and more a headache that was coming on.

Right, right… He could do Paternal, He had managed somewhat when Horus had been young and the only-found. He just needed to find that state of being again.

His eyes studied the body intently. “What drove you to it?” He didn’t get an answer, wouldn’t get an answer until the Angel woke. He couldn’t even call interference, because He felt nothing of interference.

The Captain had not known, when He’d summoned him. All the Blood Angel had known was that he was obeying orders to abandon a Primarch, despite the insanity thereof. The most He’d been able to glean was the knowledge that it would only marginally protect the Legion from paying for such a failure.

None of His Sons knew either, at least of those that had answered. What would the chances be that one of the other five knew? Both the Nineteenth and the Twentieth had not answered, claiming they could not leave their respective campaigns at this moment, and were perhaps the most suited for some subterfuge.

Had the Ninth contacted them, and they were staying aside to hide this fact from Him?

No, what would the reason have been to nearly die to Xenos, and…

He was not a fan of the dots he was noticing, mostly because He didn’t fully know which were dots that needed to be connected, and which just happened to be around.

It would have to wait until he could find out what had brought them here, which meant…

Well, at least he had removed most of his Pride, so what came next would be less… painful.

Chapter 15: Chapter 14

Konrad watched them plan, choosing the words they thought necessary if Sanguinius would never recover enough to take the field again. Looking out the window, he stared at the Imperial Flagship at the center of the formation. The group of ships would soon take to the Warp, and then head for Terra.

Pressing his hand against the glass, he knew the laboratory that held the other prescient Primarch was beneath his fingers. He didn’t really count Magnus, who only have exceedingly sporadic prescient moments. Though then again...

His nails scratched the pane, sharp points closing in on the Angel. He wondered what would happen if…

“Konrad, stop damaging my ship.” Horus sharply stated behind him.

“Oh please, I am bored.” He countered, black eyes not moving from the massive golden ship in the distance.

“You can just leave.” His ‘host’ muttered. “It’s not like I am keeping any of you here by force.”

The Night Haunter threw his head back, and laughed. Honestly, he could do nothing else but laugh. “Oh no, I cannot leave.” He grinned, sharp teeth catching the light. “This is far… far more alluring than anything I could do on my ship.”

He could see their distaste at his word-choice, when he looked back briefly, but really, it was their own fault for being so behind matters.

Sadly, he had to postpone his date, but that would be worth it in the end.

In lieu of his amusement, his hand returned to his side, though his eyes remained firmly trained on the absent brother of this little gathering.

He didn’t need to turn around to note the frustration of the others. Oh, this was going to be fun. He would make it be.

Some more proof for that came when Horus’ vox crackled to life, and though he was too far to understand the soft voice that came through it, he suspected he knew what it was about.

“Father is coming.” The First-found informed them all. In answer, Konrad deigned to turn to the larger room.

“Why?” Lion asked softly. Several of them straightened out of their comfortable sprawls into some more dignified positions.

“Didn’t say.”

“Probably heard your plotting-noises.” The Primarch of the Eighth pointed out, leaning against the window now behind him. He snorted when Leman almost growled at him. The dog was too easy to get a rise out of.

No one else could really react, because the guard that was outside the room announced the Emperor of Mankind.

“Father.” Horus greeted the last arrival.

For a moment, their creator didn’t actually react, just sweeping his eyes through the room once.

“How’s Sanguinius?” Fulgrim broke the silence after just a few moments. The Phoenician really must be nervous.

“He will recover.” The others blinked at hearing a speaking voice coming from the gold-armored male, rather than telepathy – or the replacement-voice of one of the Custodes. Konrad found he had quite a heroic resolve to not ask how long the Angel would be allowed to recover before they acknowledged the Dreadnought in the room. “Constantine and Malcador are currently attending him.”

“That is a relief.” Magnus breathed. None of the others made a sound, perhaps because they had been plotting against the Emperor just a few minutes ago and now felt anxious.

“Surprised you figured visiting us worth the bother in contrast.” Konrad tilted his head.

“Konrad…” Lion was closest to him, and looked about ready to bodily throw him from the room… or perhaps the entire ship.

“He is hardly wrong.” The Emperor called the Primarch of the First back.

He was going to shank Sanguinius, that was certain.

“It… I realized while attending Sanguinius that I have made a poor showing of myself.” That shut up the group, for all that they had not been saying anything anyway. “And for that, I need to apologize to all of you.”

“No.” It was Lorgar that answered. “Surely not.”

“It is what one does when one makes mistakes that impact others, Lorgar.” The golden form moved forward, closer to the Primarchs. “And I have made mistakes that impacted all of you, as well as those not here. Therefore, I must apologize.”

“And make amends.” Konrad pointed out, quirking a grin. “That is also what one does when making mistakes.”

Before several of his brothers could even jump up, the Emperor conceded once more. He nearly laughed at how it seemed to blow Lorgar’s mind. “And make amends, yes.”

He felt the world tilt some more, and wondered if he could get into the Imperial Flagship to get to Sanguinius sooner. But he figured there would be entirely too many protections in place right now even for him to sneak in. Then again… He sighed once.

“I will summon the others to Terra as well.”

Notes:

The coming two-ish weeks I will have limited Internet-access, please assume the Warp-forces kidnapped Sanguinius and there's a cool off-screen quest to get him back from Khorne if I cannot deliver chapters during that timeframe :)

Then afterwards, we can go back to the regular storyline, with Konrad having some more armor-decorations :D

Chapter 16: Chapter 15

Notes:

Am back! Did you guys have fun saving Sanguinius from Khorne? :)

The Warp-jumps of the small(ish) fleet towards Terra were quicker than they usually would be, Ferrus was sure. Probably because the Emperor himself was leading them.

Sanguinius had not woken, though he apparently was starting to look far better. Not that any of them had ever seen him. He supposed the other Primarch was currently so vulnerable that the Emperor didn’t want to lower the defenses on the room too often just to allow visitors.

He briefly looked to the other side of the room. Their creator was currently making careful overtures of bonding with them all, but had not further spoken of His plans of ‘apologies’ and ‘amends’ beyond a faint explanation of why it ought to wait. Ostensibly because He preferred all of the Primarchs – including those absent – being able to hear it at the same time. “One of my greatest failures was picking favorites.” He’d said and Ferrus had spotted the faint look at Perturabo at that statement.

So here they were, in one of the lounges on the greatest Flagship of humanity’s fleet, bonding with each other between two jumps. Once again, Malcador and Constantine had been been left to attend their wounded brother while the Emperor was elsewhere.

“Your turn.” Fulgrim smiled faintly, though he could not miss the tension on his brother’s face.

“Yes, yes.” The Primarch of the Tenth Legion turned his attention back to their game.

He didn’t hear anything special himself, but from the corner of his eye he saw Leman perk up sharply, eyes on the Emperor who had been in a soft discussion with Lorgar about something.

Their father had fallen quiet now, from the look on Lorgar’s face in the middle of a sentence.

“Malcador informs me that Sanguinius is waking up.” The gold-clad male announced. “He can be decanted.”

Several of the Primarchs in the room straightened at that. Ferrus would be lying if he said he wasn’t one of them.

“Now?” Horus demanded from where he had been sitting with Roboute and Vulcan.

“Yes.” The Master of all Mankind rose from His seat, eyes far away, probably in the laboratory where their brother was being kept. He blinked once. “You can join, if you wish.”

Konrad was the one to move first, from the dark corner he’d been lurking in. Ferrus wondered if they should really have included him in all of this, because there was something about the Eighth that was rubbing him in entirely the wrong way. Moreso than usual.

