Upon the scorched earth of Cadia, a colossal roar reverberated through the heavens and the earth.
"Do not think you have won! Sanguinius!"
Magnus brandished his staff, every single strike carrying psychic power potent enough to tear reality asunder.
Supported by the energies of the Warp, his silhouette swelled until it practically blotted out the sky. As the psychic power around his body flared, the entire atmosphere seed to be whipped into a frenzy, ripping countless horrific fissures into the eternal shroud of dark clouds looming over Cadia.
The weapons of both sides clashed.
The mont the Spear of Telesto collided with Magnus's staff, the resulting detonation of sound and shockwaves made it completely impossible for the Blood Angels—desperate to aid their lord—to even draw near.
They could not join.
The battle between these two Primarchs had entirely transcended the boundaries of what an ordinary Astartes could intervene in.
Though the spectacle was grand and majestic, resembling two deities locked in mortal combat between heaven and earth, Magnus alone knew the truth in his heart.
He was the one on the back foot.
anwhile, his opponent was handling him with absolute ease!
"What is the matter? Getting desperate?" Sanguinius smiled.
His wings beat in rapid succession as he danced through the air with unbelievable speed and agility.
The pure white pinions traced flawless curves with every stroke, the edges of those feathers gleaming with a faint golden luster, looking for all the world like an angel descending upon the mortal realm.
His spearpoint transford into two ceaselessly churning tides.
The Spear of Telesto thrust out, retracted, and thrust out again. Every single attack landed precisely at the mont Magnus's defense was at its weakest. anwhile, the Blade Encarmine traced lethal arcs in his other hand, sealing away every possible path of retreat for the Daemon Primarch.
Wave after wave.
Each cresting higher than the last.
Magnus was driven back step by step.
His massive fra appeared clumsy and sluggish in the face of Sanguinius's continuous onslaught.
asured by normal standards of ti, the combat between the two had lasted no more than seven seconds.
Yet within these brief seven seconds, Magnus already felt as though a part of him had died.
This guy was strong enough to make one suffocate!
To put it without a shred of exaggeration, this was absolutely not the normal power level of a Primarch!
Magnus was beginning to question his very existence.
His single eye widened into a perfect circle, a barely perceptible tremor of doubt flickering deep within his pupil.
Unless soone—
"If you have any other tricks up your sleeve, you had better bring them out quickly," Sanguinius laughed easily.
During a brief interval where he forced Magnus back, Sanguinius even turned his body slightly to glance back at the external battlefield.
With just a single glance, he read the entire trajectory of the engagent.
With a casual flick of his wrist behind him, the Spear of Telesto left his hand, transforming into a bolt of crimson lightning that skewered three Thousand Sons sorcerers attempting a sneak attack, pinning their corpses to the ground.
Then, with a casual wave of his hand, the spear flew right back into his grasp.
The entire sequence of movents flowed like water, as natural as breathing.
And during this window of ti, Magnus, who was facing him head-on, failed to seize this "opening" to launch a counterattack.
"You didn't actually think I lacked a backup plan, did you?"
Magnus's teeth ground together with a clicking sound.
A flash of sheer ruthlessness crossed his single eye.
As Primarchs, they all possessed their own pride, to the extent that they believed being conceited didn't matter much.
They often deed themselves the most special, the ones most favored by their Father, and the finest existences among their brothers.
Magnus had once held that very sa pride.
He had always believed he could resolve all of this entirely on his own. But evidently, as much as he loathed to admit it, Magnus had now lost control over the situation.
At this very mont, he absolutely had to summon his ally.
Sanguinius swept his gaze across his surroundings.
Under the influence of a Primarch's vastly superior neural reflexes, everything appeared as sluggish as insects trapped in amber.
And within this dilated span of ti, he spotted a massive axe spinning end over end, hurtling toward him at extre speed!
The axe was utterly colossal and drenched in fresh blood. The axe head was adorned with brass skull icons, and within the eye sockets of each skull burned an unquenchable fire of fury.
It spun as it flew, looking as though it had been hurled from the very heart of the deepest conflict, dragging a scarlet wake through the air.
"I see."
Beholding this unmistakable, iconic weapon, Sanguinius nodded in realization.
