The Emperor's Imperial Guard shuttle went directly to the inner court of the Imperial Palace, and the group, returning from Mars, seemed a bit travel-worn.
Leaving the shuttle, the few individuals parted ways, each attending to their urgent matters.
The Emperor and Valdor had been away for three years, and many things awaited their attention, so they naturally departed in a hurry.
Sintara also left with them; it went to fulfill its promise of creating some Webway tools to provide the Emperor with some references.
Blazkowicz headed to the Slayer Legion's Terra base, where over thirty new recruits had joined the Legion during the past three years.
Fortunately, the Slayer Legion's base was located within the Imperial Palace's inner and outer courts, so his appearance didn't cause too much commotion.
From a distance, the Doom Slayer was already standing at the base's gate, awaiting the arrival of his Gene-Father.
The leader was the Legion Apothecary, Hippocrates, who had a medical backpack, making him highly recognizable.
"Why are you here?" Blazkowicz was surprised; why had the Legion Apothecary left the fleet and appeared at the Terra base?
"To escort the gene-seed," Hippocrates saluted and explained why he was there: "And to deliver a message, by the way."
"Oh."
Only then did Blazkowicz remember that several years had passed, and another batch of gene-seed had matured and accumulated to a certain quantity, needing to be sent back to Terra for the Emperor's Imperial Guard.
The one responsible for this crucial mission was none other than the Legion Apothecary, Hippocrates.
"What other message did you bring?" Blazkowicz waved his hand, signaling his Sons to disperse their formation, indicating to talk while walking, and asked with a slight frown: "Is it news about the Rangdan?"
No matter when, he always cared about the Rangdan and paid attention to news of the xenos species.
"It's not xenos," Hippocrates raised his left hand, and a section of his shining golden armor opened, projecting a holographic image: "A scout ship discovered an artificial death world named 'Baal' in the Ultima Segmentum."
Blazkowicz listened as he walked, nodding for him to continue.
"Baal has two moons, and on the second moon, we discovered some humans."
"And we also discovered this entity." Hippocrates stopped, raising his arm to project a long-range holographic image.
Blazkowicz looked down at it: a humanoid creature with pure white wings on its back and golden hair, closely resembling the angels of human legends.
In the frozen image, the angel held a longsword, leading humans in protective suits to attack a crowd of mutants.
Hippocrates' voice was calm and comforting: "We didn't disturb it, as it looked very much like a Primarch."
"That was the right thing to do." Blazkowicz nodded; his Son's caution was not unwarranted.
"Don't rush to inform the Emperor yet." He pondered for a moment, then said: "Report this news in a week."
"As you command." Hippocrates accepted the order; although he didn't know the deeper meaning, he had no doubts.
Blazkowicz naturally had his own ideas.
He quickly calculated the time; it would take about a week for the ancient sage to craft the tools, so he had to wait for it to complete its work.
Once Sintara finished her work, she would take it from Terra to the Ultima Segmentum, first meeting the Emperor at Baal Secundus to investigate the angel-like creature.
If it was a Primarch, they could reunite and communicate; if not a Primarch, it would depend on the Emperor's attitude—whether to eliminate it or coexist, entirely at his discretion.
Finally, Blazkowicz planned to rendezvous with the First Fleet and return to the Nur Stars together.
The fleet would return for rest and resupply, allowing Sintara to reunite with Prima, fulfilling his promise.
After dismissing his sons, Blazkowicz cleaned up at the base, then donned a long robe and left the base alone.
He left the Imperial Palace and entered the complex Hive City.
His robe had a shielding field, and Blazkowicz walked in the shadows, so many mortals didn't notice the Primarch.
It was night, and the lights in the Hive City were dim; there weren't many people on the streets.
Blazkowicz moved silently like a night owl, swiftly traversing the shadows.
Finally, after wandering through the Hive City for a long time, he found his target: a hidden Hydra mark, concealed beneath grimy gang graffiti, difficult for ordinary people to discern.
Following the Hydra mark's guidance, he arrived at a door, took out a Hydra insignia, and gently knocked on the door.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
The knocking sound echoed, and the heavy iron door clanged; the Legion Warriors, who had been whispering in the room, suddenly tensed, exchanging quick glances—the visitor was definitely not a Legion brother.
Four Alpha Legion Warriors tacitly raised their Bolters, aiming them at the stronghold's iron door.
With everything ready, a Warrior in a long robe walked to the door, a dagger hidden in his sleeve, and opened the observation port.
