"Billions of Army infantry men. A million Astartes. Thousands of galaxy-roaming expiditioniary-fleets.
It can be easy, brothers, for one to forget the importance of an individual. After all, in a crusade this size, and among those numbers, the individual may seem insubstantial, insignifcant. But that is as wrong as the fanes and temples those individuals tear down. That is as wrong as the myriad xenos those individuals fight every day. Some would say the individual is useless, just a statistic even. That an individual can make no difference.
But then how do you explain us?"
Sanguinius the Angel, adressing his brothers.
Chapter 1
The Prosperan sun blazed down onto them like a dragon's wrath, making even the Baalite commanders feel uncomfortable. 101st Captain Lucan stood in his ceremonial battle-plate, his power sword in it's emerald scabbard, his gold embossed iconography glinting in the hot sun.
By the blood, if he didn't look like an Emperor's Children fop right now...
The thought brought a grin to his handsome face, as the comparison made him laugh within himself. So similar, yet so different...
That brought his thoughts to the Legionairres around him. Most were in two shades of red, one in the rich red of fresh blood, and the others in the deep crimson of an artist's palette. One so vibrant and emotic and natural: a result of the souls inner passion, and the other: shaped, formed, concocted... a creation of intelligence and a calculated eye.
But about 20 wore the gold of the Sanguinary Guard, and another wore the gold of the sanguine figure they guarded.
Sanguinius stood proud in the hot sun, brown hair flowing in the slight breeze, his golden armour, scuplted to show the individual muscles of his torso as gold plates and adorned with the sigils of his Legion and his past, gleaming in the gaze of the desert-world's star. His angelic face framed perfectly against the sunset, the white spotted hide of an exotic leonine creature forming a collar and mantle for him. And his famous wings, tucked behind his back, their white feathers rustling in the wind. To a poets eye, he could be made into the embodiment of grace, the aspect of perfectuon, to be seconded only by Fulgrim.
To Lucan's eyes however, the Primarch was anxious. And that made Lucan descend into the pits of worry. His primarch seemed to wipe away the emotion and regain his aloof demeanor instantly, as Magister Templi... EX-Magister Templi Ahriman strode towards the gathered Blood Angels, his crimson armour adorned with unknown sigils and hieroglyphs.
"Greetings, my lord Sanguinius, and welcome to Prospero." He said, gesturing about him with his hands.
The Angel gave a sincere smile. "It is indeed a welcome sight, Captain Ahriman." He did not lie. The capital of Tizca was one of the most beautiful places in the Imperium, and a testimony to human potential. A city of silver and gold, with eleven Great Pyramids accentuating the view.
"But, I am afraid I am not here to gaze at your pyramids and marvel at the architecture. I must see my brother as soon as possible."
Not everyone saw the moment of caution pass through Ahriman. Lucan certainly didn't. But Sanguinius did. And it multiplied his own worry tenfold. "My lord, I am afraid the Primarch is busy at the-"
"My brother WILL see me." Sanguinius's tone brooked no argument.
Ahriman missed a step, and an uncomfortable silence existed for the barest moment. However, a Primarch's word was second to the Emperor or Warmaster only.
"Very well, my lord. If you follow me I will take you to the Primarch. " Ahriman spoke with a thinly disguised veil of irritation at not being in control of the situation. Thousand Sons are liable to be like that.
Within minutes, they had arrived at the Crimson King's Great Pyramid. If the others were masrerpieces, this was the edifice of human perfection in all forms. The pyramid never ceases to amaze,with so many details and intricacies lathered onto it's glassy hide as to be a consistent interest.
It was also Magnus the Red's palace, and his tower of power. From that great vantage point, he was rumoured to peer into the warp, and strip away the veil between time and space.
Something that carried the penalty of death.
Sanguinius strode through the massive doorway, and into his brother's private suite. The room was immense, and was more of a gallery of knowledge and art than a living area. With a massive roof that seamed to engulf the equally massive bookshelves adding a certain infinite quality to the room's dimly lit atmosphere, he felt like he was walking through the halls of the universe itself, enveloped by every scrap of knowledge imaginable. He couldn't help but read through some of the names as he strode past the dusty tomes. Waylunda, Clockwork Baroness, Barbed Prince. He felt his breath catch at these names. Terran originals of the 3rd and 2nd millenium... what the remembrancers would pay...
