Baal.
The clatter of weapons hitting the ground rang out in a continuous sequence. Every Blood Angel stood frozen in place, their eyes vacant, completely subrged in boundless confusion and shock. No matter how battle-hardened a warrior might be, they found themselves utterly lost in the face of a reality that would not even appear in their dreams.
They did not understand. They were confused. Their sanity trembled violently under an unprecedented impact.
The crimson sandstorms that had lingered over Baal for ages were now being smoothed and dispersed by an invisible, gentle force. The murky red mist receded like a tide, revealing a clear, azure sky. Above, Baal's two moons hung in the firmant, emitting a soft yet brilliant holy light, like the eyes of a deity looking down upon the earth.
This scene matched the apocalyptic visions recorded in the Blood Angels' religious texts regarding Sanguinius's descent, down to the last detail. In the past, such a phenonon would have caused every Blood Angel to rejoice, seeing it as a revelation sent by Sanguinius's soul. But at this mont, every Blood Angel ignored it.
Because a white light suddenly rose.
Wings of pure white grew from his back; his golden armor was engraved with the holy sigils of the Blood Angels. The golden mask he wore was sculpted with an expression of compassion, reminiscent of a heroic and fearless warrior.
The Sanguinor.
Throughout the ten thousand years of darkness, this legendary figure had appeared countless tis on the battlefields of the Blood Angels, guiding them to final victory. His appearance could ignite the fighting spirit of any Blood Angel, but right now, everyone just stared at him, speechless, as if waiting for sothing more.
The Sanguinor was nearly moved to tears. Even the golden mask could not hide his current state of ecstasy. He spoke:
"Ten thousand years later, today, he has returned!"
The genes deep within their blood were resonating. Every Blood Angel confird the truth of these words through that invisible bloodline connection. Yet they still did not react, only staring blankly at the figure behind the Sanguinor.
Everyone held their breath. It was a giant with a physique that seed to have descended from religious myths. Behind him, a pair of pure white wings—glory that defied the limits of mortal imagination—suddenly unfurled. Every feather was flawless, reflecting a soft silver glow under the light of the twin moons. He wore breathtaking golden armor and held the legendary blade of the Primarch—the Blade Encarmine.
Beneath countless flowing strands of golden hair was a perfect face that could entrance any Blood Angel witnessing this mont.
"Yes, my children." Sanguinius smiled as he looked at everything before him. The smile was like the first ray of dawn, dispelling the gloom that had shrouded Baal for ten thousand years. "I have returned."
Without a mont's hesitation, every Blood Angel who witnessed this scene knelt on the spot. They struck their breastplates with their fists, swearing imdiate fealty. Countless warriors had tears in their eyes; even the most iron-blooded, humorless veterans could not stop their bodies from trembling.
"How does it feel? The feeling of resurrection?" At this mont, Adam, walking beside Sanguinius in the form of an ordinary human, smiled at the holy Archangel. To be honest, he couldn't help but admire that face. He was the embodint of perfection. How can a person be this handso? Adam muttered to himself, recalling the recent operations.
It was actually quite simple. After collecting the soul fragnts, he used his reality-warping ability to nd the gaps and cracks. After repeated inspections, Adam used his power to transit through a wormhole directly to Baal. The Archangel thus reappeared in the world of n.
"Indeed, the feeling of being alive is quite good." The Archangel smiled as he walked toward his progeny. His gaze could pierce through the barrier of their armor to see the rising and falling emotions of his sons. Through the connection in their blood, he could easily perceive their expectations—their wills were as strong as steel, yet in so ways as fragile as porcelain.
Will we be recognized by our Gene-father? We failed to protect you... We have endured for too long in this dark millennium...
Sanguinius sighed softly in his heart. Ten thousand years ago, he had seen this heavy expectation. It felt burdenso, yet it was an unreserved honor. They were one; they would bathe in glory together and write the story of the future together.
Sanguinius's steps were steady and firm. He walked past the kneeling warriors. Ahead, several Death Company Astartes, who had stumbled out of their restraint devices, were standing frozen in place. The madness in their eyes had faded; the bloody hallucinations that had plagued them for so long lted away like snow under the sun the mont Sanguinius appeared. Their mories returned like a tide, and they opened their eyes to see the perfect Angel.
And so, they knelt on one knee together.
Sanguinius nodded slightly to them, his pace never faltering. He finally stopped at the very front of the Chapter's ranks, quietly watching the Blood Angel before him.
"Hello, my son. Can you tell your na?"
Dante, who had served as the Chapter Master of the Blood Angels for nearly a thousand years, fell silent. At this mont, his eyes filled with tears. Tears flowed down that weathered face like a dam bursting.
"Gene-father, my na is Dante. I... I..." Dante was stuck. He didn't know what to say at this mont.
"It's alright, my child. I know what you want to say." Sanguinius replied understandingly. He reached out and gently placed his hand on Dante's pauldron. "You have done well, my son."
After saying this, he looked up, surveying all the Blood Angels around him. His voice carried clearly into everyone's ears:
"As your Gene-father, I should not, and will not, bla you for anything. Your courage, your perseverance, and your loyalty have been proven countless tis during these long dark years."
"Now, please, with pride, tell your nas."
Sanguinius smiled, gently beckoning to all the Blood Angels. It was unclear who moved first. Eventually, all the Blood Angels scrambled to gather around him. They were cautious, as if this were an unreachable dream that would shatter at a touch.
Then, more and more warriors stood up. A tide of red armor closed in. They reached out, wanting to touch the holy wings, wanting to confirm that all of this was real. The voices announcing their nas grew higher and louder. The red tide converged, and all the emotions suppressed for ten thousand years poured out at this mont.
In a corner nearby, Adam watched it all. A smile appeared on his face. It had to be said—no matter how many tis one saw such a sight, it was heart-stirring enough.
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