Then his pupils constricted sharply, and he quickly made a cryptic gesture backward with his hand, indicating no threat.
The Legion Warrior saw a Hydra insignia, immediately knowing the visitor's identity; he did not kneel in reverence, but turned to his Legion brothers and said: "D2-M30-M31 intelligence file."
His Legion brothers quickly retrieved the intelligence file and handed it to him, and he respectfully passed it through the doorway.
A large hand took the file bag, and with a flash of shadow, before the Space Marine could react, it vanished into the darkness.
After a long while, the Legion Warriors in the room trembled, suppressing their excitement as they whispered: "Was it him?"
"It was him." The person at the door gently closed the iron door, his leg muscles still twitching and trembling, "The Warrior King!"
Only when facing a Primarch did one realize the terror of a Son of the Emperor; the moment the observation port opened, everyone in the room was locked onto.
With the slightest movement, let alone firing a shot, before the trigger could be pulled, there would be no survivors in the room, and no gunshots would escape.
The alley returned to calm, as if nothing had happened.
Blazkowicz, holding the parchment file bag, returned to the inner court of the Imperial Palace, his figure reappearing in the eyes of the Emperor's Imperial Guard.
When they saw him, the Emperor's Imperial Guard asked in their comms channel when the Primarch had returned, only to receive a three-word reply: "I don't know."
He had left brazenly, without deliberately avoiding the Emperor's Imperial Guard's gaze, but returned by simply appearing in the Imperial Palace's inner court.
How long had the Primarch been gone? What could he have done? How did he return?
The Emperor's Imperial Guard knew nothing.
They were helpless; Primarchs could not be judged by common sense, and the Emperor's Imperial Guard's defensive network was full of holes for the transcendent Primarchs.
Blazkowicz returned to the Slayer Legion's base, opened the parchment archive bag, and spilled its top-secret contents onto the table.
His fingers brushed over the parchment, his expression solemn as he read the intelligence about the Second Legion, collected by Alpharius himself.
As he read further, Blazkowicz's brows furrowed.
Ever since the Department of the Interior sent review teams to various Legions to investigate the leak, the Second Legion began a major internal review; there were no abnormalities within the Legion, but the review team had no way to deal with the Primarch.
For whatever reason, the review team had no authority to investigate a Son of the Emperor.
On the surface, it was a stalemate, and secretly, Alpharius hadn't gained much either.
Solas remained as usual, fighting inconsequential battles, reclaiming some fringe worlds, completely unconcerned with external evaluations.
He also did not resist the review team, even proactively appeasing his Sons' emotions and fully cooperating with the Imperium's Department of the Interior's investigation.
All signs indicated that he was indeed very innocent.
But Solas also sensed that there were spies in the Legion, and he intensified the Legion's internal checks, trying to find Alpharius.
The person in charge of the disciplinary action was the Primarch's guard, impersonated by Alpharius.
Blazkowicz glanced at the footnote; this was intelligence from a year ago. Flames ignited on his arm guard, burning the secret intelligence to ashes. Solas had no problems? He absolutely didn't believe it.
That gaunt, lanky, gloomy brother, seemingly approachable, only he himself knew the suppressed rage within.
Tap~ Tap~~
Blazkowicz's fingers lightly tapped the table, his mind calculating the time; nearly a decade had passed since the First Rangdan War.
Now they were hunkering down, showing no weaknesses, observing the Imperium of Man from the shadows, collecting data and intelligence, preparing to launch a thunderous strike.
In ten years, the Imperium had largely recovered and was actively preparing for war.
The Rangdan should also be doing the same; within the next five years, no matter what, a major war would definitely break out between the two sides.
At that time, it would be a fight to the death: would the Rangdan be annihilated, or would humanity be enslaved by them?
Blazkowicz's fingers stopped, and he rose from his chair, walking out of the quiet secret room, feeling that he needed to take the initiative.
How could he make Solas reveal himself and clarify his role in the leak?
Time waits for no one; the next five years are a critical juncture, eliminating pre-war hidden dangers to avoid greater losses for the Imperium of Man.
"I need to draw the snake out of its hole."
Blazkowicz sighed and walked towards his room at the base, planning to rest for the night.
A week later, when the Emperor had finished dealing with the accumulated matters, Hippocrates seized the opportune moment and presented the intelligence about the suspected Primarch.
As expected, the Emperor asked Blazkowicz to accompany him to the Ultima Segmentum to investigate that angel.
