A/N: over at SpaceBattles, SuperHeavy posted a very nice snippet about Perturabo's reaction to the Fall of Beacon (head over and check it out, worth it). Well, this is kind of a companion piece to that as well as a followup to Fall of Beacon, a brother reacting to the Lord of Dust's grief over the loss of his "daughter".

Whirlpool of Grief

He is listening to the reports of his sons, and not even those closest to him realize that he is focusing somewhere else with almost his entire being. His eyes blink, and eternity opens its maw, ready to swallow him...

A titan of Dust and Blood stands tall, starkly outlined against the broken moon, a broken female thing lying at his feet, the warrior howling his rage and grief at the uncaring, cold stars, his sons and creations weeping blood, the red tide sweeping over world after world, leaving burnt-out husks haunted by the crimson-eyed dark things.

And above all, the red giant of Blood and Brass laughs triumphantly sitting on a Throne of Skulls, the shattered body of a young woman lying at its feet.

The Lord of Dust roars at the red-tattooed woman, who dances away from the blows of his power maul. She weaves a loathsomely sensual, repulsively entrancing dance around him, her words wounding the Primarch deeper than any blade could, the promise, the possibility within them slowing him, chipping away his iron will slowly but surely … until he lowers the maul, falls to his knees, and nods to her, the woman's face lighting up in unholy joy as she pounces on him, finally kissing him deeply, the two figures melding into one, before the insane amalgamation howls/laughs/cries to the unfeeling void.

And above it all, the laughter of a cruel, demented woman transforms into the guffawing of a cruel, demented man, as the eternally thirsting creature discards the husk of a broken young woman.

Pristine, gleaming crystalline structures crackle and shatter as the rotting tendrils burrow deeper, as Nature itself seems to turn on the humans, the grieving Lord following the whispered advice of the kindly old Grandfather. All is Dust, true - and now Dust is alive, the gift replacing his lost daughter, the corruption racing along his blood, his sons, changing and altering all who ever wielded Dust. Perhaps if he creates more children, then she too will live again - after all, she was alive, and all that live belong to Grandfather.

And above the distorted world teeming with life, where Dust consumes and creates life, the joyful, happy laughter of an all-loving parent echoes for eternity.

The Lord of Dust is duelling with the lithe, female creature, the light of the warp engulfing both in scintillating colors as powers run unchecked. To match the creature, to mete out punishment for the broken young woman at their feet, the Primarch reaches deep, much deeper into his soul than ever before - and the Dust screams as power bleeds into it, the skin of reality torn apart as part of the Immaterium is flooding into reality, following the veins of Dust to find and empowering all who ever wielded Nature's Wrath. The empowerment changes them as well, and human and Astartes alike falls prey to the overwhelming, seductive siren song of the power in their veins, in their genes, in their very souls.

And above it all, Fate smiled a vulture's grin as its plan was once again coming to fruition.

… his eyes blink, and a glance at the chrono convinces him that his reverie took less than a second. His voice cuts across the noise of the strategium, as vast, white wings unfold, throwing their shadow over those present.

"Admiral DuCade, ready the ship for immediate departure and warp translation. Have the Covenant of Baal take our place here, and ask Captain Furio to oversee the troop withdrawal. Convey my compliments to Mistress Belisarius, and have her set course to Remnant. When we left orbit, have the Master of the Choir attend me."

The admiral nods, snapping orders. A Captain in plain armor steps close to the Angel, his gaze worried, inquisitive.

"I believe a brother of mine is grieving, Ral - and I'm told that in times like that, family stands together."

First Captain Raldoron nods, and watches as Sanguinius strides from the strategium. For a moment, he imagines seeing a black circle of swords dripping tears tattooed on the cheekbone of the Angel, and feels an almost physical pressure of sadness emanating from his Lord.