The sun dipped low on the horizon, its golden light casting long shadows over the marble expanse of Nikaea's grand staircase. Magnus the Red descended slowly, his crimson armor catching the waning light and reflecting it in muted glints. His lone eye was sharp, scanning the steps ahead as Ahriman followed closely behind, his hood drawn low. The silence around them felt heavy, a stillness that carried weight.

This might've been a beautiful and mysterious world, Magnus mused; its natural stone formations were intricate and clearly unnatural, forming odd fractals and patterns that would not have otherwise occurred in nature. If he had not known why he'd been called here, Magnus might've meandered for a bit, admiring the planet and its landscape.

But not anymore.

At the foot of the stairs stood Sanguinius. Alone.

But this was not the brother he remembered, not the shining, golden, and angelic entity he'd once glimpsed flying across the battlefield, inspiring all those who saw him.

Magnus stopped mid-step, his towering frame straightening as his gaze fixed on his brother. Sanguinius stood unmoving, his presence stark against the glowing backdrop. Magnus's eye flickered, narrowing slightly as he took in the changes. The left wing was leathery now, stretched taut like the membrane of a bat, its veins faintly pulsing with a dark energy. The right wing, once pristine and white, had transformed into a vivid crimson, its feathers almost gleaming as if lit from within.

Sanguinius inclined his head, his golden hair catching the fading light. Yet even that seemed dulled, as though the vibrancy of his former self had been tempered by something darker. "Brother," he said, his voice steady, but carrying an unfamiliar depth.

Magnus resumed his descent, his steps slow and deliberate. His single eye studied Sanguinius with a growing intensity. The aura surrounding his brother had changed – it was heavier, sharper, and carried a palpable force that made even Magnus's own skin prickle. The sheer power radiating from Sanguinius was unlike anything he had felt before. It wasn't just strength; it was refined, controlled, and suffused with an edge that set Magnus on edge.

"You've changed," Magnus said, stopping a few steps above Sanguinius. His tone was calm, but his eye gleamed with curiosity. "More than I expected."

Sanguinius stepped forward, his wings shifting slightly, the crimson feathers rustling faintly while the bat-like membrane remained unnervingly still.

"Change was inevitable," he replied. His gaze locked onto Magnus's, and for a moment, the two Primarchs stood silently, the weight of their presence pressing against each other.

Magnus tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile – one that lacked mirth or truth.

"You've awakened something." His gaze moved deliberately to the leathery wing. "And it has left its mark."

Sanguinius's jaw tightened, but he nodded. His voice softened, almost reluctant. "It did. During a... sparring session with Sukuna. He pushed me further than I thought possible. Further than I was ready for."

Magnus's brow lifted slightly, his eye narrowing in thought.

"Jujutsu," he said. His voice held no question, only certainty. "You've awakened it."

Sanguinius exhaled, his wings shifting again. He glanced briefly at his own hands, as if seeking confirmation. "I have. But I didn't master it. I barely touched its full potential, and it... consumed me."

Magnus stepped down the final steps, closing the distance between them. His towering frame loomed over Sanguinius, but it was clear that, despite the difference in stature, the angelic Primarch's presence was undiminished. If anything, the force radiating from him only made Magnus pause, a rare flicker of caution crossing his face.

"Brief as it was, you touched your truest self," Magnus said, his voice quieter now. He gestured to the wings with a sweep of his hand. "And it reshaped you. The Immaterial Realm's grip on you feels... distant. But what you've gained in return is formidable. I can feel it. Even now, it stirs, doesn't it?"

Sanguinius met his brother's gaze, his expression unreadable. Magnus rarely felt such power – not quite enough to match his own, but certainly close enough.

"It does," he admitted, his voice low. "The power I felt... it was intoxicating. Terrifying. And when I let go, it nearly destroyed me."

Magnus hummed, the sound deep and contemplative.

"I've heard a great many things about Sukuna," he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "He doesn't know the meaning of restraint."

Sanguinius's wings twitched again, the leathery one curling inward as though shielding itself.

"He said it was my nature," The Angel murmured, his gaze dropping briefly. "That I was always meant to wield this power. I'm not so sure."

Magnus's expression hardened slightly, his grin fading. He reached out, his hand stopping just shy of Sanguinius's shoulder. "Doubt is natural, brother. But power cares little for doubts. It's there, waiting for you to master it – or to let it master you."

"That's exactly what Sukuna said." Sanguinius's gaze lingered on Magnus, his crimson eyes narrowing faintly. "And you? Do you think this power will consume me?"

Magnus's lone eye glinted, his smile returning, though faint.

"No. Not if you're careful. Not if you respect its limits." He glanced again at the bat-like wing, his lips tightening momentarily. "But it will test you. And you'll need to prove you're worthy of it."

Sanguinius's lips twitched into a faint, wry smile. "Worthy, Magnus? Is that not a word better suited to Father?"

Magnus chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant. "Perhaps. But consider this: you've been given a gift. A curse, perhaps, but a gift nonetheless. It's what you do with it that matters."

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Ahriman shifted behind Magnus, his gaze flickering briefly to Sanguinius before settling on the distant hall.

"Are they waiting?" Magnus asked, breaking the quiet.

Sanguinius nodded. "They are. But don't expect a warm reception. Many are against you."

Magnus's expression didn't falter. He straightened, his crimson cloak billowing faintly in the breeze. "Then let them be against me. I am ready."

Sanguinius stepped aside, his wings folding tightly against his back.