The Emperor's Dream passed through the Gate of Elysium, avoiding the busy ship traffic of the Gate of Hades, and entered the Warp for its journey to the northern part of the Ultima Segmentum.
Argent Nur's fleet followed closely behind. To ensure the safe escort of the gene-seed, Argent Nur dispatched a high-speed fleet, making sure they could safely retreat even if they encountered a powerful enemy.
Blazkowicz was stationed on the fleet's flagship, with Sophia's image hovering above the table, constantly transmitting completed intelligence to him, helping him catch up on the years he had missed.
The lost journey through the Warp, entering the Labyrinth of Eternal Night to search for the Void Dragon—he had missed so much.
After his return from the Warp, two Primarchs rejoined the Imperium: Rogal Dorn, master of the Seventh Legion, and Magnus, master of the Fifteenth Legion, who was entirely crimson.
Since the Primarchs' return, the two Legions had also changed their names to better reflect their Legion's style and the Primarch's will.
The Seventh Legion became the "Imperial Fists." Rogal Dorn hoped his successor Legion would be like the Imperium's clenched iron fist, striking down the enemies of humanity.
The sparsely populated Fifteenth Legion, whose name carried a hint of sorrow, suffered from psychic mutation. "Thousand Sons" became their Legion's designation.
When Blazkowicz returned from the Warp, Dorn was still preparing on Terra and went to Mars without a chance to greet him.
Currently, the Imperial Fists are campaigning in the southern part of the galaxy, within the ceaseless Segmentum Tempestus.
The name of the segmentum speaks for itself; that sector is perpetually active, with frequent astronomical disasters.
Cosmic storms crush planets, forming numerous asteroid belts spanning tens of light-years, inhabited by a multitude of xenos species and un-probed horrors.
Rogal Dorn's choice of the Segmentum Tempestus as the Legion's main offensive direction sufficiently demonstrated his ambition.
Blazkowicz nodded, dismissing his brother's holographic projection. From the intelligence gathered, the Imperial Fists' expedition should be quite fruitful.
As a relatively normal Legion, the Imperial Fists' tactical style was mature, and Dorn did not dismantle the Legion's system to start over; instead, he reinforced their combat style.
The Legion's tactical style aligned with the Primarch's philosophy, and the two complemented each other, unleashing a combat power sufficient to deter the petty threats of Segmentum Tempestus.
Blazkowicz then turned his gaze to Magnus's holographic image. This brother was entirely crimson, with an exceptionally tall physique, much like the Asura Yaksha of legend.
Contrary to his fierce appearance, Magnus returned to Terra, encountered his long-suffering sons, and shed tears of pain.
He sought an audience with the Emperor, and what they discussed is unknown to outsiders.
After leaving the Imperial Palace, Magnus took his Legion from Terra, heading to his homeworld of Prospero.
Afterward, there was no further news of the Thousand Sons Legion; they had temporarily left the Great Crusade.
"Alas~"
Upon learning this intelligence, Blazkowicz couldn't help but sigh, a hint of pity rising in his heart.
He recalled the elegant warrior Azhek Ahriman, clad in red armor, wielding a psychic staff, and with a grimoire hanging from his waist.
The reason Magnus sought an audience with the Emperor was not hard to guess.
The Primarch's return meant facing the Fifteenth Legion, severely afflicted by flesh mutations and alienated by their brothers.
The Emperor had the most authority on how to resolve the flesh mutation.
The final departure, the result was also evident: Magnus had not received a satisfactory answer and could only seek answers himself.
Palm pressed down, Blazkowicz closed the holographic projection, leaning back in his chair with a slight weariness, gently rubbing his temples.
Just as he had expected, as his brothers gradually returned, the problems of each Legion were exposed one after another.
Many Legions had problems; how should the Emperor handle them?
The Ninth Legion, the ghouls of the battlefield, possessed extremely developed gene-detection nerves, leading them to crave blood and devour corpses indiscriminately, regardless of friend or foe.
The Eleventh Legion, the Legion beneath the armor; the Legion never removed their helmets in front of outsiders and refused the help of the Mortal Auxiliary Army.
There was also the Thirteenth Company of the Space Wolves, the Space Marines who had turned into werewolves, which had already crossed the Emperor's bottom line.
During the Great Crusade, in pursuit of conquest progress, the Emperor could turn a blind eye.
Once his Webway project was implemented, or even succeeded, what would become of these Legions, full of honor and scars?
Thinking of all the future worries, Blazkowicz's mind was a blur; his extraordinary brain struggled to calculate the Emperor's plans for the future.
