The Great Angel of Schale

Prologue: Death and Rebirth

A double-crack of neck and spine. That is the last thing the being who had once been Sanguinius hears before sensation leaves him. The final sight is the eyes of a brother lost, swollen with the power of the things he calls gods. He knew he would die. He had counted every moment, measured every event against his visions. Yet here he is, at the very moment that had haunted him like a lurking phantom.

His body is broken. His golden armour – once a thing of wondrous artifice – is shattered and splashed with a demigod's blood. Golden locks are matted red, with clumps of it sticking to the end of his brother's spiked maul. The face of the angel sits across his skull, the skin half-flayed from the bone after a vicious blow. It is more like an ill-fitted mask that droops on one side, its beauty ruined.

White-feathered wings that had once been glorious to behold now fall slack – one broken, the other so weakened by its owner's fading life force that it shall never carry the Primarch's weight again.

Aboard the Vengeful Spirit - flagship of Horus Lupercal - The lord of the Ninth wants to reach out, though to what end, his pain-addled thoughts do not know. He cannot. Strength has left him. His armour weighs him down. Injury provides a ceaseless assault on his nerves. The only response his one moveable arm gives is to judder and spasm with the effort. His sword – the Blade Encarmine – is a mere arm's span away. But there is little point now. Sanguinius can no longer fight. Horus' grip gradually tightens, his eyes never leaving Sanguinius' own.

Those who survived the fires of Horus' treachery could only speculate on Sanguinius' final thoughts. Was he sanguine in his final moments? Was the Great Angel content having given everything in the fight against the man who shattered an empire? None could say. None would know that he wanted his brother back. None would know that he had Horus on his knees, willing to spare him their father's gaze in his fallen state. None would know that, in the end, Sanguinius was afraid. The courage of the Lord of the Ninth had been a facade.

Blood drips. Breath flees his lungs as pain finally ebbs and consciousness slips. Sanguinius, Primarch of the Ninth Legion Blood Angels, the Great Angel, The Brightest One, dies – slain by a once-beloved brother as scything machine talons squeeze and crush neck and spine. None – save for the Arch-Traitor – bear witness to the angel's death. Not The Emperor. Not his most beloved brothers. Not even his sons. Only Horus Lupercal and the bleached skull of Ferrus Manus – eyeless and grinning – see the moment the light fades from Sanguinius' eyes.

The foreseen moment passes. Sanguinius is dead. Terra burns.

His spirit tears free of its corporeal vessel, its violent entry into the Warp sends out psychic shock waves that upset the tides of the immaterium. Choppy Warp currents batter and crash against the Great Angel's soul, flensing it away piece by resplendent piece. Opportunistic parasites and malevolent Daemons try their luck, but even now, they are repulsed by the light that had been Sanguinius, beloved by all.

Memory is stolen first. His name, his origin, his enemies, his loyalties, his brothers and sons. All burn away into the incomprehensible mass of the Warp until only scraps remain. Then his power leaves him. Whatever is left will never soar on marvellous pinions, slay a Warlord Titan in a single blow or shrug off wounds that would kill an Astartes. No, what would emerge – if anything emerged – would be a mortal, as frail and prone as any other. However, there are some things that cannot be taken so long as the meekest flicker remains. The nobility, will and courage of Sanguinius are immutable, along with his kindness and his wrath. For within the Great Angel is a facet he held in abundance over his brothers; humanity.

None can say how long it has shot through the Warp, for time means nothing there. But despite it all, a single moment, a solitary opportunity presents itself. Across its journey, the raging pyre that had been the Great Angel's soul is now little more than a flickering ember. But even that is a shining light in the tumult.


The waning light of Sanguinius hears the call like a siren's song. It hears it, feels it as ripples in the raw Warp, and the compulsion to follow is too much to resist. It has to go. It has to find the source. Whatever – or whoever – is calling needs it. It is a desperate plea for help, one that even this last vestige of Sanguinius' existence knows it cannot and will not ignore.

In the night sky above a world untouched by the ravages of the known galaxy, in a time that knows no horrors from the void, a new star is born. It streaks through the atmosphere with the thunderclap tell of real-space re-entry. A golden comet trails crimson light, cutting through clouds as it briefly brings a new dawn on the megapolis below.

The people look up, struck by the cosmic flash. They stop and stare while cars come to a halt. At the top of a tall tower, one particular pair of eyes are wide with wonder.

'Did it work?' she thinks to herself. She removes her glasses and rubs her eyes. She's exhausted, but she knows in her bones that this light must be a sign that the summoning worked. Rin Nanagami takes a moment to compose herself. The girl is certain that she has done everything as the Student Council President had instructed. The directions and processes entrusted to her were meticulous and precise, yet laid out simply enough that anyone with the prerequisite knowledge could perform the summoning. However, it is a one-shot affair. Either something happened or it didn't. Rin can only pray that it is the former.

