"Outsider, last warning. Take your monsters and leave our camp!"
The crowd surged around Caelan like a tide, led by an elderly man whose face was crisscrossed with scars.
They held makeshift weapons in their hands: rusted blades and spears, clubs studded with nails, crowbars, and crude firearms pieced together from scrap parts.
They were young and old, but every weathered face was etched with deep hostility and fear.
Caelan said, "You seem to be misunderstanding. You think I'm a refugee seeking shelter. I can explain."
A sturdy young man aggressively pointed his gun at Caelan. "Get off our land! You're not welcome here!"
Caelan restrained the restless infant on his right; the one on the left remained quietly watching.
Suddenly, the young man opposite them rose into the air, lifted by an invisible force.
Weightlessness made him kick his legs frantically; fear sharpened his voice to a high pitch.
"Put me down!"
"Mutant! What have you done to Gibson?"
Another young man had just raised his spiked club when he too was hoisted into the air like a ragdoll. His challenge instantly turned into a shriek of terror.
"Help! Save me! Help!"
No one could save him. Soon, cries and screams of alarm rose and fell throughout the camp.
Men and women were swept up like leaves in a gale, spinning helplessly ten meters in the air. Some desperately tried to grab their companions' ankles; most just flailed their limbs uselessly.
Cole's voice trembled. "I... I actually..."
"Do you also wish to dance?"
Cole swallowed the plea he hadn't uttered, suddenly grateful it was he who had gone to fetch Caelan.
To help The Blood better understand his friendliness, Caelan generously let them experience 'air arcobatics' for free, tossing them skyward intermittently and catching them just before they hit the ground, setting them down safely.
However, their legs were already jelly. They knelt on the ground like broken puppets, dry heaving. The entire camp was prostrate; some had even wet their pants.
"Do you understand what this is called?"
Cole asked nervously, "Wh-what?"
Caelan glanced at him. "I wasn't asking you."
Cole lowered his head sheepishly. Caelan looked down at the infants in his arms and admonished, "When language becomes a pale footnote, plain and unadorned violence is the most straightforward poetry."
Cole stole glances at the twins' overly focused expressions, inwardly skeptical. 'Could children this young really understand?'
They were mutants, but undeniably… beautiful.
"Cole, give me a hand."
Hearing the chieftain's hoarse call, Cole hurried over to help the scar-faced elder.
But when the stubborn old man finally shuffled before Caelan, his knees suddenly gave way, and he knelt before Caelan, his forehead hitting the sand heavily. "By the heavens above, you have finally descended!"
Instantly, the entire camp fell silent.
People stared blankly at their kneeling chieftain. Several women were the first to drop to their knees, and then others followed one by one, like wheat stalks cut down, prostrating themselves.
"Gods! Save us!" Tears streamed down the scar-faced elder's face. Baal Secundus once possessed a glorious civilization, but the civil wars of the Dark Age of Technology turned this paradise-like world into a wasteland choked with radioactive dust.
Human technological levels regressed drastically, from a new republic to a post apocalyptic.
As civilization declined, superstitious religious beliefs also revived.
And on Baal, in particular, an ancient and pure faith persisted to this day: the worship of angels.
Legend spoke of two angels on Baal: the Golden Angel and the Black Angel.
These two angels were locked in constant struggle, neither able to completely overcome the other.
The origins of this belief were long lost to time.
But evidence suggested that millions of years ago, when humanity was still a primitive society of hunter-gatherers on Terra, this faith had already spread across Baal and its moons.
At that time, Baal was ruled by some xenos race whose name hadn't even survived.
When human colonists set foot on Baal Primus and Baal Secundus, Caelan wasn't sure if the natives were scalped, but they were certainly "voluntary."
However, though the xenos were extinct, the belief in angels persisted to this day.
Because the angelic faith was rooted in Baal, independent of civilization.
Humans of the Dark Age of Technology scoffed at the angelic faith, but the mortals living in the wasteland of Baal Secundus clung to it as a lifeline.
Now, a "man" holding two winged infants, possessing divine power, stood before them. Who dared say he wasn't a god!
"Prepare a quiet room for me."
Caelan knew these people had unrealistic misunderstandings about him, but he had no mind to correct rights and wrongs now.
Only one thing filled his thoughts: he needed to figure out which one was Sanguinius, quickly!
.....
"Sit! No moving!"
Caelan gently placed the two infants on a soft cushion. But they immediately, like fledglings yearning for the nest, began stumblingly crawling back toward him.
Caelan had to darken his expression, putting on a stern face and scolding them.
This tactic worked. The twins stopped crawling forward, lying prone on the cushion, looking up at him with wide, round eyes.
Yet, within those two pairs of clear eyes, Caelan caught a flicker of...grievance.
Caelan's heart softened momentarily, but he instantly steeled himself with an internal warning.
