I am glad our father Sanguinius is dead.

I am glad our primarch will never see what his sons have become.

What my Chapter has become.

What I have become.

I am a beast in the form of a man. I am a monster with the face of an angel.

I am a warrior fighting a war that will never end.

I do not speak of the war raging across the galaxy without. I speak of the war raging in the soul within: the war I must wage against my very nature – the war against my own self.

The war I am losing.

With a silent prayer to the primarch I will myself to remain still as the butchery continues around me unabated. Poised to deliver judgment, I stand drenched in blood from head to heel, the crimson and silver of my warplate coated in dripping viscera. A human grovels at my feet, surrounded by the bolter-mangled corpses of his lifewards and honor-guard – a quivering, corpulent, florid-faced man clad in rich opulent garments, his neck and fingers adorned with chains of gold and jeweled rings. He is the very image of mortal indolence and self-gratification. Tears of shock and horror run down his round cheeks as his hands scrabble imploringly at my blood-slicked boots.

"Please, captain," the Imperial Governor bleats, his eyes rolling frantically like those of some terrified bovine as it is driven into a slaughtering chute, "Have mercy, I beg you."

His craven pleading disgusts me. I gaze down upon him, my expression pitiless, and peel back my lips to reveal elongated fangs reddened with the blood of his allies and defenders. He shudders and breaks eye contact, unable to endure the true countenance of his executioner. Around the lavish throne room squads of my battle-brothers move amongst the dead and dying of his court, eviscerating the living with their knives and chainblades, or kneeling down to drain dry the veins of the men and women whose arrogance and lust for power have brought this wretched planet to the brink of damnation.

"You know why I am here," I snarl, struggling to remain focused as my brothers revel in their righteous bloodletting; the governor moans and shakes his bald head, still unrepentant, still in denial.

"Wait – please! I have the wealth of a world at my disposal: gold and silver and precious stones, the softest silks, the finest wines, body-slaves who can satisfy any conceivable desire; soldiers, weapons, livestock, fuel – anything you want I will give you! Anything at all!"

In his delusion the man seeks to bargain for his life, to buy off with material goods the judgment of immortal demigods. I reach down and seize a fistful of his robes; he whimpers and soils himself as I lift him bodily from the floor with one hand. I look directly into his wide, disbelieving eyes.

"There is only one thing I desire," I growl as I bring my face within inches of his. I lick my lips. The color drains from his cheeks and he starts to hyperventilate as understanding dawns, piercing through his denial. "No! No! You cannot harm me! I am the reagent of this world! I am –"

"– an arrogant, pleasure-besotted degenerate whose attempt to secede from the Imperium initiated a planet-wide civil war that has resulted in the deaths of millions; fortunately, your rival, Lord Astor Daevare of House Daevare, was able to send out an astropathic plea for deliverance before your rebel defence forces sacked and razed his citadel to the ground. The Knights of Blood have come to cleanse this world of the taint of your rebellion, governor – and since you have turned your back upon the Emperor it is only fitting that He should turn His back upon you."

I grip his skull with my other hand and force his head back, exposing his fleshy throat. "Animal!" the governor screams, his voice shrill and despairing in the face of the final judgment, "Beast! You are no angel! You are – "

"Death!" I proclaim as I bury my aching fangs deep in his neck, silencing his accusations and bringing his ill-conceived choices to their inevitable conclusion. Blood fills my mouth and I fall to my knees as I give myself wholly over to the insatiable Thirst, an overpowering euphoria roiling through my veins as I tear open his throat and glut myself; he is still alive when my armored fingers dig into his chest and rip out his beating heart. I stand, my mouth smeared with vitae, and crush it in my raised fist so my brothers might bear witness. Blood drips down upon my upturned face and I close my eyes in ecstasy.

"For the Emperor! For Sanguinius! Death! Death!"

The ancient, honored battle cry of our progenitor-Chapter rouses my men from their collective blood-torpor; the squads come together and gather about me, snarling and salivating as they gnash their crimsoned fangs, their gore-choked chainblades still yearning for fresh prey. My mind turns to the scores of nobles and the hundreds of servants, courtiers, guardsmen and adepts still cowering deeper within the palace, seeking to hide from the wrath of the Angel, unrepentant and un-judged, their treasonous hearts beating with sickening, animal fear. A fiendish grin splits my bloodspattered face and I draw my relic power-sword.

"Leave none alive, brothers."

I am glad our father Sanguinius is dead.

I am glad our primarch will never see what his sons have become.

What my Chapter has become.

What I have become.

I am a beast in the form of a man. I am a monster with the face of an angel.

I am a warrior fighting a war that will never end.

I do not speak of the war raging across the galaxy without. I speak of the war raging in the soul within: the war I must wage against my very nature – the war against my own self.

The war I lost long ago.