He already knew which familiar opponent he was about to face next.
Raising the Spear of Telesto, Sanguinius deflected the giant axe away with a gentle flick of the spear tip.
And at that exact instant, a sulfurous stench flooded his perception.
It was the distinct odor characteristic of Khorne's domain—
The heavy scent of scalding brass, boiling blood, charred bones, and the ceaseless fires of wrath.
A massive silhouette materialized beside Magnus.
It was just as colossal as the Daemon Primarch Magnus, but far more savage. Crimson skin was crisscrossed with a dense network of scars, each one exuding a dull red glow as if magma were flowing within the cracks.
He unfurled the massive, crimson, bat-like wings behind his back. The edges of the wings bore thick bony spurs, and every beat kicked up a scorching tempest.
"SAN! GUI! NI! US!"
The figure squeezed a low roar from his throat.
Then, he ca charging over, his speed just as absurdly fast as Sanguinius's.
"I am right here. Why are you shouting so loudly?" Sanguinius replied casually as he set the Spear of Telesto into motion.
The thick shaft of the spear felt weightless in his hands. The spearhead traced a brilliant crimson arc before him, kicking up a gale violent enough to overturn everything.
Driven back several paces by the tempest, Magnus was forced to raise his staff in a guard.
Sanguinius utilized this brief window to lift his gaze, taking a proper, serious look at the newcor.
That face.
That brow transfixed by the Butcher's Nails.
Those facial features completely warped by eternal fury.
"Long ti no see, Angron," Sanguinius offered a faint smile, his tone even carrying a hint of nostalgia.
"I didn't expect you to be here as well. What a surprise."
"SAN—GUI—NI—US!!!"
Devoid of even a shred of sanity.
The primary Daemon Primarch under Khorne's banner rely let out fractured roars.
The pupils of both his eyes had been entirely swallowed by a crimson glow. The muscles on his face twitched and contorted, saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Then, he ca thundering toward his nesis.
At the sa ti, a fresh force injected itself into the theater of war.
Surging forward like a crimson tide.
A blend of brass and crimson coalesced into a torrent, instantly crashing into the already precarious battlefield.
They poured out from all directions of the camp, charging out from the cracks of the ruins, erging with rabid bellows from deep within the torn earth—the World Eaters Legion.
These warriors, forever teetering on the brink of madness, held a variety of close-combat weapons. Their armor was completely caked in blood, making it impossible to distinguish the enemy's from their own.
They hacked and slashed their way into the Blood Angels' formations.
Without warning.
Without tactics.
And the Blood Angels did not hesitate for a second either.
The mont they saw the World Eaters plunge into the fray, the pupils of these Sons of Sanguinius contracted violently.
Their fury, at this very mont, was also ignited.
"By the Blood of Sanguinius!"
Battle cries rang out one after another.
The two Legions collided once more.
Different Astartes Legions had their own sworn neses.
The Thousand Sons and the Space Wolves. The Iron Hands and the Emperor's Children. The Iron Warriors and the Imperial Fists. The Ultramarines and the Word Bearers. The Dark Angels and the Fallen Angels (not quite)—
And if one were to discuss the traitor Legion that had been entangled with the Blood Angels the longest, it could naturally only be the World Eaters.
Ten thousand years ago, before the Imperial Palace of Terra, these two Legions had fought a bloody battle to the death.
Ten thousand years later, upon this scorched earth of Cadia, a fateful reunion played out once more.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Blood blossod.
The clashing of weapons was unceasing.
Sanguinius, however, flashed a radiant smile.
He pulled back his gaze, looking once more at the two Daemon Primarchs before him.
His expression remained just as relaxed, just as confident, as if the entities standing before him weren't two Primarchs who had ascended to daemonhood.
The white wings unfurled slowly behind his back, the edge of every feather catching a faint golden light. Those pale-gold eyes calmly regarded the enemies in front of him, a trace of anticipation even lingering deep within them.
As for the two Daemon Primarchs standing before Sanguinius, they did not feel as though victory was in their grasp at this mont.
Magnus, who had just been soundly thrashed, couldn't help but wonder—could this guy really pull off a one-versus-two?
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