Ding~
As the door opened, an automated machine delivered drinks, placing them quietly on the table.
Blazkowicz smiled faintly, no longer dwelling on the future, and opened a bottle of wine, pouring himself a full glass.
Raising his glass, he said to Sophia, "Cheers, Sophia, thank you for looking after my mood even when you're so busy."
The Central Lexicon slowly bowed, performing a courtly gesture. Her voice was rational and gentle: "Serving you is the meaning of my existence."
"Don't forget to let Sintara taste it." In a rare moment of relaxation, Blazkowicz didn't forget Sintara.
"Delivered simultaneously with yours."
Blazkowicz's satisfaction with Sophia was ineffable. He nodded, silently thanking her for her efforts.
Having indulged his appetite, he set aside all worries, rested his head on his arms, and waited for the fleet to reach its destination.
Planet Baal, located northwest of the Ultima Segmentum, northwest of the Ultramar Sector.
After three months of Warp travel, the fleet returned to the Real Universe from the edge of the Baal system, without causing any observable astronomical phenomena.
Blazkowicz had the fleet wait in the void outside the system, while he boarded a Slayer, following the Emperor's Dream. After a short-distance jump within the system, they finally reached the dark side of Baal.
Baal is a giant planet, with two moons opposing each other, forming a three-star orbiting system.
On the surface of the giant main planet and its two moons, there are numerous ruins of artificial structures, speaking of past prosperity.
The three worlds are desolate, with traces of war everywhere. In the Lost Era, civil war destroyed prosperity, turning the planets into dead worlds.
Currently, only on the surface of Baal Secundus are there human life signals.
Baal Secundus appears orange-red, slightly lighter than Mars. Although humans live on its surface, the planet is filled with deadly radiation.
Blazkowicz boarded a shuttle, descending from the void to the surface, meeting the Emperor in the planet's wilderness.
The two, wearing cloaks, stood unprotected under the vicious sun, their feet on the scorching red sand.
Extending his hand with fingers spread, Blazkowicz felt the fluctuating wind slip through his fingers, then looked into the distance, where atmospheric vortices appeared and disappeared on the wilderness.
His nostrils twitched; the planet's atmosphere was extremely hot, radioactive substances drifted with the wind, and the air was mixed with a strong smell of rust.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed into the distance; the scorching sunlight penetrated the thin atmosphere, shining on the distant undulating hills, reflecting a distant, diamond-like brilliance.
"A sandstorm is approaching," his magnetic voice collided with the wind and sand. He pointed to the horizon, where a dull yellow wall was slowly drawing near.
"This way." The Emperor pointed in the opposite direction of the sandstorm, pulled up his hood, and slid down a dune along its slope.
The two walked through the desert, their tall figures exuding great deterrence. Predators lurking beneath the sand dared not approach, hiding in the sand to observe secretly.
The wind stirred up sand, and it also stirred up sorrow.
While traveling through the desert, the Emperor's face beneath his hood was grim, his brows furrowed as he recalled the details of the laboratory from back then.
He had indeed sensed the fluctuation of a bloodline; that angel was his son, which was the fundamental reason for his sorrow.
Because in the original design, no Primarch was meant to have wings that could soar through the sky.
In traditional perception, humans with wings are generally called "angels," symbolizing divine apostles, purity, and nobility.
But the Imperium is the Imperium of Man; it needs no gods, and it needs no angels.
The Emperor shaped the Primarchs into human form, to conquer the galaxy in human guise, precisely to avoid excessive worship.
Faith is insidious. If the Primarchs had fundamental differences in appearance from humans, they could easily become religious symbols.
Now, one of his sons had deviated from the original design, growing pure white wings, identical to the angels of legend.
The Emperor was deeply troubled by this. He himself was worshipped as a god by many citizens, and deep down, Imperial officials also believed him to be a savior god.
If an angel returned, with an appearance indistinguishable from a divine messenger, it would inevitably spark a debate about gods and men within the Imperium.
As the Emperor was troubled and immersed in worry, an arm blocked his path, stopping him from moving forward.
Blazkowicz pointed ahead. In a low-lying shadow of the crimson desert, there was a pool of clear water, emitting alluring vapor.
"Some kind of liquid organism," the Emperor brushed the arm aside, not avoiding but approaching, squatting by the pond, and scooping up the water-like liquid with one hand to observe: "Perhaps some kind of weapon."
"Don't drink that water, it's very dangerous!"
