It turned out that as a qualified Daemon Primarch, Magnus' intuition was highly accurate.
Of course, he would rather not have this kind of accuracy sometimes.
Because—
Boom!
Accompanied by the air-ripping roar of the Spear of Telesto echoing across the scorched earth of Cadia, Magnus stumbled backward.
His massive body was completely unable to parry under Sanguinius's continuous onslaught, each block appearing strained and wretched. Magnus, who was never skilled in close-quarters combat, had exposed such a massive flaw in this righteous two-on-one assault!
Sanguinius naturally would not let this opportunity slip away.
The Spear of Telesto spun in his hand, its tip carving a crimson trajectory through the air, like a venomous snake striking precisely at its prey's heart. The spear, looking as though it were forged from condensed blood, pierced straight through Magnus's chest, its tip protruding from his back and dragging out a cloud of dark red blood mist.
The immense force was more than the Daemon Primarch could bear; his single eye widened fully, and his mouth fell open, yet he could make no sound.
"You—"
Magnus's form was forced to stumble backward.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, Sanguinius's other hand was not idle either.
Angron's massive axe came cleaving down, carrying the weight of ten thousand tons. The blood-red light dragged a terrifying arc through the air, compressing the atmosphere before the blade into a visible white wave of pressure.
Yet, Sanguinius's expression did not alter in the slightest.
His Blade Encarmine traced a perfect arc. With a speed and technique so exquisite that even a Primarch would praise it, he cut into the weakest point of the axe's momentum, lightly deflecting the menacing weapon aside.
Angron's posture shifted slightly off-balance from the deflection.
Within this window, which lasted less than a blink of an eye, Sanguinius took a step forward.
The scorched earth shattered beneath his feet, cracks spreading outward like a spiderweb. His form resembled a bolt of white lightning, and the Blade Encarmine vanished abruptly into thin air.
The next second, a massive scar appeared on Angron's chest.
The scar extended all the way from his left shoulder to his right abdomen, nearly ripping his entire torso open. Dark red blood surged from the wound like magma erupting from fissures in the earth's crust.
But it was not over yet.
With a casual gesture, Sanguinius summoned his weapon.
The Spear of Telesto that had pierced Magnus's chest returned abruptly to his hand, as if answering a call.
Then, Sanguinius thrust it forward with tremendous force.
The spear tip impaled Angron's chest. The immense impact sent Angron sliding backward dozens of meters, his feet carving two deep trenches into the ground.
"Roar—!"
Even for a Daemon Primarch renowned for combat, Angron could not endure such catastrophic damage, and he roared in fury!
Rage.
Murderous intent.
Frantic emotions surged like a tsunami within Angron's heart. The Butcher's Nails throbbed madly deep inside his skull, throwing his already shattered thoughts into deeper chaos.
Only a single directive remained in Angron's consciousness.
—Kill!
Then, swinging his massive axe, he charged head-on at Sanguinius!
This strike gathered the entirety of his rage and strength.
Sanguinius raised the Spear of Telesto to parry.
Boom!
The moment the weapons clashed, a shockwave rippled outward, overturning everything within a radius of hundreds of meters.
Yet during this brief entanglement, Angron did something unexpected.
He did not continue the assault.
Instead, he stamped his foot and snapped his wings.
The crimson bat wings behind his back flared open violently, the massive pinions beating the air and whipping up a scorching hurricane. Then, the Daemon Primarch's massive body plunged toward the active battlefield below like a meteor!
Clearly, he intended to repeat his old trick!
During the Horus Heresy, Angron had used this exact tactic.
Back then, he fought Sanguinius before the Imperial Palace on Terra. Sanguinius had used his pristine white wings to dance through the air, moving with a flexibility that made him impossible to capture, keeping Angron completely suppressed.
But later, once Angron began slaughtering the genetic sons Sanguinius had left on the ground, Sanguinius was forced to descend and face him head-on.
In that battle, Angron had nearly killed Sanguinius.
And now, ten thousand years later, on this scorched earth of Cadia.
He was going to use the same trick again!
However, just at that moment, Angron looked up.