'Fake. Don't believe it. Angels are masters at playing pitiful. When their scheming streak kicks in, there's nothing they won't say or do."'
'Don't get involved with them. Otherwise you'll end up thinking you wronged them.'
"Waaah."
The angel on the left suddenly burst into loud wails. Seeing this, the one on the right immediately followed suit. Two lines of glistening tears rolled down their cheeks as if by instinct.
"Waaah!"
"Waaah!"
The two little angels' cries rose and fell, as if engaged in a grand crying competition, neither willing to concede defeat.
Their vocal waves grew louder and louder, giving Caelan a splitting headache.
Though he had already taught seven Primarchs, possessing rich experience in instruction and training, confident he could handle any situation... this was one he truly hadn't encountered before!
"Cry, then. Cry away." Caelan's face was like ice, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "I'm going to have Angron copy this memory and share it for all the Primarchs to admire!"
"Cry all you want," Caelan his voice carrying a dangerous edge. "I'll have Angron copy this memory and share it with every Primarch."
The angel on the right abruptly stopped crying.
The left one, however, wailed even harder, so piercing that it dragged the right one back into the duet.
'No, I can't lose.'
"I'm serious!" Caelan threatened menacingly.
"WAAAH!"
The response was redoubled wailing. The twin angels kept upping the ante, raising the volume to an ear-piercing decibel.
Caelan retracted his past bold claims.
He was wrong. He didn't like teaching little children at all. What he liked were sensible children.
Primarchs were sensible. Children struggling for survival in harsh worlds matured exceptionally early.
But infants? No! Absolutely not!
Caelan had to resort to his ultimate move: "Whoever stops first gets carried!"
The little angel on the left seemed premeditated. The glistening tears stopped the instant Caelan finished speaking.
His snow-white wings snapped open, and he practically teleported into Caelan's arms, settling in comfortably.
The right angel was a half-beat too slow. Though he stopped sobbing, his little mouth still trembled, purple eyes brimming with tears. Who wouldn't say no that?
Caelan's heart softened.
He reached out.
The little angel's face instantly bloomed into a smile. He happily fluttered his wings and dove into Caelan's embrace.
Caelan looked down at the two little angels squirming and kicking each other in his arms. Though he intended to put them back on the cushion, he could only helplessly tighten his embrace in the end.
Better to give his ears a break.
Caelan lowered his head to gaze at the little angel on the left. "You knew what I was going to say all along, didn't you?"
The little angel lifted his porcelain-like face, long eyelashes fluttering. His golden eyes were filled with pure innocence.
"Look me in the eyes. Answer me."
Caelan pinched the angel's cheek with one hand. His stern tone wiped away the playfulness.
"Did you foresee the future?"
The angel bowed his head obediently and nodded.
Caelan turned to the right angel, gripping his chin. "And you? Can you see the future too? Don't lie to me."
The angel shook his head vigorously, curling up like a rain-soaked fledgling.
Caelan stared at the little angel on the left. "If you are Sanguinius..."
He slowly turned to the little angel on the right. "...then who are you?"
Caelan had a headache now.
Each Primarch inherited a certain aspect of the Emperor's nature. This aspect often manifested as an overwhelming trait within them, unrelated to the degree of their humanity.
Vulkan's humanity was abundant. His traits were protection and compassion, which aligned well.
Perturabo did not lack humanity, but his nature was twisted and self-consuming.
Sanguinius was born with a near-divine indifference. Yet this indifference was cleverly tempered by his cunning and inner scheming, giving him an almost mischievous elegance.
Caelan had leaned toward believing the left one was Sanguinius from the start. Now he was almost certain the left one was Sanguinius.
Prophetic ability, golden eyes, and this extraordinarily talented inner scheming, who else could it be but Sanguinius?
But the first one he found was the little angel on the right. And they looked exactly alike, only differing in eye and hair color: the left had golden eyes and golden hair, the right had purple eyes and silver hair. Even if he figured out who Sanguinius was now, who was the other little angel?
Could it be like Alpharius? Did the Golden Angel and Black Angel of Baal legend fuse into two separate Sanguiniuses?
Caelan stared at the now-quiet little angels in his arms, brow furrowed.
"Do I really have to name you Sanguino?" Caelan murmured to himself.
Reason told him this was likely an elaborate trap. But Caelan couldn't just strangle him, could he? What if the trap's purpose was to make Caelan strangle him with his own hands?
What if Caelan was wrong, and the right one was actually Sanguinius?
Though the probability was low, personality and appearance could be faked, but Warp essence wouldn't lie.
Moreover, Caelan couldn't bring himself to do it.
Unless there was conclusive evidence proving he was a monster like Erebus.
"Tell me who you are," Caelan whispered, his voice a mix of helplessness. "Otherwise, I'll have to name you Sanguino."