He came to a stop in a large room that seemed to be a bedroom. There was a massive bed for the Crimson King, and all manner of trinkets and tomes and other objects scattered about the room. At the end of the room, some large plush chairs were gathered around a dying fireplace. He sighed heavily. Where was he...
A heavy book caught the Angel's eye, lying open on a glass spiraling table. The tome lay open on a page made of a sheet of bone that made Sanguinius' skin crawl. He began to read the first line: "Kharnate, lord of Blood and Dark God of War..." Sanguinius was about to close it violently, but spotted a line of great interest to him: "Kharnate has been entreated to instill bloodlust in his soldiers, or to remove the blood lust for a control over ones mind in combat..."
His mind briefly explored the avenue of opportunity, before his brain cordoned it off, shutting it away behind the gates of his iron will.
Suddenly, the dying fire roared into life and spread a warm glow over the room, as a deep voice spoke.
"Fascinating, is it not?"
Sanguinius snapped his head around to see his brother standing by the now roaring fire. A giant looked back.
"Good evening, brother." He said with a smile, and he prayed his regret did not enter his voice.
Unfortunately it did.
Lucan stood in the art gallery, with the Sanguinary Guard and Scarab Occult, along with the other commanders. He began to speak with Ahriman, along with Nassir, who was clad in his war plate.
"It's the Manè Losa, 2nd millenium." Ahriman spoke of the captivating painting of a woman that was ancient in its look. For the Primarch's sake, thought Lucan, it's in a bloody stasis field. To be so old as to be destructible via air...
It seemed almost unbelievable.
"It is said the artist spent spent a full year just on her lips."
" Apparently, he also designed the foundations for rotor-based mechanisms."
Lucan had a deep feeling of awe at being able to stand less than two metres away from such a relic...
Ahriman was currently deep in conversation over the artist with the 24th Captain. Lucan noticed Raldaron, the First Captain, fascinated by a black, stone statue of a man, deep in thought with his chin resting on a fist. He strode over to him, and joined him in observation. They stood for a moment, absorbed in the sculpture s detail, and the symbolism of it.
"The Thinker." Said Lucan.
Raldaron nodded. "A beautiful piece."
Lucan grinned. "Do you think there is a symbolism in it's placement here?"
Raldaron nodded. "It's the Thousand Sons. There is always a hidden meaning."
Lucan chuckled lightly. "They are a curious bunch, aren't they?"
Raldaron's mood seemed to darken.
"Aye, Lucan, they are. And mark my words, they will make problems for the Imperium. Mark my words."
Magnus, in his robes of crimson hue instead of ceremonial armour, had his hands behind his back, and a wide grin on his face. He seemed to radiate wisdom, with intelligence coming off of him like a powerful cologne. He was a huge individual, with him, Horus, Sanguinius, Dorn, Russ and Night Haunter being tallest of the Primarchs. And his red skin only increased his daunting appearance, giving him the look of a red tower, with one eye constantly shifting colour and depth, the other one closed forever, a dull scar marking what once was.
A sanguine smile split Sanguinius' angelic face, and he threw his arms wide and embraced his brother like all siblings would.
Poets often forget the literal brotherhood between the Primarchs, but it exists behind the public formalities they are forced to take part in. Behind that layer of public detachment, they are brothers all the same, prone to the affections and, quite often, the squabbles of brothers.
Magnus clasped his large red hands onto Sanguinius' shoulders, a kind smile across his face.
"It is good to see you again, brother."
Sanguinius smiled. " It's only been six months."
To a human, six months is an age, but to a Primarch, it is barely a blink of an eye.
Magnus nodded. "All the same, I could have used your counsel a number of times over the past months. They have been... difficult." Magnus seemed to sigh the last few words, and sat down at the glass table, and began to pour wine into an extravagant goblet that could most likely purchase a small army, which he handed to Sanguinius.
Sanguinius sipped the wine, and felt the warm feeling spread through his stomach.
Primarchs couldn't get drunk, but they did enjoy wine, and in some cases, a certain promethium-based mead.