A hoarse warning came. The dune slope bulged, and a person emerged from beneath the sand.
When the ninth amniotic pod ripped through the Warp and crashed onto the wasteland of Baal Secundus, a human tribe calling themselves the 'Blood' or the Folks of Pure Blood discovered the Primarch within the pod.
The Blood people were divided on how to deal with this infant.
Although the infant was exceptionally beautiful, he had a pair of pristine white wings on his back. Such an obvious mutated characteristic clearly indicated he was not a pure human.
After a long civil war on Baal Secundus, the survivors formed tribes, plundering each other for resources to ensure their survival in the harsh environment.
During the long period of mutual hostility, smaller tribes were gradually absorbed, eventually splitting into two major factions, the Blood and the Mutants, based on their culture and beliefs.
The Mutants, suffering from radiation, had mutated limbs due to genetic changes, and their mental state was extremely unstable, making them bloodthirsty, cruel, primitive, and savage.
The Blood, on the other hand, were pure humans who used residual technology to survive on Baal Secundus, resisting the invasion and plunder of the Mutants.
An infant with wings naturally drew the hostility of the Blood.
Ultimately, perhaps out of pity for the beautiful infant, the Blood hunting party brought the Primarch back to their tribe.
Sanguinius.
No one knew where this name came from, but the Blood people called the infant this, symbolizing pure blood, passionate exuberance, and pure wrath.
Sanguinius grew extremely fast, learned to soar with his wings, and also learned from the amniotic pod that he had at least eight brothers like himself.
He also took up a longsword and joined the war against the Mutants to protect his tribe.
Soon, a legend spread like wildfire across Baal Secundus: a warrior with pristine white wings, descended from the heavens like a god, fearless of radiation, and valiant in battle.
The god was pure and beautiful, extraordinarily powerful, and led the Blood to victory.
Such legends, just hearing them, filled people with longing.
Many immediately took action, gathering at the Blood tribe to behold the radiance of the angel.
Those who saw the angel marveled at the radiance and beauty he exuded, fell to their knees, and devoutly offered blessings and faith.
Sanguinius accepted everyone who sought refuge, leading his followers and believers to constantly campaign against the Mutant tribes, vowing to eliminate the threat.
The Blood and Mutants, who had been evenly matched with victories and losses on both sides, saw the balance of war completely shift with Sanguinius's arrival.
With a single diving attack, the angel decapitated dozens, even hundreds, of Mutants. His skill and strength were perfectly integrated, and his soaring posture boosted morale.
In just a few years, Sanguinius led the Blood tribe to completely clear out the Mutants and unify Baal Secundus.
People loved and revered the angel, gathering around him to celebrate the great victory.
Faith rode the winds of victory, and the angel's grandeur and power spread throughout the world, with more and more people believing in him.
Regarding faith, Sanguinius was very worried.
He was born with a unique ability—precognition.
This talent allowed him to foresee opportunities, leading him to victory after victory, bringing all of Baal Secundus under his command.
But only he knew that after completely unifying Baal Secundus, the Emperor would arrive in a battleship of steel to take him back to the Imperium of Man.
In the Imperium of Man established by his father, faith and mutation were the two greatest taboos, and he possessed both!
The deep faith of the populace and his mutated pristine white wings would become direct evidence, inviting the judgment of the Imperium of Man.
In the the Blood tribe's palace, Sanguinius sat on a high platform. Amidst the praises, he opened his azure eyes, his gaze passing through the palace gates and falling upon the endless wasteland.
He slowly rose from his high seat, bade farewell to his believers and followers, and flew out of the palace, flapping his wings.
The prophecy told Sanguinius that the Human Emperor had arrived, and the Day of Judgment was at hand!
In the desert wasteland, Blazkowicz and the Emperor stood by the water, watching a man rise from the sand.
He was wearing a deep green radiation suit, a breathing mask, and held an automatic rifle tightly in his hands, his body trembling slightly.
Clearly, the man was intimidated by their tall stature.
Despite his trembling body, his shaky finger still pointed to the clear water in the depression and said, "That's 'Thirst Water'; it doesn't quench thirst, but instead drains the body's moisture."
It was evident that the man was kind-hearted by nature. His body instinctively feared, yet his good heart made him bravely step forward to warn them.
"There is no need to fear."
The Emperor slowly stood up, his movements as gentle and harmless as possible to avoid scaring the good-natured man.
Blazkowicz also took a step back, indicating he posed no threat.
