Chapter 111 - Be Worthy of the Blood of Sanguinius!
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"The last time you walked with me to meet a Legion, it was still your Mournival at your side."
Inside the Thunderhawk, Sanguinius looked across at Horus. Beside the Great Angel sat his own sons.
Yor and the other Blood Knights kept their hands locked around their weapon hilts, eyes fixed on the bald giant opposite them.
Horus paid their hostility no mind. If anything, he welcomed it, without that wariness pressing against him, pride and old glory might tempt him to forget what his fallen self had done.
"Yes. I remember." Horus's eyes filled with quiet nostalgia.
"Sejanus was still alive then."
"You stayed with my Luna Wolves for a time. You spoiled my cubs rotten. They never dared step out of line in front of me — but with you, they ran wild."
"Especially Ezekyle. He used your favor like a shield. Defied me whenever he could."
When Abaddon's name passed his lips, a flicker of sorrow crossed Horus's eyes. It was gone almost before it arrived.
Sanguinius caught it. He smiled.
"At least you still have Loken now. He's your favorite son these days, isn't he?"
"He is. Because, unlike you, Loken is the only son I have left. While you, my brother, you have a great many sons still waiting for you."
As he spoke, Horus glanced toward the Blood Knights' Chapter Master and the corner of his mouth twitched.
That smile sent a strange murmur through Yor and the others. So this was what the arch-traitor Horus had been like, before the fall. This warm, regal figure. This.
The Great Angel read his sons' faces and spoke.
"Don't be afraid. Don't be tense. This is my brother, Horus Lupercal. The thing you knew was a fallen puppet, worked by Chaos's hands."
"I know, my lord. But we—"
Yor began to explain, then stopped. His Gene-Sire was smiling at him, and the unease in his chest eased on its own.
"I know."
Sanguinius spoke softly. His hand came up to brush gently against his son's cheek.
"This cannot be undone in a single moment. Ten thousand years is too long, my children. Matter and mind both, given enough time, they harden, and what hardens is not easily reshaped."
"But I have returned. You do not have to carry this pain alone anymore. If your heart troubles you, come and speak with me. Do you understand?"
The tenderness in his voice reached somewhere beneath the skin. Yor and the others trembled. They held their tears in by force, like stubborn children who refused to weep in front of their parents.
Sanguinius turned back to Horus.
"Tarik once told me you prepared a long speech before meeting your Legion. Brotherhood. Duty. Responsibility. You hit every note. He said the words went straight into their hearts."
Tarik. That humorous Tarik, who always brought laughter to him and to the Legion.
Thinking of that son, Horus felt something hollow open in his chest.
"That was a long time ago. I was afraid of meeting my sons then, and the speech showed it." Horus folded his arms, lost for a moment in something gentler than memory.
"Then have you prepared one for your new sons?"
Sanguinius arched a brow.
"Rebuilding the Legion, no, that isn't—"
"Brother, I can feel what you are thinking. Don't shy from it. I know you. Part of you longs for the glory of the Legion years. And part of you sees the present clearly, perhaps only by restoring each of us to Legion-scale strength can we move our forces effectively and strike our enemies where it hurts. Is that not so?"
Horus drew a long breath.
Yes. The thought was there. To let the old glory of the Luna Wolves shine once more across the Imperium, ten thousand years on.
But after everything he had done, did he have the right?
"Let Roboute decide that. I'm no Legion Master now. No Warmaster."
The Lupercal answered with a smile and shifted the subject.
"You should be thinking about how you'll meet your own sons."
"I already have."
The Great Angel's reply was simple.
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The Primarchs' transport set down on Baal Prime at midday.
The sunlight was beautiful.
Watching the landscape pass beyond the window, Sanguinius thought of how different the weather had been 10,000 years ago, when he had first stood before his Legion. That day had been grey and lashed with rain.
The Thunderhawk descended slowly.
Sanguinius stepped out into the sun, his Blood Knights at his back. Horus did not follow. He stayed inside the transport.
The Great Angel understood. His brother was sparing this moment of any awkwardness, and for that he was sincerely grateful.
Before him, the Blood Chapters stood arrayed in solemn ranks.