"I myself was displeased with the verdict of Nikea. Psykers have so much potential..." Sanguinius shook his head as he trailed off, taking another sip of the wine, and pushing back the memories of the past.
They spoke of little things for a while, the expansion of Imperial borders, their brother Lorgar, who neither had seen for quite some time and were beginning to worry about, metaphysics and all other things that only five primarchs could speak of without distraction: them, Lorgar, and the Khan. And Horus, naturally. Perhaps Night Haunter. A cynical bastard he may be, but the man could speak for hours on philosophy and, surprisingly, art. He's not the bloody handed psychopath everyone claims, Sanguinius thinks.
Well, not only.
After a while, Sanguinius decided it was time.
"Magnus," he said, his voice becoming serious in an instant, " surely you must know I didn't come here with a whole chapters of my sons to discuss the wonders of the universe with you."
Magnus smiled a not completely insincere smile. "Which begs the question: why did you come here with a thousand fully armoured and armed Legionairres?" His tone suddenly became as defensive as Dorn on a good day.
Sanguinius sighed, and pushed his hand through his brown hair. There was a pregnant pause, as if elusive words were gestating in the womb of awkwardness.
"I had a vision." A simpleton could have read the volumes of speech hibernating in that four-worded cave.
"I saw..."
He turned and looked to the fire, it's pyrotechnic fingers waving like grassy meadows in the wind.
"I saw Prospero die."
Sanguinius looked into his brother's eyes, and saw the indisguisable shock on his face.
"I saw lance fire shatter your pyramids, the flames reflected in shards of glass. I saw drop pods crack the streets. I saw atomic fire sweeping over the land. I saw soldiers of ice grey shatter your Legion. I saw the citizens of Prospero butchered in the streets, the ground running red to the tune of howls." He took a breath, and steeled himself for the next part.
"I saw Russ kill you, my brother, and I watched your Legion be wiped from the universe, just like the other-"
He did not finish his sentence, as Magnus was up in a flash, and his psychic attack caught the Angel unawares. A wall of telekine force knocked Sanguinius off his feet, and sent him through five shelves before crashing into a column, books raining down upon him, his wings folding around him like a feathery cocoon. He had just gotten up when Magnus appeared in front of him, his hands coated in flame, his eye the colour of rage.
" YOU LIE!" He roared, his voice taking on a tone of destructive intent.
Sanguinius did not understand it. Magnus was never quick to enrage, always clinical and calculated. Ah, Sanguinius thought, so he was provoked by me dictating something he predicts but refuses to accept. Just like Magnus...
Sanguinius felt his jaw bone click into place, and wiped his mouth with the back of hand.
"I say no lies, brother! I have had this vision every night for two months, and it does not change! It does not flow or vary in any way! It remains the same! What I saw WILL come to pass! That is why I came here: to help you!" He pleaded, his tone becoming desperate. Magnus began to cool down, his enflamed fists dying out. His eye returned to it's previous blue hue. But his voice kept it's rage.
"Alright, Sanguinius. Speak then." He almost spat the words.
Sanguinius looked for any crack in his brother's facade, anything to give away the slightest hint of emotions other than rage. There were none.
He spoke in a kind voice, like a parent confronting a drug-addicted child.
"What are you planning, Magnus?"
And then, the cracks appeared, and the facade fell away.
The Crimson King took a deep breath, and spoke as a child telling a parent of an addiction.
"There's something you should know..." The Cyclopean swallowed, suddenly nervous, an expression he had almost never shown before.
" Something about Horus..."
And the Angel felt his blood go cold.
A pyramid shatters, blown apart by blinding fire, the shards of glass raining down on the crimson armoured demi-gods below, their armour shattering in turn from axe blade and bolter round.
Grey, lupine figures leap over their corpses, followed by gold armoured figures clutching shimmering spears. A wolf and a scholar battle on the steps of a grand pyramid, each blow resounding throughout the heavens. An angel battles a group of golden warriors, surrounded in a ring of gold. The slow, cacaphonic sound of laughter rises slowly...