The little angel on the right opened his wet, purple eyes, tilting his head slightly. His wings unconsciously folded and unfurled, as if pondering the question.
But he was just born! How could he know who he was?
What was his name? What should his name be?
Sanguinio sounded nice, but his brother was Sanguinius. That made Sanguino sound like an accessory. He didn't like that.
But how could he make their father change the name?
The little angel suddenly extended a chubby hand, gently grasping Caelan's index finger.
The moment Caelan looked down, the weight in his arms suddenly lightened.
The little angel on the right vanished into thin air, replaced by a shimmering, flickering light.
The light flowed like liquid gold, yet also flickered restlessly like collapsing nebulae.
The little angel on the left tilted his head, golden eyes swirling with confusion.
How had his brother become like this?
But the light quickly reshaped itself into the form of the little angel on the left, almost identical to him.
And it connected Caelan's and Sanguinius's minds.
....
BOOM!
"Run, Thulea! Run!"
Colin grabbed his wife's arm, pulling her as they stumbled toward the abandoned factory.
Surax ran even faster than them. When they finally rushed into the abandoned factory, they worked together to shut the heavy door, leaving the storm to rage outside.
The three of them slid down the mottled concrete wall, backs against it. Colin could feel his wife trembling violently in his embrace.
Surax removed his mask, a pale, relieved grin appearing on his face.
"Bloody hell!" Surax spat fiercely. "For legends even children don't believe anymore, we almost died out there!"
Colin silently held his shivering wife tighter. He understood his companion's anger.
Chemos was terrible.
Chemos had two suns, but its outer atmosphere was shrouded in a dust cloud.
Thus, Chemos had neither day nor night, only eternal gray twilight. Stars never shone. Chemos lacked food, water, and all essentials for survival. Its inhabitants had to work day after day in recycling factories, extracting moisture from the thin air, deriving food from yesterday's waste to sustain today's existence.
No entertainment, no art, no leisure. They had to maintain high efficiency to earn meager rations and avoid starvation.
Colin and the others were on duty.
Not long ago, a meteorite had struck not far outside the walls of Kalek Fortress.
The Administrators had sent Colin's team of three to investigate the impact site, hoping to find evidence of human survivors from other worlds.
They believed it wasn't a meteorite, but a ship or satellite.
Every child on Chemos knew the legend. They were once star miners, trading metal for food from other worlds. Until one day, all the star gates suddenly went dark, like snuffed candles.
In the beginning, many died. Many factories were forced to shut down.
Only the essential recycling factories kept running. Those who controlled these factories became the rulers of Chemos, the Executive Board.
"Surax, save your breath. Complaining won't help. We'll set out once the storm ends."
If they failed the Executive Board's task, all three would face severe punishment.
The moment the storm subsided, the three immediately set off.
On Chemos, a barren wasteland where even waste was recycled, there were almost no threats in the wild.
They followed the planned route. Before long, the pure white incubation pod came into view.
The wreckage, still emitting wisps of heat, lay quietly in the center of the impact crater. And inside that incubation pod, they saw a shimmering, flickering light.
"Colin, what is that?" Thulea sounded scared.
"I don't know. But maybe it really is the legendary alien life." Colin kept his voice low, afraid of disturbing the light. "You two stay here. I'll go down and look."
Colin searched along the crater rim for a safe path down. But the moment he prepared to descend, a cold metallic edge suddenly pressed against his carotid artery.
"Mon-keigh, that is not for your kind." A man looked down on him disdainfully.
Cold sweat broke out all over Colin. His wife and Surax were each held by a tall, slender, pointy-eared being. More of them stood around the crater's edge.
'Who were they? Where did they come from?'
"Roderick, stop dawdling. The Farseer's orders are to bring it back intact!"
"And these mon-keigh?"
Colin heard the one holding him ask.
"Kill them. No witnesses."
Before the man's command fully landed, blood already drenched Colin's clothes like ink He raised a hand in bewilderement, fingertips touching the sticky warmth on his cheek.
Dozens of graceful, pointy-eared female beings ghosted into the fray. Their movements were precise as machinery. Every flash of cold light was accompanied by a spray of blood from a slit throat. They slaughtered the pointy-eared male beings with an efficiency far beyond Colin's expectations.
'Was this infighting?'
Colin was utterly stunned, completely unable to comprehend what was happening.
"You? It's you?" The last survivor pressed his back against the wall, his pupils shrank.
"Impossible! How could you have escaped? You should have died long ago!"
The female walked cassually. Amid the man's hysterical laughter, she effortlessly slit his throat.
"That is not for your kind," the pointy-eared female's voice was ethereally melodious like crystal wind chimes, blood dripping from her fingers.
Colin stood still on the spot. 'Are we saved? Or are we about to die?''
The woman didn't even look at him directly.
She glanced sideways and said, "Leave, mortal."
.....
15 chapter ahead in [email protected]/DaoistJinzu