Chapter 7.8 – A Discordant Choir Of Angels

Sanguinius cut down the rabid World Eater captain that charged at him. The fool never stood a chance against a Primarch but more than a few had tried. Across the mind-bending architecture of the Impossible City and its many outer routes, the Aeldari constructs played host to a thousand thousand Astartes and millions of support units as the war in the Webway raged.

Beyond in the distance, Omegon clashed with Corvus Corax, the Alpha Legion Primarch desperately trying to keep up with the pure unvarnished rage of the Bloody Raven. Ahead, Abaddon and Askaellon cut a path through Imperial Fists and Death Guard for their Lord and Warmaster. Somewhere in the madness were Magnus and Lorgar, explosions of massive warp energy occasionally revealing the presence of the Crimson King.

Sanguinius rose into the air, aloft his glorious white wings, and pointed his spear of Telesto at the enemy line. In a flash of bright energy, a cluster of Imperial Fist Astartes were blasted out of existence. The roars and screams of battle flooded Sanguinius' senses, but he brushed it aside as he focused on the larger picture.

The Death Guard and Imperial Fists were fighting well, they were doing their Fathers' proud. But their defences were fragile and hastily constructed, their numbers were significantly outmatched. Even with Malcador's secret weapons the sheer amount of non-Legion assets the Warmaster had brought to bear were beyond their ability to contain. Even the proudest Custodes would fall when swarmed with thousands of opponents. Even the perfect warrior could be buried under a mound of bodies, and the Warmaster had brought millions.

The enemy lines would break. It was not a matter of IF, but a matter of WHEN.

The lack of Wardens had led to some uncontrolled actions by his own sons. The Sons of Sanguinius, Blood Angels, had a genetic flaw that led them to crave blood and slowly devolve into mindlessly creatures of blood lust. Much like Corvus Corax's strange curse, Sanguinius had to admit. The Wardens had long kept this genetic flaw under control. However, with the majority of the Wardens now dead, there was hardly anyone to keep this affliction in check on the battle field.

Sanguinius watched sadly as a Ninth Company squad of the Sons of Sanguinius rampaged through the Death Guard with a bloody frenzy. There was no artistry in the kills, no honour in the combat. The Death Guard were torn to shreds as they made their valiant stand.

With their blood sated, some of the former Blood Angels began to slow, looking at the horror around them and feeling ashamed.

Three of them however did not stop, turning on their comrades and beginning to tear away mindlessly at their squadmate's armour. Sanguinius sighed sadly, and glided down to the combat, slamming his spear into the ground before the rogue sons.

"Stop," he commanded, fixing the three renegades with a fierce stare.

They slowed their attack, panting like wild dogs, before slowly the Red Thirst faded.

All except one. He lunged at Sanguinius, who with a swift stroke of his blade decapitated his son, the body of the Space Marine collapsing to the ground like a heap of rags.

"Thank you, my Lord," said the squad sergeant, "My apologies for losing control of my men. I shall ensure my unit is disciplined once victory is won."

"No need, Sergeant," sighed Sanguinius, "It is the curse you bear for having my blood in your veins. I fear we shall lose many noble warriors this day without the Wardens to keep us in line. Do you your best to fight against the Thirst, my sons. I wish for as many of you as possible to witness the dawning of the new age."

And with that, Sanguinius took flight again.

As he soared through the Impossible City, he wondered aloud to himself a question that had never struck him before.

"Can we use the Primordial Essence to cure my sons of the Red Thirst I wonder?"

It was a fair hope. Magnus had assured Sanguinius the Primordial Essence could be used to cure the Blood Raven of his affliction. Why not his sons? Most likely it was possible.

Sanguinius made a mental note to ask Magnus that question later when they reached Terra. Theoretically almost anything was possible.

Close to Abaddon and Askaellon, Sanguinius saw a cloud of white armoured warriors making for the battle line, carving a bloody path through a field of Word Bearers. At their head was a giant, roaring and hacking. It could only be one person.

"Angron," muttered Sanguinius, and dove towards his insane brother. The Great Angel and Red Angel locked eyes, and the Primarch of the World Eaters took an uncharacteristic step back to make space for the Warmaster to land.

As the Great Angel landed gracefully before his opponent, the Word Bearers behind him scattered to the winds. As a World Eater lunged for the Warmaster, Angron barked at his subordinate, "NO! He is… mine."

Angron turned to Sanguinius gave him a lopsided smile as his face twitched and flickered in pain.

"Didn't… expect… YOU to be… the one… to turn. The PERFECT… ANGEL!"

"Angron," said Sanguinius calmly, "I know we have had our differences in the past, but let me assure you that-"

"OH PISS OFF," roared the Red Angel, and charged.

Caught off guard, but still able to react, Sanguinius swung the Spear of Telesto up and around to block the strikes of Angron.

The Red Angel was strong, brutally strong, but the Great Angel was more than a skilled fighter. Using an opponents strength against them was a key technique for any master of war, and with a spin that took him away Sanguinius dodged back from Angron and kicked off against the ground to soar high into the air.