"I'll escort you inside," he said, his voice steady. "They're expecting you."

"Will Sukuna be attending?" Magnus asked, breathing in.

Sanguinius shook his head. "No, but he left a trusted subordinate of his, Yamamoto Genryusai, to represent him. I believe our father sent him off on a secret mission of some sort. Whatever it was, Sukuna chose not to explain. The same is true for the Khan."

"That is... regrettable." Magnus said. "I had hoped to have them standing by my side."

"He stands with us – in spirit." Sanguinius said, smiling softly. "And I've met and spoken to Yamamoto Genryusai and Targutai Yesugei; these nephews of ours are no foolish simpletons. They represents their fathers' ideals on the matter."

Magnus nodded and moved forward, his strides measured. Ahriman followed closely, his hooded gaze lingering on Sanguinius one last time before turning toward the looming doors of the assembly hall. The air seemed to thicken as they approached, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on them. Magnus had once attempted to divine what sorts of arguments may fall upon him during the supposed 'council', but something had blocked his clairvoyance – a great dark shadow that stood between him and the future.

And yet, Magnus's steps didn't falter. He prepared, just as Sukuna told him to. And Sanguinius, now changed, would be at his side.

Magnus entered the amphitheater, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he stepped into the massive, domed chamber. The sheer scale of the space gave him pause. Rows upon rows of stone seats stretched upward in circular tiers, filled with figures from across the Imperium. Delegates in finely crafted robes sat alongside Space Marines in gleaming armor. Some bore the sigils of distant worlds, others the cog-and-skull of Mars. The air hummed with muted whispers and the low thrum of anticipation.

At the center of it all sat the Emperor.

Magnus's gaze locked onto his father, who was seated on an ornate throne at the apex of the amphitheater. The Emperor's golden armor gleamed with an ethereal light, his piercing gaze sweeping across the assembly. He radiated authority, his presence commanding absolute attention. Beside him stood Malcador the Sigillite, draped in somber robes, his face calm but his eyes sharp. Magnus noted the faintest flicker of acknowledgment in Malcador's expression as their gazes briefly met.

He knows, Magnus thought, his grip tightening on his staff. Only Father and Malcador know.

Sanguinius stepped in behind Magnus, his wings shifting subtly, the bat-like membrane brushing against the edge of the doorway. His presence drew many stares, whispers rippling through the assembly as those gathered noticed the Angel's altered form. Magnus could see the wary glances, the quick murmurs. He glanced back, catching the faintest flicker of discomfort in his brother's eyes.

"Let them look," Magnus murmured under his breath. "They'll learn soon enough."

Sanguinius nodded, his expression unreadable.

Magnus's attention returned to the amphitheater. His brothers were seated in a crescent formation, their thrones raised slightly above the assembly. Horus leaned back casually, his armor polished and his expression unreadable. Vulkan sat with his arms crossed, his gaze thoughtful. Rogal Dorn, ever the stoic, watched Magnus with an impassive stare, while Leman Russ leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the hilt of his axe. The others were arrayed similarly, each radiating their own unique presence. The most baleful presence, however, belonged to Mortarion, who – as far as Magnus was aware – abhorred anything that had anything to do with the Psykers and the manifestation of Psychic Powers, which likely included Sorcery.

He was a lost cause.

It was Guilliman who broke the silence first, his clear, measured voice cutting through the air.

"Magnus," he said, his tone neutral but firm. "You've arrived."

Magnus inclined his head slightly. "I have, brother."

Malcador raised his staff, the metallic ring at its base tapping against the stone floor. The whispers ceased instantly, silence descending upon the chamber like a shroud. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the assembly.

"The Council of Nikaea has convened," Malcador announced, his voice carrying with effortless authority. "The matter before us is grave. Magnus the Red, Primarch of the Thousand Sons, and his Legion stand accused of engaging in forbidden practices of sorcery. This council will determine whether such practices have a place within the Imperium and, by extension, the Librarius."

The words hung heavy in the air. Magnus felt the weight of the gazes upon him, felt the quiet judgment radiating from some corners of the chamber. His brothers' expressions ranged from guarded curiosity to open hostility. Russ, unsurprisingly, smirked, his hand tightening on the haft of his axe.

Malcador continued, his tone even. "This is not a trial in the conventional sense. It is a forum for debate. All voices will be heard, from Terra, Mars, and beyond. And in the end, the Emperor himself will render judgment."

The Emperor's gaze shifted briefly, landing on Magnus. It was not unkind, but it was piercing, as if stripping away all pretense. Magnus straightened his shoulders, meeting the stare without flinching. And then, Malcador spoke once again. "Would the accused like to address the council with an opening statement?"

Magnus stepped forward, his staff clicking against the stone as he moved to the center of the amphitheater. The silence deepened, the weight of the moment pressing against him. He glanced briefly at Malcador, catching the faintest nod of encouragement, before turning to face the assembly.

"I stand here," Magnus began, his voice resonating through the chamber, "not to deny the charges against me, but to illuminate the truth behind them. My sons and I have, indeed, dabbled in the powers of the Immaterium. We have immersed ourselves in it. And we have bent it to our will with training, determination, and discipline. I will present the contributions of the Thousand Sons to the Imperium, and the undeniable benefits of our mastery over the Warp. I will also address the fears and concerns that many of you hold. I do not stand here in defiance but in pursuit of understanding."

AN: Chapter 50 is out on (Pat)reon!