The rest of them followed, though he was not entirely sure how many actually did because they truly wanted to be there when Sang woke, and whether some of them only did to keep from being judged.

The laboratory was barely big enough for all of them, it really had just been the first room that had most of what had been needed. He’d ended up as one of those closest to the construct, looking up at the Primarch of the Ninth.

The gaping wounds Ferrus had briefly seen when they had been on that accursed planet had closed, but that is where the recovery currently ended. Sanguinius still looked utterly battered, and the less said about his wings, the better. 

“I will lower the glass alongside the liquid.” The Emperor was to the side, near a large console where he was already turning dials. “Some of you ought to be up there to make certain his wings don’t get damaged.”

“And detach him from all that…” Vulcan murmured, gesturing to the cables and pipes still connecting to the body. “Two to hold, one to detach?”

“Not sure this construction can hold much more weight than that anyway.” Perturabo was one of those in the middle of the group.

Ferrus considered the machine and could only agree. He got up on his side, hearing faint creaking underfoot. As long as it held long enough, it’d be fine. All these things were probably doomed for scrap anyway, with how slapdash they’d been combined.

Lorgar mimicked him on the other side, Jaghatai joining them as well. The creaking got slightly worse, so they had to hope they got Sanguinius out quickly enough before the darn thing broke under their feet.

The ambient sounds became louder when the liquid started getting pumped out of the containment and the glass started sinking.

“How low does this go?” They might have to lift Sanguinius, and they needed to account for that when taking hold to support the weight of a Primarch, even if this one was probably significantly lighter than he usually was.

Perturabo helpfully held his hand to the correct height.

Chapter 17: Chapter 16

Magnus helped some, using a careful application of telekinesis to get Sanguinius down from his vessel. He mostly kept the wings from hitting anything, or dragging on the ground.

“He needs a bath.” Lorgar murmured.

“The bath of the Custodes is nearby, a few doors down to the left in the corridor.” The Emperor stated. “Leman, see to it that it’s available.”

The Primarch of the Space Wolves had been nearest the door, having lingered there when the rest filled the rest of the room. He sketched a salute and headed outside.

The Prospero Primarch held the wings carefully bend like he’d seen the Angel do to keep them from the ground as Vulcan took him from Ferrus and Lorgar.

“It’s clear.” Leman poked his head back inside. “I asked Constantine to make sure it remains so until we get there.”

“Good.” Vulcan slowly made his way through the laboratory, their siblings either moving aside or ahead of them into the corridor. Magnus remained at his shoulder, looking down on the unmoving face resting against the other Primarch’s shoulder. It was disturbing how normal that looked compared to the rest of the body.

He felt the urge to reach out, but resisted it. Considering how Sanguinius had attacked on the planet, he didn’t want to risk another one by setting him off.

The Captain-General held the door for them, eyes turned down the corridor to the other side. “There’s a large pool beyond the showers.” He softly stated, hand pointing to a far door.

“Thank you.”

“Shower for the worst of this goop, then bath for the rest?” Fulgrim was at his back, wearing a short-sleeved tunic of Chemosian style.

“Sounds good.” Magnus was grateful he was wearing the fashion of his own planet, which meant little fabric to get wet from splashes. “I’ll hold him steady.” He carefully adjusted his telekinetic grip to encompass the entire body instead of just the wings. Vulcan ducked a bit to get out of the way. Magnus sat down on the floor, to focus on moving the Primarch of the Ninth as needed. Beside him, Ferrus, Vulcan and Lorgar were cleaning themselves from the worst of their own encounter with the disinfectant solution that had held their brother.

He had to admit to being somewhat surprised that Fulgrim was doing the cleaning himself, but then again, none of them seemed like they wanted anyone near their sibling. “Tell me when to move him.” He nearly dropped the Angel when the Emperor also took a seat on the floor to help Fulgrim.

“I’ll prepare the bath.” Roboute dipped past them, not even looking at the cluster on the floor.

“Some of you, see to a bedroom for him.” The Master of All Mankind softly ordered. “One that’s nearby. And some clothes.”

Prospero’s Sorcerer King noted a few of the Primarchs leaving the room again, but he left his main focus on the unconscious form. Behind him, he heard the roaring of water in the bathroom.

A soft whimper.

His attention was immediately back on the group he was a part of. Sanguinius was twitching, mouth trembling as he clawed his way to wakefulness. It had to be a credit to the inherent healing-factor of Primarchs that he was recovering this quickly. Even one of their sons would not be waking any time soon.

+Shush.+ Their Father’s voice echoed in their minds. +It is all well. You are safe.+

Magnus slowly and carefully lowered the body to the ground and into the Emperor’s arms, supporting only the important parts, keeping the wings from folding weirdly – or what he suspected might be weirdly. He had to admit he had not truly ever considered their position when being with his brother.

“Brother.” Horus joined them on the ground, fingers hovering just over the bare shoulder.

Sang whimpered again, which was a sound he never expected any of their number to make. He reached out himself, carefully moving the wet, goopy hair from the scrunched-up face.

+Can you open your eyes for me?+ The Primarch of the Blood Angels whimpered, gasping something unintelligible. “Fulgrim, his face.”

“Right.” The Phoenician had been kneeling silently, now reaching up with the washcloth he’d been using for the powerless limbs from the green goop covering them. “I’m touching your face now, Sang.” He warned in a low voice. “Don’t bite me.”

Their brother didn’t react, but the fact that he didn’t do anything was enough proof that he’d heard and registered what had been said. The Angel managed to peel his eyes open when the gunk was cleaned away. Magnus was relieved that while they were unfocused, there was nothing else really wrong with them. At least, from his angle.

+My son.+ The Emperor leaned his head down some. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but seemed unsure of what exactly. Instead, one hand reached up and moved more of the hair out of the face.

“Sang.” Horus breathed in relief, and Sanguinius twitched in answer. His eyes flicked over, even as his head sank against the shoulder nearest.

 

Chapter 18: Chapter 17

Sanguinius wondered if it would not have been better in the long run if the shot to his head had killed him, rather than allowed him to end up in this indignity. Then again, it was in line with what he’d expected to happen if he ended up been caught.

He was being bathed like a newborn and his treacherous body, weakened by months under the Xenos and the forced rapid healing afterwards, was leaving him with no choice but to let it happen. He tried to lift his arm, but his hand barely twitched.

+Take your time.+ The Emperor’s mental voice soothed him. Oh, that he needed to be soothed stung quite a bit as well. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open, gravity winning over his will. All sounds were quite muffled as well, because the goop that had kept him from opening his eyes had stoppered up his ears as well. He supposed he was lucky that his nose and mouth had been kept from getting in contact with it.

The warm water of a bath felt heavenly, though it stung a bit on some parts of his body, some wounds that hadn’t properly healed yet, he suspected. Still… sighing softly, he let himself sink into it, though he had a moment of panic when feeling his head descend as well. He was not in any state to hold his breath, even with the warning of slow movement!

+Shush, I have you.+ A hand behind his neck kept his face above the water, while hands carefully started carding the remnants of his hair to clean it.

“Can you open up?” With his ears cleaned, he could finally properly hear those around him. He was pretty sure it was Jaghatai, though he could be mistaken. He tried to speak in answer, honestly did, but his vocal cords refused service. He did manage to obediently open his mouth, at least.

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage, he smelled the porridge just before it ended up in his mouth. Someone was carefully feeding him.

He also smelled several of his siblings, which stung a bit. How many of them exactly were witness to this? He had suspected they all probably would learn of what happened, it would be hard to hide this for any length of time, but to have them all be present? Oh… Pride be strong.