The squares were not whole. The Defense of Baal had cost them too many brothers, and the formations showed the gaps. But every chapter banner snapped in the wind. Every chest was lifted. Every gaze burned. And when their Gene-Sire stood before them in the flesh, some of them shook so hard with weeping they could not hide it.
None wore helmets. Every face had been sculpted and shaped into the likeness of the father they had never met, Sanguinius himself.
For a moment Sanguinius felt the world tilt. He could almost see the phantom Legion from 10,000 years past, standing in the downpour. Then the moment passed. The old Legion was gone. What stood before him now were his sons of this age, the inheritors of that lost blood.
War had carved them deep. But they were him. Living, breathing, exact.
At the head of them stood a warrior in golden armor, a face wrought of his own likeness hung at the man's waist. The aged features beneath the helm-mask froze Sanguinius for an instant, then he understood.
The current Chapter Master of the Blood Angels. Supreme commander of the Defense of Baal.
Luis Dante.
Looking upon his living Gene-Sire, Dante felt fear move through him. He was not alone in it. Every one of Sanguinius's sons was afraid, afraid they had not measured up, afraid that they had nearly let Baal fall.
But the Great Angel gave their fear no purchase. He simply walked to Dante and spoke. His voice was soft, gentle and firm at once, and pitched so that all those around could hear.
"What is your name?"
"Luis Dante."
"Thank you." Sanguinius turned to the next.
"And you. Your name?"
"Gabriel Seth, my lord — Chapter Master Seth of the Flesh Tearers!"
"Thank you. And you?"
So it went. Before long, he stopped going down the line. He let his sons break ranks and come forward in groups, surging toward him.
Each time one of his blood called out a name, Sanguinius's eyes found him. Driven by the rush of it, more and more cried out who they were.
And Sanguinius took every name into his heart.
These were his first children after 10,000 years. He would remember every one of them. To the death. Without fail.
When the rush ended and silence finally settled over the gathering, none of them were afraid any longer. They were waiting.
They wondered too why their Gene-Sire had asked for their names, just as those phantom predecessors had wondered, in the Great Crusade's first days.
Sanguinius smiled. The scene was almost a reprise.
He clenched his fist and pressed it gently to his chest. A salute, given to his sons.
"You have told me your names. The truth is, I do not yet know this Imperium of 10,000 years hence, nor all that has befallen you. But I have heard of you from others. You are loyal. You keep your oaths. And yes, you have also made mistakes."
At those words, many of the Blood Sons lowered their heads. They knew what their Gene-Sire meant. The thirst. The flesh-taking. The line they had crossed.
"Lift your heads, my children."
"When we err, we must face it. We must mend it. I will not blame you. To have held your loyalty through an age such as this is already a rare and difficult thing. That is the past. We have a chance now to step back from the edge. So hear my first command, be united again. We shall fight as one bloodline."
"Do not swear oaths to me."
"Do not make promises to me. Do not pledge fealty to me only because my blood runs in your veins."
Sanguinius laughed, and the sound was like something out of heaven.
"In truth, you owe me no fealty. You have already proven, in my absence, that you were enough."
The Primarch drew his sword. And then, before his sons' shock and dawning horror, he sank to one knee.
The Great Angel bowed his head.
"Let me, instead, offer my loyalty to you. As a ghost long dead these 10,000 years, as a faithful son of the Emperor now returned, I pledge myself to you. I swear it, here and now, I am Sanguinius, Gene-Sire of the Ninth Legion, father of your Chapters."
"I shall stand in glory beside you, or fall with you into the dark in disgrace."
"I ask only that you let me fight at your side. If you refuse me, I will still watch over you. Still protect you. If you accept me, then together we will write what comes next."
The dam in every Blood Son broke.
"Honor the Blood of Sanguinius."
Someone shouted it. No one knew who.
That single cry caught like wildfire across dry grass, lighting every heart it touched.
Everything they had held back came loose at once.
Solemn faces ran with tears.
"HONOR THE BLOOD OF SANGUINIUS!"
They roared it as one, and the cry rang up into the sky of Baal.
➤ Next: News of Sevatar
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