"RUNNING ARE YOU?" yelled Angron with a laugh.

"HARDLY," called Sanguinius, turning in mid air and swooping to slice the Spear's tip across Angron's shoulder as the World Eater's Primarch swung and missed at the passing assailant. The Red Angel didn't even wince as a thin line of blood began to trickle down his armour. This pain was nothing compared to the Butcher's Nails.

Angron swung, again and again as Sanguinius dived down to lash his brother light spear tip strikes, opening up minor wounds across the Red Angel's body. To on lookers it was like watching a cat trying to catch a bird. It was a death by a thousand cuts, but it didn't even seem to phase the World Eater's Primarch.

Finally, Sanguinius landed once more before his opponent, then kicked off with his right foot to begin a flurry of blows against Angron. The Red Angel swung once more to block and defend against the attacks, but the Great Angel kept up the pressure to prevent his brother from taking the advantage. The Butcher's Nail's screamed for Angron to attack, but Sanguinius gave him no opening.

Nearby, Abaddon carved down another Imperial Fist with his blade, the Justaerin getting more than their fair share of kills. The bodies of World Eaters, Death Guard and Imperial Fists lay scattered around as the Terminator cohort advanced step by step.

"TRAITOR!"

Abaddon turned to see the figure of Sigismund, sword in hand, slowly advancing towards the First Captain of the Sons of Horus. Abaddon grinned as he turned to face his new opponent.

"FACE ME! IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!" roared Sigismund.

"MY LIFE FOR THE WARMASTER!" retorted Abaddon, bringing his sword into a guard stance.

Blades clashed. Sigismund used his lighter armour to dance and weave around Abaddon, but whilst the thick Terminator Plate of the First Captain made him slow, it more than made up for it in brutal strength and toughness. Sigismund lunged and parried like an expert fencer, but Abaddon's might and bulk fended off every strike.

"You'll have to do better than that, Sigismund," laughed Abaddon, "We're not in the training cages now!"

"I will slay you, monster," growled Sigismund, "And then I will take the head of your blighted Master."

"I don't think so," muttered Abaddon, darkly.

Again, metal rang out against metal. Sigismund managed to thrust a jab into the left of Abaddon's Terminator plate, missing all vital systems and the First Captain's body entirely. Abaddon punished the Imperial Fist with slice that tore away the left pauldron from Sigismund's armour. The heavy ceremite collapsed to the ground with a clank as Sigismund paced back to prepare for another attack.

"Sigismund!"

A yell from the melee beyond caused Abaddon to turn. There, a figure in white plate and gold trim emerged from the fighting, running towards the Imperial Fist and his duel. The face was one that Abaddon recognized and made his blood run ice cold.

"Sejanus…" whispered Abaddon.

The Imperial Fist saw the First Captain's hesitation and lunged at Abaddon. Caught by surprise, his mind still reeling with the revelation of Sejanus' survival, Abaddon was forced on the defensive, parrying blow after blow as the Imperial Fist forced him back. Try as he might, Abaddon could not shift the combat to either a neutral stance or press the attack.

As Sejanus grew closer, Abaddon once more became distracted. In his mind he remembered the Mournivals. He remembered Tarik, Aximand, Raldoron, Nassir Amit, and even the High Warden. He remembered the laughter, the comradeship. He remembered glancing over at Sanguinius after Tarik had told another joke, just to see the Warmaster smiling in contentment of his sons and brother's sons engaged in such merriment.

Sigismund saw the opening. It was a fleeting moment. Any other swordsman would have missed it. Abaddon did not make mistakes readily. It was so slight and so subtle, it would take an expert to take advantage of it. Sigismund, was such an expert.

With a roar, Sigismund plunged his blade into Abaddon's chest. Abaddon was rocked with surprise, and in that confusion Sigismund landed a second and third blow. Blood ran like a river down the front of Abaddon's perfect white armour. Stained blood red, the First Captain collapsed to his knees before Sigismund. The Imperial Fist drew back his blade for a decapitating stroke.

"Sigismund, NO!" yelled Sejanus, grabbing the arm of the Imperial Fist to hold back the final blow, "Please! Wait!"

"Traitor!" roared Sigismund, and turned his blade on Sejanus, "The turncoat reveals his true colours!"

Sanguinius watched in horror as the body of Abaddon collapsed to the ground, red fluid pouring across the floor of the Impossible City.

"EZEKYLE!" screamed Sanguinius in rage and despair.

Turning his attention back to Angron, a new fire blazed in the eyes of the Great Angel. The Red Angel saw this and smirked. He had seen this look before, in the fighting pits. He knew what was coming, and whatever happened next he would embrace it.

Sanguinius stabbed again and again, ignoring the axe falls of the Red Angel. Angron tore away chunks of golden armour, exposing skin and on occasion thin segments of raw flesh that spilt blood onto the ground. But Sanguinius didn't care. The pain was hidden behind a haze of anger. Jabbing through his defenses, Sanguinius stabbed Angon in the torso, causing the Red Angel to stagger back.