He cries out as he shoots bolt upright in bed, his pale skin and pitch-black hair glistening with sweat, his hearts racing and his black eyes wide. He looked around, his enhanced eyes penetrating the permanent darkness of the Nightfall. He let out a shuddering breath, and rested his eyes on his palms. He sat there for a while, determining his course of action.
Eventually, he threw off the pelt of a Nostraman lion he used as a blanket, donned a robe, and summoned First Captain Sevetar to his room.
Sevetar strode in to the room wearing training gear, the smell of the training cages coming off of him like light from a lamp.
He was a tall man, pale with pitch black irii, like all Nostramans, and seemed to radiate malice. He was famous and highly respected for being nothing less than the best killer in the legion, aside from Night Haunter himself.
"You summoned me, my lord?" He said in a dutifull voice. He was also one of the few Night Lords not hated by their father, since he was born in the days of Nostramo's fear instilled peace.
Unlike the majority of the legion's one hundred thousand marines, all those who were born during the Night Haunter's reign were assembled into the first three chapters of the legion, and formed the more "pure" Legionairres, all those who were instilled with the virtues of justice. However, they formed a minority.
Konrad Curze stood for a moment, his head swimming. He let out a long sigh, like a parent might when going to reprimand a child.
So it is, with me always playing the enforcer, he thought to himself, shaking his head cynically.
Sevetar pushed his fingers through his sweat-drenched hair, sweeping it out of his eyes.
"My lord?" He asked once more, not sure if this was going to be something serious, or just one of his father's casual chats. No-one would figure Curze to be sociable... but when everyone expects him to be the moribund, gloomy, brooding monster that everyone thinks he is, they don't often spend time talking.
Curze put on one of his claws, a click sound occuring as it's clips locked shut around his fist. A singular word had been meticulously painted on in flowing gothic print: Mercy.
As he fastened on the other razor sharp claw, Sevetar took in the opposing weapon's name: Forgiveness.
"Tell Navigator Zun Lor to find the best route to Prospero." Curze spoke in a voice of razor edged silk, everything soft and fluid, yet with a razors edge to it, sharp enough to shave with. " Inform Magos Zeffon to prepare whatever it is that needs preparing for a warp jump."
Sevetar frowned. "What of Nostramo, my lord? We shluld make haste to get their before Dorn or Fulgrim."
The Night Lords spoke openly, and without shame of their escape from imprisonment. Did the defiance of orders mean they were renegades, as Dorn would call them? No.
Night Haunter just had a planet to kill at the time.
"What of it?" Curze said nonchalantly, as if he was speaking of rain on a day out.
Sevetar grinned without any humour in it.
"Well, I imagine you would wish to... conclude the bussiness with the planet quickly." He said, rather tactly.
Curze snorted in derision. He knew that Sevetar didn't approve of his decision, but was too good a son to outcry against him.
"Jago my son, I'll burn that measly speck of dirt when I come to it." He said with a smile Sevetar knew, or hoped, was false.
"But as for now..." he grinned, and this time Sevetar knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was a false one.
"Prospero awaits.
Sanguinius sat at a wooden desk in the estate Magnus kept for important visitors, illuminated bt the moonlight drifting through the glass roof. His head rested in his hands, his wings curling at his shoulders as if he was in a cocoon to protect himself from the truth. But that was impossible on any planet that had the presence of the Crimson King.
It can't be, he thought.
It just can't be!
Magnus had told him of Horus, and the turn of events that was soon to take place. Sanguinius had raged against Magnus, proclaiming him a liar.
But Magnus and shown him what he had seen through certain... means. And in his heart, Sanguinius knew Magnus was right. But his denial rose high, refusing to believe his brother. Although now he saw the truth in his words.
He felt as bleak as cloudy skies, and felt completely unsure of himself. What should he do? What could he do? Horus was a million times more than a million kilometres away, and Sanguinius felt lost. His brother, Horus, the Warmaster himself, could not turn traitor.
Could he?
As if in answer to his question, the door opened to reveal his brother Magnus, framed by the backs of two Sanguinary Guards, standing sentinel over the door.
Sanguinius didn't even notice Magnus enter, or if he did, he gave no notice. The Cyclopean walked into the room, standing just beyond the pale moonlight. He stood for a while, watching his pained brother.
