Horus looked up in a daze of horror. Yes... why?
Almost the instant Sejanus finished speaking, Horus sensed a jarring dissonance. This dissonance was like a small crack in a dam; soon, a flood of doubt surged from that hole, tearing through the entire barrier and washing over Horus's heart.
However, before the tide of doubt could truly influence his mind, an even darker emotion welled up from the depths of his soul. That dark sentiment overwhelmed the doubt, transforming into rage, madness, and hysteria that blanketed his thoughts.
"You are betraying me!"
Horus let out a low growl. The fury of being betrayed overrode his suspicions regarding the Angel of Extermination, igniting into a raw, burning anger. It drove his weakened body to flip the table before him. He stood before Sejanus like a wild bear newly awoken from hibernation. The surroundings plunged into darkness, crimson light erupted from Horus's eyes, and every atom in the air seemed to scream in terror.
Fine beads of sweat broke out on Sejanus's forehead, but he did not retreat. "I am merely fulfilling the duty you once entrusted to me."
Sejanus spoke with a calm voice: "I have explored the regions of Terra accessible from this planet, and through them, I learned of the events following my death."
"Your rebellion, the fall of the Emperor, the blasphemous divinity within the Warp..."
"Father, you once said that we of the Mournival are all parts of your soul."
"Abaddon is your rage, Little Horus is your melancholy, Torgaddon is your passion, and I am your reason."
"Your reason is telling you now that you are likely walking a dark and mistaken path."
"I hope you will heed my counsel. If you cannot... then forgive me, for I must use more forceful means to calm you down."
Horus let out a roar. "Is your 'counsel' to poison me?"
The air vibrated with his fury. Had a mortal been standing there, that single roar would have been enough to rupture their organs.
"My apologies, but you are the Wolf God. I had to be fully prepared." Sejanus's hair was soaked with sweat. No one—not even Horus's own brothers—could face him without feeling dread. Sejanus still remembered fighting by Horus's side ten millennia ago; back then, he believed there was nothing in existence Horus could not conquer. His stride could crush stars, his will could grind continents, a wave of his hand could destroy a civilization, and a swing of his mace could fell a monarch. But only by truly becoming Horus's enemy did Sejanus understand just how terrifying such a fate was.
"THIS IS TREACHERY!!!!"
"I trusted you so! I yearned for our reunion, and what do you give me?"
"A cup of poisoned wine!!!"
Horus became a blur of pearl-white lightning, surging forward to strike Sejanus.
Sejanus slammed his hand down on the force-field generator hidden beneath the Golden Throne. This was the weapon of the former False Emperor, sharing an origin with the fields used by the Invisibles outside, but far more powerful. The fields the Invisibles possessed were mere crude imitations of this Dark Age of Technology relic.
A hum resonated as air was displaced by the field. Azure light pressed against Horus like the most violent hurricane of a gas giant. The tower floor shattered layer by layer under the pressure; the exquisite stained-glass windows disintegrated, falling in a rain of rainbow shards. Even space itself warped under the weight of the field. The distance between Horus and Sejanus, originally inches, was stretched immensely. Horus felt as though he stood at the base of a towering snow-capped mountain, facing only a freezing gale, while Sejanus sat upon the Golden Throne at the peak, looking down upon the Warmaster.
If Horus were at his peak, he would have torn through this field in a few steps, dragged Sejanus from that damned throne, and struck him down. But Basilio Fo's poison flowed through his veins. That genius bio-engineer, defeated by Horus, must have infused every drop of his hatred and intellect into that toxin just to destroy this Primarch body sculpted by the Emperor. Even an "experimental product" was so potent that it left Horus feeling an irrepressible weakness.
But...
The daemon-blade in Horus's hand let out a shrill hiss. Born from humanity's first murder, the sword screamed for Horus to wield it. As long as he swung this blade, there was no human Horus could not kill.
Swing! Murder!
Swing! Murder!
Swing! Murder!
Drach'nyen screamed, thirsting to drink Sejanus's blood. A father killing his son—it made the daemon-blade ecstatic.
No...
Horus gritted his teeth. Despite the dark rage in his heart, despite Drach'nyen's influence, he refused. Even at this moment, he was unwilling to kill Sejanus. He only wanted to subdue him, to grab him by the head and make him understand that he had not chosen the wrong path...
He would never kill Sejanus. Never.
A surge of power was forced out of his weakened body. He took a sudden, violent step forward, tearing a hole in the force field, and began walking slowly but resolutely toward Sejanus.
Sejanus's throat moved slightly. He had anticipated that Fo's toxin wouldn't keep the Wolf God weak forever—perhaps only for a very short time—but he hadn't expected it to be this short.
Sejanus's gaze darkened. He did not trust the strange Astartes following the Wolf God, nor did he trust the unknown entity posing as the Emperor. As for the Wolf God's current enemies... he naturally didn't trust Guilliman. The Lion might make things too chaotic. Of Alexander (Doraemon), Sejanus knew nothing. Only Sanguinius—above all else, only Sanguinius was trustworthy. Only he could calm the Wolf God and help Sejanus expose the lies deceiving him.
Sejanus made his decision. Though risky, he would send the coordinates of this tower to the Red Tear in orbit and summon Sanguinius to descend...
