This was simply too absurd.
Mocked to his face by his own brother, Magnus—feeling like a complete clown for his prior actions and thoughts—tightened his grip on his staff.
Sothing was incredibly wrong.
His plan should have been perfect.
Every single step of that plan had been simulated and calculated countless tis. The trap that the Lord of Change himself had personally woven into Sanguinius's scattered soul fragnts was a subtle, hidden artifice that not even the Emperor Himself could have detected.
For such an anomaly to occur, soone had to have stepped in and ruined this perfect plan.
But who?
It was hardly a guessing ga.
Magnus's single eye narrowed slightly.
It could only be that so-called "Second Damned One."
Magnus had never faced that warp-stirring entity head-on, but judging by the intelligence gathered from various sources, he was indeed an opponent worthy of serious attention.
Yet, even so, this still defied Magnus's understanding of the universe.
He had ford his own hypotheses regarding the identity of the Second Damned One.
When it ca down to it, there were really only a few possibilities.
Either the False Emperor, requiring a new tool after ten thousand years, had drawn upon his past experiences in designing the Primarchs to engineer a Super-Primarch whose performance eclipsed that of all his older brothers.
While this theory disgusted him, logically, it wasn't impossible.
Or, it was so clueless minor Warp deity who, from the mont of its birth, had been hoodwinked by that arch-liar into working for the sake of his promised illusions.
But here lay the problem.
Tampering with Sanguinius's soul fragnts was a masterpiece executed by the Lord of Change himself.
How could it possibly be undone?
As one of the four sovereign powers of the Immaterium, the Lord of Change was, in Magnus's mind, the undisputed supre master in the domain of sorcery.
Bar none.
So, the question remained.
How exactly did this so-called Second Damned One manage to purge a trap set by the Lord of Change?
This question threatened to completely shatter Magnus's worldview.
Even when he had personally witnessed those six thousand Macragge's Honour-class vessels through his psychic perception, he hadn't felt this level of dread!
After all, he could rationalize the forr by comforting himself—it was rely one of the domains mastered by a minor Warp god.
That entity had personally slain Vashtorr, conquered the entire Adeptus chanicus, and proclaid himself the Omnissiah. This proved his domain lay in the realm of machinery, forging, and technology.
Staging such a massive spectacle was indeed shocking, but Magnus could begrudgingly internalize it as a rational outco.
However, when it ca to specialized expertise in psychic powers, Magnus absolutely could not let it slide.
He could not fathom how this had been achieved.
A trap from the Lord of Change was sothing that even a Daemon Primarch like himself could not parse or deconstruct.
Could it be that this fellow also held dominion over the domain of sorcery?
A Warp entity possessing simultaneous mastery over both machinery and psychic powers?
That was impossible.
It was entirely—
"You seem to be pondering so rather peculiar things, my brother."
That soft, lodious voice—which sounded utterly loathso to Magnus—echoed in his ears once more.
Magnus's train of thought was abruptly severed. His single eye snapped into focus, locking onto Sanguinius's pale-gold eyes.
A smile resurfaced on Sanguinius's face.
It was a warm and brilliant smile, identical to how he looked ten thousand years ago in the palaces of Terra, back when the brothers still stood shoulder to shoulder.
"Do you have any more tricks left?"
Sanguinius asked, his tone light and airy. "Because if not, I am coming over."
Not good!
Magnus's pupil contracted violently.
Only now did he realize a glaring fact.
In order to conduct the ritual at close range, he was currently standing far too close to Sanguinius—a figure renowned for his martial prowess even among the Primarchs!
"Wai—Wait a mont! Let tell you sothing!"
Sanguinius gave Magnus no ti to prepare.
With a snap of his wings, Sanguinius charged instantly!
His white pinions traced two near-perfect arcs through the air, compressing the surrounding atmosphere into visible shockwaves.
His speed was so imnse that the air itself beca a physical barrier, pressing against his body like deep-ocean currents before being rcilessly torn apart as he accelerated, and accelerated further!