He felt himself get lifted again, his wings being kept carefully folded underneath him. That meant Magnus probably was present as well, unless the Emperor was using His own abilities.

Several hands used towels to dry him, and from their size, that too had to be some of his brothers, though he could not tell any of them apart.

He marveled that there apparently were no serfs present, and his siblings and father seemed to be doing everything. The Primarch of the Ninth wondered what had make them do it, despite having hoped for something like this. Hope and reality usually did not mesh, he’d found.

“One of the guestrooms near your bedroom has been prepared for him.” Lion’s voice echoed just a bit in the room. “Here.”

Soft fabric wrapped around his body then, covering him from the cool air of the ship. He let himself sink into it, deciding the whole mess could also wait until he had a good sleep.

But then his keen senses identified another brother as he was being carried around. Konrad was present, the scent of old blood clinging to him, and a feeling of death following the Night Haunter.

Between a certain level of skill in acting, and too little energy to do much, he managed to keep from reacting to it. This might make things go sideways, Konrad always caused this. Well, it had been all set into motion, so he had little choice but to just await the results.

Sanguinius sighed softly when he was lowered onto the bed. They carefully turned him so he was on his side, remnants of his wings stretched out behind him. Luxurious blankets were pulled over his body, the scent of flowers wafting from the delicate weave.

+Rest.+ It was an order he gladly obeyed.

Chapter 19: Chapter 18

They were getting close to Terra when Sanguinius woke. True to his nature as a Primarch, he was already functioning again, though the physical damage might take longer.

“A vision.” The Emperor of all Mankind had used the fact His Primarch could hold a conversation again to ask what had gone wrong. He should have been able to dodge that shot, or at least catch it on something that would not have resulted in him being knocked out. “I had a vision.”

“Which distracted you?” Each Psyker reacted differently to visions, if they even had them.

“I am sorry.” The Ninth was sitting in the bed, a blanket over the bare wing-limbs. “It was a poor showing of myself.”

“It was.” He conceded, standing at the foot-end. They were alone in the room, though He would be a fool to not assume that the rest of the Primarchs in the adjacent room was not proverbially gluing their ears to the wall. “You should have been able to last against those beasts until your Sons reached you.”

“Yes.” The Angel’s eyes were downcast, hand neatly folded on the blanket. “Forgive me.”

And therein lay the crux of the matter, didn’t it? It had not been a small thing; the Great Crusade had been delayed, if the Empire found out what exactly had happened to gather all the Primarchs here, what would it do to the image of Himself and His main enforcers? And most worriedly, from what He’d understood – though He was not likely to tell anyone beyond Malcador of it – it had been by mere moments that Sanguinius had escaped being fed to the Ruinous Powers by the Xenos of that now-destroyed planet.

He did not want to consider what might happen if one of the Primarchs was corrupted to such an extend. Certainly it would be a calamity, for the planet and the Legion at the very least… the Empire at the most. And the Ninth would be on the ‘most’ end of the scale.

“What vision was it?” He felt like He was missing something, but to deep-delve into the Primarch’s mind now might risk a backlash He could not oversee.

Blood-red eyes flicked up, briefly, before returning to their study of the blanket. “I…” The Lord of the Blood Angels – for all that those were liable to cease existing soon – took a breath, eyes briefly closing. “It was… unclear.” He struggled for words. “A chance, a possibility.” He sought for words, and the Emperor was not fool enough to fail to miss that it was to keep the actual subject a secret without being caught in a lie.

“You do not wish to speak of it.” He accused His son softly. He turned His senses to the room at His back, just to see how many of the others were listening in. Pretty much all of them.

Sanguinius looked up again, longer this time. “It… it seems… it is so outlandish.” He admitted, eyes dropping from His eyes to His shoulder. “But if you command…”

A second crux of the matter. Had this event influenced the trust in His Primarch? It certainly had influenced plenty of the Empire already, proven by the fact that there were twelve Primarchs outside the room. Yes, Sanguinius had always been a favorite among his brothers, but this…

He considered the form whose eyes had dropped again. What would it bring Him to demand details at this point? It would change nothing of what had already happened; the fall of a Primarch, the delay of the Great Crusade, the loss of what would have been a perfectly serviceable planet if not for the need to keep the whole mess somewhat private. Or as private as it could be with all the people already in the know. But those he knew were not liable to gossip.

“How likely is it that it will be relevant?” He asked instead.

The tactical mind he’d given all his Primarchs was visibly working overtime to think up the answer. He hoped it was calculating, and not trying to find another way to dodge the answer. If it was the latter, He would have to start demanding answers. “I…”

He did not sigh, it was not His style. He was close however. “Do not try to deceive me. What did you see that you would get hit by a projectile you could have dodged in your sleep?”

The Angel did not flinch, but he blinked a few times. A fang briefly caught on a lip. “My death.”

Oh…

That would be distracting, He supposed. And not a nice subject-matter to discuss. “Very well.” It didn’t feel like it was everything, but what use were details at this point? “See to it you do not repeat this mess.”

“Yes.” Had the wings had feathers, they’d have rustled, the Ninth trying to hide behind them. “As you command.”

“Then focus on your recovery.”

“As you command.” The Primarch obediently echoed himself.

Chapter 20: Chapter 19

Konrad had known he’d not go into details. Leaning against the wall, he heard the conversation in the bedroom clearly. He was getting more and more certain, though the potentiality in visions meant he would need a clear answer from Sanguinius.

It would take a while until he could get that, however. Even beyond the fact that several of the other Primarchs lingered around their sibling, they were on the Emperor’s flagship, which meant that little could be hidden from the Ruler of all Mankind.

But they were closing in on Terra, and in the great palace there could easily be sneaking, particularly from one such as he. Beyond being a Primarch – and therefore having the most access beyond the Emperor and perhaps Malcador – his foresight would help him evade trouble in those areas he was not allowed.

The Nightfall was at the back of the massive golden ship, Terra looming before them. At this point, it would only be a few standard-hours until they were on solid earth again.

He could wait a few hours. At this point, those would hardly matter anymore anyway.

In the end, it would be almost a whole Terran day until he was unwatched enough to start sneaking around.

The Legions had their own wings in the massive complex, culminating in large towers for the Primarchs and their greatest Astartes, for all they ever spend time on the planet. The Night Haunter did his name justice, haunting the palace when most of the serfs and other baselines were asleep. Luckily, for any innocents he might encounter, being that the wings were arrayed in legion-number, he and Sanguinius were ‘neighbors’ and he easily entered his brother’s domain.

The two-hundred Blood Angels that made up their Primarch’s new guard were not nearly experienced enough to make him break a proverbial sweat. Most of the central spire was empty, those that would normally spend the time here being down in the barracks to split the Ninth Legion into several smaller pieces.

He hadn’t been around when Sanguinius had been informed of it, but didn’t particularly care either.

Using the balcony of the rooms that probably used to be of the Captain of the Legion, he climbed to the balcony of the large suite of the Primarch. Unlike his own, this one was not a hot mess. He half-wondered if his balcony had the same mosaic or if it was a personal touch.

Instead of lingering on it, he bypassed the door – locked, he knew, and his Sight warned him that the alarm would bring the guards running – and headed for one of the windows. In what he considered a great deal of self-control, he didn’t break it, merely using the dagger he brought to break the lock holding it closed. Really, who thought it was not necessary to alarm the windows anyway?

He was still greeted when entering, but he knew that would happen regardless of how he ended up in the room.