Angel clashed with Angel. Tyrell's eyes could barely track the combat; even the glimpses he caught were beyond his comprehension. The battle between Sanguinius and the brown-skinned Angel had transcended the descriptive capacity of human thought, entering a metaphysical realm. One moment they were like blood and fire colliding; the next, like a dying star roaring against a neutron star. They flickered between the ship's interior, the boundless vortex of the Warp, and the dawn of the stars. They interfered with each other's destinies, tangled their causalities, and finally collided through their very existences. Bursts of flame or lightning left flickering wounds upon the reality of the ship.
The Red Corsairs seized their opportunity. Using the breach in the Red Tear's armor, a Terminator squad teleported directly into the bridge. Mephiston's lips were white, his eyes deep and sunken as he desperately drained his psychic reserves to stabilize reality; he was unable to lead the defense. Captain Karlaen of the First Company had been caught by the howling blue flames of the Angel; though alive, his Terminator armor was paralyzed, and he was temporarily out of the fight.
Tyrell had to take command, leading the twenty or thirty Blood Angels still capable of fighting against the boarders.
Tyrell let out a roar, the Red Thirst surging within him. With his remaining hand, he gripped a combat blade and drove it deep into the throat of a Red Corsair Terminator, ending the traitor's life.
Blood boiled. To trade for power, Tyrell actively catalyzed the Thirst. The strength in his blood was releasing frantically, his genes simmering until his vision was stained crimson. At that moment, an instinct surged within him, urging him to look up. His intuition led his gaze to a nearby console. He saw a communication light blinking, indicating a signal coming in from the outside. Inexplicably, Tyrell knew that signal was vital.
He trusted his intuition. His blood carried not just the holy genetic sequence of Sanguinius, but the power of the Baalite bloodline—the power inherited from his mother and grandmother.
I have to get there...
Tyrell rushed toward the console, but a black figure crashed into his left side, nearly knocking him to the ground. A massive power axe swung toward his neck. Tyrell retreated frantically, barely dodging the blow.
He looked at his enemy: a Red Corsair in black armor, with only the shoulders painted red. He carried a decapitating axe, hung with skulls and rotting heads, and wore a bone helmet resembling a Chaplain's.
Tyrell recognized the enemy from his memory: Kata, the Executioner of the Red Corsairs, formerly of the Executioners Chapter.
This fierce headsman displayed intense savagery and bloodlust. Even the loyalist Executioners were known for their brutality, said to be surpassed only by true renegades. Kata, having turned traitor, was even worse; this black-armored butcher had become one of Huron's close advisors through sheer cruelty. His axe swung like a tide of blood. Tyrell had to rely on his intuition and reflexes to dodge repeatedly. He was skilled with a combat blade, but it could never match the raw savagery of Kata's heavy axe.
But Tyrell was a Blood Angel. He had one more weapon to use...
He took a deep breath, fully awakening the bloodlust within. His vision was entirely covered in crimson; he could practically see the veins pulsing beneath Kata's skin.
A cruel shriek escaped Tyrell's mouth, his crimson fangs clearly visible. He took a step forward, rushing Kata with speed far beyond a normal Astartes.
Kata, famous for his terror, was actually momentarily stunned by the sight of Tyrell's fangs. His movement slowed for a heartbeat—and that heartbeat was all Tyrell needed. Kata swung his axe frantically to cut Tyrell in half, but—"Argh!!!"
Kata let out a wail. Tyrell had thrown his combat blade. The fang-like edge pierced through Kata's skull-helm, sinking into his face and shattering the helmet.
And Tyrell himself suddenly vanished from before the axe blade... Super Power Training Box: Teleportation.
Tyrell reappeared behind Kata. His fangs, like daggers, sank directly into Kata's carotid artery. Straining sounds escaped Kata's throat as Tyrell's fingers gripped the blade stuck in the traitor's face and drove it in deeper.
Kata's body slumped lifelessly.
Forcing back his bloodlust, Tyrell hurried past the corpse to the console. He saw the signal's encoding. It wasn't a current Imperial code... it wasn't even from another ship. It was from... the world below?
Tyrell moved to open the communication channel—BOOM!!!!
Azure fire smashed toward Tyrell. The Angel seemed to have sensed something and attacked him directly. But Sanguinius blurred into motion, grabbing the Angel's body and twisting as they crashed to the floor. They seemed to regain solid form as they slammed down near Tyrell, nearly destroying the console.
"You are a weapon forged by our Father, possessing unparalleled destructive power, even surpassing us Primarchs," Sanguinius grunted.
Sanguinius's spear-arm was snapped, the Spear of Telesto falling to the ground nearby. But the Angel had also had an arm broken, his sword clattering away.
"But I am not a weapon. I am Sanguinius, the one and only Angel of humanity."
Sanguinius roared: "And I don't only have the power the Emperor gave me..."
Sanguinius's speed was so great that even the Angel could not react. He leapt up, his knee driving into the Angel's chest while his arms locked around one of the wings, pinning him violently to the floor.
The Angel hissed and roared, the azure flames burning more fiercely. Sanguinius exerted all his strength to hold him down, turning his head to Tyrell.
"OPEN THE CHANNEL!!!"
Tyrell was already doing it.
"...Lord Sanguinius, I am Hastur Sejanus."
"The Warmaster is by my side. I need your strength. My coordinates are..."