Twirling the Spear of Telesto, Sanguinius disarmed Angron, his axes scattering to the floor. Three more stabbing blows pierced Angron's chest leaving gapping wounds that pooled before the feet of the Red Angel.

Angron toppled backwards, his head lolling to one side on the right as Sanguinius stabbed again and again, obliterating the Red Angel's chest. All vital organs and systems were skewered by the Spear tip as Sanguinius vented his frustrations and rage.

Eventually, the blows ceased. Sanguinius looked at the face of Angron, for the first time in years in peaceful repose. The Red Angel was dead, by the hand of the Great Angel.

Sanguinius looked at his hands, the hands covered in the blood of his brother, and he shuddered.

Turning to look, Sanguinius quickly composed himself and ran towards Abaddon. Kneeling before the body of his Mournival son, Sanguinius pulled the bulky Terminator Plate into his lap and stroked Abaddon's face, his hand's still bloody with the life force of his brother.

"Ezekyle?! Ezekyle, stay with me," whispered Sanguinius before shouting, "YOUR WARMASTER DEMANDS AN APOTHECARY! APOTHECARIES! TO ME!"

"I'm… sorry… my Lord…" choaked Abaddon, the red liquid still pouring from his chest and mouth, "I don't… think… I will be joining you… in the Imperial Palace."

"No nononono… Ezekyle," pleaded Sanguinius, "Don't go. Not again! Fight! Keep fighting! Your Warmaster commands you to live!"

"My life…" mumbled Abaddon, "For… the War… Mas… Ter…"

The light faded from his eyes, and the First Captain let out his final breath.

"Ezekyle? EZEKYLE?!"

Sanguinius let loose a howl of pain and anguish the like of which had not been heard since the death of Horus. Across the battle lines, Sons of Sanguinius staggered and shook their heads, many losing their life in vital duels. Those nearest to the Warmaster, of any Legion, clutched their skulls as the psychic shockwave tore through their unprotected minds.

Sigismund and Sejanus were two of those Astartes.

Looking upon the face of the Warmaster and attempting to recover, Sigismund saw the unbridled hate and sadness written across Sanguinius' face. Tears of Blood streamed down the Warmaster's cheeks as he picked up Abaddon's sword and lunged for Sigismund.

The Imperial Fist didn't stand a chance. The blade wasn't even able to be raised into a guard stance before the Great Angel descended upon him. It wasn't a combat, or a melee. It was a slaughter. Sanguinius stabbed over and over, no skill, no finesse, all abilities of the warrior gone, replaced by pure violent murder.

Sigismund's form was shredded like wet paper, his body broken into more pieces than any could count. As Sanguinius stood back up, barely an inch of yellow could be seen that wasn't covered in red.

"My… Lord…" whispered Sejanus.

Sanguinius turned a face towards the Son of Horus, and blood tears began to fall once more as Abaddon's sword fell from his grip.

"Sejanus…" mumbled Sanguinius, "Why did you betray me?!"

"I did not betray you Lord!"

"Ezekyle is dead," wailed the Great Angel, "They are all dead, everything is DEAD!"

Sejanus simply stood there, dumbfounded. How was he to react to a Primarch in tears? Abaddon was dead, Angron was dead, Sigismund was dead. Perhaps it was the echos of the psychic scream but Sejanus stared mindlessly, his mind locked in a state of shock.

Sanguinius grabbed arm of Sejanus and marched him back, through the melee to the lines of the Crusade Vitae. Sejanus found himself unable to resist. The Warmaster threw the Captain before the feet of a Son of Sanguinius and yelled, "I want him locked up behind our lines until the campaign is over! No harm is to come to him or I shall behead the warrior that does!"

"As you command, my Lord…" muttered the warrior in confusion as Sanguinius turned back towards the fighting, his blood pumping.

As Sejanus was led away, Sanguinius' heightened adrenaline state dropped and he collapsed to the floor, his head in his hands. The blood tears would not stop as they flowed down and over the sides of the Impossible City's walkway. The pain and despair was all consuming. There was rage, no emotion, just the deep black pit of emptiness.

Until a single thought cross Sanguinius' mind.

"We… we can bring him back," Sanguinius whispered to himself, choking back the tears, "We can bring them all back. Ezekyle isn't dead. Not really. Neither is Angron. Or even Sigismund. I can bring them back! YES! I CAN BRING THEM BACK! This isn't the end. There will BE no end anymore! All of them here! I'll bring them all back!"

Wiping away the blood from his face with the palm of his hand, Sanguinius stood back up. Forcing down the sadness and despair, Sanguinius embraced the certainty of victory, and the certainty that death would be defeated. This false confidence he allowed to swell in his chest, and kicked off into the sky once more, back to the front lines. The sooner they won the battle, the sooner he could revive everyone.

It would be fine. They would be back. There was no loss. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.