After a while he spoke in words that were rather unlike Magnus.
"I'm sorry."
Sanguinius didn't move, didn't even acknowledge that his brother had spoken.
"I'm sorry that this happened. Im sorry for dropping this burden on you. I'm sorry that we are not as perfect as we are meant to be, as incorruptible as we should be."
Silence rained as a tyrant of the atmosphere in the room.
"But we are, aren't we?" The new voice was terrible to hear, broken and autonomous, like all the joy had been sucked out of it's speakers heart.
"We are corruptible. We are flawed. By the blood Magnus, just look at the-"
"Sanguinius..." Said Magnus, his voice bathed in the waters of warning.
The angel turned in his chair, his pained eyes resting on his brother.
"No amount of vows to father can keep it from memory, Cyclopean." Sanguinius's voice was suddenly as dark and cold as the void itself, and his cold use of Magnus's nickname made the sorceror flinch. However, he quickly re-established his objective.
" This time Sanguinius, no such vows need be said."
Sanguinius remained still.
"What did you say?"
Magnus tried to suppress a humourless smile. He could tell his brother was hooked.
"What if I told you I know of a... way to stop the Warmaster Horus from falling to corruption?"
Sanguinius stood to his full height with a purpose that made almost made Magnus hesitate.
Almost.
"Brother." The Angel said with terrifying calm. "No spell of your devising can shift the will of a Primarch. If Horus is lost to us, then nothing will sway his mind."
Magnus was stunned. This defeatist nature was without commonality in the IXth Legion.
He still continued, despite his shock.
"What if it was not HIS will?"
Sanguinius began to become threatening, his eyes darkening, and his fingers flexing into claws.
"Brother. Now. Is NOT. The time. For your crazed theories!" He snapped at Magnus.
Now Magnus was becoming agitated as well, his eye going crimson.
"They are not theories, damn it! I have seen countless cases of such things. In massive warp-powered Titans, in the cruel glow of the warp, in the-"
"Magnus!" The rage in Sanguinius's voice was a surprise, unusual for the aloof optimist.
"This is not the time for you to disgrace yourself further!"
Now it was Magnus's turn to be angry. Sanguinius felt the blow connect in a fraction of a second, dropping him down to one knee.
"Damn it, you feathered bastard, listen to me! I have no explanation for how Horus could turn from grace, or what could make him do it."
Sanguinius flexed his digits into a fist, and felt his bloodlust rise.
Very well, he thought. If that's how it is...
"All I know is how to save him."
Sanguinius's fist unclenched, and his hearts stopped for a moment.
He turned his head to his brother, his previous rage extinguished.
"How?" He asked, almost pleaded even.
Magnus drew in breath, but paused, trying to think of the words he needed.
"If there is a way, tell me!" Sanguinius was desperate.
Magnus offered his hand to his crouched brother, pulling him up to stand in the moonlight.
Magnus smiled, and then his grin wavered with what he said next.
"Nikea is overruled."
Sanguinius narrowed his eyes, feeling a strange feeling. To willingly go against the ruling of the Emperor...
"For it to work, for Horus's salvation: Nikea does not exist. It never did."
Sanguinius shook his head, but Magnus knew he would go along with it.
"Magnus... to go against The Emperor's edict..."
He trailed off at the end.
Magnus spoke in a low tone. "What would be worse: being dishonoured and punished? Or the chaos that will insue should Horus fall?"
Sanguinius nodded. "You're right, of course. What do you need of me brother?"
Magnus smiled, the smile one gives when everything goes according to plan.
"I need your mind, brother. And all it's destructive potential."
An entity watched the proceedings. Although "watched" is probably an incorrect word. More presisely: it was aware of them. It knew what happened without having to do anything.
It was it's nature to know.
And now, it found itself agitated, yet annother word too mortal to describe such a creature, as one skein of fate was severed from the web of possibility.
It began to glance in certain possibilties, registering the flaws and merits of each. And one it spotted would do very nicely indeed.
With it's minions at work, conniving and manipulating, it began to laugh. Or more accurately, it expressed it's glee, for that utturance of power was not laughter of any mortal form.
With a thousand eyes, The Changer watched over the Materium, and put things in order for it's plan.
