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Time had no meaning anymore. Days, weeks, months, centuries... the Warp blended them all into a swirl of incomprehensible Chaos.
Yet Leman Russ had a mission: to hunt down Magnus, his once-loyal brother, and put a stop to everything... everything Russ himself had helped to set in motion. There was rage, yes, but also guilt. He and Magnus had never seen eyes to eye, but he’d had the greatest respect for the man until everything went wrong.
The Warp rippled around him, sending him lurching into somewhere else. He’d experienced these shifts a thousand times, but this one was different... no blighted hellscape or dangerously seductive pleasure-palace stretched before him this time...
Instead, it was a room, built to a Primarch’s dimensions and filled with books. The shelves reached from floor to ceiling, but were still unable to hold them all, so more lay in piles on the floor. Arcane devices were tucked into every corner, glowing and spinning.
“Russ?” The voice made the Space Wolf Primarch whip his head around, throat clenching. After so long, the one-eyed crimson giant stood before him. “When did you get back, you mangy old mutt?”
Russ raised his chain-axe, ready to take off his enemy’s head- then stopped. This wasn’t the winged monster, the Chaos Prince he had been expecting. Instead, he stood, unarmored and unarmed, wearing a simple robe and a surprised smile. The insult was breezy, the prodding of their old, friendly rivalry, and his brow was unmarked with frown lines.
“Magnus?” He asked, half-growled in confusion. This had to be a trick, a lie... but the room was so familiar, in Magnus’s chambers back on Terra, down to the smell. Tiny, half-remembered details came flooding back, as clear as if they’d never left. Russ himself had torn this room to shreds after Magnus turned to Chaos, taking out his rage and grief on his brother’s possessions.
“Of course I-“ Magnus said, then blinked his single eye. “Truth, you look terrible! Sit down, brother, I know you won’t let me heal you but I’ve got some decent tea.”
He gestured at a chair only partly covered in books, then started rummaging in a cabinet, apparently unconcerned that he was turning his back to Russ. Rage rose in the Wolf King, making him snarl. How dare Magnus treat him so lightly!
He leaped at his crimson brother, knocking books aside in his fury. The chain-axe revved as he swung it upwards, ready to bring it down on Magnus’s head.
The cyclopean Primarch turned, then flung himself aside with a surprised yell. He brought up his hands, crackling with sorcerous power, and Russ anticipated a blast of lightning or a scourge of fire... instead, Magnus’s spell merely froze his arm in place, unable to strike.
“Russ, what the hell-“
“Traitor!” Russ snarled, reaching out with his free hand and seizing Magnus by the neck. He slammed his brother to the ground, knocking the wind from the other Primarch’s lungs. “You- you...!”
The words died in his throat. Magnus’s eye was wide, uncomprehending. A familiar touch scrabbled at Russ’s mind, not attacking but searching, desperately seeking some kind of answer... and the touch was clean. As much as Russ hated most psykers, he had enough understanding, enough of his father’s power to recognize the difference between warp-tainted power and the merely human.
Back in the old days, the invasion into his mind would’ve enraged him, but now... now it was like coming home. His annoying but still beloved brother, his respected opposite, doing that thing he hated not out of malice but out of concern. This wasn’t some trick, some lie... it was truly the past.
Russ released his hold on his brother’s throat, suddenly limp and empty. Memories rose to the surface, carrying guilt with them. If he had known then what he knew now, how would things have been different? What could he possibly say?
“Brother?” Magnus said, clearly reading his thoughts and unable to understand them. He sat up, rubbing his throat and releasing “What happened? This is...”
“What year is it?,” Russ asked in a rush. He had no idea how long this would last, but he had a chance.
“899.M30,” Magnus said. “You’re from-“
“The future,” Russ said, nodding. This was still early, then. After Monarchia but before the Burning, before Nikea... he had a chance to make things right. “I have to tell you-“
Suddenly, he felt a lurch in his gut. This wasn’t going to last long, he had to get his message through in the only way he could.
“Read my mind!” Russ growled, holding himself there by force it will. “Now!”
“You hate when I-“
“DO IT!”
Russ threw his mind wide open, forcing memories at Magnus in a jumbled mess. The man was a genius, he’d sort through them, assemble the puzzle if Russ gave him the pieces. Lorgar, Horus, Prospero, their father’s fate. He could feel that strong will, that unassailable mind, reeling in his thoughts, holding onto them for dear life... holding onto him. The Warp tore at Russ, trying to pull him back, but Magnus’s power kept him on Terra, holding him fast.
It wouldn’t last long, but it was long enough. Magnus had taken every scrap of memory, emotion, the truths that might save him from damnation this time... perhaps in another universe, another timeline. Russ was no metaphysician, no scholar. That was Magnus. He’d know what to do, if anyone did.
“I’m sorry,” Russ said, tears staining his cheeks. Magnus’s lone eye was also wet as he stared at the Wolf King in horror. Any moment now, Magnus would turn from him, throw him back into the Warp in disgust. “I-“
“Brother...” Magnus said. He leaned forward, throwing his arms around the other man’s shoulders. Strong, crimson arms held him tight, the first human contact he’d had in Fenris knew how long. “I’ll stop it, I swear! I won’t... I won’t betray you...”
Russ returned the embrace, shoulders shaking. He had to hope that the past version of their father would listen, that the other Russ would live without the blood of Magnus’s sons on his hands. That this man, this noble, innocent man would remain untainted, unbroken.
For the last time, Leman Russ held his brother in a bear-hug, committing everything to memory. The scent of his rooms, the feel of his mind, the sound of his voice. This was Magnus as he should be, a memory uncorrupted by hate.
Then the bubble popped, and Russ was alone. A howling wilderness of twisted stone spires and endless desert, the sky a mind-searing mix of unearthly colors. Blue Screamers of Tzeentch circled above, letting out their terrible cries as the spotted him and prepared to swoop down.
Rudd’s grip tightened on the haft of his axe, and he drew the Sword of Balenight with his other hand. There was no time for grief or reflection, no time to mourn what might’ve been. That Magnus, his beloved brother, was dead. Now only the twisted parody remained, and it was Russ’s duty to put that monster down.
As the daemons dived for him, dozens, hundreds, Russ leaned back and howled his defiance to the sky. He would kill and kill until it filled the aching hollow in his soul, until redemption or death found him. This time, he turned his blades upon the guilty, ready to cut his way to the palace of the Sorcerer-King.
Hell hath no fury like a brother betrayed.