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Sanguinius stood alone. He knew his whole life had led to this moment. He knew what must be done. Most of all, he knew how this was destined to end. In a final duel against his cherished brother, he, Sanguinius, was fated to fall.
The Siege of Terra had worn on for countless days and countless nights. The Imperial defenders had been run ragged by constant assaults and daemonic incursions, the likes of which had not been seen since before the Dark Age of Technology. Rogal Dorn’s defenses were strong indeed, but even the greatest wall must yield before the ruinous arm of time. Even more so when the combined forces of mankind’s greatest fears and deepest vices pit their combined might on its destruction.
Sanguinius had fought as a man without fear, a true Angel of Death sent from above to bring divine judgment against those who dared profane the world of Holy Terra. He was a light in the darkness, soaring high above the carnage to do battle with daemons and Titans, for of one thing he was certain: he would not fall here.
But the might of one man, even a Primarch, cannot alone hold the night at bay. Even the brightest day must yield to the fall of night. Though Abaddon had fallen into the trap of the Saturnine Gate, the Custodes were hard-pressed to keep the invaders at bay. It was here, at the darkest moment of the siege, that a glimmer of hope emerged. As the defenses of the Imperial Palace held stalwart, the void shields of the Vengeful Spirit, orbiting far above the surface, failed. They had one chance to end Horus’s Heresy, here and now.
And so, with a picked force of Astartes, Custodes, and mortal auxiliaries, the Emperor of Man set out with his sons to end the life of him who should have been the best of them. Thus, the Golden Angel went to his fate. Before, he had fought as a storm made man knowing that he need have no fear of death. Now, he charged forth, equally determined to meet the fate which had been laid before him.
Sanguinius stood alone. Outpacing all others as he rushed to meet his fate, Sanguinius stood alone. In the end, it was he who was first to meet the Warmaster in battle. It was he who traded steel with the most beloved of his brothers. It was he who knew that he must fall before the Warmaster’s might, that the Emperor may finish the job. It was he who-
No. Fate had lied to him. Horus fought valiantly, but it was not Sanguinius who tasted death on that fateful day. It was not he who was disarmed. Not he who fell to the ground and felt the wait of his brother’s boot on his chest. And though it rent his heart in twain to do so, it was not the Angel’s head which was separated from his shoulders, not his heart which was pierced through by a blow from his brother’s lance.
Sanguinius stood alone. In this, what was to be his final fight, he had fought as a man possessed. Foe after foe met him, and each, in turn, fell before his blade. And when he came to himself, surrounded by the corpses of dozens of Archtraitors, Sanguinius wept. He wept for the brother which he had slain. He wept for the aimlessness which now crept into his heart. He wept most of all that his father had abandoned him. He had slain his brother for the sake of the Emperor’s dream, and yet he never returned to bring the Angel home. And so Sanguinius stood alone, amidst the deserts of a nameless world, and Sanguinius wept.
***
It seemed that he had wept for a millennia before he saw another living soul. Or rather, this soul seemed a specter of his past. From the horizon, Sanguinius saw his brother walking towards him. In an instant, his sorrow was consumed once more by rage. This was the Archtraitor. This was the cause of so much death and destruction! This was the man who… was raising his hands? Sanguinius stopped mid-charge, puzzled. He watched as Horus laid down his warhammer and approached his brother.
His voice, harsh as steel, cut through the world’s silence. “Peace, brother. I do not wish to harm you. I have come to parlay.”
Sanguinius gritted his teeth. “Parlay?! After what havoc you have wrought? It would be a kindness for me to end your life!”
Horus stopped, then knelt in the sands. “That Horus Lupercal was deserving of death, I do not deny. Let the bastard rot in the service of his accursed patrons.”
Puzzle of puzzles. Sanguinius hefted his spear once more. “Since you admit your guilt, I shall do you the service of killing you now!”
Horus did not look up, but merely lifted a hand. His right hand continued digging in the sand. “I will not flee your strike. But please, first, pay your brother the courtesy of listening to him.”
Sanguinius lowered his spear, and straightened himself. “Very well. Our brotherhood affords you that, at the very least. So tell me, why did you betray our father? Why cast his dream into the fires of your ambition?”
Horus chuckled softly and shook his head. “All in time, brother. For now, humor me. Who are you?”
Sanguinius frowned. “Know you not your own brother? I am Sanguinius, son of Baal and Primarch of the Blood Angels legion of the Adeptus Astartes.”
Horus nodded, still digging. “As expected. And can you tell me who I am?”
Sanguinius’s confusion turned to anger. “Do not think to toy with me brother, especially when you have already identified yourself! You are Horus Lupercal, Archtraitor to the God Emperor of Mankind!”