“Konrad.” Sanguinius had been on his bed, clearly, now having sat up.

“Sanguinius.” He nearly laughed at the look his brother was currently sporting; plucked chicken.

“Is there a particular reason you could not visit me normally?” He supposed the light flaring of the wings was instinctual, and far more effective usually.

“Would you have let me get all the way up here?” Konrad counter-asked, meandering through the room for a few steps. Then, before the answer could come, he dashed the rest of the way across the Baalite carpets.

Sanguinius was silent when the weight slammed him back onto the bed, and when the dagger drove into the mattress beside his head – damn the fact that any drawing of blood would alert some metaphysical sense of the Emperor left on the body below him. “I want to talk to you, privately.”

“Strange position to talk.”

“Strange subject to talk.” He purred. “Sang… if there’s one person in this family that knows visions, it’s me.” He almost didn’t need to continue, because the faint tensing underneath him was answer enough. He did anyway. “Visions don’t work like that. We don’t lose oversight of our surroundings. You do not. I do not. Magnus does not, once he finally gets some. We both know this.”

He leaned down some. “We both know our Foresight allows us to fight perfectly, without distractions, Sangy. Whatever it was that made you get hit, it was not having a vision right then, as everyone believes.”

“Did I ever say I had the vision right then?”

“You certainly implied it, brilliant bit of acting, gotta admit to that. No one’s going to make demands when you go ‘yeah, saw myself die’ after nearly being used as the universe’s first divine meat-puppet.” He propped himself up just a bit, though he got more comfortable as well. If that meant he was in a position that would make little Astartes lose their cool if they saw, then so be it.

“I did wonder if you saw anything.” The Primarch of the Ninth looked up at the one of the Eight. “Why are you here, Konrad? To threaten me?”

“Oh, I was tempted, yes.” He laughed softly. “But I guess curiosity won.” He leaned down, a bare breath between their faces. “No, I am here with an offer.”

“Being?”

“Let me participate in your little revolution.” Sitting up – in his brother’s lap – he moved the dagger to the bare chest. “And if you don’t deliver on what I’ve seen… well, I know an alternative that's interesting too.”

Chapter 21: Chapter 20

“Sang.” Horus arrived at the top of the Tower of the Ninth, knocking on the door lightly. By now, there were guards on all the usual spots, but he could tell how inexperienced they were. They looked vaguely starstruck both at his presence and their duty, though they tried their best to hide it.

“Horus.” The Angel looked at him with a look he was unsure he’d ever seen before. The other Primarch was in his living room, reading something on a dataslate.

The Primarch of the Lunar Wolves lingered at the door-opening. “How are you?”

Sanguinius gave him another strange look. “I am recovering well, though my wings will take a good while to be functional again.” He moved the blanket-covered wings just enough to draw attention to them. “A week orso, just to have them be presentable… another to get anywhere near airborne.”

He flinched in sympathy. “At least there’s a large library?” The First-found offered with a faint shrug. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Please.” A scarred hand gestured to the other chairs and lounges in the room. “Coming to keep my company then?”

“If you don’t mind.” Horus wondered if the distance between them was because Sanguinius felt that he’d failed… or that Horus had failed, to keep him safe in whatever future he’d seen of his demise. But there was hardly a good way to ask ‘how did you die’ and ‘what did I do wrong for you to die’.

“I am sure you have better things to do…” Still, Sanguinius put aside the slate, leaning back some in the chair. “At this point, it will do you no favors to be associated with me.”

“Nonsense.” The Primarch of the Sixteenth waved it off. “You are my brother.”

“Who has no Legion anymore, Horus.” The one of the Ninth dryly pointed out. “My sons are scattered among the other Legions, and no offense meant to Fulgrim, two-hundred do not a proper Legion make. I will barely be able to deal with a settlement, let alone a planet.”

“A temporary thing.” Horus assured him. “You’ll get your sons back.”

“Is that your word, or the Emperor’s?” The blonde muttered, but formed a small smile. “I suppose we will have to simply trust in Father.”

“Has he visited you yet?” The Master of all Mankind was still making bonding-overtures, as they waited for the other Primarchs to arrive at Terra. At this point, only Alpharius still had to arrive.

“A few times, yes.” Sanguinius pointed at a gameboard of Baalite origin. “Our match is still in progress.”

“What do you think of what he’s doing?” He’d asked most of their siblings the question already, but he felt almost the most interested in what his favorite brother thought of it.

“Long overdue.” Sanguinius reached for the goblet he had on the nearby table. “I am almost sad I can’t see some of them, it would be entertaining, I suspect.”

“I can record some, if you tell me which you want to see?” He offered, only feeling mild disappointment when the other just shook his head. Yeah, there was something between them now, though both of them seemed to want to pretend there was not. “When do you think you can leave the tower?” He asked instead of bringing attention to it.

“In theory, now already.” The Angel briefly broke their eye-contact. “In practice…” His wings moved briefly. Horus was painfully reminded of the sight of them having been run through with metal spikes to prop the other Primarch up like an offering.

“Yeah.” He could only agree with that, leaning back in his own seat. “Don’t be a stranger, once you can, yes?”

“I won’t.” Baal’s Primarch softly stated. “By my will, that is.”

And that was the clincher, would always remain the clincher; they served at the Will of the Emperor, and who knew what his plans were for Sanguinius.

“Who else am I going to be gossiping with, if you do?”

He was rewarded with a true snort of amusement at that. “Who indeed? Few of our brothers would have the patience to indulge you in your favorite pastime. Perhaps Fulgrim?”

“Rude.” Horus chuckled himself. “I want to gossip, not to hear days’ worth of complaints about how little Rogal does with his hair beyond giving it a buzz cut every month.”

“Or how Roboute apparently has yet another statue commissioned for on Macragge.”

Chapter 22: Chapter 21

“This is…” The ‘bonding’-time between Magnus and the Emperor involved a deep analyzation of the arrays that had nearly summoned something into Sanguinius on a planet they were not even bothering to name at this point.

Though Magnus suspected their Father had a far clearer view of what exactly it had been than he himself did.

To keep from accidentally performing the act themselves, the drawn out memories – of both their times staring at it – missed slices of the rings forming sub-arrays, or certain symbols in those. Enough for them to get the gist, especially using their eidetic memories, but not enough to activate.

“This symbol keeps appearing, and I am sure it’s not of their text.” Magnus poked a circle with eight arrows. The rest of the symbols looked more like a type of cuneiform, of pressed claws and gouges made by those. For one, the symbol was the only shape that held a circle. “Really just a symbol.”

“It does.” The Emperor looked as close to glowering as He ever did. “And I recognize it.”

“You do?” The Sorcerer Lord of Prospero looked up from his intense study of it. “But I thought Malcador said those cat-Xenos were unknown in the records?”

“They are.” The Master of All Mankind reached for the paper, lifting it free from the pile on the large table. “But this…” The paper crumbled in a golden fist. “I have made a grave error, it seems.”

Magnus blinked a few times, unsure how to react to a statement like that from the specific source. “One of… those…?” He finally managed to ask.

“Yes, one of those I need to talk to all of you about, clearly.”

“But… they are gone? I am pretty sure we didn’t even get more than a handful of the humans from the planet, only the small number that had been on one of the Blood Angel ships when the planet was jettisoned into its’ star.” The Primarch of the Fifteenth felt somewhat discomfited when the other looked him in the eye, a look with a weight that belied the eons the Emperor had existed.

“This is something far older and grander than those beasts probably ever comprehended.” In anyone else, Magnus would have expected them to start pacing at that tone of voice. “They delved very deep into the Warp in their insane desperation, and we can be grateful that you managed to keep that array from activating.”