A tremor shakes the building to its foundations as lights flicker, pictures fall from their holdings and ceiling tiles crack. Rin places her glasses on her nose and looks up. She can feel it. A presence – a faint one – but it is definitely there. She rushes out of the room and heads up one of the access stairwells, letting the sensation guide her. It grows stronger as she goes further up, then she exits into a hallway, feeling the presence in a room at the opposite end. She doesn't hesitate as she approaches the door and almost slams it open – the presence almost stifling now. Heat washes out of the room, slamming into her as it rushes out.

There, in a heap on the floor is a man. He is thin and wiry, and a head or so taller than herself by her estimation. Around his head pools a mess of wavy golden hair, like serpents slithering from their nest. He is naked and shivering. She finds herself momentarily entranced. His face, though pained and beaded with sweat, bears a regality that she has never seen before. In fact, just looking at him fills her with a kind of awe that she simply can't explain. Rin shakes it off. He clearly needs help and gawking only hinders that.

Rin navigates the mess caused by the man's arrival. The walls are scorched, as is the carpet. Papers are scattered across the floor while folders and binders have been shaken from their place on cabinets and shelves. The tall windows have been blown out, letting the cool night air in. She takes off her long, white coat and drapes it over him, then carefully moves him towards a sofa near the rear-most wall. He is light. Worryingly so. Rin is no paragon of physicality herself, but even she knows that people tended to be heavier than this.

Being so close, she can feel the heat roiling from him – almost hot enough to burn her hands. But now that she can see his face properly, she can only think one thing; he is beautiful. Like a work of fine art. Everything about his face is simply perfect. Fair skin, high cheek bones, his straight nose and thin lips. The man's face radiates nobility and strength in spite of his apparent fragility. His golden hair feels like silk against her skin. Yet there is more than just the man's appearance. She can't place it at all, but there is some inescapable draw that is almost enthralling, like a powerful aura of charisma that bleeds outward even in his indisposed state.

She lays him down, putting a cushion under his head and then kneels next to him. She watches silently. Rin wonders if this is who the Student Council President had been waiting for. Before she disappeared, she'd often take extended absences from her duties, apparently trying to set up whatever contingency she could. So is this man it? Even now, Rin knows very little of what her superior was doing and the details therein. All she knows is that with the President gone, the students of Kivotos need someone to guide them. A teacher.

The man's eyes move rapidly beneath their lids and his chest heaves while his nostrils flare. He is dreaming – or so she thinks. His eyes flutter open briefly, looking in her direction, but it's as if she isn't even there. Two orbs like polished ruby gaze into a world beyond Rin Nanagami. He reaches out a thin, frail hand and gently rests it on her cheek. She freezes but does not pull away. She can't.

A tear rolls down his face as he utters one choked, grief-stricken word - the final utterance of an old life giving way to the new.

''Brother...''

And he is gone again.


Hey all. Short prologue for this story. After listening to The End and the Death II and playing a bunch of Blue Archive, I wanted to write another story. Basically, what if a part of Sanguinius' soul became Sensei?

I took a lot of inspiration from the author Eyeshield, with their fic 'Sensei From The Imperium', and thought about what might happen if a piece of Sanguinius became the Sensei for the girls. Honestly, it seems like a pretty good fit. Sanguinius is a Messianic figure, just like Sensei if you go by some theories. Both have inexhaustible reserves of kindness for those under their command/care, both have the drive to see things through on their own despite their disadvantages, and both see those beneath them in station as people to be cared for and nurtured. Going by some theories, Sensei is basically Jesus in BA, then Sanguinius is in 40k. But in this fic, the man who used to be a Primarch is almost a normal man. He is frail, he is outclassed in almost every way by his students, and he is ordinary in nearly every way. However, he retains the aura of a Primarch and the magnificent mind they possess. But what this Sensei lacks in comparison to his former self, he keeps the core aspects of Sanguinius; his courage, compassion and fury at any who dare threaten what he cares about. I've already got the meetings with Black Suit and Beatrice in mind.

I understand there isn't much to go on in this chapter, but I have plans. Just don't expect quick updates. If any readers of my other fics are reading, well, if you thought I was slow to update before, now that I'm working again, it's only going to get slower, and I apologise for that. I don't have too much time to write these days.

By the time of posting, the End and the Death III isn't out, so I don't really know how Sanguinius' story ends. But that's what fanfic is for, right?

However, if you are interested in what you have read so far, then feel free to follow, fav, and review as all feedback is appreciated. Until next time. BrutalAftershock out.