Horus smiled, and he seemed to draw something out of the sand, though Sanguinius could not see what it was. “One final question, brother. Tell me, why do you weep?”
Sanguinius raised his spear. “I weep for the destruction you brought on the galaxy! I weep for the brothers who you led astray! I weep for-“
His voice faltered as Horus showed what he had dug from the sand. It was just a skull. A human skull, yet too large to belong to any mortal. It was a skull which he might have known anywhere. And the bits of armor peaking out from the sand confirmed his suspicion.
Sanguinius collapsed to his knees, clutching the skull to his chest with hands covered in jet black ceramite. “I weep for the brother whom I have slain! I weep for Horus, though he betrayed us! And most of all, I-“
The marine, clad in unpainted Mk II power armor, strode over and laid a hand on the Primarch’s shoulder. His voice, which he thought harsh before, sounded more like razor blades dragged across a bulkhead. “You weep for the father who has abandoned you. I know, for it is a lamentation shared by many of our brothers. We fought for him, we bled for him, we died for him, and he abandoned us like so many sacrifices upon the altar of his pride.”
Sanguinius looked up, tears clouding the visor of his helmet. “You… You are not Horus.”
The marine shook his head. “No, you have slain him, once and for all.”
Sanguinius stood, confused. The Space Marine was not quite eye level with him. “Neither are you a Primarch, yet you speak to me with a combination of familiarity and authority. Who are you?”
He could see now the mechadendrites wound tight around the marine’s arms and legs, and the red robe which concealed the main part of his torso. “I am the last remnant of Iron. I am one who seeks to make real the dream which so many of my brothers believed in. My name is Kaios, and I would offer you a second chance at vengeance.”
Sanguinius turned, studying the skull in his hand. “Iron. Are you then of Perturabo’s sons, or Ferrus Manus’s?”
Kaios stepped back. “I am of the IVth Legion, but I hold no allegiance to the Tyrant of Olympia. I seek to right the wrongs done by the Imperium and our Heresy, not perpetuate them.”
Sanguinius wheeled on him, his voice icy cold. “Then tell me why I should not kill you now. Horus you may not be, but you bear his sins. It was you and your brothers who betrayed us at Istvaan, who bore the brunt of the Siege of Terra!”
Kaios met the Primarch’s gaze impassively. “Because I was not at Istvaan. I was not at Terra. I saw the futility of the rebellion and forsook the leadership of my Primarch.”
Sanguinius crushed the skull in his hands. “And why should I trust the words of an avowed traitor?”
Kaios picked up a helmet from where it lay next to the corpse of the Archtraitor. It was crimson, with a single blood drop adorning its faceplate. “Because you know I speak truth. Because I bring you news which I suspect a part of you already knows: the Emperor has fallen, the Imperium kills its own, mankind has lost its way.”
He held out the helmet to Sanguinius. “And because you cannot trust your own eyes. Look, and see that your own sons are among the dead, slain by your own hand.”
Sanguinius looked about him, and he wept once more. Where before he had seen only Horus’s face, repeated endlessly among the ranks of the traitors, he now saw the faces of his children, the Blood Angels, sons of Baal. They lay dead, each killed with a dozen thrusts of his spear. Sanguinius fell to his knees and wailed to the sky. He begged for the Emperor, begged for his own life to be taken. Begged to join his sons and his brother in their graves. This was to be his final fight. And now, Sanguinius wept alone.
Kaios came around to face Sanguinius. He stood stoic and uncaring. He offered not a hand as he spoke. “The last cannot be undone. The dead cannot be brought back, nor can the broken be mended. All that is left to those of us who survive is retribution. Come with me. Aid me and my brothers as we seek to break that which cast us out to be trampled underfoot. Come, and you will find no shortage of feckless traitors. Come, and when the corrupt Imperium has been torn to the ground, you will have the chance to build something better.”
Sanguinius rose to his feet, and red-feathered wings unfurled behind him. “Very well then, Kaios of the Iron Warriors. I will bind myself to your banner until such time as reason returns to me. But know this: if ever I judge you to be in league with those who seek the ascendancy of Chaos, I will not hesitate to lay waste to you and your followers.”
Kaios nodded his affirmation. “I would expect nothing less from the Angel of Baal.”
He turned and activated a communicator in his helmet. “This is Warsmith Kaios, hailing the Reqiuem of Iron. Send a Thunderhawk for immediate extraction. I have what we came for.”
Quietly, he added. “No Obliterators, Legionaries only. We’ll need to keep a tight leash on what he sees.”
Turning back, Kaios extended his hand towards Sanguinius. “Welcome to the 120th Grand Company, Lord Primarch.”
The marine before him accepted the hand gladly, the singular red “X” on his shoulder pad glistening against his black armor in the burning sun. From this point forward, Vergil of the Angels Revenant would never again stand alone.