“That bad?” He looked back over their papers.

“I suspect, from what I see here…” The golden-armored form threw the crumpled paper back onto the others. “Had that array fired in one of the seven ways they prepared, and what I think they wanted to do to the Ninth had succeeded, at least a third of the Primarchs on that planet would have died in that throne-room, if not more. I might have died, had I tried to deal with what would have come out of there unprepared.”

Muttering a curse from old Prospero – which he was pretty sure Amon never realized he’d learned – Magnus recoiled almost instinctively from the symbol.

“I thought… that I had found a way to deal with this.” His father didn’t seem to notice, eyes far in the past – or future – and mind beyond the small room they’d taken for this labor. “Clearly not. An oversight.”

“What…” Biting back another curse, or five, the Primarch took a deep breath. “What is capable of that!?”

“Another thing on a increasingly longer list I need to talk to you all about.” The Emperor looked back at him, almost looking old now. “In short, one of the reasons I warn you from diving too deep into the Empyrean.” A golden hand slammed on the paper. “This… this is what is in there, in the depths, and if it had come out…”

“At least a third of the Primarchs on that planet would have died in that throne-room.” He echoed his father.

“Yes.”

Chapter 23: Chapter 22

When the Primarchs were summoned to a large lounge in the depths of the Palace of Terra, only Sanguinius had been allowed a companion of his sons; one of his apothecaries, under order to forget everything and anything he might hear in the room, beyond what he’d need to attend his Primarch.

The Primarch of the Ninth found that the long journey through the hallways drained his only-slowly recovering strength. By the time he reached the room, he was leaning more and more on the Space Marine that was attending him.

At least all of them had chairs, because he would have died of mortification if he had been forced to be the only one seated. Seated between Konrad and Ferrus, he kept from sighing in relief.

Konrad grinned at him, though considering the amount of teeth it was almost more a threat than a greeting.

The Emperor arrived a bit later, pointedly not taking a seat as he addressed them all. Sanguinius was only half-listening, just enough to keep track of what was being said. Most of his focus was on his brothers, who were reacting in wildly differing ways.

Lorgar looked mostly like his mind was utterly blown as the Emperor stated that He had proven fallible and made grievous mistakes. Konrad looked mostly as if he wanted some kind of snacks to enjoy at that, sharp teeth half-bared.

Of course, being that they were conquerors, diplomacy and talking worked only so much. He would admit to not being sure whether it was the Nails, or something else, but Angron charged. His chair flew back, smashing against the wall.

Most of the Primarchs rushed to stand, to keep the Primarch of the Twelfth from attacking their Father. Ferrus instead rose to shield Sanguinius, who was less swift on his feet. His apothecary stood firmly in front of him, determined to be a small hurdle, if Angron turned against the Angel.

“Stand down!” The Master of Mankind ordered, not Angron, but the others. “Let him!” He met the Primarch in the middle of the room, tiles cracking as they wrestled. Or well, sort-off wrestled, because Angron was far too brutal for the term.

“Can’t say I am surprised.” Konrad was one of the few who had moved not at all, leaning back in his chair. “Almost more surprised it took this long.”

The Angel looked aside briefly, looking at the Primarch with the most instances of prescience. He could not exactly refute the statement.

The chair meant for Horus shattered when a massive body was thrown through it. The Emperor was glowing, rising with surprising grace from between the pieces of furniture. He caught Angron in a grapple, letting the Primarch bear them both to the ground.

The glow increased, something roiling under some metaphysical barrier. Only a shot of pain kept him from trying to shield his face with his ruined wings, using his arm instead.

Roughly across from his seat, Magnus exclaimed something in Old Prosperan. He recognized the lilting tones of his brother’s first-learned language.

When the light faded, and they could look again, their Father and Brother were unmoving on the floor. Normally, he might have moved forward himself, but Sanguinius could not risk being caught in between if something started again.

It was Horus, slowly closing the distance in front, as most others remained a bit behind. He and Roboute arrived together, one reaching for Angron and the other for the Emperor.

Their Father stirred first, sitting up with the massive Primarch in his lap.

“What did you... do to him?” Magnus was just a bit behind the Primarch of the Thirteenth, eye flicking between the two on the ground. “I don’t even know what I just felt. What on Terra did I just feel?” Sanguinius wondered who else heard Mortarion’s soft snarl at this reminder that the red-skinned brother was a psyker?

“Something I’d have preferred not to have to do, but matters hardly can get worse.” The oldest of the gathering – by a fair margin – shook their brother. “Angron, wake up.”

Meros tensed when the massive body started moving again. “What…?” Something had shifted in Angron’s voice when he spoke again.

“A tiny offer of apology for my exceedingly poor handling of your planet.” Did it merely seem like it, or was one of the Emperor’s eyes swelling shut? It was hard to tell. “Hardly enough, but I hope a start.”

“What… did you do to me!?” Horus almost reached for Angron when the former gladiator roared, eyes wild and uncontrolled. A raised hand stopped him in his tracks.

“In essence? Using my power to bend your abilities as an Empath to turn them into a shield against the Butcher’s Nails.” The Lord of Terra softly stated. “It has burned them fully out, leaving you a baseline, but it will nearly fully shield you from the Nails.”

The two stared at one another, and everyone watched them. All except Konrad and Sanguinius, who shared a look instead.

Chapter 24: Chapter 23

He had hoped He could get through this without violence, but clearly not. He half-wondered what else would happen.

Angron was staring at Him, and though He could read his mind – especially now that his Psyker-abilities had been nearly fully lost – He did not. At least, not yet.

“Angron?” Horus softly asked. The expression of the Primarch of Nuceria changed into a glare, nostrils flaring. Instead of saying anything however, he rose sharply, stomping back to the open spot that had held his chair.

“Let me know if you change your mind.” He had realized, perhaps too late, how poorly he had handled Nuceria way back when. It’s why He had acted as He had with Corax. Perhaps it would never be mended. Pushing himself up to standing, He considered the remnants of Horus’ seat.

“I don’t mind standing.” His first-found quickly stated. “If we’re not done yet.”

“We are not.” He conceded, sweeping the pieces aside. “Though if other expressions of opinions could be left until after I am done this time, I would appreciate it.” He looked around once, taking note of all the expressions in the room, though he would have to take a few grains of salt because of the interruption.

“What else is there?” The Primarch of the Eight demanded, lounging on his own chair.

“Plenty.” He found that he really needed to look into the Eight. “But most importantly, it relates to Sanguinius.” Sweeping His eyes to the Ninth, He found that the apothecary had little control of his face, trembling faintly. On the other hand, the Primarch of the Blood Angels had a face that was carefully blank. “Specifically, what happened on that damned planet.”

In the corner of his eye, He could see that Magnus had realized what he meant. Flexing His powers, He carved the symbol into the floor of the room. A few of them recognized it, but others had not noted it when they had been over there, or had simply not been there.

“This is the Symbol of Chaos.” He stated. “The Ruinious Four, and a few other terms.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Konrad meandered through the palace a few hours later, slipping through the half-open doors of the balcony.

“Not sparing a second.” Sanguinius greeted him, a faint glance towards the knife in his hand. “Please tell me you didn’t use that.”

“In general, or the last hour?” The Night Haunter closed the door behind himself, before heading over to the door leading towards the rest of the tower. Much like last time, there were not Astartes on guard. “Do you just not believe in guards, or…?”

“Between being on Terra, and reasonably sure you were coming…” The Angel, still highly-plucked though there were some indications feathers were going to return soon, got up from his seat on the bed. “So what brings you here?”