A spear that seemed stained with blood appeared in his vision out of nowhere.
"Where do you think you are going, my brother?"
Sanguinius's voice echoed in his ear.
The tone was gentle and composed, even carrying a hint of a relaxed smile.
Yet, Angron heard a bone-chilling coldness within that voice.
"Did you truly believe the same tactic would work on me a second time?"
Boom!
The sound of an explosion resonated through heaven and earth.
Angron did not even see how the spear strike had descended. He only knew that a heart-wrenching pain shot through his knee, and his form stumbled forward unevenly.
The Spear of Telesto had shattered his entire knee.
Angron's massive body lost its balance, and he dropped to one knee upon the ground.
He tried to stand up.
But the knee was completely pulverized, unable to support his weight.
And Sanguinius already stood before him.
Within Angron's mind, frantic killing intent and rage boiled.
But right then.
He felt a gentle warmth touch his forehead.
It felt like a broad palm, lightly placed upon his head.
"Calm yourself, my brother."
Sanguinius's voice drifted down from above.
Angron looked up and met Sanguinius's eyes.
Sanguinius smiled gently.
His posture was so composed, as if this were not a battlefield of life-and-death struggle, but rather a banquet where genetic brothers conversed with one another.
"Speaking of repeating old tricks—"
Sanguinius's voice was very soft.
"Then this move is naturally deeply memorable to us, is it not?"
The next instant, his palm suddenly exerted force!
"Ahhhhhhh—!"
Angron unleashed a wretched scream unlike any he had uttered before.
Immense agony transmitted from deep within Angron's skull to every inch of his body's nerves. He felt the thing atop his head—the Butcher's Nails, the object that had brought him ten thousand years of torment—being pulled outward by a colossal force.
Then, it was violently wrenched free!
Crack.
The Butcher's Nails were pulled completely out of Angron's skull.
The tendrils that had burrowed deep into his brain were extracted one by one, bringing away fragments of flesh and bone. Dark red blood surged from his forehead.
Angron's body trembled violently. The immense pain forced his hands against the ground, his nails embedding deeply into the scorched earth.
Yet, amid this agony, something became clearer than the pain itself.
It was—sanity.
The eternal fires of rage dissipated. His consciousness, his shattered consciousness, finally pieced itself back together after experiencing a full ten thousand years of madness.
He remembered things.
He remembered his homeworld of Nuceria. He remembered the gladiators. He remembered the brothers and sisters who had fought alongside him.
He remembered his genetic sons. The World Eaters, the warriors who had followed him onto the path of rebellion. Their madness, their pain, their fates twisted by the Butcher's Nails—all of it was because of him.
Because of him, a failed Primarch.
Angron looked up, staring at Sanguinius.
"Kill me," he murmured to himself.
Sanguinius looked down at him.
Within those pale gold eyes, the look of sorrow and pity deepened.
"Very well," he said calmly, tightening his grip on the Blade Encarmine.
The edge of the blade gleamed beneath the sunlight.
But clearly, something moved faster than the reaction of a Primarch!
"No, you slave master! I hate you!"
Angron suddenly unleashed a violent roar!
His body began to fracture.
Countless weapons grew out from his chest. Axe blades, sword points, spearheads—weapons of various shapes erupted from beneath every inch of his skin, tearing his flesh apart. Those weapons burned with brass-colored flames; it was the wrath of Khorne.
Even though Sanguinius's reaction was swift enough, and the Blade Encarmine descended abruptly, it was still a step too late.
His blade could only pointlessly pierce through the already shattered remnant of the Daemon Primarch.
Angron's body broke apart under the effect of those weapons. The flesh that had once belonged to a Primarch scattered into the air, falling onto the scorched earth of Cadia and turning into wisps of dark red smoke.
Khorne's handiwork—
I was a step too slow—
Sanguinius silently retrieved his weapon.
He looked down at the ruined traces on the ground.
Sanguinius's face grew sorrowful and solemn. He felt anger on behalf of his brother's tragic fate.
This anger surged within his heart, slowly yet uncontrollably spreading outward.
Since his resurrection, this was the first time Sanguinius had felt such an emotion.