They had both noticed the man hiding in the sand earlier and hadn't intended to bother him, but he unexpectedly revealed himself to warn them.
This was a genuine act of kindness, an incredibly precious gift in a galaxy full of suspicion and betrayal.
Indeed, seeing the strangers' displayed kindness and their polite demeanor, the man breathed a sigh of relief.
He slid down the sand dune to stand before the giants, his face hidden beneath his hood, and asked cautiously in a hoarse voice, "You don't seem to be locals."
"We are indeed not locals."
The Emperor's voice was calm, soothing the man's rapidly beating heart, and he explained their reason for coming: "We are here to find the Angel."
"The Angel?"
Upon hearing this name, the man took a step back, his relaxed emotions tensing up again. He gripped his hands, adjusting the muzzle of his automatic rifle for easy firing.
The man's attitude displeased the Emperor. His brownish-black face in the shadow of his hood grew even darker.
He was not angry out of rudeness, but because he saw the fervent fire of faith in the mortal's clouded eyes.
"Strangers."
The man lowered his body, slowly retreating into a combat stance, "Are you looking for the Angel for something?"
Clearly, the two men's immense size greatly intimidated the man, making him believe they posed a threat to the angel.
"I've come to find my son."
As the Emperor spoke, he slowly raised his head, his chin emerging from his hood. He raised a hand and pointed into the distance, telling the man, "He has already arrived."
The man suspected this was a feint, retreated several steps, and looked back hastily.
He saw only a dark silhouette at the edge of the dust, breaking through the air.
He fell to the ground in shock. The strangers said they came to find his son, but pointed to the approaching angel.
Blazkowicz stepped forward. His extraordinary vision had already spotted the angel, and he also saw the longsword clutched in the angel's hand.
Seeing his son's aggressive demeanor, the Emperor raised his hand and shot out a golden light, which formed a bubble that enveloped the mortal, slowly moving him above the Thirst Water.
He needed a simple test.
Sanguinius's golden brows furrowed tightly. The scene before him completely contradicted the prophecy.
The future foreseen by his psychic precognition should have only the Emperor here. Now, the situation was slightly off, with two extra people.
One was a Blood mortal, and the other stood behind the Emperor.
His gaze fixed on the unfamiliar, tall figure, and a violet flash appeared in his blue eyes as Sanguinius once again activated his precognitive ability, targeting that individual.
Then, the result of the prophecy made his heart tremble, and his expression gradually became solemn.
An endless darkness, with no past and no future, like a black hole devouring everything, silent and hollow, standing there quietly.
Sanguinius was very dissatisfied with this result. He immediately shifted his target and activated his precognition on the Emperor.
Only this time, the prophecy he received was no longer certain; the future was swallowed by the black hole, becoming ethereal and uncertain.
Sanguinius was somewhat flustered; since awakening his precognitive talent, such a situation had never occurred.
Before he could even think, the Emperor enveloped the mortal with his psychic power and threw him into the Thirst Water!
"No!!!!!"
With almost no time to think, Sanguinius roared, his wings beating, breaking the sound barrier. The sonic boom dispersed the dust, and he plunged down like a sharp arrow tearing through the air.
He disregarded his own safety, diving into the "Thirst Water" and pulling out the severely dehydrated mortal.
"Why?"
Sanguinius demanded angrily, his voice like the clear cry of a crane, his beautiful face filled with disbelief and pain.
"Father!"
He fell to his bare knees on the scorching sand, cradling the mortal in his arms, looking up at his father, pleading with the Emperor to quell his wrath:
"If I am guilty, I will accept your judgment. I beg you, do not take your anger out on mortals."
The Emperor removed his hood, no longer concealing his form, and a golden sun slowly rose. He was taller than ever before, looking down at his son kneeling on the ground.
The strong wind ceased, and the dust settled. Nature submitted before the Emperor.
Sanguinius looked up at his father. In that holy radiance was a man with brownish-black skin and black hair, sweat dripping from his cheeks, emitting a metallic scent.
Perhaps this description was inaccurate; though his shell was that of a man, in his golden eyes were the souls of women and children, youths and elders.
The Emperor was like an amalgamation, representing all people.
And beside the Emperor stood a silent man. Golden light slipped past him; he was the only one unaffected by the psychic power.
"The humanity within you saved this mortal."
The Emperor was expressionless, and he pointed a golden light into the mortal's body.
_______________________
My favoorite canon primarchs are Vulkan, Sanguinus and Ferrus, what are yours readers?