“Did you foresee him telling us all this?” He muttered, hand twitching.

“Did you foresee my fall?” The Primarch of the Ninth counter-asked. “Don’t test me, Konrad, I believe you were the one to – and I quote – see how I would make the cookie crumble.”

“And I am absolutely still looking intently at it.” The one of the Eight smirked. “Even though we’re getting some spice with this. It won’t nearly be as easy, you know.”

“That’s why we are Primarchs.” The Golden son of Baal headed for a chair, sitting down like a lord despite being in a simple tunic and empty wings. “That is what we were made for.”

They stared at one another, the two seers of the Emperor’s children, one dark and looming, the other golden and reclined elegantly.

Both with sharp teeth, though only one naturally. “Oh, don’t I know it.” He laughed softly, closing in like a predator, knife lowered but not forgotten. “Sangy, Sangy, Sangy… This is going to be a hoot.”

“My dear brother.” One hand shot out, grabbing the wrist of the knife-holding hand. “Do not play around, Konrad, I will know.”

“I would not dare.” It would be blasphemous, near-treasonous, had anyone been in the room. “After all, our Father has Leman, his attack-dog, to drag to heel everything that displeases him.”

“And I have you.” The Angel crooned, low and dark. “Ready to tear apart who I point you at.”

“And ready to enjoy it.”

Chapter 25: Chapter 24

The fact that the Emperor was ‘bonding’ with his sons made it easier for those sons to truly bond among themselves.

Ferrus and Fulgrim were now in Vulcan’s gardens between his and Lorgar’s wings of the palace, discussing smithing-techniques with the Primarch of the Eighteenth.

“I do not see the use of refolding it that many times.” Fulgrim poked the air a few times. “At some point, you remove what you want to keep.”

“It’s about the quality of the ores.” Vulcan countered, as Ferrus’ eyes flitted back and forth between them. They’d been at it for hours at this point.

“Just to let you know, this sounds like a lead-up to another smith-off.” He felt the need to point out.

Fulgrim blinked at that and Vulcan laughed. “Well, we can’t have that. Our brother has a perfect weapon, I would not wish to step on your toes.”

He allowed an uptick of his mouth-corner as the Phoenician grumbled beside them.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Chemos’ Primarch muttered. “Other subject, I get it.”

“We can still do a smith-off, just not for each other.” The Primarch of the Salamanders offered. “Oh, perhaps that could be fun.”

Now Ferrus did grin more fully, which made Fulgrim laugh. “The magic words for our Gorgon; smithing.”

Vulcan answered in laughter again, before leading them to a part of the garden he’d turned into seating-arrangements of all kinds. Ferrus suspected he had wanted to represent all of their brothers somehow, seeing lounges like on Chemos, Prospero and Macragge and areas where one could lay out carpets like on Baal and Chogoris, among others.

In deference to Fulgrim, they took one of the lounge-sets. For a bit, they were silent, until servitors summoned via data-slate arrived with refreshments. Only when they were reasonably sure they were alone again, did they start talking again.

“I wonder…” The white-haired Primarch started, draping just a bit more dramatically than usual, a clear sign he was upset about something.

“Hmm?” Ferrus was not lounging. He really only lounged if forced prone. Sitting upright, he poured the steaming recaf into the large mugs, handing them over to the other two.

“Sanguinius and the Ninth?” Vulcan was overly friendly, overly kind, but he was still a Primarch, able to see a greater picture than many others.

“Yes.” The Primarch of the Third sighed. “And well… That other thing.” He flicked his hand in the air, in four crossing lines. An approximation of the symbol their Father had explained a few standard-days ago. “He hid that from us.”

“I assume you mean the Emperor, not Sang?” Vulcan didn’t manage the joking tone he might have wanted to use with those words. “We always knew he was hiding things from us.”

“Duh, he is from before the Age of Strife, or nearly so.” Fulgrim gestured sharply with the hand not holding his drink. “But this sounded like something a bit more important than some pre-Strife trivia! This was throwing Magnus and his Sons into the water and not informing him there’s a tar-pit just under the surface! Honestly, that we – and he in particular – managed to dodge those creatures until now has to be a minor miracle!”

Ferrus hummed softly, in agreement but lacking the eloquence. “I suspect Magnus might spend their next ‘bonding’ demanding answers for that.” He offered instead.

“He better.” The Phoenician drooped, only to sharply push himself up, eyes suddenly focused on something above and behind him.

The Primarch of the Iron Hands wheeled around, following his brother’s line of sight. Up high, at one of the upper floors of Lorgar’s tower, someone had just fallen over a balcony railing.

None of them were Psykers, none of them could use powers to catch him, and so they could only look in disbelief as one of their brother’s people fell with a scream, only to grow quiet sharply when landing.

Being that he was not flat on the furniture, Ferrus was the fastest to get moving, running over to the copse of tree-statues where the fall had ended.

“Ugh.” Of course the poor Astartes had not landed between them, but rather on them. The armor had largely protected him from getting pierced, but the landing likely would do enough damage by itself. He had to squeeze between the metal constructs – no need to start ruining his brothers garden just yet – to get close enough. “Pretty dead.” He reported to the other Primarch. “Where’s Fulgrim?”

“Went to warn Lorgar.” Vulkan stood a bit outside the ‘trees’. “Can you remove him, or should I start dismantling some of these?”

“I can get him… Though I might have to ruin this particular tree to get the body off and you best help me lift to keep from having to mess with the rest.” What were the odds that he had to get a body off metal again so soon after the last time? Though there was no way someone would go ‘alive’ on this one. “And bend a few other branches.” He realized, carefully working his way to the form, as Vulcan started making his way inside. He suspected this part had not been designed with Primarch-entrance in mind, more intended as decoration of the otherwise bare wall.

He flinched when hearing a curse, which sounded strange coming from that particular brother. “What?” There was nothing dangerous here, surely.

“This is Kor Phaeron.” Vulcan, having come from a different angle, had reached a point where he could see the face. Ferrus cursed as well.

Chapter 26: Chapter 25

“So what happened exactly?” Horus watched their Father look at the three Primarchs had originally been in the garden – though there were plenty more now – and then looked over to the form with a blanket thrown over it.

“No clue.” Vulcan shrugged lightly. “By the time we noticed him, he was already falling.” Fulgrim and Ferrus nodded in agreement at that statement.

“I cannot find any indications of foul play.” The little Blood Angel-Apothecary who never left Sanguinius’ side, softly reported from where he’d been attending the prone body. “There’s combat-hormones in his blood, but of levels that could well just be from… the fall.” Horus had to admire him from not shrinking into nothing under the look Lorgar was giving him. Probably had been desensitized after Angron’s little tantrum…

“Are you saying that he really just… fell?” The Primarch of the Word Bearers demanded sharply, disbelievingly. The weight of a Primarch’s entire mental being bore down on the poor Astarte. He saw the small form shrink in on itself.

“I…”

“Please do not threaten my son, Lorgar.” Sanguinius slowly reached over, arm appearing from underneath the elaborate Baalite-styled cloak. “He hardly has done anything to earn your ire.”

The Primarch of the Seventeeth almost physically pulled himself back.

“Horus, take Magnus and Leman, and see what you can find up there.” The Emperor ordered while one of his sons mourned their father.

Up above, several Venatari were circling the tower, with a few balancing on the railing that had apparently not saved the adoptive father of one of the Primarchs.

Leman grumbled something as they climbed the many stairs, but Horus couldn’t make out the words. Another Custodes was in front of the door of the apartment.