Up until now, he had kept all emotions firmly under control. He remained the most flawless Angel among the Primarchs, an impeccable and holy existence. Whether before Guilliman, before his Father, or before Adam, he had always maintained his proper composure.
After all, the current state of the Imperium could be described as thriving.
Everything was improving.
The changes brought by the mysterious individual named Adam were highly visible to Sanguinius. New technologies were restored, new systems implemented, and a renewed hope ignited in the hearts of people who had despaired for millennia.
Furthermore, under the influence of his prophetic abilities, he could see many details difficult for ordinary people to perceive—one glorious future after another unfolded before his eyes. Humanity would ultimately defeat Chaos, the galaxy would return to order, and the pain, sorrow, and despair would eventually be replaced by hope.
Those futures were real.
He could see them all.
However.
At the thought that within this future, there were still entities wishing to cruelly tear away that glorious prospect, and malevolent gods still peering at this reborn Imperium and rising species—Sanguinius felt an emotion surge within his chest.
Then, he heard something.
"Hahahahaha! My sorcery is complete!"
An excited, wild shout echoed between heaven and earth.
The sound traveled across an immense distance, causing even the Astartes engaged in fierce combat on both sides to look up toward the direction of the voice.
Then they saw a giant, resembling an Emperor-class Titan, stand up.
His body truly connected heaven and earth, his entire form gleaming with the brilliance of Chaos psychic energy, with countless Chaos runes constantly fluctuating across his frame. The silhouette of the giant could just barely be recognized as Magnus's appearance.
He had magnified his body through psychic power, gaining unparalleled strength from it.
This was Magnus's signature spell. Whether during the Great Crusade or during the Burning of Prospero, he had utilized this move. It simply required a bit of preparation time.
And now, he was fully prepared.
Magnus's single eye flashed with excitement.
He felt the psychic power surging within his body, a strength sufficient to contend with any existence. His staff was held horizontally in his hand, the psychic brilliance at its tip like a second sun, illuminating the eternal dark clouds hanging over Cadia.
Then, Magnus directed his excited gaze toward Sanguinius.
And he found that the other party had also cast his gaze back.
Magnus froze.
What was that?
Those pale gold eyes remained calm, but beneath that composure, something was burning.
It was fury.
That fury made Sanguinius' aura thoroughly breathtaking.
Magnus swallowed hard.
Even though he had already deployed the most pride-inducing sorcery of his life, he still felt an intimidating pressure.
An uncontrollable thought surfaced in Magnus's mind.
Brother, can we reconcile?
Sanguinius slowly lifted his head.
The movement was neither hurried nor slow, as if all the clamor of the battlefield had nothing to do with him. He merely stared at the colossal entity; before this massive disparity in size, even a Primarch appeared significantly smaller.
Yet Sanguinius's expression remained unchanged and calm. He did not say anything extra, merely drawing the Blade Encarmine slowly.
Then, the pair of pure white wings flared open behind his back, their wingspan far exceeding ordinary imagination, looking as though they would blot out the entire sky.
The battlefield fell silent at some unknown point.
The Astartes fighting to the death, whether Blood Angels or World Eaters, involuntarily halted their weapons. They raised their heads, looking at the figure slowly ascending into the sky.
Sanguinius flew upward, his movements composed and solemn, a brilliant and endless light radiating from his entire form, like an angel descending from a divine realm.
No.
It should be said that angels resembled Sanguinius.
Upon the battlefield, every Astartes who gazed at this light felt an indescribable sensation rise in their heart—as if witnessing hope, as if witnessing salvation, as if witnessing an existence that transcended everything.
Magnus's massive body actually appeared somewhat dim under the illumination of this light.
"You—"
He could not help but take a few steps back.
At this moment, Sanguinius spoke, his voice calm and collected.
"This is a rare opportunity, Magnus."
He paused before continuing.
"So now, I shall demonstrate to you just how worthless this new power you claim to have received from your Chaos masters truly is."
Sanguinius raised the Blade Encarmine, its edge pointing directly at the towering psychic giant.
"And exactly what precious things you have lost."