Until his entire form transford into a crimson teor!
Fast!
Too fast!!
Sanguinius's charge was so rapid that not even the veterans of the Long War present could react!
Those Thousand Sons veterans, who had survived countless bloody conflicts and possessed transcendent perception granted by the blessings of Chaos, were frozen like insects trapped in amber.
In a span of ti asurable only in nanoseconds, Sanguinius plunged into the enemy host.
Wielding the Spear of Telesto in one hand and the Blade Encarmine in the other, his posture was so elegant it mirrored a graceful dance. Yet, the reality of this elegant display manifested as a visible storm of blood.
Heads and torrents of gore spun into the sky.
In less than a single breath, Sanguinius burst through the enemy ranks.
Behind him, the psykers of the Thousand Sons Legion collapsed one after another like a row of dominoes.
Their bodies retained their final living postures, but their heads had already rolled onto the scorched earth of Cadia. Their hollow eyes remained wide open, as if they died unable to comprehend what had just transpired.
So fast!
Forget the enemies he faced; even the Blood Angels standing behind him were montarily stunned by the sheer valor of their genetic father.
Among them, phiston's eyes were blank with bewildernt.
The Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels stood completely frozen in place.
He had already channeled his entire reservoir of psychic power, preparing to disrupt the Thousand Sons sorcerers. He had even braced himself to endure psychic backlash, fully prepared to burn his own soul to protect his gene-sire.
Yet, phiston hadn't even had the chance to react.
And the enemy hadn't reacted either.
It was already over.
At this mont, phiston realized sothing.
His genetic father's earlier words might have just been a polite formality.
Nothing more.
Right then, acting as Tzeentch's Chosen, Ahriman instinctively raised his hand, a dazzling flash of psychic energy igniting in his palm.
But before he could unleash it, he saw a spear seemingly drenched in blood expanding rapidly in his field of vision!
The Spear of Telesto!
That weapon of countless legends was thrusting toward him at a velocity that entirely defied Ahriman's comprehension.
Before the shriek of the spearhead tearing through the air could even reach his ears, the tip itself was already directly in front of his face.
Then, within a fraction of ti that even this legendary Astartes failed to process, a cascading wall of Chaos runes manifested before him.
Nine concentric circles, each ring composed of countless intricate glyphs, flickered with a sickly blue light. Interlocking with one another, they ford a psychic shield capable of deflecting a battleship's main battery.
The shield absorbed the blow, then shattered on the spot!
"I thought you weren't going to save him," Sanguinius said with an easy laugh, turning his gaze toward Magnus.
His tone was incredibly casual, as if the strike that could have slain Tzeentch's Chosen was rely a tentative greeting.
The tip of the Spear of Telesto traced a bloody arc through the air, and the fractured Chaos runes drifted around Sanguinius like ash scattered by the wind.
Magnus's face darkened.
The veins bulged on the hand gripping his staff.
Why hadn't he noticed in all their centuries past that this guy possessed such a venomous tongue?
As the main culprit behind the Rubric, Ahriman should have been exiled from the Legion by Magnus long ago.
That foolish sorcerer, that bastard who plunged the entire Legion into an eternal curse—Magnus's hatred for him had never waned.
It was only by Tzeentch's will that Ahriman was able to rally the forces of the Thousand Sons once more after ten thousand years and stand here.
But now, having his sore spot poked right to his face, Magnus—pushed to the brink of losing his composure—gnashed his teeth fiercely.
"Do it now!" he bellowed, his voice laced with unsuppressable fury. "What are you hesitating for?!"
Ahriman snapped out of his daze. The remaining handful of surviving Thousand Sons sorcerers finally recovered from their shock and began to channel their psychic energies once more.
Sanguinius moved again.
This ti, completely ignoring everything else around him, he lunged straight for the Daemon Primarch.
The two titans collided in an instant!
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