“This… is high.” The First-found muttered when briefly leaning over the railing, to orient where they needed to check.

“Yep… I think even a full Astarte would have been in trouble with those trees.” Magnus followed the elegantly carved stone to where Kor Phaeron had to have fallen. It lead him to a sitting area, recaf still lightly steaming.

“Can you smell anything off?” Horus followed, looking at Leman. Their Father’s attack-dog bared his teeth, but obediently scented the air.

“Nothing off. Exhausts, the general Terra-smell, recaf, and a strong scent of what I am pretty sure is the soap used in this Legion. Guess he wanted to relax with a recaf and a book after a nice long shower or bath.”

“Mmhh…” The Primarch of the Luna Wolves could not spot any indications that anything untoward had happened up here as well. “Magnus?” He wasn’t sure how it would have happened, but Psyker-tricks could have been used.

“Nothing.” The Sorcerer-King of Prospero reported. “He… He was sickly, wasn’t he? I remember a few times he was not around when he ought to have been.”

“Your thought?”

Magnus sat down on the chair, briefly mimed reading the book, then got up. A touch theatrically, he lost his balance, reaching for the railing, and missed. His hand overshot the stone that was more designed for someone of baseline-height rather than a Primarch or Space Marine. He stopped just a few degrees later, but his point was made.

“That could be it. Recaf does have stimulants, so if you are in bad health, the boost to blood-pressure could dizzy you for a moment orso.” Horus murmured, leaning over the balustrade again. “React too slowly when you miss your grab…”

“And the top-heavy Astartes-armor has you free-falling off a tower.” Leman shrugged. “Of all the places he had to fall, it had to be the one bit where he was guaranteed not to survive.”

That had to be it then, though something felt off a bit.

On their return to Vulcan’s garden they encountered Konrad, who looked like he’d just come from a genocide, trailing blood.

“Really? In the Palace?” Horus resisted the urge to sigh. Why, oh why, was Konrad being kept around again?

“Don’t you know that a cull once in a while is healthy for the herd?” The Primarch of the Eight grinned, sharp teeth the only clean thing on him. “Since when are you such besties anyway?” He gestured to Magnus and Leman.

Leman made a face Horus was sure he had not seen on him before. “You reek.” The Primarch of the Space Wolves murmured in answer, nostrils flaring.

“I am sure that is a part of a gut, I would be amazed if he didn’t reek.” Magnus quirked his eyebrow.

“I am just not in the mood for this.” Horus gently, forcibly steered the two brothers he’d been in the tower with back towards Vulcan’s part of the palace. “Konrad, can’t you just… I don’t know, stay in your part of the Palace?” He asked while moving along.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” The Night Haunter saluted mockingly despite that, meandering along whatever the path had been he’d been on before encountering him.

“If there’s one of us that has issues…” The Primarch of the Fifteenth did sigh.

Chapter 27: Chapter 26

Erebus was somewhat annoyed; he had plans to slowly corrupt both the Legion he’d was part of and the Empire on the whole, and Kor Phaeron had been a rather vital part of it. That the old man had managed to fall to his death, not even after a fight or anything, was a substantial problem.

He should have known that his ‘partner’ was a poor choice, simply because he had often not been subtle at all. Still, doubts of the usefulness aside, he had made his plans with the other in mind. He was not yet high enough in rank himself to have easy access to Lorgar, and having the Primarch was paramount.

Any Primarch would do, but being that he was part of the Word Bearers, Lorgar had been the obvious choice.

Still, he took great care to not make it obvious his ‘grief’ was for more than the loss of the First Captain of his Legion.

Drumming his fingers on the desk in his quarters, he found that he had to do a lot of re-planning. Unlike Kor Phaeron, he was not yet in Lorgar’s confidences, though he was close to getting a promotion to First Chaplain which would have put him there, even if those plans also had taken a hit with the loss of one of his primary co-conspirators.

There had been meetings between the Primarchs and the Emperor, and he had no idea what had been about. Kor Phaeron might have, but now he would not be telling.

But well, he was a Space Marine, he had plenty of time. And on the whole, what were a few decades more or less? He had time. He could wait.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Lorgar?” A few hours after his foster-father had fallen to his death, the Primarch of the Seventeenth appeared before the rooms of his creator-Father.

“Can… can I come in?” Golden tattoos caught the light of the lumens of the hallway, making the Primarch sparkle.

“Of course.” One of the easiest ways He managed to open up to His Sons. “I am sorry about him.” He had known how much the other had meant to His son. The modifications to extend the mortal’s lifespan would have bankrupted a few planets.

“It was to be expected.” Lorgar took the offered seat. “His life was limited, after all.” The Primarch looked vulnerable, hands twisting together. “I wanted to bring up something regarding him, before… before this. Perhaps it is less urgent now, but I would not let it linger too long.”

He took a seat as well, reaching with His mind to one of the Custodes outside to bring drinks. “Oh?”

“It’s about the old religion of Colchis, the one practiced before… before me and you arriving.”

“You never mentioned it before.” They both briefly stopped talking when a servitor arrived with the requested drinks. The Emperor leaned forward, pouring for them both.

“I… ended it, a year before your arrival.” The Seventeeth softly stated. “But it… Kor Phaeron had admitted to me once that he still believed in the faith, despite following me in my purge.”

“Which is why you wanted to bring it up?” Another way He found to be good for improving His family-relations; let them do the talking themselves. “In relation to him?”

“Yes.” His son emptied the Pimarch-sized goblet in one go. “It was a belief of ‘The Covenant’, among other names.” Taking a deep breath, Lorgar refilled the drink. “A belief in prophets… gods…” He waved his hand briefly, looking as if he was preparing for a blow to rain down upon him. “Khaane, Tezen, Slanat and Narag.”

The Emperor’s goblet shattered. The names were too similar to be a coincidence. “The Ruinous Four.”

“I now suspect so, yes, after what you told us.” The Primarch of the Word Bearers managed to hold back his flinch, but it was a near thing, He saw in his eyes. “I did institute a new… way of thinking, after my purging of the old religion.”

The Master of Mankind pulled His body back, but reached out with His mind instead. Good… good… no corruption of His son, that was something. “Do you know if any of your Legion followed Kor Phaeron’s opinions?” He did not want to consider having to check the entire Legion for corruption. Several hundred-thousands people, just considering the Space Marines, nevermind any others, would take Him a long time as well. Time he might well not have. But also… “Perhaps I should not say it so quickly after what just happened, but I hope you will be able to understand I cannot let it stand if he was not alone in that mindset.”

“Which is why I wanted to bring it up myself.” The Primarch whispered, meeting His eyes firmly. “From what you have told us, it is something we cannot allow, but any doing so would still be my Sons. By me bringing it up, we can hopefully deal with it in an acceptable way to both.” Lorgar stated firmly. “I do not currently know if there are any others, and if there are, who they might be.”

“I will confer with Malcador how to best go about checking an entire Legion for Corruption. They likely would not admit out loud if asked. Would you let me or him go through Kor Phaeron’s effects to see if he kept records of others?”

“Yes.”

Chapter 28: Chapter 27

“You know, when I foresaw dying, I did not foresee this.” Sanguinius greeted Konrad when his brother slipped into his bathroom. He had been in his bath, letting the warm water and fragrant oils soothe his itching wings. “Did you?”

As he currently bathed in water, the other Seer had bathed in blood, though most of that liquid had dried by now. “Depends.” The Primarch of the Eight dropped down on the edge of the tub sunk into the floor. “Are we counting before or after the start of your revolution?”

The Angel opened his eyes a sliver to glare up. “You are lucky I made sure Meros knew his lines… and Lorgar drew everyone’s attention to keep them from noticing.”

“Much obliged.” Konrad laughed softly, kinder and gentler than he ever did around anyone else. His sharp nails carded through his brother’s hair, just barely not catching skin. “Your vision was correct, by the way.”

“Considering it was yours, as well...” A simple fact of being a Psyker with the gift of foresight; one could never be fully sure what was true or possible, though seeing a certain vision more often, or if someone else saw it as well, was a good indication it was more likely to happen. Battered wings moved and the Primarch of the Ninth turned around, resting his elbows on the edge. “How far?”

“Too far.” The dry brother reported. “Oh… and I think we didn’t manage to dodge Leman’s nose fully. Pretty sure the Emperor’s mutt noticed something when he met me after they were done in Kor Phaeron’s rooms.”

“I hate that plan.” Golden curls fought against the pull of gravity and the weight of the water in them.

“I am going to enjoy that plan.” Sleek black hair hung down in greasy – bloody – mats. “I get some pets, we get some entertainment, and the rest of the menagerie will be afraid forever. It’ll do them good to remember what fear means.”

“I suppose that is what would make it worth it for you.” Sanguinius pushed himself to standing, not caring that he had an audience. “Very well, time to join a cult.”

“You are quickly becoming my favorite brother.” The Night Haunter grinned, teeth sharp and eyes glowing. “Oh, can I get Vulcan?” The laugh after the look he received after that statement was a fair bit more like people would expect from him. “What? He’s my best friend!”

“You can get Lorgar.” Sanguinius dried himself off, wings folding behind his back. “And perhaps, if you don’t mess up, we can talk about others.” His own sharp teeth were more than a match to those of Nostramo’s Primarch.

“Excellent.” The crouched form clapped a few times, before rising to his own feet and heading for the window he hand entered through. “Oh, you have to tell me what vision exactly that tipped you over the edge at some point, it’s my favorite for that alone already.”

“Please just get to it. We do need to finish before the Crusade restarts, you realize?”

“By your leave, Imperator Secundus.”

Sanguinius waited until his brother was gone before sighing once. Towel draped around his hips, he headed back to his bedroom. If Leman had legitimately realized that Konrad had been in Kor Phaeron’s rooms, he’d have to make sure the Primarch of the Space Wolves could not tell anyone, most importantly the Emperor.

Horus had not been exaggerating when saying that plans do not survive contact with reality, because this one certainly hadn’t.

He headed for the balcony-doors, looking out over the palace. He could see several towers of his brothers, but Lorgar’s was out of view, hidden behind a different wing of the palace.

“Meros!” He called for his current most-senior Apothecary, and his personal attendant.

“My Lord.” The young Apothecary entered the rooms.

He sat down, reclining on the lounge. At this point, they did not need to talk anymore about what was about to happen. During a normal molt, his wings didn’t need any attending, but the fact that now parts were still scarred meant someone had to make sure that his feathers could grow normally and unhindered.

The Blood Angel reverently turned his attention to the long limbs. “Any places that feel strange, My Lord?”

“Not more than usual.”

Chapter 29: Chapter 28

Lorgar Aurelian’s Legion was suffused in grief over the loss of their First Captain, mirroring their Primarch who mourned his foster-father.

In the dark corridors of the tower, ever carefully, Erebus changed his web. All his efforts had been aimed at becoming the First Chaplain, he could not easily now pass into the office of First Captain, and so had to ensure that whomsoever got that title, it was one of his men.

But he was hindered by outsiders passing through the tower, though he was quite shocked at who exactly.

“You look like your sins are crawling in the shadows…” Black eyes didn’t… couldn’t glow, but the pale skin surrounding made them stand out just as sharply. “Do you have many, little priest?” Konrad Curze sat on his armchair, the piece of furniture creaking under the weight of the Primarch.

“I… do not know what you mean, My Lord.” It was not his Primarch, he must not fall under the gene-mods that bound Space Marines to Primarchs, it was not his Primarch.

“Tsch… lies in the tower of your Lord…” Skins, some still fresh and supple, draped over one shoulder like a cloak, moved as the Primarch of the Eight offered him a book. Erebus could not stop his blood from draining from his face, because he recognized it. Kor Phaeron had often preferred paper for his notes, and even someone without any knowledge of the Four would see treason in those pages. The black-haired Son of the Emperor dropped it between them. “I did you a great favor, because had they found this in his room…”

He had not considered that, he had forgotten that Lorgar might go through the effects of his foster-father if said father ever died. He twitched toward it, but managed to stop himself.

Likely, any attempts of denial were useless if Nostramo’s Primarch had read the darn thing. However... “Why… would you have this?” What had driven Konrad to get this book? How had he even known it existed?

The Primarch most well-known for a terrifying degree of brutality rose from the chair, the poor piece of furniture groaning one last time. “Can you afford to question this gift?” It was not his Primarch, he ought not to freeze. Bare nails trailed down one of his tattoo-lines. “They are hunting you… you and yours. Once again, Lorgar and his pets loom above you like a specter of doom.” The other was taller than he, looming as much as he accused his brother from doing.

Erebus fought his instincts which told him to retreat, to flee the situation. There would be no true sanctuary even if he tried, because one word of a Primarch – even one such as Konrad Curze, nicknamed the Nighthaunter – would be enough to end him. Assuming he could leave this room alive to begin with. “So… why hide this?”

Sharp teeth were bared, looking like they could tear out a throat without any trouble. “I had a vision, it intrigued me.” The bare nail ended up on his throat, pushing just a bit. “Consider me… very interested in what you intent to do.”

Erebus needed to swallow a few times to moisture his mouth enough to speak, the mental weight of a Primarch’s full attention bearing down on him. “That… does not explain why you did not let them find this.” Surely entertainment was not enough to ignore treachery? “What… what do you gain of this?”

Konrad snickered, like one of those cursed predators in the deserts of Colchis, whose only warning was their laugh-like vocalizations. “I want to see how the cookie crumbles, Erebus. I want to see what will become of all this once the wheel starts turning.”

The taller form reached down, picking up Kor Phaeron’s book and offering it to him. “Show me, little priest. Show me the might of your gods… and make it worth my while to shelter you in my shadows.”

He found his hand trembling, but he managed to take the book. “You… approve?” If… he only needed one Primarch to start, one Primarch to seed. Lorgar had seemed easiest, but if there was one here right now that was not Lorgar… He wouldn’t need Lorgar’s ear as badly. He could sink away from the public eye again, play his strings in the dark.

“I don’t know…” A wide grin was dangerously close to his face. “You haven’t shown me anything yet, little priest. Just some pieces of paper.”

“I can show you.” Erebus had long learned how to appeal to greater powers than he to get his will done. “Help me a few times, in small ways, and I can show you everything.” He had to convince the Primarch he was worth his while, because if he did not… if Konrad left this room an enemy, or even just indifferent, he would be found out. He knew Kor Phaeron had other things that might set the right people off if they noticed them. “I can make it worth your while.” He had to act before that happened.

The expression above his head shifted just a bit. “Very well. Do.” Before he could feel relief, a large hand grabbed him by the throat, lifting him high. He resisted the urge to fight, because that might end up with him bearing wounds he could not explain. “Show me, little priest, show me everything.”

Dropped, he fell and continued the motion into a kneeling position. Play them, play him and have the last laugh. “Your will, My Lord.” In the end, the Four would reward him doing all the legwork moreso than the simple accessory of a Primarch coming in late.